어밀리어 (itami_battosai) wrote in time_rewritten,
어밀리어
itami_battosai
time_rewritten

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[FIC] Tear the Wings, Now We Can Fly (1/?)

title: tear the wings, now we can fly (1/?)
pairing: kangin/eeteuk (other suju members to appear)
rating: R (for future violence/nasty!ness)
warnings: none yet
summary: what would you do if you found him in the rain?

notes: this was kickstarted by my muses after reading ava_lava's amazing piece here. i hope you guys like this story. :)

disclaimer: i do not own the members of super junior. damn.


Kim Youngwoon is not very religious. He had only gone to church with his family, but when he turned eighteen his visits were sporadic at best. This has not improved with time, evident in the thumbs-up from Heechul, the smirk from Donghae, and the disapproving glare from Siwon every day.

His high spirits and optimism are enough, he tells himself.

Kim Youngwoon doesn’t need anyone else.

No…

***

It happens during a pretty bad thunderstorm. All important moments in life, Ryeowook had told him once, happen when it rains in sheets. These sheets were keeping Youngwoon from speeding down the road towards home. He can barely see five feet in front of his windshield.

So seeing the shock of white on the side, lunging for the road, startles him so badly he has to brake hard enough to hear the tires squeal. He’s stiff, but thankfully he doesn’t feel the bump that would indicate he’d hit the white, so he relaxes…a little. There’s still the white.

He hurries out of his car after quickly flipping his emergency lights on (although there’s no one else on the road at this time of night). He’s soaked within seconds of stepping towards the white whatever-it-was, but that suddenly becomes the least of his concerns as the white becomes clear.

The white is a he.

He is on the ground, curled up, halfway between getting up to run and sinking onto the wet concrete to disappear into it. Not that he could because his skin is so pale. Not to mention the white wings (real fuckin’ wings, Youngwoon thinks to himself over and over again), curving down, partially concealing him. Caramel hair sticks to his face, some parts framing wide brown eyes that are locked on him.

Eyes that hold fear.

And as Youngwoon looks him over again, he sees why the fear is there. The pale skin on what he can see of his arms are peppered with red and purple-blue. He can see more purple-blue on legs that stick out momentarily from underneath the wings. And those wings – red mars white feathers here and there, and they’re trembling in the wind and rain in the light of the car’s headlights.

He reaches out a hand, and he shrinks back. The movement is jerky, all instinct and yet graceful at the same time. The fear in his eyes grows.

“It’s okay,” Youngwoon tells him over the rain and squats down. He holds out his hand again, this time low with his palm up. “It’s okay.”

He says something, but Youngwoon doesn’t understand him. He doesn’t even know if there were words, briefly thinking of silver clinking together, but by the time he starts to think about it the thought has slipped his mind.

“I won’t hurt you,” Youngwoon tells him, but again he speaks and shakes his head.

Lightning flashes over-head, as if reminding Youngwoon that yes, there’s still a pretty bad storm going on, he should really get back home. He sees him flinch, his wings curling down some more.

“Come on,” and he moves his hand out again. “Let’s get you out of the rain.”

No response.

The word leaves his lips before he can think about it, before he can wonder how it got there in the first place: “Eeteuk.” And now he looks up, and something has pushed down the fear a bit. “Trust me.”

A few moments more, the rain keeps pounding down, and then he reaches out tentatively, as if Youngwoon would pull it back, and fingers touch Youngwoon’s palm oh so softly. Youngwoon feels a thrill of something from that small brush, but he is quick to push it aside as he holds it gently, guides him up. He is still hunched a bit, wings curving around him like a cape, but Youngwoon can now see that he is naked behind the feathers.

He moves the passenger seat of his car back as far as he can (why doesn’t he just put him in the back, it’s so much roomier, he asks himself much later) and watches him slip slowly inside. Somehow, and Youngwoon cannot explain it, the wings shrink, shift, and accommodate to the space, still around his body. His head is down, focused on his lap or the floor.

As Youngwoon runs back to get into his seat, he sees the odd white feather or two left on the road. One has a few drops of red on it. He briefly toys with the idea of a fallen angel from above, immediately dismissing it as he imagines Heechul crumpled on the floor from laughter and Siwon with a smug smile on his face.

But as he shuts the door to start the car, he sneaks a look at him in the passenger seat, sees his wrists, sees the red raw skin. He thinks back on the fear in those soft brown eyes and wonders, as he drives, who would restrain and hurt this person who speaks in clinking silver.

tbc...
Tags: !fic:chapter, super junior
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