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100 fic challenge [#016.] Quiet Places, Yehsung/Ryeowook, one-sided!Henry/Ryeowook
Title: This quiet house, part 2
Length: 1,726 words
Author: shieldkitten
Rating: PG (severe angst, character death)
Summary: Without Yehsung, Ryeowook is left alone with his thoughts and his nostalgia
Author's Note: Continuation of this fic. I didn't feel like leaving it there, without any resolution for Ryeowook. I do warn you, this made me cry writing it, so. :/
The house is deathly quiet, deathly so because death hangs in shrouds across the walls, in whispers in the hallway, in an empty room that sits untouched.
The phone rings.
"Hello? Hyung?"
"Ryeowookie?"
"...Sungmin-hyung? Did I call the wrong number?"
"N-no. Oh, Wookie, oh..."
"What?" Ryeowook's voice rises in panic. "What's happened? Where's Yehsung-hyung? Sungmin-hyung! Sungmin-hyung!"
What are you thinking about, hyung?
What it'd be like to die.
Don't be so morbid. You'll live forever.
He blames himself, because who else is there to blame? Not the people who were there (but weren't, they said, and everyone blamed themselves), not the people who weren't there (who should've been, they cry, and everyone blamed themselves), not Yehsung, who must have tried, for the longest time, to stay alive, because Yehsung is a fighter (was a fighter) and so it must've been his fault, because he had promised to call everyday, and some days he hadn't.
Girls screaming at the airport. Ryeowook wants to scream back.
"Why are we going this way?" Donghae asks as they near their apartments. It is the back way, the long route to the elevators. Hankyung hushes him and jerks his head at Ryeowook and Ryeowook turns green with thoughts of police tape and cement damp with blood.
("Don't," Henry said, crushing his lips against Ryeowook's to stem the flow of broken words Ryeowook used to paint the scene, and Ryeowook hated himself enough to kiss back.)
The house is quiet. It's full of people, but it's quiet.
Someone pulls him into a hug and he's vaguely aware that it smells like Kibum, but his eyes are fixed on the window ledge. When Kibum lets him go Ryeowook walks forward and kneels by it, running his hands over the cold paint, pressing his cheek against it, and he cries brokenly because that is how he is now, broken, that is how he is forever.
What do you think you'll be doing when you get older?
I don't think about these kinds of things.
Really? I do.
What will you be doing?
Living on my own, writing songs, maybe I'll keep singing but I'm not sure. Sometimes I think I want to be a manager, but it's a lot of stress, isn't it?
Mm. Living on your own, huh.
Well, I didn't mean... I mean. If you wanted to... That... Oh, hyung.
Heh heh.
He is vaguely aware of movement, of voices, of people, of hands on his shoulders, on his hair, on his cheek, stinging slaps and shouts of 'wake up!' that go right through him (and out the other side, and they fall, like Yehsung fell, and join him the way Ryeowook can't), and people keep lifting him and laying him down on soft beds, but he always comes back to sit and dream.
("What are you daydreaming about, hyung?" Henry asked as he rested his head against Ryeowook's shoulder, and Ryeowook realised with a start that the answer wasn't Yehsung.)
"You have to eat something," Hankyung says, and spoonfuls of porridge find their way down the front of Ryeowook's shirt because his throat is full of songs he has been waiting to sing for ears that won't ever hear again, and there's no room, no room for air or sobs or screams and certainly no room for porridge.
Shindong bathes him, one hand supporting his neck so he doesn't sink in and let the water fill the spaces the sadness doesn't. He says words Ryeowook doesn't listen to, and Ryeowook thinks the drip, drip, drip on his face is just water from the faucet until one droplet slides down his cheek and onto his lips and he tastes salt that isn't of the sea.
"I'm sorry," he says, and if he had the strength he would wipe Shindong's eyes.
Do you think I'm poor?
What? No!
Because if you didn't think I was poor you wouldn't do stupid things like buy me two hundred thousand won watches and expect me to keep them.
I just thought it suited you.
Please, this has 'property of Ryeowook' stamped all over its tacky golden face.
I thought you would like it.
Well I don't, so tomorrow we're returning this and using the money to get obnoxiously tacky couple rings that we'll keep in boxes and won't wear in public and this, Wookie, is the proper way of marking someone as your property.
Eeteuk's fingers brush past a scar on Ryeowook's collar bone as he buttons up Ryeowook's shirt, and he's silent as he loops the tie around Ryeowook's collar and tightens it gently. Ryeowook feels Eeteuk's fingers trembling against the cotton on his chest and he slips his hands around them. Eeteuk buries his head in Ryeowook's small chest and his shoulders heave.
("I just miss home so much," Henry cried as Ryeowook whispered comforting words in his ear. "Sometimes I think if it weren't for you I'd just give up and go home.")
Heechul brushes out Ryeowook's hair.
It's so quiet in the car, just Ryeowook and Yehsung alone in the backseat, not even the music turned on, just the sound of the engine as Kangin follows the procession of cars ahead, and Eeteuk's shoulders still heave even if the tears don't flow.
So what do you think?
There's a lot of kneeling.
And?
The singing's nice. Why aren't you in the choir?
Do I look like a choirboy to you, Ryeowook?
They read latin words printed in Hangul, tongues stumbling over the unfamiliar words. Yehsung liked the latin language, liked the way the words rumbled from his chest, liked the way it made Ryeowook press his ear into the crook of Yehsung's neck, just to listen, just to be closer to his voice.
("Don't stop singing," Henry pleaded, even though it was two hours past midnight, and Ryeowook couldn't bear to disappoint him.)
Kyuhyun finds him standing in front of the register book, pen in hand, seeping black ink onto the page so it blots out the last word of the question Ryeowook is having so much trouble answering.
"Put down 'I love him'," Kyuhyun says, and Ryeowook prints the words neatly, telling Yehsung's family that this is how he knew their deceased.
I forget birthdays.
What?
I forget birthdays, and White Day, and sometimes Christmas. I never know when Seollal is falling next year, and my mom always has to call to remind me to go home for Chuseok.
Er, okay.
But this day last year was the first time I looked at you and wondered what it'd be like to kiss you.
Oh.
Just thought you'd like to know.
They bury Yehsung with his head to the East, and Ryeowook thinks the morning sun will be too bright and it will wake him up and Yehsung will be cranky on judgement day and tell God he needs a cup of coffee before he can function properly so God had better not expect him to do any soul-searching until he's been sufficiently caffeinated.
Ryeowook laughs, behind his hand at first, choking down the snickers and squirming in his seat, but they spill past his fingers and people are looking at him, scandalised, and Ryeowook thinks this is just too funny so he stops trying to pretend he doesn't. He throws his head back and lets out peal after peal of laughter until there are tears streaming down the side of his face and he is slumped breathless on Siwon's shoulder, the occasional giggle stifled in Siwon's sleeve.
The giggles stop long before the tears do.
"I'm sorry," Ryeowook says as Siwon shifts, his damp sleeve sticking to his skin.
"It's okay," Siwon says. Ryeowook shuts his eyes and the tears feel hot behind his eyelids.
At the hospital Ryeowook will sleep across three chairs, and he won't leave when people beg him to leave, not even when Yehsung's parents tell him they don't blame him and tell him to go home. Henry will call every day, but Ryeowook won't answer. He will wait, forever if he has to.
Finally, the day will come.
"He's awake," the doctor will say, as if he knew all along that it would happen.
"Can I see him?" Ryeowook will ask, and the doctor will say no, not yet, Yehsung isn't strong enough for visitors, so Ryeowook will wait some more. He will lie down in front of the door and sing into the gaps and let Yehsung know that he is here. He is here and he will be here as long as he has to be.
The doctor will let him into the room days later, and when that happens he won't bring flowers or balloons or fruit baskets, he will bring his fingers over the sickly pale skin of Yehsung's face and he will bring his lips to the too-light pulse point on Yehsung's neck and he will tell him he loves him and there will be no more interruptions.
Yehsung's heartbeat will get stronger.
Yehsung's wounds will heal.
Yehsung's bones will fit back together.
Yehsung will breathe on his own again.
"I love you," Ryeowook will tell him, as they lift the oxygen mask off of his face, and Yehsung's lips will move, and Ryeowook will hear him even if no one else can.
They won't get married, but they will exchange vows, and when Yehsung is sleeping, sometimes Ryeowook will trail his finger along a white scar, and Yehsung will shiver, but not wake up.
They will grow old together, and Ryeowook will tell Yehsung he loves him every day, until he passes away with a smile on his face, and Yehsung will pass two days later.
Ryeowook lives on his own in a small one-bedroom apartment and writes songs for young talents that tell of ambition, of failures, of being with friends, of the moon, of rainbows, once even of a girl named Bada, but he doesn't write of love.
("Please," Henry begged, hand on Ryeowook's elbow. "I love you. Why won't you let me? It's been four years since-" and Ryeowook left that day and never came back.)
The house is quiet, but if Ryeowook leaves the windows open so the night can come in, bringing sounds of cars passing and people talking and snatches of music and television, it's not too quiet.
On Sundays he visits a grave with an mp3 player and a bottle of soju and after one is empty and the other has run out of juice he lies cheek pressed on the grass and tells it he is sorry.
When Yehsung stops picking up the phone, Ryeowook will take the first flight back to Seoul, and they will talk things through, talk all night if they have to, and if Yehsung wants, Ryeowook will quit SJ-M, but Yehsung won't want that, Yehsung will understand, and let him go, and Ryeowook will call every day, door locked so there are no interruptions, and tell Yehsung he loves him, and somedays when Yehsung is feeling especially lonely he will say it back.
They won't get married, but they will exchange vows, and when Yehsung is sleeping, sometimes Ryeowook will sing to him in Chinese, and Yehsung will shift and sigh, but he won't wake up.
They will grow old together, and Ryeowook will tell Yehsung he loves him every day, until he passes away with a smile on his face, and Yehsung will pass two days later.
Title: This quiet house, part 2
Length: 1,726 words
Author: shieldkitten
Rating: PG (severe angst, character death)
Summary: Without Yehsung, Ryeowook is left alone with his thoughts and his nostalgia
Author's Note: Continuation of this fic. I didn't feel like leaving it there, without any resolution for Ryeowook. I do warn you, this made me cry writing it, so. :/
The house is deathly quiet, deathly so because death hangs in shrouds across the walls, in whispers in the hallway, in an empty room that sits untouched.
The phone rings.
"Hello? Hyung?"
"Ryeowookie?"
"...Sungmin-hyung? Did I call the wrong number?"
"N-no. Oh, Wookie, oh..."
"What?" Ryeowook's voice rises in panic. "What's happened? Where's Yehsung-hyung? Sungmin-hyung! Sungmin-hyung!"
What are you thinking about, hyung?
What it'd be like to die.
Don't be so morbid. You'll live forever.
He blames himself, because who else is there to blame? Not the people who were there (but weren't, they said, and everyone blamed themselves), not the people who weren't there (who should've been, they cry, and everyone blamed themselves), not Yehsung, who must have tried, for the longest time, to stay alive, because Yehsung is a fighter (was a fighter) and so it must've been his fault, because he had promised to call everyday, and some days he hadn't.
Girls screaming at the airport. Ryeowook wants to scream back.
"Why are we going this way?" Donghae asks as they near their apartments. It is the back way, the long route to the elevators. Hankyung hushes him and jerks his head at Ryeowook and Ryeowook turns green with thoughts of police tape and cement damp with blood.
("Don't," Henry said, crushing his lips against Ryeowook's to stem the flow of broken words Ryeowook used to paint the scene, and Ryeowook hated himself enough to kiss back.)
The house is quiet. It's full of people, but it's quiet.
Someone pulls him into a hug and he's vaguely aware that it smells like Kibum, but his eyes are fixed on the window ledge. When Kibum lets him go Ryeowook walks forward and kneels by it, running his hands over the cold paint, pressing his cheek against it, and he cries brokenly because that is how he is now, broken, that is how he is forever.
What do you think you'll be doing when you get older?
I don't think about these kinds of things.
Really? I do.
What will you be doing?
Living on my own, writing songs, maybe I'll keep singing but I'm not sure. Sometimes I think I want to be a manager, but it's a lot of stress, isn't it?
Mm. Living on your own, huh.
Well, I didn't mean... I mean. If you wanted to... That... Oh, hyung.
Heh heh.
He is vaguely aware of movement, of voices, of people, of hands on his shoulders, on his hair, on his cheek, stinging slaps and shouts of 'wake up!' that go right through him (and out the other side, and they fall, like Yehsung fell, and join him the way Ryeowook can't), and people keep lifting him and laying him down on soft beds, but he always comes back to sit and dream.
("What are you daydreaming about, hyung?" Henry asked as he rested his head against Ryeowook's shoulder, and Ryeowook realised with a start that the answer wasn't Yehsung.)
"You have to eat something," Hankyung says, and spoonfuls of porridge find their way down the front of Ryeowook's shirt because his throat is full of songs he has been waiting to sing for ears that won't ever hear again, and there's no room, no room for air or sobs or screams and certainly no room for porridge.
Shindong bathes him, one hand supporting his neck so he doesn't sink in and let the water fill the spaces the sadness doesn't. He says words Ryeowook doesn't listen to, and Ryeowook thinks the drip, drip, drip on his face is just water from the faucet until one droplet slides down his cheek and onto his lips and he tastes salt that isn't of the sea.
"I'm sorry," he says, and if he had the strength he would wipe Shindong's eyes.
Do you think I'm poor?
What? No!
Because if you didn't think I was poor you wouldn't do stupid things like buy me two hundred thousand won watches and expect me to keep them.
I just thought it suited you.
Please, this has 'property of Ryeowook' stamped all over its tacky golden face.
I thought you would like it.
Well I don't, so tomorrow we're returning this and using the money to get obnoxiously tacky couple rings that we'll keep in boxes and won't wear in public and this, Wookie, is the proper way of marking someone as your property.
Eeteuk's fingers brush past a scar on Ryeowook's collar bone as he buttons up Ryeowook's shirt, and he's silent as he loops the tie around Ryeowook's collar and tightens it gently. Ryeowook feels Eeteuk's fingers trembling against the cotton on his chest and he slips his hands around them. Eeteuk buries his head in Ryeowook's small chest and his shoulders heave.
("I just miss home so much," Henry cried as Ryeowook whispered comforting words in his ear. "Sometimes I think if it weren't for you I'd just give up and go home.")
Heechul brushes out Ryeowook's hair.
It's so quiet in the car, just Ryeowook and Yehsung alone in the backseat, not even the music turned on, just the sound of the engine as Kangin follows the procession of cars ahead, and Eeteuk's shoulders still heave even if the tears don't flow.
So what do you think?
There's a lot of kneeling.
And?
The singing's nice. Why aren't you in the choir?
Do I look like a choirboy to you, Ryeowook?
They read latin words printed in Hangul, tongues stumbling over the unfamiliar words. Yehsung liked the latin language, liked the way the words rumbled from his chest, liked the way it made Ryeowook press his ear into the crook of Yehsung's neck, just to listen, just to be closer to his voice.
("Don't stop singing," Henry pleaded, even though it was two hours past midnight, and Ryeowook couldn't bear to disappoint him.)
Kyuhyun finds him standing in front of the register book, pen in hand, seeping black ink onto the page so it blots out the last word of the question Ryeowook is having so much trouble answering.
"Put down 'I love him'," Kyuhyun says, and Ryeowook prints the words neatly, telling Yehsung's family that this is how he knew their deceased.
I forget birthdays.
What?
I forget birthdays, and White Day, and sometimes Christmas. I never know when Seollal is falling next year, and my mom always has to call to remind me to go home for Chuseok.
Er, okay.
But this day last year was the first time I looked at you and wondered what it'd be like to kiss you.
Oh.
Just thought you'd like to know.
They bury Yehsung with his head to the East, and Ryeowook thinks the morning sun will be too bright and it will wake him up and Yehsung will be cranky on judgement day and tell God he needs a cup of coffee before he can function properly so God had better not expect him to do any soul-searching until he's been sufficiently caffeinated.
Ryeowook laughs, behind his hand at first, choking down the snickers and squirming in his seat, but they spill past his fingers and people are looking at him, scandalised, and Ryeowook thinks this is just too funny so he stops trying to pretend he doesn't. He throws his head back and lets out peal after peal of laughter until there are tears streaming down the side of his face and he is slumped breathless on Siwon's shoulder, the occasional giggle stifled in Siwon's sleeve.
The giggles stop long before the tears do.
"I'm sorry," Ryeowook says as Siwon shifts, his damp sleeve sticking to his skin.
"It's okay," Siwon says. Ryeowook shuts his eyes and the tears feel hot behind his eyelids.
At the hospital Ryeowook will sleep across three chairs, and he won't leave when people beg him to leave, not even when Yehsung's parents tell him they don't blame him and tell him to go home. Henry will call every day, but Ryeowook won't answer. He will wait, forever if he has to.
Finally, the day will come.
"He's awake," the doctor will say, as if he knew all along that it would happen.
"Can I see him?" Ryeowook will ask, and the doctor will say no, not yet, Yehsung isn't strong enough for visitors, so Ryeowook will wait some more. He will lie down in front of the door and sing into the gaps and let Yehsung know that he is here. He is here and he will be here as long as he has to be.
The doctor will let him into the room days later, and when that happens he won't bring flowers or balloons or fruit baskets, he will bring his fingers over the sickly pale skin of Yehsung's face and he will bring his lips to the too-light pulse point on Yehsung's neck and he will tell him he loves him and there will be no more interruptions.
Yehsung's heartbeat will get stronger.
Yehsung's wounds will heal.
Yehsung's bones will fit back together.
Yehsung will breathe on his own again.
"I love you," Ryeowook will tell him, as they lift the oxygen mask off of his face, and Yehsung's lips will move, and Ryeowook will hear him even if no one else can.
They won't get married, but they will exchange vows, and when Yehsung is sleeping, sometimes Ryeowook will trail his finger along a white scar, and Yehsung will shiver, but not wake up.
They will grow old together, and Ryeowook will tell Yehsung he loves him every day, until he passes away with a smile on his face, and Yehsung will pass two days later.
Ryeowook lives on his own in a small one-bedroom apartment and writes songs for young talents that tell of ambition, of failures, of being with friends, of the moon, of rainbows, once even of a girl named Bada, but he doesn't write of love.
("Please," Henry begged, hand on Ryeowook's elbow. "I love you. Why won't you let me? It's been four years since-" and Ryeowook left that day and never came back.)
The house is quiet, but if Ryeowook leaves the windows open so the night can come in, bringing sounds of cars passing and people talking and snatches of music and television, it's not too quiet.
On Sundays he visits a grave with an mp3 player and a bottle of soju and after one is empty and the other has run out of juice he lies cheek pressed on the grass and tells it he is sorry.
When Yehsung stops picking up the phone, Ryeowook will take the first flight back to Seoul, and they will talk things through, talk all night if they have to, and if Yehsung wants, Ryeowook will quit SJ-M, but Yehsung won't want that, Yehsung will understand, and let him go, and Ryeowook will call every day, door locked so there are no interruptions, and tell Yehsung he loves him, and somedays when Yehsung is feeling especially lonely he will say it back.
They won't get married, but they will exchange vows, and when Yehsung is sleeping, sometimes Ryeowook will sing to him in Chinese, and Yehsung will shift and sigh, but he won't wake up.
They will grow old together, and Ryeowook will tell Yehsung he loves him every day, until he passes away with a smile on his face, and Yehsung will pass two days later.