SuJu AU oneshot --- KyuWook.
Title: Strangers in a strange land
Pairing: KyuWook (Kyuhyun/Ryeowook)
Genre: AU, drama, some smut
Rating: NC-17 for situations
Disclaimer: I own nothing, but I wish I did.
Summary: Mortality is overrated. So is staying on your side of the tracks.
Word count: 7,697
Notes: Unbeta-ed. I used quotes from 30stm's song called "Stranger in a strange land".
Violent inside, beautiful and evil.
I'm a ghost.
This suit or that one, this tie or the other, snake skin or leather shoes; no one really needs intelligence to answer these kinds of questions. And because of this, he feels stupid. Not stupid in the conventional sense of it, stupid as in useless, as in he’s not serving the purpose he was put on Earth to complete.
He’s a lawyer, a damn good one, but who can’t be a good liar nowadays?
Mere humans are proving to be more cunning, conniving, greedy and corrupted. They have fancier suits, with ties that don’t match, but no one cares because they’re good at what they do. They’re good at deceiving the human race-their own kind.
And he’s busy trying to match, coordinate and look sharp, to attract the jury’s attention.
He feels weak next to them, despite having supernatural powers, despite being able to seduce any mortal, despite having all these ‘gifts’ that most would find rather disturbing. And in most cases, they would come in handy, but his boss strictly forbade him of using his powers on anything relating to his career.
His boss gave him the job-the high society rank-but he has to do the rest himself.
On most days, unfortunately, he still finds his mind drifting away and off to a place where he can-possibly-be someone else. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s meant for more, but until he can find out what, he’s stuck serving the Devil; doing his errands, collecting souls and, most importantly, blending in.
This is the punishment he gets; this is what happens to fallen angels.
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You’re an angel.
Lost in a day dream, what do you see?
If you’re looking for Jesus, then get on your knees.
The other school teachers don’t really notice anything out of the ordinary. Most are too busy flattering him, trying to find out more, or simply trying to date him.
Some days, however, his smile seems that much brighter, or his eyes twinkle like jewels in the sunlight, or his skin shimmers like gold below the rays, but that could easily be explained by products. The beautifying industry has made immense progress in the last decade.
What his coworkers do notice, on the other hand, is how well behaved his class is. As soon as he enters, they sit in silence, almost in awe, and stare at him like adoring fans. When he asks them a question, none of them can wait to raise their hand and reply. When it’s nearing recess, the students are still well behaved and wait until the very last moment to get their jackets and go outside-some of them even stay in class just to spend more time with their teacher.
They want his secret-they ask him all the time-but he himself doesn’t know the reason behind it. (Or he claims not to, rather.)
Every day he comes to work on time, early even; greets every teacher, greets the secretary, greets the principal and VP, and then heads to his locker to sort through his mail and important messages. He hasn’t missed one day from the time he was hired-almost 2 years ago.
No one really bothers asking how he started working so young, either. They figure he’s just some kind of prodigy with a gift for teaching infants, and left it at that. They don’t mind as long as he’s a good educator; and he is.
If only they knew the truth.
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It’s Friday night when he zigzags down the hall of his apartment building, his luxurious apartment building.
It’s the place with the wall to wall windows, the high ceilings, the custom trimmed doorways and walk-in closet (among many other things). You know the one in the middle of the city that everyone is dying to get in but can’t afford? He can afford it, and he’s dying to get out.
Therefore, every Friday night after a long day of screwing people over as much as he can, he buys a bottle of whiskey. He ends up drinking from it until he passes out-which tends to take a very long time, what with the technicality of him being a soulless being.
“It’s finish”, he grumbles, trying to soak up the last drops-with his middle finger because it’s the longest and most vile finger of them all. Everything is done for a specific reason; every gesture has its meaning and place in time. Otherwise, there’s no point in doing it, is there?
He realizes that the bar downstairs is still open, and vaguely recalls the receptionist telling him tenants can order room service if needed. Might as well use the resources we have at hand.
“Excuse me,” He mumbles and fumbles over his words, despite the little amount of them in his sentence. He clears his throat to try and sound sober, or somewhat.
“Yes Mr. Cho Kyuhyun?” The receptionist sounds perky, too much so; it’s bothering his head.
“Bottle of vodka please.” Kyuhyun hangs up the phone and lies back against the headboard of his antique, wooden bed.
Another night made to contemplate one’s life, or lack of one.
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He waves at every student without missing a beat. They giggle, and run off to their homes or wait for their parents, while he goes back to his locker to get his jacket.
Fridays are fun for teachers as well.
He already has the entire year planned out, so he needs not worry about ‘Oh, what should I do Monday’ during his weekends. The other teachers look at him with incredulous eyes when he divulges that information, but it’s a logical choice. The right one, he presumes.
Spend a few weeks of summer planning the whole year and have all your weekends free? Or plan every weekend of the year and have only your summer free? The choice is easy for him, especially considering his home situation.
There’s no one waiting for him at his apartment, no pet running to lick his hand or jump on his lap. The silence in his place is deafening. So his summer needed a bit of pizazz, even if it meant planning out his schedule for the students.
He carefully closes and locks his front door with the number ‘7’ on the front.
It wasn’t done purposely, it just happened that way. Though, the coincidence itself could be due to a higher power, but he'd rather not get into that on the weekend. Although, if he had the chance to decide on an apartment number, he’s not quite sure which he’d choose, but it wouldn't be the so-called perfect number.
His thoughts are disrupted by loud singing.
The neighbor is busy belting out, mostly on-key notes but some foul ones, that make his ears attempt to bleed. The guy next door repeats this ritual every Friday night, as he recalls. And from the slurring between each word, he thinks the man is probably drunk and alone (also).
Maybe it would be a good time to greet his neighbor, he thinks; they’re never home at the same time usually. (Except on Friday nights, when he wants to relax and ignore the world for a short while.) And it might keep his ears from revolting.
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Kyuhyun fumbles toward the door; maybe his vodka has arrived.
He unhinges one lock, unstraps another, turns one sideways, then the fourth is a bit tricky because if you don’t shake it just right-
Kyuhyun breaks it again, and the first words the stranger hears are ‘fuck me’.
“I beg your pardon?” He’s not offended by the language; to the contrary, he’s amused by it. (And maybe a bit concerned for the man’s sanity.)
“Who are you? Where’s my vodka?” Kyuhyun is holding the broken lock in one hand, the other gripping the door to keep the stranger from pushing in. Though, it’s not like he can’t fight, he’s just a bit incapacitated at the moment.
He chuckles slightly and clears his throat. “Sorry. My name’s Ryeowook, and I live in apartment 7.”
Kyuhyun looks him up and down, mostly down because he’s quite short. “Oh.”
He wants to invite him in, but then he remembers that it’s Friday night and he’s in the middle of his weekly, drunken binge and doesn’t really want to share that side of him openly. (Or the alcohol for that matter; it doesn’t come cheap.)
“Look, can you just come back tomorrow or something?” Kyuhyun tries to rub his forehead, but the lock is still in his hand, so he ends up smashing himself with the round metal. “Owww. Fuck.”
“Maybe I should just watch over you a bit until your-vodka, I believe-gets here.” Ryeowook smiles and rubs Kyuhyun’s forehead.
The flesh below Ryeowook’s hand is so hot he winces in pain, and even has trouble removing his hand from the boiling skin. It’s as though he touched the middle of a frying pan on high, or laid face down on the cement during summertime. No, it was worse than that. It’s as though he had a handful of magma, or fell to the center of the Earth.
Maybe this is what Hell feels like.
Kyuhyun hisses and pulls back. “Go away, goddammit.” He slams the door in Ryeowook’s face and locks the ones that do work, throwing the fourth-broken one-across the house.
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Ryeowook steps back and blinks repeatedly, trying to figure out what just happened. His apartment is only a few steps away, so it’s not as though he can go that far away, and from his apartment he can still hear Kyuhyun singing at the top of his lungs. So if it was privacy he craved, it was a mistake on his part.
The few steps it takes to get to his apartment, he has time to inspect his hand, and the burns now covering it. He knew it hurt, he knew it was difficult to pull away, but Ryeowook didn’t expect to see actual welt marks and even swelling due to just touching someone’s forehead.
Did this mean that Kyuhyun was really sick and needed help? Ryeowook wasn’t really interested in being burnt elsewhere for the moment, nor did he want to have the door slammed in his face again, so he ignored his inner voice for a while.
It is Friday after all; a day to finally relax.
-----------------------------------------------------
Kyuhyun keeps singing as he walks across his apartment to answer the door for a second time; it has to be his vodka this time. He’s not wrong in assuming so, but there’s also some falsehood to the thought itself.
“Vodka?” Kyuhyun says before even verifying that he’s speaking to the right person.
Ryeowook nods and hands him the bottle. “I went to get it from the bar for you. I paid for it.” He shuffles side to side. “Can I come in now?”
The reality is, despite the two men being from two different worlds, two contrastive occupations and even lifestyles; no one wants to be alone on a Friday night.
Kyuhyun grumbles and pulls Ryeowook’s wrist, along with the man, inside his apartment. “Just don’t try and tell me when to stop. And if you judge me, I will physically hurt you.”
Ryeowook figures he should be scared; Kyuhyun is a much taller, much more solid man than he is, and he also has skin that can hurt you. But there’s something in Kyuhyun’s eyes that makes Ryeowook feel at ease, as though they have a bond, so he plops down on the living room sofa.
“Don’t even need to say make yourself at home,” Kyuhyun snorts. “You already are.
Ryeowook blushes and looks down at his shoes. “Should I pour you a shot of vodka then?” His lips curve upward slowly.
“I drink from the bottle.” Kyuhyun can’t look directly at Ryeowook when he says it. “But I can get you a glass. I have lighter stuff as well.”
Ryeowook’s smile grows as he nods. “Maybe a mix would be good.”
Kyuhyun disappears into his kitchen. He doesn’t own very guest-friendly tableware, so he grabs a Mickey Mouse mug and fills it halfway with cranberry juice, he then adds some vodka and two ice cubes. Ryeowook looks like a lightweight drinker, so once the ice melts it can dilute some of the alcohol.
Kyuhyun ponders about how to explain the childish mug; a made-up Disneyland story, perhaps a joke pertaining to how young Ryeowook looks. He abandons the thought and leaves the kitchen with the mug in both hands to avoid spilling it; he’s beginning to feel a bit tipsy.
“Ryeowook, was it-“ Kyuhyun puts down the mug and sits across from the tiny man.
His neighbor from apartment 7 is fast asleep; his arms crossed and placed under his head like a pillow, his knees tucked in close to his stomach (his shoes off, of course), his lips are slightly parted and there’s a faint sound of breathing.
Kyuhyun isn’t a fan of sleepovers, nor does he like strangers sleeping in his apartment when they offer to drink with him. It’s barely 9 o’clock and now he’s, basically, back to drinking alone and in sorrow-or something of the sort.
Not wanting to waste the mixed drink he prepared, Kyuhyun samples it. It’s like water to someone at his level, but somehow it’s more enjoyable than when he’s alone. Maybe the combination of it being free, and having someone be comfortable enough to sleep on your sofa, makes it seem better.
Kyuhyun smiles, a genuine smile; something he hasn’t done in years.
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Ryeowook wakes up with a thin blanket draped over him. It smells of rose-scented fabric softener, a bit like cigarettes as well, but it doesn’t make it any less warm and cozy. He rubs the sleep from his eyes slowly; his vision gradually improving, objects coming into focus.
When sight arrives, then confusion sets in.
He stretches his arms above his head, trying to reach for his watch, but can’t seem to find it. There’s no bedpost, no nightstand, no down-filled pillows, no watch, no lamp, nothing. This isn’t his apartment, but he can’t figure out whose it is either; he doesn’t know anyone in the city.
Ryeowook sits up promptly, peering side to side in attempt to find the answer. But there are no answers written on the walls, only more questions to be resolved with no tools to do so.
That guy - the one passed out on the carpet with one shoe on, one off, his thigh peaking out of the blanket and his head covered - must be the one whose apartment this belongs to. The problem is, Ryeowook doesn’t want to wake him and regret it if he’s mistaken.
So he waits. And his eyelids begin to feel heavy, so he allows himself to rest a bit more, but only for a short while-only until the sun decides to rise.
Weekends aren’t made for lazing around in strangers’ homes.
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His yellow bus is pulling up from around the corner, his mom tells him. He nods and throws his backpack on, taking his piece of buttered toast with him out the door. His bag is almost heavier than him, so as he tries to run down the flight of stairs two at a time, he very nearly falls. Luckily he catches his footing-but not his toast-in time when he notices someone else there.
There’s a kid sitting on the bottom step with a baseball cap on; he must be waiting to leave on his first day too. He’s looking down at his shoes, moving them side to side against the dampened pavement; it rained the night before.
The child with the overpowering bag sits down next to the quiet one.
“Who are you? Do you go to my school?” He says, squeezing the straps of his backpack when he doesn’t get an answer.
So he just sits there, silently, waiting for the bus to come.
“I don’t know what school you go to.” The stranger answers; his eyes never leave the ground or his shoes.
“I didn’t start yet, but my mom said it’s called East Academy.” He smiles, putting his hood on in case it starts raining again.
The quiet boy sighs. “Mine is West Academy.” He rubs his feet together slowly. “Guess we’re not going to the same one.”
He means to ask other stuff, but the smaller one leaves when his yellow bus comes first. He doesn’t bother saying goodbye, or turning around when he climbs in and walks to the back of it. The first child waves for a few seconds, but the other boy pulls his baseball cap down and looks out the opposite window.
Some friendships lead to dead ends, others meet up again down the line. And in rare cases, they never stop to begin with.
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Kyuhyun scrapes over his scalp and throws the blanket off; something about his bed is painful this morning. A discovery is made; he’s not in bed at all, and the carpet never seemed as useless as it does presently. He grumbles and pushes himself up onto his elbows.
Now that he can see above the table, there’s an unknown man sleeping on his sofa, or at least it looks like it may be a man. And if it’s in fact a male, he doesn’t recall throwing any work-related parties at his home; he wouldn’t do that on a Friday night either.
And if it’s a woman, well, they don’t usually stay over for more than a few hours.
Kyuhyun scratches his cheek; whoever it is, he seems oddly comfortable and in his rightful spot - like he’s always been there.
He shrugs and gets up to make some coffee.
Ryeowook’s eyes snap open and he runs across the apartment to the front door and tries to open the locks without being caught. One lock open, two locks, three locks, the forth lock - it snaps - and Ryeowook is painstakingly holding in his tantrum. How does one fix a broken lock without tools?
He whimpers, trying to slip the lock back into the empty slot.
“Excuse me, need help?” Kyuhyun says nonchalantly.
Ryeowook is hesitant to turn around and decides he better not. “I just want to go home.”
Kyuhyun laughs and pokes Ryeowook in the back with the handle of the coffee mug he’s holding. Since his memory of last night has returned, he doesn’t feel so suffocated and confused.
Ryeowook squeals, as he believes the handle to be a gun, and he raises his arms. “Don’t kill me, please.”
Kyuhyun creases his brow and tries to explain that it’s just a cup, but Ryeowook loses consciousness and ends up on the floor. The mug follows soon after, since Ryeowook hooks it accidentally with his elbow on the way down.
------------------------------------------
Kyuhyun is stuck cleaning and looking after Ryeowook again. It’s all starting to feel like a never-ending nightmare or some kind of sick prank to get back at him for all those years of ruining people’s lives. Though, it is still only 2 to 58605673673705, so Kyuhyun remains in the lead-evil deed wise.
---------------------------------------------
Ryeowook wakes up an hour later, back in his apartment, with a note taped to his t-shirt.
“Ryeowook, you’re going to have to stop being so paranoid with your neighbors. You came to my home in the first place. I’m not a murderer.
- Kyuhyun, apartment 6.”
Ryeowook folds up the note and slips it in his jean pocket. He sits up on his couch and finds his house keys, his jacket and a half empty bottle of vodka on his living room table. He snorts, pushing himself off the couch and bringing the bottle with him to the kitchen.
How could he forget when he was the one who bought it in the first place? No wonder Kyuhyun seemed a bit displeased in his tone.
Ryeowook puts the bottle in a special cabinet, where he stores all his holiday liquor, and closes it gently. He drops his head - due to a slight hangover - and notices a weird metallic piece on his counter; it looks like a lock of some sort.
He shrugs and walks back into the living room, sprawling over his sofa, enjoying the bliss of familiar territory. But that wretched lock looks familiar for some reason, and he really feels like an entire scene of his life was removed without his consent.
Only bits and pieces remain. Details like him going over to Kyuhyun’s apartment, bringing a bottle of vodka for some reason, his hand being burnt, and possibly a kiss, but he can’t remember the why to that either.
It’s as though a part of his memory is sealed off to protect him.
If that’s the case, the lock must belong to Kyuhyun because it’s certainly not his, and he doesn’t know anyone else within a 10 mile radius.
------------------------------
Kyuhyun is doing chin ups when someone (he figures Ryeowook) is at his door. He drops down from the bar in his bedroom, slides a towel around his neck and dabs it over his face to gather the moisture.
No one has ever seen him sweaty and disheveled before; this better be important.
Ryeowook twirls side to side, the piece of lock hidden in his hands behind his back. Maybe this would be a good opportunity for him to try and actually know Kyuhyun without either of them being drunk.
Kyuhyun sighs before he even opens the door. And when he does finally, he expects to be more annoyed than he is.
Ryeowook looks adorable with his long strands of dark hair tied up in a ponytail. He probably doesn’t realize, but he’s pursing his lips ever so slightly, and his eyes are focused. (On Kyuhyun’s expression to read for any irritation or fatigue.) If the stranger wasn’t up for company, he would just leave and thank him for the hospitality.
“Yes, Ryeowook?” Kyuhyun tries to smile, but ends up smirking instead.
It takes the shorter man off guard and he looks away for a moment, trying to recall the aim behind the disturbance. “Um, I think I found your lock in my apartment.”
He hands Kyuhyun the metal chunk and he looks it over a few times. “Yep, this is mine.”
His gaze shifts back to Ryeowook, who’s making pouty lips again, and it’s hard to think when someone is so adorably innocent and cute, and standing in your doorway without protection or knowledge of the sinister thoughts in your mind.
“Can I come in?” Ryeowook mumbles, shuffling his feet around.
Or maybe he’s completely aware of his power over people and uses it to his advantage. Kyuhyun shrugs the thought away; not like Ryeowook is anything more than a mere mortal.
Kyuhyun gestures for him to come in and closes the door behind the small fellow.
“So, Kyuhyun.” Ryeowook kicks off his shoes and sits on the carpet. He’s already acting as though he lives there. “Do you remember most of what happened last night?”
Kyuhyun tilts his head and puts the lock down on a counter-top. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t remember some things. And I’m pretty sure I was sober most of the time.” Ryeowook chuckles; he pulls out his elastic and shakes his hair free from the shape it was in.
If it weren’t for the lack of curves, Kyuhyun would swear Ryeowook is a girl.
“Well,” Kyuhyun pauses to sit on the sofa across from Ryeowook. “if there’s something specific you want to know, maybe I can help you.”
Ryeowook nods and crawls closer to the sofa, sitting diagonally from Kyuhyun. “Did anything happen? I mean-“
“What!? No!” Kyuhyun coughs and jumps out of his seat, trying to escape into the kitchen.
Ryeowook grabs hold of his pant leg. “I meant, why is there a burn in the palm of my hand? But from your reaction, I see something else happened.”
Kyuhyun is sweating again, and his towel is far, far away in a lost corner of his room, so he can’t even hide the beads of perspiration dripping down his face. He clears his throat and swats the imposing fingers away, as cute as they are. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“Fine.” Ryeowook answers leisurely.
Kyuhyun speed-walks across the living room, down the hall and steps through the bathroom doorway. The only thing he hates about his bathroom is the mirror.
In the mirror he sees his true form; he sees how immortal (also immoral) beings see him. He can’t hide from the black wings, with feathers so sharp they can cut paper just from falling on it. He can’t mistake his horns for hair, with the thorns that grow out of them if he doesn’t trim them, and the violet color they project. Then his eyes, that were brown at birth, are now crimson in his reflection, but ebony to the human eye.
He sighs and punches the mirror, the shards falling into the sink, but his skin unaffected, unchanged - flawless.
There’s one large piece of glass left in place, and from it he can see something extraordinary; other wings. But they’re not black, nor do they seem prickly or dangerous. The feathers are ivory, the brightest white he’s ever seen, brighter than the day he almost made it back to heaven. They flutter slowly, and he can’t help but smile, wondering which angel has graced him with their presence.
Kyuhyun turns around with a wide smile, but it begins to fade when he realizes who it is.
“Ryeowook?” Kyuhyun leans against his sink, feeling a bit lightheaded. “You-you’re-“
“I’m an angel, yes.” Ryeowook smiles and approaches Kyuhyun with open arms. “And from what I see, you were once one too.”
The taller man just stays planted, his feet almost glued to the ground, cemented in place. Ryeowook takes his time in climbing his fingers up the hesitant arms, resting them on the wide back and finally enclosing Kyuhyun in a warm embrace. He feels like the younger man needs it.
Angel or demon?
I pray for my soul.
I’m guilty of treason.
Kyuhyun shoves Ryeowook away, his hands gripping the palms that were earlier so soothing to him. There’s not a mark, not a scratch; nowhere is it visible that he’d ever been burnt. Somehow, he feel s betrayed, and it’s uncharacteristic of him to be sensitive to someone he just met. He’s not afffected by anyone, ever.
Ryeowook looks down at his hands, and in a flash understands the hurt across Kyuhyun’s face. His skin had healed up somewhere between the time he knocked at Kyuhyun’s door and now. Ryeowook was telling the truth, his palm had been devastated, but now the marks have seamlessly faded.
“Kyuhyun-“ Ryeowook starts, but is discouraged from continuing when Kyuhyun drops his gaze to the bathroom floor.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Kyuhyun points in the direction of the door. “You should go before you end up like me.”
Ryeowook feigns a smile and nods. “I guess so.” He begins walking away from Kyuhyun when a desperate hand grabs hold of his wrist and refuses to let go.
“Answer me this-“ Kyuhyun looks up slowly, intrigued by the breathtaking vision he saw earlier, and the grounded, gentle man currently in front of him. How are they the same person? But that doesn’t matter. “Did you know I was a fallen angel when you came here last night?”
Ryeowook smiles, moving Kyuhyun’s digits from around his wrist; the grip was beginning to hurt. “No. I just thought you were lonely, like me, and might want company.”
Kyuhyun smiles in turn, taking a step toward Ryeowook. “Maybe we were meant to meet, then.”
His fingers curl in the smaller man’s hair, pulling him closer, slowly, for a kiss. Ryeowook’s lips are shaking at first, but once his nerves calm, his fingers twist in the cotton of Kyuhyun’s shirt, bringing him closer still.
Kyuhyun can’t remember the last time he’d kissed someone. Greeting your coworkers or one night stands never required his lips to be tarnished, to be taken in or appreciated. Kisses were a more private, sensual thing; reserved for only the most important of beings.
There’s only one other person who had kissed him like this in the past, who had left a similar impression upon him.
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“Kyuhyun-shii.” The young boy whispers.
Kyuhyun turns around promptly. “How do you know my name?”
The quiet boy smiles. “I saw it on your backpack the other day.”
Kyuhyun stretches out his hand, trying to catch the raindrops. Every time the neighbor is sitting on the step with him, it seems to rain. Maybe it meant they were bad luck together, or maybe rain is considered good luck in other places.
“What’s your name?” Kyuhyun asks, mumbling most of the words; he’s afraid to be ignored by the kid again.
He smiles. “You’ll find out one day.”
The mysterious boy zips his backpack and throws it on. He turns to leave, but changes his mind and jumps into Kyuhyun’s arms instead. He presses a kiss to the warm cheek and runs inside his yellow bus that came first again.
Kyuhyun’s eyes grow wide, his fingers placed softly on the cheek which now feels tingly.
--------------------------------
Ryeowook pulls away first, but Kyuhyun can still feel his breathe linger over his lips. “I don’t think we should do this.”
Kyuhyun cups Ryeowook’s face, his thumb rubbing along the smaller man’s plump bottom lip. He understands what’s being said, he knows what he wants to do is wrong, but he can’t make his physical self stop just yet - not until he’s satisfied.
Ryeowook parts his lips to speak again, but forgot about the fingers pressed to his skin. Kyuhyun takes the opportunity to slide his thumb in carefully, Ryeowook responding with gentle kisses and nips to the sensitive digit. It’s against all that he knows, all he needs, all he believes in - but it feels completely right.
This is where he wants to be, where he should be.
Kyuhyun moves his fingers aside, lifting Ryeowook up and sitting him on the edge of the sink so they’re eye to eye - or almost. Ryeowook whimpers and snakes his fingers below Kyuhyun’s shirt, scraping gently at the bare skin, his mark displayed by the broken skin left behind.
Kyuhyun can take it; it’s not like he hasn’t been hurt before, and physically alone.
But when his fingers take revenge down Ryeowook’s sides, resting on the bulge in his pants, Ryeowook can’t help but tear away from the kiss. He wants it so bad he can taste it, but he was always taught that lust like this could be harmful. In this case, it’s harmful to his mental health.
“Kyuhyun,” he whispers in a low voice.
He can’t deny that his body is being pulled in with every letter in his name, that his pants are the only thing holding him back. And why should he have to deprive himself any longer? It’s been so long since he’s felt so accepted, so comfortably vulnerable.
Kyuhyun kisses Ryeowook one more time before throwing him over his shoulder and racing toward his bedroom. No one has ever been deserving of his bedroom. Some of his coworkers did him at work, others at their place. When it came to people he met in bars, sometimes they couldn’t make it past his front door and ended up just doing it on the living room table.
But Ryeowook is different; he deserves more, merits more respect.
Ryeowook lets himself be placed on the bed, and despite his appearance, scurries to strip out of his clothes; he can’t wait much longer than he already has. Ever since the day he’d laid eyes on Kyuhyun, he’d wanted to get closer, wanted to learn more about him, and please him.
Kyuhyun chuckles and does the same; throwing his shirt on the floor, his pants and belt dropped straight down soon after. He climbs atop Ryeowook, careful to place his legs around the smaller, delicate man. For him, doing it with a person of the same sex isn’t new, but if it is for Ryeowook he’ll be prudent.
“Ryeowook,” Kyuhyun kisses a trail down Ryeowook’s shoulder. “Have you ever-“
“Slept with a man? Yes.” But I was still in high school.
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Kyuhyun arrives home from school only to find he’s been left home alone. His older sister has classes until 6pm; she’s already in college. His mother went out to do some chores-banking, grocery shopping-and won’t be back until around 7pm. His father finishes work at 5, but it takes him almost 30 minutes to clear off his desk and drive home.
Kyuhyun sighs and walks toward the front door to sit on the balcony, the only habit that entertains him on days like these. But he’s startled when-the door barely open enough for him to fit through-there’s already a young man sitting on his front porch. Technically, he shares it with the upstairs and left side neighbors, but he likes to call it his to feel like he finally owns something.
Kyuhyun clears his throat, and the thin boy turns around and stands up to make space. It’s the neighbor who had been missing for a few years, the one who used to wait with him for their yellow school buses. He almost didn’t recognize him; he’d changed so much in the time that had passed.
“Oh, I’m sorry, if you need privacy-“ Kyuhyun turns to go back in his home, but the shorter boy speaks up.
“It’s fine. I’m just tired of being home alone. Usually I’m out with friends at this time, to avoid feeling the solitude more profoundly.”
Kyuhyun nods, trying not to display his appreciate of the neighbor’s choice of words. He’s always been impressed with how well-spoken the young man has been, even when they were in elementary school.
“Sit with me,” The young boy says.
Kyuhyun smiles and kneels down, crossing his legs below him as support. “Thanks.”
The boy confesses how, although his friends are the only reliable source of sanity to him, he can’t stand most of them and would much rather spend time with Kyuhyun. To say Kyuhyun is but slightly flattered would be an understatement. And with that simple sharing of emotion, he feels he’s connected to the young boy, maybe even enough to ask personal questions.
“So I was wondering, why haven’t you been around lately?” He mutters a word here and there, worried his questions might go unanswered.
The smile he receives boosts his confidence level somewhat. “I was going to a private school and it required me to wake up extremely early, so I was already gone by the time you woke up. And I finished around 4pm, so you were already at home with your family.” He rubs his palms together, as if his fingers are placed above a warming fire. “I asked them to change back so I could be happier.”
Kyuhyun knows it’s wrong to assume he would be the source of that happiness, but as long as it makes his heart beat this fast, he’ll let his mind wander and believe it.
The young man is rubbing his palms together again, and Kyuhyun feels silly not helping him out a bit. He can see the sun setting, and with it the warmth dissolving, so it’s probably best they go inside.
“Should we go in? My place or yours?” Kyuhyun places a hand, in a friendly manner, over the two cold ones.
His eyes turn into gentle arcs, he doesn’t pull away either, just answers with: “Mine, my parents won’t be back until late this evening.”
Before both young men know it, one action turns into another and events advance rapidly. From hand holding, it progresses to lingering fingers on bare shoulders, up to neck lines and collarbones, and when the mysterious neighbor doesn’t flinch or demonstrate his displeasure, Kyuhyun takes it as a sign to continue.
He doesn’t know where his fingers or his heart are leading him, but the feel of this smaller one’s skin is bewitching and all he wants is to explore further. Kyuhyun’s lips take in the taste and delight of an uncovered collarbone, moving up toward the pulse in his neck, nipping along a smooth and pale jaw line.
Where his lips touch, his fingers must follow. Like a pattern, an erotic dance made only for untrained partners, Kyuhyun continues his part, allowing his lover to stop him whenever he pleases. But fortunately, he doesn’t. He goes along with every motion, every gesture as if it were meant to be long ago.
“I want you.” He whispers between tiny gasps of air.
Kyuhyun hums, kissing the smaller boy. “But you have me.”
He chuckles softly, wrapping his arms around Kyuhyun. “I meant inside me.”
-----------------------------
“Are you ready then?” Kyuhyun asks, concerned that he might be overzealous for them both.
Ryeowook nods and cups the taller man’s face lovingly. “I’ve never been more ready.”
Kyuhyun laughs, mostly in his head, because on the outside he knows he looks like a scared child experiencing love for the first time (again). His heart is racing, beads of sweat are dripping through every pore, and now, he’s suddenly self conscious of his body and his ability to please someone.
Ryeowook leans in, kissing below Kyuhyun’s ear to have access to one of the five senses he admires most. “I want you.”
Kyuhyun never knew three words, besides I love you, could have such an impact on him. In an instant, in a flash, memories of his first love - his real first love, unlike the girl he made up to please the losers around him - return to him like a flood of emotion and a dear friend.
And then, all of a sudden, the mystery has faded and he can finally see the truth behind the curtain of lies.
---------------------------
“Where did you learn to talk like that?” Kyuhyun means for it to sound sexier, more suave, but he’s content with the perky tone if that’s all he can conjure up.
He shrugs and points down to his school uniform, the white sweater with his name sown onto it. “Mind taking this off, or should I?”
Kyuhyun chuckles and helps the smaller man sit up. While his fingers grip the bottom of the cotton shirt, he has the chance to read the name, the precious name he’s been dying to know all these years; Ryeowook. His name is Ryeowook. He couldn’t have invented, or imagined, a better name if he tried for weeks on end.
Ryeowook looks down at the letters in black. “Yeah, I forgot to tell you my name, didn’t I?”
It’s amusing how he always manages to read one or two of Kyuhyun’s thoughts, and shrugs it off as if anyone can accomplish such a feat.
“Ryeowook, Ryeowook. I like it, it suits you.” Kyuhyun pulls the thin fabric over Ryeowook’s head and leans in to kiss him, the smaller man’s wrists still tangled in the sweater.
He doesn’t ask for help; he successfully slips out each wrist as soon as he can, between the kisses, roaming hands scraping down his chest and gripping tightly onto his hips. Ryeowook sighs happily, his hips pushing up to meet Kyuhyun’s, hoping the friction alone won’t drive him mad because he really, really wants to experience more.
---------------------------------------
“It’s you.” Kyuhyun mouths, his lips quivering as they hover over Ryeowook’s impatient ones.
Ryeowook holds the back of Kyuhyun’s head firmly, pushing him down for another sensual kiss; one that will last as long as he can take, one that will prove to be unmatched romantically, one that rivals the passion in love stories like Romeo and Juliet.
Despite the thoughts-and the fact that he’s been in love with Ryeowook his entire life, and wanting to exclaim such at the top of his lungs, professing that his memory has finally awoken-the moment, right now, is what he wants to enjoy most.
The rest can wait until later.
Ryeowook’s psychic powers seem to have returned, because his hands are searching the depths of Kyuhyun’s boxer shorts, tugging at the same pace his tongue darts in and out of his warm lips between breaths. Kyuhyun pulls away to moan deep in his throat, rushing to strip the smaller man of his last stitch of clothing.
What’s fair is fair.
And with that thought filling Ryeowook’s mind as well, he pushes Kyuhyun over, switching their places, and slithers down the stark naked frame of the younger man. He’s not younger by much, but Ryeowook just wants to prove he can take charge if need be.
Ryeowook’s fingertips rub over the head of a swollen member and trace along a rock hard shaft, careful to treat it with as much care as he would the owner. Kyuhyun hums, his hips jolting up against his will; he’s defenseless when it comes to matters of the heart, his body already aching for release.
Neither man would be able to sustain torture like this from the one they crave, so Ryeowook gives him what he needs.
Lips enclosing over the head of Kyuhyun’s length, he fights to keep them from jerking into the wonderful warmth Ryeowook has so kindly provided. And although Ryeowook is enjoying the taste of the slick skin atop his tongue, below his teeth and against his lips, it’s making him more and more aroused and he’s worried he won’t last much longer at this rate.
He pushes Kyuhyun’s cock to the back of his throat, humming to send sensations coursing along the throbbing shaft, before pulling away and climbing atop the taller man. Ryeowook needs him desperately, immediately, and greedily.
Kyuhyun’s hands are already there; he’s keeping Ryeowook stable as he stretches his entrance hastily. To be honest, they’re both a bit rusty and would probably prefer if they bought the proper tools first, but neither of them are ready to stop now that they’re this far.
So, if impromptu, eager intercourse means being sore and out of commission later, they’re willing to take the chance.
Ryeowook takes a deep breath and lowers himself onto Kyuhyun’s erection, his own twitching with the sudden intrusion (with so little preparation). It takes him a few moments to get used to the foreign body, but once he does his fingers reach for Kyuhyun’s, tangling together like long, lost lovers.
Kyuhyun groans, his teeth sinking into the soft skin of Ryeowook’s shoulder as he slides in and out of the small man. Ryeowook’s moans are sporadic, not following the rhythm of Kyuhyun’s thrusts, and his digits tangle in the sheets so tightly, it looks as though he might rip them.
His hips push in more gently, but in result further as well. Ryeowook cries out; his hand having found its way to his length mere minutes earlier. Kyuhyun-who’d been treating Ryeowook as he did when they were back in junior high-decides to drop the sensitive approach and attempt to reach for the stars finally.
Thrust after thrust after thrust are slammed into Ryeowook and, if he weren’t spent already, he’d be spilling over Kyuhyun’s stomach a second time from the sheer intensity and power behind Kyuhyun’s hips. He hasn’t forgotten who he’s dealing with, not for a second, so he slows his movement down just a bit and follows Ryeowook into the bright lights that accompany climax.
If he didn’t already know God exists, that would be his proof.
-----------------------------
Ryeowook comes with a strangled cry, his lips finding their way back to Kyuhyun’s. Both teenagers drift into slumber, content and calmed by the newly formed relationship. Kyuhyun never thought his first time would be with a boy, but if he had to choose anyone in the world it would always be this boy.
When they wake up again, Ryeowook’s parents are standing above them with disgust and anger painted across their faces.
They grab Kyuhyun first, blaming him for turning their son into a monster and corrupting his small body with his own. They throw him out into the hall along with his clothing.
Soon after, Ryeowook disappears once more. And it’s not like the years before, when Ryeowook simply had a conflicting schedule, he’s truly gone. Kyuhyun knows because, when he finally gathers enough courage to return there, there’s nothing left in the once accommodating and charming abode.
Ryeowook, luckily, had left a single piece of paper in the apartment.
“Kyuhyun-shii.
My parents forced me to move away because they believe you are the reason I’ve become so hateful toward them in the last few years. Aside from that, homosexuality is considered a sin to my family, and though I would usually agree, I don’t see you just as a man-you’re a human above all else, a human who loves me for who I am.
Please wait for me, and don’t forget me.”
Kyuhyun is tearing up before he reaches the last sentence; he can’t believe Ryeowook is really gone.
~~
For days and days, Kyuhyun locks himself in his room, leaving only to attend classes and appointments. One day when his mother goes up to check on him, wondering why he hasn’t come down yet for breakfast, she discovers his immobile body lying on the carpet.
Fallen angels aren’t named that way for nothing.
-----------------------------
When Kyuhyun wakes up and Ryeowook is still there, nuzzling into him like an infant, he’s overwhelmed with joy. The smaller man’s lips are curled upward in a subtle smile, even while his mind has succumbed to dreamland.
He still has a horrible job - beyond horrible, it’s loathsome - but at least now eternity won’t feel as long. And, though he’s certain rules are broken for both parties, the devil hasn’t given him any specific restrictions pertaining to his love life, and if he stubbornly decided to now, he would lose his number one employee. God would have to deal with Ryeowook’s love; he’s always going on about forgiveness, he should get it.
Kyuhyun smirks, petting Ryeowook’s hair; maybe being an immortal lawyer can have its perks, too.
///THE END\\\
Comments are ♥
Pairing: KyuWook (Kyuhyun/Ryeowook)
Genre: AU, drama, some smut
Rating: NC-17 for situations
Disclaimer: I own nothing, but I wish I did.
Summary: Mortality is overrated. So is staying on your side of the tracks.
Word count: 7,697
Notes: Unbeta-ed. I used quotes from 30stm's song called "Stranger in a strange land".
Violent inside, beautiful and evil.
I'm a ghost.
This suit or that one, this tie or the other, snake skin or leather shoes; no one really needs intelligence to answer these kinds of questions. And because of this, he feels stupid. Not stupid in the conventional sense of it, stupid as in useless, as in he’s not serving the purpose he was put on Earth to complete.
He’s a lawyer, a damn good one, but who can’t be a good liar nowadays?
Mere humans are proving to be more cunning, conniving, greedy and corrupted. They have fancier suits, with ties that don’t match, but no one cares because they’re good at what they do. They’re good at deceiving the human race-their own kind.
And he’s busy trying to match, coordinate and look sharp, to attract the jury’s attention.
He feels weak next to them, despite having supernatural powers, despite being able to seduce any mortal, despite having all these ‘gifts’ that most would find rather disturbing. And in most cases, they would come in handy, but his boss strictly forbade him of using his powers on anything relating to his career.
His boss gave him the job-the high society rank-but he has to do the rest himself.
On most days, unfortunately, he still finds his mind drifting away and off to a place where he can-possibly-be someone else. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s meant for more, but until he can find out what, he’s stuck serving the Devil; doing his errands, collecting souls and, most importantly, blending in.
This is the punishment he gets; this is what happens to fallen angels.
-------------------------------------
You’re an angel.
Lost in a day dream, what do you see?
If you’re looking for Jesus, then get on your knees.
The other school teachers don’t really notice anything out of the ordinary. Most are too busy flattering him, trying to find out more, or simply trying to date him.
Some days, however, his smile seems that much brighter, or his eyes twinkle like jewels in the sunlight, or his skin shimmers like gold below the rays, but that could easily be explained by products. The beautifying industry has made immense progress in the last decade.
What his coworkers do notice, on the other hand, is how well behaved his class is. As soon as he enters, they sit in silence, almost in awe, and stare at him like adoring fans. When he asks them a question, none of them can wait to raise their hand and reply. When it’s nearing recess, the students are still well behaved and wait until the very last moment to get their jackets and go outside-some of them even stay in class just to spend more time with their teacher.
They want his secret-they ask him all the time-but he himself doesn’t know the reason behind it. (Or he claims not to, rather.)
Every day he comes to work on time, early even; greets every teacher, greets the secretary, greets the principal and VP, and then heads to his locker to sort through his mail and important messages. He hasn’t missed one day from the time he was hired-almost 2 years ago.
No one really bothers asking how he started working so young, either. They figure he’s just some kind of prodigy with a gift for teaching infants, and left it at that. They don’t mind as long as he’s a good educator; and he is.
If only they knew the truth.
---------------------------------------
It’s Friday night when he zigzags down the hall of his apartment building, his luxurious apartment building.
It’s the place with the wall to wall windows, the high ceilings, the custom trimmed doorways and walk-in closet (among many other things). You know the one in the middle of the city that everyone is dying to get in but can’t afford? He can afford it, and he’s dying to get out.
Therefore, every Friday night after a long day of screwing people over as much as he can, he buys a bottle of whiskey. He ends up drinking from it until he passes out-which tends to take a very long time, what with the technicality of him being a soulless being.
“It’s finish”, he grumbles, trying to soak up the last drops-with his middle finger because it’s the longest and most vile finger of them all. Everything is done for a specific reason; every gesture has its meaning and place in time. Otherwise, there’s no point in doing it, is there?
He realizes that the bar downstairs is still open, and vaguely recalls the receptionist telling him tenants can order room service if needed. Might as well use the resources we have at hand.
“Excuse me,” He mumbles and fumbles over his words, despite the little amount of them in his sentence. He clears his throat to try and sound sober, or somewhat.
“Yes Mr. Cho Kyuhyun?” The receptionist sounds perky, too much so; it’s bothering his head.
“Bottle of vodka please.” Kyuhyun hangs up the phone and lies back against the headboard of his antique, wooden bed.
Another night made to contemplate one’s life, or lack of one.
-----------------------------------------------
He waves at every student without missing a beat. They giggle, and run off to their homes or wait for their parents, while he goes back to his locker to get his jacket.
Fridays are fun for teachers as well.
He already has the entire year planned out, so he needs not worry about ‘Oh, what should I do Monday’ during his weekends. The other teachers look at him with incredulous eyes when he divulges that information, but it’s a logical choice. The right one, he presumes.
Spend a few weeks of summer planning the whole year and have all your weekends free? Or plan every weekend of the year and have only your summer free? The choice is easy for him, especially considering his home situation.
There’s no one waiting for him at his apartment, no pet running to lick his hand or jump on his lap. The silence in his place is deafening. So his summer needed a bit of pizazz, even if it meant planning out his schedule for the students.
He carefully closes and locks his front door with the number ‘7’ on the front.
It wasn’t done purposely, it just happened that way. Though, the coincidence itself could be due to a higher power, but he'd rather not get into that on the weekend. Although, if he had the chance to decide on an apartment number, he’s not quite sure which he’d choose, but it wouldn't be the so-called perfect number.
His thoughts are disrupted by loud singing.
The neighbor is busy belting out, mostly on-key notes but some foul ones, that make his ears attempt to bleed. The guy next door repeats this ritual every Friday night, as he recalls. And from the slurring between each word, he thinks the man is probably drunk and alone (also).
Maybe it would be a good time to greet his neighbor, he thinks; they’re never home at the same time usually. (Except on Friday nights, when he wants to relax and ignore the world for a short while.) And it might keep his ears from revolting.
-------------------------------------------
Kyuhyun fumbles toward the door; maybe his vodka has arrived.
He unhinges one lock, unstraps another, turns one sideways, then the fourth is a bit tricky because if you don’t shake it just right-
Kyuhyun breaks it again, and the first words the stranger hears are ‘fuck me’.
“I beg your pardon?” He’s not offended by the language; to the contrary, he’s amused by it. (And maybe a bit concerned for the man’s sanity.)
“Who are you? Where’s my vodka?” Kyuhyun is holding the broken lock in one hand, the other gripping the door to keep the stranger from pushing in. Though, it’s not like he can’t fight, he’s just a bit incapacitated at the moment.
He chuckles slightly and clears his throat. “Sorry. My name’s Ryeowook, and I live in apartment 7.”
Kyuhyun looks him up and down, mostly down because he’s quite short. “Oh.”
He wants to invite him in, but then he remembers that it’s Friday night and he’s in the middle of his weekly, drunken binge and doesn’t really want to share that side of him openly. (Or the alcohol for that matter; it doesn’t come cheap.)
“Look, can you just come back tomorrow or something?” Kyuhyun tries to rub his forehead, but the lock is still in his hand, so he ends up smashing himself with the round metal. “Owww. Fuck.”
“Maybe I should just watch over you a bit until your-vodka, I believe-gets here.” Ryeowook smiles and rubs Kyuhyun’s forehead.
The flesh below Ryeowook’s hand is so hot he winces in pain, and even has trouble removing his hand from the boiling skin. It’s as though he touched the middle of a frying pan on high, or laid face down on the cement during summertime. No, it was worse than that. It’s as though he had a handful of magma, or fell to the center of the Earth.
Maybe this is what Hell feels like.
Kyuhyun hisses and pulls back. “Go away, goddammit.” He slams the door in Ryeowook’s face and locks the ones that do work, throwing the fourth-broken one-across the house.
-----------------------------------------------
Ryeowook steps back and blinks repeatedly, trying to figure out what just happened. His apartment is only a few steps away, so it’s not as though he can go that far away, and from his apartment he can still hear Kyuhyun singing at the top of his lungs. So if it was privacy he craved, it was a mistake on his part.
The few steps it takes to get to his apartment, he has time to inspect his hand, and the burns now covering it. He knew it hurt, he knew it was difficult to pull away, but Ryeowook didn’t expect to see actual welt marks and even swelling due to just touching someone’s forehead.
Did this mean that Kyuhyun was really sick and needed help? Ryeowook wasn’t really interested in being burnt elsewhere for the moment, nor did he want to have the door slammed in his face again, so he ignored his inner voice for a while.
It is Friday after all; a day to finally relax.
-----------------------------------------------------
Kyuhyun keeps singing as he walks across his apartment to answer the door for a second time; it has to be his vodka this time. He’s not wrong in assuming so, but there’s also some falsehood to the thought itself.
“Vodka?” Kyuhyun says before even verifying that he’s speaking to the right person.
Ryeowook nods and hands him the bottle. “I went to get it from the bar for you. I paid for it.” He shuffles side to side. “Can I come in now?”
The reality is, despite the two men being from two different worlds, two contrastive occupations and even lifestyles; no one wants to be alone on a Friday night.
Kyuhyun grumbles and pulls Ryeowook’s wrist, along with the man, inside his apartment. “Just don’t try and tell me when to stop. And if you judge me, I will physically hurt you.”
Ryeowook figures he should be scared; Kyuhyun is a much taller, much more solid man than he is, and he also has skin that can hurt you. But there’s something in Kyuhyun’s eyes that makes Ryeowook feel at ease, as though they have a bond, so he plops down on the living room sofa.
“Don’t even need to say make yourself at home,” Kyuhyun snorts. “You already are.
Ryeowook blushes and looks down at his shoes. “Should I pour you a shot of vodka then?” His lips curve upward slowly.
“I drink from the bottle.” Kyuhyun can’t look directly at Ryeowook when he says it. “But I can get you a glass. I have lighter stuff as well.”
Ryeowook’s smile grows as he nods. “Maybe a mix would be good.”
Kyuhyun disappears into his kitchen. He doesn’t own very guest-friendly tableware, so he grabs a Mickey Mouse mug and fills it halfway with cranberry juice, he then adds some vodka and two ice cubes. Ryeowook looks like a lightweight drinker, so once the ice melts it can dilute some of the alcohol.
Kyuhyun ponders about how to explain the childish mug; a made-up Disneyland story, perhaps a joke pertaining to how young Ryeowook looks. He abandons the thought and leaves the kitchen with the mug in both hands to avoid spilling it; he’s beginning to feel a bit tipsy.
“Ryeowook, was it-“ Kyuhyun puts down the mug and sits across from the tiny man.
His neighbor from apartment 7 is fast asleep; his arms crossed and placed under his head like a pillow, his knees tucked in close to his stomach (his shoes off, of course), his lips are slightly parted and there’s a faint sound of breathing.
Kyuhyun isn’t a fan of sleepovers, nor does he like strangers sleeping in his apartment when they offer to drink with him. It’s barely 9 o’clock and now he’s, basically, back to drinking alone and in sorrow-or something of the sort.
Not wanting to waste the mixed drink he prepared, Kyuhyun samples it. It’s like water to someone at his level, but somehow it’s more enjoyable than when he’s alone. Maybe the combination of it being free, and having someone be comfortable enough to sleep on your sofa, makes it seem better.
Kyuhyun smiles, a genuine smile; something he hasn’t done in years.
-------------------------------------
Ryeowook wakes up with a thin blanket draped over him. It smells of rose-scented fabric softener, a bit like cigarettes as well, but it doesn’t make it any less warm and cozy. He rubs the sleep from his eyes slowly; his vision gradually improving, objects coming into focus.
When sight arrives, then confusion sets in.
He stretches his arms above his head, trying to reach for his watch, but can’t seem to find it. There’s no bedpost, no nightstand, no down-filled pillows, no watch, no lamp, nothing. This isn’t his apartment, but he can’t figure out whose it is either; he doesn’t know anyone in the city.
Ryeowook sits up promptly, peering side to side in attempt to find the answer. But there are no answers written on the walls, only more questions to be resolved with no tools to do so.
That guy - the one passed out on the carpet with one shoe on, one off, his thigh peaking out of the blanket and his head covered - must be the one whose apartment this belongs to. The problem is, Ryeowook doesn’t want to wake him and regret it if he’s mistaken.
So he waits. And his eyelids begin to feel heavy, so he allows himself to rest a bit more, but only for a short while-only until the sun decides to rise.
Weekends aren’t made for lazing around in strangers’ homes.
------------------------------------
His yellow bus is pulling up from around the corner, his mom tells him. He nods and throws his backpack on, taking his piece of buttered toast with him out the door. His bag is almost heavier than him, so as he tries to run down the flight of stairs two at a time, he very nearly falls. Luckily he catches his footing-but not his toast-in time when he notices someone else there.
There’s a kid sitting on the bottom step with a baseball cap on; he must be waiting to leave on his first day too. He’s looking down at his shoes, moving them side to side against the dampened pavement; it rained the night before.
The child with the overpowering bag sits down next to the quiet one.
“Who are you? Do you go to my school?” He says, squeezing the straps of his backpack when he doesn’t get an answer.
So he just sits there, silently, waiting for the bus to come.
“I don’t know what school you go to.” The stranger answers; his eyes never leave the ground or his shoes.
“I didn’t start yet, but my mom said it’s called East Academy.” He smiles, putting his hood on in case it starts raining again.
The quiet boy sighs. “Mine is West Academy.” He rubs his feet together slowly. “Guess we’re not going to the same one.”
He means to ask other stuff, but the smaller one leaves when his yellow bus comes first. He doesn’t bother saying goodbye, or turning around when he climbs in and walks to the back of it. The first child waves for a few seconds, but the other boy pulls his baseball cap down and looks out the opposite window.
Some friendships lead to dead ends, others meet up again down the line. And in rare cases, they never stop to begin with.
----------------------------------------
Kyuhyun scrapes over his scalp and throws the blanket off; something about his bed is painful this morning. A discovery is made; he’s not in bed at all, and the carpet never seemed as useless as it does presently. He grumbles and pushes himself up onto his elbows.
Now that he can see above the table, there’s an unknown man sleeping on his sofa, or at least it looks like it may be a man. And if it’s in fact a male, he doesn’t recall throwing any work-related parties at his home; he wouldn’t do that on a Friday night either.
And if it’s a woman, well, they don’t usually stay over for more than a few hours.
Kyuhyun scratches his cheek; whoever it is, he seems oddly comfortable and in his rightful spot - like he’s always been there.
He shrugs and gets up to make some coffee.
Ryeowook’s eyes snap open and he runs across the apartment to the front door and tries to open the locks without being caught. One lock open, two locks, three locks, the forth lock - it snaps - and Ryeowook is painstakingly holding in his tantrum. How does one fix a broken lock without tools?
He whimpers, trying to slip the lock back into the empty slot.
“Excuse me, need help?” Kyuhyun says nonchalantly.
Ryeowook is hesitant to turn around and decides he better not. “I just want to go home.”
Kyuhyun laughs and pokes Ryeowook in the back with the handle of the coffee mug he’s holding. Since his memory of last night has returned, he doesn’t feel so suffocated and confused.
Ryeowook squeals, as he believes the handle to be a gun, and he raises his arms. “Don’t kill me, please.”
Kyuhyun creases his brow and tries to explain that it’s just a cup, but Ryeowook loses consciousness and ends up on the floor. The mug follows soon after, since Ryeowook hooks it accidentally with his elbow on the way down.
------------------------------------------
Kyuhyun is stuck cleaning and looking after Ryeowook again. It’s all starting to feel like a never-ending nightmare or some kind of sick prank to get back at him for all those years of ruining people’s lives. Though, it is still only 2 to 58605673673705, so Kyuhyun remains in the lead-evil deed wise.
---------------------------------------------
Ryeowook wakes up an hour later, back in his apartment, with a note taped to his t-shirt.
“Ryeowook, you’re going to have to stop being so paranoid with your neighbors. You came to my home in the first place. I’m not a murderer.
- Kyuhyun, apartment 6.”
Ryeowook folds up the note and slips it in his jean pocket. He sits up on his couch and finds his house keys, his jacket and a half empty bottle of vodka on his living room table. He snorts, pushing himself off the couch and bringing the bottle with him to the kitchen.
How could he forget when he was the one who bought it in the first place? No wonder Kyuhyun seemed a bit displeased in his tone.
Ryeowook puts the bottle in a special cabinet, where he stores all his holiday liquor, and closes it gently. He drops his head - due to a slight hangover - and notices a weird metallic piece on his counter; it looks like a lock of some sort.
He shrugs and walks back into the living room, sprawling over his sofa, enjoying the bliss of familiar territory. But that wretched lock looks familiar for some reason, and he really feels like an entire scene of his life was removed without his consent.
Only bits and pieces remain. Details like him going over to Kyuhyun’s apartment, bringing a bottle of vodka for some reason, his hand being burnt, and possibly a kiss, but he can’t remember the why to that either.
It’s as though a part of his memory is sealed off to protect him.
If that’s the case, the lock must belong to Kyuhyun because it’s certainly not his, and he doesn’t know anyone else within a 10 mile radius.
------------------------------
Kyuhyun is doing chin ups when someone (he figures Ryeowook) is at his door. He drops down from the bar in his bedroom, slides a towel around his neck and dabs it over his face to gather the moisture.
No one has ever seen him sweaty and disheveled before; this better be important.
Ryeowook twirls side to side, the piece of lock hidden in his hands behind his back. Maybe this would be a good opportunity for him to try and actually know Kyuhyun without either of them being drunk.
Kyuhyun sighs before he even opens the door. And when he does finally, he expects to be more annoyed than he is.
Ryeowook looks adorable with his long strands of dark hair tied up in a ponytail. He probably doesn’t realize, but he’s pursing his lips ever so slightly, and his eyes are focused. (On Kyuhyun’s expression to read for any irritation or fatigue.) If the stranger wasn’t up for company, he would just leave and thank him for the hospitality.
“Yes, Ryeowook?” Kyuhyun tries to smile, but ends up smirking instead.
It takes the shorter man off guard and he looks away for a moment, trying to recall the aim behind the disturbance. “Um, I think I found your lock in my apartment.”
He hands Kyuhyun the metal chunk and he looks it over a few times. “Yep, this is mine.”
His gaze shifts back to Ryeowook, who’s making pouty lips again, and it’s hard to think when someone is so adorably innocent and cute, and standing in your doorway without protection or knowledge of the sinister thoughts in your mind.
“Can I come in?” Ryeowook mumbles, shuffling his feet around.
Or maybe he’s completely aware of his power over people and uses it to his advantage. Kyuhyun shrugs the thought away; not like Ryeowook is anything more than a mere mortal.
Kyuhyun gestures for him to come in and closes the door behind the small fellow.
“So, Kyuhyun.” Ryeowook kicks off his shoes and sits on the carpet. He’s already acting as though he lives there. “Do you remember most of what happened last night?”
Kyuhyun tilts his head and puts the lock down on a counter-top. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t remember some things. And I’m pretty sure I was sober most of the time.” Ryeowook chuckles; he pulls out his elastic and shakes his hair free from the shape it was in.
If it weren’t for the lack of curves, Kyuhyun would swear Ryeowook is a girl.
“Well,” Kyuhyun pauses to sit on the sofa across from Ryeowook. “if there’s something specific you want to know, maybe I can help you.”
Ryeowook nods and crawls closer to the sofa, sitting diagonally from Kyuhyun. “Did anything happen? I mean-“
“What!? No!” Kyuhyun coughs and jumps out of his seat, trying to escape into the kitchen.
Ryeowook grabs hold of his pant leg. “I meant, why is there a burn in the palm of my hand? But from your reaction, I see something else happened.”
Kyuhyun is sweating again, and his towel is far, far away in a lost corner of his room, so he can’t even hide the beads of perspiration dripping down his face. He clears his throat and swats the imposing fingers away, as cute as they are. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“Fine.” Ryeowook answers leisurely.
Kyuhyun speed-walks across the living room, down the hall and steps through the bathroom doorway. The only thing he hates about his bathroom is the mirror.
In the mirror he sees his true form; he sees how immortal (also immoral) beings see him. He can’t hide from the black wings, with feathers so sharp they can cut paper just from falling on it. He can’t mistake his horns for hair, with the thorns that grow out of them if he doesn’t trim them, and the violet color they project. Then his eyes, that were brown at birth, are now crimson in his reflection, but ebony to the human eye.
He sighs and punches the mirror, the shards falling into the sink, but his skin unaffected, unchanged - flawless.
There’s one large piece of glass left in place, and from it he can see something extraordinary; other wings. But they’re not black, nor do they seem prickly or dangerous. The feathers are ivory, the brightest white he’s ever seen, brighter than the day he almost made it back to heaven. They flutter slowly, and he can’t help but smile, wondering which angel has graced him with their presence.
Kyuhyun turns around with a wide smile, but it begins to fade when he realizes who it is.
“Ryeowook?” Kyuhyun leans against his sink, feeling a bit lightheaded. “You-you’re-“
“I’m an angel, yes.” Ryeowook smiles and approaches Kyuhyun with open arms. “And from what I see, you were once one too.”
The taller man just stays planted, his feet almost glued to the ground, cemented in place. Ryeowook takes his time in climbing his fingers up the hesitant arms, resting them on the wide back and finally enclosing Kyuhyun in a warm embrace. He feels like the younger man needs it.
Angel or demon?
I pray for my soul.
I’m guilty of treason.
Kyuhyun shoves Ryeowook away, his hands gripping the palms that were earlier so soothing to him. There’s not a mark, not a scratch; nowhere is it visible that he’d ever been burnt. Somehow, he feel s betrayed, and it’s uncharacteristic of him to be sensitive to someone he just met. He’s not afffected by anyone, ever.
Ryeowook looks down at his hands, and in a flash understands the hurt across Kyuhyun’s face. His skin had healed up somewhere between the time he knocked at Kyuhyun’s door and now. Ryeowook was telling the truth, his palm had been devastated, but now the marks have seamlessly faded.
“Kyuhyun-“ Ryeowook starts, but is discouraged from continuing when Kyuhyun drops his gaze to the bathroom floor.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Kyuhyun points in the direction of the door. “You should go before you end up like me.”
Ryeowook feigns a smile and nods. “I guess so.” He begins walking away from Kyuhyun when a desperate hand grabs hold of his wrist and refuses to let go.
“Answer me this-“ Kyuhyun looks up slowly, intrigued by the breathtaking vision he saw earlier, and the grounded, gentle man currently in front of him. How are they the same person? But that doesn’t matter. “Did you know I was a fallen angel when you came here last night?”
Ryeowook smiles, moving Kyuhyun’s digits from around his wrist; the grip was beginning to hurt. “No. I just thought you were lonely, like me, and might want company.”
Kyuhyun smiles in turn, taking a step toward Ryeowook. “Maybe we were meant to meet, then.”
His fingers curl in the smaller man’s hair, pulling him closer, slowly, for a kiss. Ryeowook’s lips are shaking at first, but once his nerves calm, his fingers twist in the cotton of Kyuhyun’s shirt, bringing him closer still.
Kyuhyun can’t remember the last time he’d kissed someone. Greeting your coworkers or one night stands never required his lips to be tarnished, to be taken in or appreciated. Kisses were a more private, sensual thing; reserved for only the most important of beings.
There’s only one other person who had kissed him like this in the past, who had left a similar impression upon him.
-----------------------------
“Kyuhyun-shii.” The young boy whispers.
Kyuhyun turns around promptly. “How do you know my name?”
The quiet boy smiles. “I saw it on your backpack the other day.”
Kyuhyun stretches out his hand, trying to catch the raindrops. Every time the neighbor is sitting on the step with him, it seems to rain. Maybe it meant they were bad luck together, or maybe rain is considered good luck in other places.
“What’s your name?” Kyuhyun asks, mumbling most of the words; he’s afraid to be ignored by the kid again.
He smiles. “You’ll find out one day.”
The mysterious boy zips his backpack and throws it on. He turns to leave, but changes his mind and jumps into Kyuhyun’s arms instead. He presses a kiss to the warm cheek and runs inside his yellow bus that came first again.
Kyuhyun’s eyes grow wide, his fingers placed softly on the cheek which now feels tingly.
--------------------------------
Ryeowook pulls away first, but Kyuhyun can still feel his breathe linger over his lips. “I don’t think we should do this.”
Kyuhyun cups Ryeowook’s face, his thumb rubbing along the smaller man’s plump bottom lip. He understands what’s being said, he knows what he wants to do is wrong, but he can’t make his physical self stop just yet - not until he’s satisfied.
Ryeowook parts his lips to speak again, but forgot about the fingers pressed to his skin. Kyuhyun takes the opportunity to slide his thumb in carefully, Ryeowook responding with gentle kisses and nips to the sensitive digit. It’s against all that he knows, all he needs, all he believes in - but it feels completely right.
This is where he wants to be, where he should be.
Kyuhyun moves his fingers aside, lifting Ryeowook up and sitting him on the edge of the sink so they’re eye to eye - or almost. Ryeowook whimpers and snakes his fingers below Kyuhyun’s shirt, scraping gently at the bare skin, his mark displayed by the broken skin left behind.
Kyuhyun can take it; it’s not like he hasn’t been hurt before, and physically alone.
But when his fingers take revenge down Ryeowook’s sides, resting on the bulge in his pants, Ryeowook can’t help but tear away from the kiss. He wants it so bad he can taste it, but he was always taught that lust like this could be harmful. In this case, it’s harmful to his mental health.
“Kyuhyun,” he whispers in a low voice.
He can’t deny that his body is being pulled in with every letter in his name, that his pants are the only thing holding him back. And why should he have to deprive himself any longer? It’s been so long since he’s felt so accepted, so comfortably vulnerable.
Kyuhyun kisses Ryeowook one more time before throwing him over his shoulder and racing toward his bedroom. No one has ever been deserving of his bedroom. Some of his coworkers did him at work, others at their place. When it came to people he met in bars, sometimes they couldn’t make it past his front door and ended up just doing it on the living room table.
But Ryeowook is different; he deserves more, merits more respect.
Ryeowook lets himself be placed on the bed, and despite his appearance, scurries to strip out of his clothes; he can’t wait much longer than he already has. Ever since the day he’d laid eyes on Kyuhyun, he’d wanted to get closer, wanted to learn more about him, and please him.
Kyuhyun chuckles and does the same; throwing his shirt on the floor, his pants and belt dropped straight down soon after. He climbs atop Ryeowook, careful to place his legs around the smaller, delicate man. For him, doing it with a person of the same sex isn’t new, but if it is for Ryeowook he’ll be prudent.
“Ryeowook,” Kyuhyun kisses a trail down Ryeowook’s shoulder. “Have you ever-“
“Slept with a man? Yes.” But I was still in high school.
------------------------------
Kyuhyun arrives home from school only to find he’s been left home alone. His older sister has classes until 6pm; she’s already in college. His mother went out to do some chores-banking, grocery shopping-and won’t be back until around 7pm. His father finishes work at 5, but it takes him almost 30 minutes to clear off his desk and drive home.
Kyuhyun sighs and walks toward the front door to sit on the balcony, the only habit that entertains him on days like these. But he’s startled when-the door barely open enough for him to fit through-there’s already a young man sitting on his front porch. Technically, he shares it with the upstairs and left side neighbors, but he likes to call it his to feel like he finally owns something.
Kyuhyun clears his throat, and the thin boy turns around and stands up to make space. It’s the neighbor who had been missing for a few years, the one who used to wait with him for their yellow school buses. He almost didn’t recognize him; he’d changed so much in the time that had passed.
“Oh, I’m sorry, if you need privacy-“ Kyuhyun turns to go back in his home, but the shorter boy speaks up.
“It’s fine. I’m just tired of being home alone. Usually I’m out with friends at this time, to avoid feeling the solitude more profoundly.”
Kyuhyun nods, trying not to display his appreciate of the neighbor’s choice of words. He’s always been impressed with how well-spoken the young man has been, even when they were in elementary school.
“Sit with me,” The young boy says.
Kyuhyun smiles and kneels down, crossing his legs below him as support. “Thanks.”
The boy confesses how, although his friends are the only reliable source of sanity to him, he can’t stand most of them and would much rather spend time with Kyuhyun. To say Kyuhyun is but slightly flattered would be an understatement. And with that simple sharing of emotion, he feels he’s connected to the young boy, maybe even enough to ask personal questions.
“So I was wondering, why haven’t you been around lately?” He mutters a word here and there, worried his questions might go unanswered.
The smile he receives boosts his confidence level somewhat. “I was going to a private school and it required me to wake up extremely early, so I was already gone by the time you woke up. And I finished around 4pm, so you were already at home with your family.” He rubs his palms together, as if his fingers are placed above a warming fire. “I asked them to change back so I could be happier.”
Kyuhyun knows it’s wrong to assume he would be the source of that happiness, but as long as it makes his heart beat this fast, he’ll let his mind wander and believe it.
The young man is rubbing his palms together again, and Kyuhyun feels silly not helping him out a bit. He can see the sun setting, and with it the warmth dissolving, so it’s probably best they go inside.
“Should we go in? My place or yours?” Kyuhyun places a hand, in a friendly manner, over the two cold ones.
His eyes turn into gentle arcs, he doesn’t pull away either, just answers with: “Mine, my parents won’t be back until late this evening.”
Before both young men know it, one action turns into another and events advance rapidly. From hand holding, it progresses to lingering fingers on bare shoulders, up to neck lines and collarbones, and when the mysterious neighbor doesn’t flinch or demonstrate his displeasure, Kyuhyun takes it as a sign to continue.
He doesn’t know where his fingers or his heart are leading him, but the feel of this smaller one’s skin is bewitching and all he wants is to explore further. Kyuhyun’s lips take in the taste and delight of an uncovered collarbone, moving up toward the pulse in his neck, nipping along a smooth and pale jaw line.
Where his lips touch, his fingers must follow. Like a pattern, an erotic dance made only for untrained partners, Kyuhyun continues his part, allowing his lover to stop him whenever he pleases. But fortunately, he doesn’t. He goes along with every motion, every gesture as if it were meant to be long ago.
“I want you.” He whispers between tiny gasps of air.
Kyuhyun hums, kissing the smaller boy. “But you have me.”
He chuckles softly, wrapping his arms around Kyuhyun. “I meant inside me.”
-----------------------------
“Are you ready then?” Kyuhyun asks, concerned that he might be overzealous for them both.
Ryeowook nods and cups the taller man’s face lovingly. “I’ve never been more ready.”
Kyuhyun laughs, mostly in his head, because on the outside he knows he looks like a scared child experiencing love for the first time (again). His heart is racing, beads of sweat are dripping through every pore, and now, he’s suddenly self conscious of his body and his ability to please someone.
Ryeowook leans in, kissing below Kyuhyun’s ear to have access to one of the five senses he admires most. “I want you.”
Kyuhyun never knew three words, besides I love you, could have such an impact on him. In an instant, in a flash, memories of his first love - his real first love, unlike the girl he made up to please the losers around him - return to him like a flood of emotion and a dear friend.
And then, all of a sudden, the mystery has faded and he can finally see the truth behind the curtain of lies.
---------------------------
“Where did you learn to talk like that?” Kyuhyun means for it to sound sexier, more suave, but he’s content with the perky tone if that’s all he can conjure up.
He shrugs and points down to his school uniform, the white sweater with his name sown onto it. “Mind taking this off, or should I?”
Kyuhyun chuckles and helps the smaller man sit up. While his fingers grip the bottom of the cotton shirt, he has the chance to read the name, the precious name he’s been dying to know all these years; Ryeowook. His name is Ryeowook. He couldn’t have invented, or imagined, a better name if he tried for weeks on end.
Ryeowook looks down at the letters in black. “Yeah, I forgot to tell you my name, didn’t I?”
It’s amusing how he always manages to read one or two of Kyuhyun’s thoughts, and shrugs it off as if anyone can accomplish such a feat.
“Ryeowook, Ryeowook. I like it, it suits you.” Kyuhyun pulls the thin fabric over Ryeowook’s head and leans in to kiss him, the smaller man’s wrists still tangled in the sweater.
He doesn’t ask for help; he successfully slips out each wrist as soon as he can, between the kisses, roaming hands scraping down his chest and gripping tightly onto his hips. Ryeowook sighs happily, his hips pushing up to meet Kyuhyun’s, hoping the friction alone won’t drive him mad because he really, really wants to experience more.
---------------------------------------
“It’s you.” Kyuhyun mouths, his lips quivering as they hover over Ryeowook’s impatient ones.
Ryeowook holds the back of Kyuhyun’s head firmly, pushing him down for another sensual kiss; one that will last as long as he can take, one that will prove to be unmatched romantically, one that rivals the passion in love stories like Romeo and Juliet.
Despite the thoughts-and the fact that he’s been in love with Ryeowook his entire life, and wanting to exclaim such at the top of his lungs, professing that his memory has finally awoken-the moment, right now, is what he wants to enjoy most.
The rest can wait until later.
Ryeowook’s psychic powers seem to have returned, because his hands are searching the depths of Kyuhyun’s boxer shorts, tugging at the same pace his tongue darts in and out of his warm lips between breaths. Kyuhyun pulls away to moan deep in his throat, rushing to strip the smaller man of his last stitch of clothing.
What’s fair is fair.
And with that thought filling Ryeowook’s mind as well, he pushes Kyuhyun over, switching their places, and slithers down the stark naked frame of the younger man. He’s not younger by much, but Ryeowook just wants to prove he can take charge if need be.
Ryeowook’s fingertips rub over the head of a swollen member and trace along a rock hard shaft, careful to treat it with as much care as he would the owner. Kyuhyun hums, his hips jolting up against his will; he’s defenseless when it comes to matters of the heart, his body already aching for release.
Neither man would be able to sustain torture like this from the one they crave, so Ryeowook gives him what he needs.
Lips enclosing over the head of Kyuhyun’s length, he fights to keep them from jerking into the wonderful warmth Ryeowook has so kindly provided. And although Ryeowook is enjoying the taste of the slick skin atop his tongue, below his teeth and against his lips, it’s making him more and more aroused and he’s worried he won’t last much longer at this rate.
He pushes Kyuhyun’s cock to the back of his throat, humming to send sensations coursing along the throbbing shaft, before pulling away and climbing atop the taller man. Ryeowook needs him desperately, immediately, and greedily.
Kyuhyun’s hands are already there; he’s keeping Ryeowook stable as he stretches his entrance hastily. To be honest, they’re both a bit rusty and would probably prefer if they bought the proper tools first, but neither of them are ready to stop now that they’re this far.
So, if impromptu, eager intercourse means being sore and out of commission later, they’re willing to take the chance.
Ryeowook takes a deep breath and lowers himself onto Kyuhyun’s erection, his own twitching with the sudden intrusion (with so little preparation). It takes him a few moments to get used to the foreign body, but once he does his fingers reach for Kyuhyun’s, tangling together like long, lost lovers.
Kyuhyun groans, his teeth sinking into the soft skin of Ryeowook’s shoulder as he slides in and out of the small man. Ryeowook’s moans are sporadic, not following the rhythm of Kyuhyun’s thrusts, and his digits tangle in the sheets so tightly, it looks as though he might rip them.
His hips push in more gently, but in result further as well. Ryeowook cries out; his hand having found its way to his length mere minutes earlier. Kyuhyun-who’d been treating Ryeowook as he did when they were back in junior high-decides to drop the sensitive approach and attempt to reach for the stars finally.
Thrust after thrust after thrust are slammed into Ryeowook and, if he weren’t spent already, he’d be spilling over Kyuhyun’s stomach a second time from the sheer intensity and power behind Kyuhyun’s hips. He hasn’t forgotten who he’s dealing with, not for a second, so he slows his movement down just a bit and follows Ryeowook into the bright lights that accompany climax.
If he didn’t already know God exists, that would be his proof.
-----------------------------
Ryeowook comes with a strangled cry, his lips finding their way back to Kyuhyun’s. Both teenagers drift into slumber, content and calmed by the newly formed relationship. Kyuhyun never thought his first time would be with a boy, but if he had to choose anyone in the world it would always be this boy.
When they wake up again, Ryeowook’s parents are standing above them with disgust and anger painted across their faces.
They grab Kyuhyun first, blaming him for turning their son into a monster and corrupting his small body with his own. They throw him out into the hall along with his clothing.
Soon after, Ryeowook disappears once more. And it’s not like the years before, when Ryeowook simply had a conflicting schedule, he’s truly gone. Kyuhyun knows because, when he finally gathers enough courage to return there, there’s nothing left in the once accommodating and charming abode.
Ryeowook, luckily, had left a single piece of paper in the apartment.
“Kyuhyun-shii.
My parents forced me to move away because they believe you are the reason I’ve become so hateful toward them in the last few years. Aside from that, homosexuality is considered a sin to my family, and though I would usually agree, I don’t see you just as a man-you’re a human above all else, a human who loves me for who I am.
Please wait for me, and don’t forget me.”
Kyuhyun is tearing up before he reaches the last sentence; he can’t believe Ryeowook is really gone.
~~
For days and days, Kyuhyun locks himself in his room, leaving only to attend classes and appointments. One day when his mother goes up to check on him, wondering why he hasn’t come down yet for breakfast, she discovers his immobile body lying on the carpet.
Fallen angels aren’t named that way for nothing.
-----------------------------
When Kyuhyun wakes up and Ryeowook is still there, nuzzling into him like an infant, he’s overwhelmed with joy. The smaller man’s lips are curled upward in a subtle smile, even while his mind has succumbed to dreamland.
He still has a horrible job - beyond horrible, it’s loathsome - but at least now eternity won’t feel as long. And, though he’s certain rules are broken for both parties, the devil hasn’t given him any specific restrictions pertaining to his love life, and if he stubbornly decided to now, he would lose his number one employee. God would have to deal with Ryeowook’s love; he’s always going on about forgiveness, he should get it.
Kyuhyun smirks, petting Ryeowook’s hair; maybe being an immortal lawyer can have its perks, too.
///THE END\\\
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