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wavesmp3 · 3 years

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eurydice

juyeon x reader - retelling of orpheus and eurydice, steampunk au - warnings: mentions of death - wc. 3.4k - a/n: originally posted for another group but yolo

juyeon hadn’t expected the underworld to be this quiet. although, when he thinks about it, he isn’t sure what he did expect. there’s an eerie stillness in the silent air that drips down his torso and dangles by his feet begging him to stay. be weary of the underworld the guide had warned him it lives to tempt fools like you.

‘fool’ was the word the guide had used. juyeon had denied it in the moment. “love,” he said to the guide, with a determined set to his jaw, “i’m doing this for love.” but now as he wanders the silent darkness and unnatural heat of the underworld with only a lantern to light his passage, he thinks that perhaps the guide wasn’t too far off. for his love made him foolish enough to make a deal with a demon and travel the underworld all in search of you.

“you came.” you say to him once he finds you with a voice so quiet it almost gets lost before it reaches his ears. you don’t look shocked to see him. you don’t even look happy. in fact, you barely look like you. juyeon doesn’t recognize the hollowed shape of your face and the dull line your lips make. he found your body in the darkness, but for a moment, juyeon can’t be positive he found you with it.

“of course,” he gulps, and you don’t make any indication that you’ve even heard him speak. he swallows again and shifts the lantern to his other hand, bouncing slightly on his heels. he fights the urge to shove his fists into pockets, and another, more prominent urge to turn around and run straight for the sun. “you waited.”

“well, yeah,” you shrug, “what else is a dead person supposed to do?”

juyeon remembers the day you died. remembers it too well, almost. he remembers the ringing in his ears and a hollowness inside his chest. he remembers the way he couldn’t cry. the way he couldn’t feel sad. he remembers hearing that you had died and thinking there was no way in hell he’d let it stay like that. juyeon knew, from the moment he heard, that he’d come and find you.

juyeon hasn’t cried. but right now, staring at the face of someone who’s been dead for too long, he feels like he just might.

“you made a deal with a demon.” you repeat, voice still void of anything sounding remotely like you.

“yeah.” he says, picking at a spot below his chin, faking nonchalance in the same way he would’ve when he first met you. the same nonchalance that you used to poke his side and tease him for. but when he does it right now, you barely seem to register the words let alone the tone of them. “for you. i made a deal for you.”

you nod. “what is it?”

“you get to come with me back to the real world...”

“...but?”

“but you have to walk behind me the entire time. and I can’t look back. not once, not until we’re back up above.”

“and what happens if you do?”

“you die.” he waits a beat. “again.”

you utter something incomprehensible, a small croak that sounds faintly like a scoff. “kind of like eurydice.”

juyeon leans forward. “what?”

you meet his eyes suddenly, as if only now realizing he’s been next to you this entire time. you blink. “nevermind.”

you don’t make a sound after that, don’t even move a muscle. juyeon didn’t expect you to be elated, but he did expect you to at least be surprised. and your lack of shock, your lack of… you, creates a knee-deep river of doubt in his mind. “you don’t have to come with me.” he says with what he hopes is reassurance. “i didn’t come here to force you back. i came here to ask.”

and the silence that comes after he says it stretches into eternity. an infinite eternity that ends the second your mouth twitches, just barely, into what juyeon swears is a smile. “you came.”

he inhales, and the air tastes faintly like hope. “i couldn’t let you go.”

“okay.” you accept, fiddling with something juyeon can’t make out in your hand. and the admission, makes him release a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. juyeon knew coming down here was a shot in the dark. literally. his friends had made sure he knew. even the guide had made it clear: sometimes the dead don’t want to return. so, yeah, juyeon knew there was no guarantee you’d want to follow him back to the real world and no guarantee you’d agree to the demon’s terms. but all that doubt, all those voices telling him no seem so insignificant when he hears you say: “i’ll come with you.”

you meet his eyes again, and this time they look a little more like yours.

throughout his relationship with you, juyeon grew fond of the way you cracked your knuckles and joints. it’s stress relief you’d tell him popping your neck for the fifth time that morning. he’d found it odd at first, concerning even. but now days, juyeon can’t seem to find the way you crack your back every time you get up as anything but endearing.

even now, as you sit on the tattered, green couch you bought off the old apothecary owner, juyeon feels nothing more than a small pang of affection for the way you crack your knuckles while reading a book.

“hey,” juyeon begins, sitting next to you on the couch, “eric gave this to me today.”

he hands you the folded ad for a ticket to center circle. the once-in-a-lifetime tickets that were only offered once every few years.

you study the ad for a while, running your finger against the crease in the paper. juyeon shifts uncomfortably in his seat while you do.

“i don’t want it,” you shrug, folding the paper back up and tossing it on the coffee table.

“but,” juyeon refutes, eyes trained on the discarded paper and brows furrowed, “it’s your dream.”

“you dummy,” you tease with a numbingly sweet smile. and for a moment, you don’t say anything else. instead you capture his hand and pull on each of his fingers, cracking his knuckles like you do with yours. and it’s while staring at his hands that you mutter, “dreams change, you know.”

the walk to the real world begins quietly.

“do you remember the myth of orpheus and eurydice?” you say from somewhere behind juyeon, voice quiet and yet far. and yes, it must be far because the words sound like they’ve been echoing off the rocks and stones for years.

“remind me.”

“from what i can remember, they were in love.” you wait a moment, and juyeon could bet that if he turned around right now, he’d find you somewhere far behind him, cracking your knuckles. “and when eurydice died, orpheus convinced hades to let her go on the same terms as your deal with the demon. or something like that.”

“i see,” juyeon whispers. “so what happened when they made it back to earth?”

“that’s the thing,” you say, this time nearly yelling the words, “they didn’t. orpheus looked back at the last second.”

juyeon stops walking. “well, that’s not going to be us.”

he hears you sigh. “i know.”

juyeon starts walking again, holding up the lantern that emits just enough light to see his feet and nothing else. “so why’d he look back?”

“i don’t think the myth really says. some say he got impatient. others say orpheus began to doubt that eurydice was actually behind him and then also doubt that hades would ever let her go. but I think they’re all wrong. maybe he looked back because eurydice asked him to.”

the implication makes juyeon gulp. “why would she do that?”

you don’t answer the question. “why do you think orpheus turned?”

“i don’t know.”

“turn around and you will.”

“that’s not funny.”

quietly, you say: “it wasn’t a joke.”

juyeon pretends to not hear.

when juyeon realized he loved you, it wasn’t something big or spectacular. it wasn’t a tidal wave of emotion that crashed and dragged him below the tide. rather, it was a small wave of adoration that lapped by his feet, a cool and calm sensation that made him want to dig his heels in the sand and wade further into the water.

when juyeon realizes he loves you, you’re sitting on his kitchen counter, complaining about work.

“i love you.” he admits, walking towards where you sit. he doesn’t miss the way you still and the way you refuse to look anywhere but at your own hands. and juyeon knows it’s too soon, too fast. it’s only been two months since he’s known you. one month since you started dating. he knows it’s too soon to have fallen in love. but that doesn’t really change the fact that he has. he repeats it, feeling a deep need to cement this moment further into his memory and another to memorize the image of you sitting on his kitchen counter smiling at your hands.

“you don’t have to say it back or anything,” he tells you, wrapping his arms around your waist, “i didn’t say it so that you would-” silently, you cut him off, leaning forward until your forehead is pressed against his. “i just wanted you to know cause i do,” he continues softly, “i love you.”

your eyes flit up to his, lashes brushing against his brow bone. “i know.” it’s then that you take his face between his palms and press your lips to his.

it’s three weeks after that moment in his kitchen, that you return the statement, although you don’t return it with the words themself.

he meets you on one of the benches outside the warehouse after work. when you see him approaching, something seems to visibly soften throughout your entire body. you pull him down to sit next to you on the bench, wrap your arms around his torso under his heavy coat, and bury your face into the space between his shoulder and his chest.

juyeon places a kiss on your temple. “you okay?”

“i had the worst day at the plant.” you mumble into his coat.

“do you wanna talk about it?”

“no,” you hesitate as if deciding what it is that you do want. after a moment you answer: “i just want you near.”

“do you feel that?” juyeon hears you ask.

“feel what?”

“the rain?”

he holds out his palm and stares at the darkness above. how could it possibly rain in a place like this, juyeon wonders to himself.

“no.” he finally answers. “i don’t feel anything.”

“it’s pouring!” he can’t tell. he doesn’t hear the rain, doesn’t hear the thunder you claim to have heard. but he hears your voice, and it sounds warbled as if coming from behind curtains and curtains of pounding rain. he can tell you’re yelling to be heard over it. “you still don’t feel it?”

“no!” he yells back.

“i’m tired.”

“we’re almost there.” he says to the darkness that stretches before him, praying that it bounces off the emptiness of this world and finds you. “we just have to make it through the night.”

“no, juyeon, i’m tired.” you repeat frustrated. and with the way you say it, juyeon isn’t sure what exactly you’re tired of.

“do you remember your first storm in ironport?” he asks, a desperate attempt to take your mind off the current storm, and another, more hopeless effort to make you miss home.

“yeah,” you murmur, voice no longer a desperate yell. and yet somehow, juyeon hears you better now than he did before. “of course i remember.”

the day of your first ironport strom is also the day you kiss juyeon.

in all transparency, juyeon hadn’t noticed the dark clouds gathering above and the distant rumbling coming from the farmlands in the west. he’d been too distracted with watching you nod off during the trolley ride back from the warehouse, too distracted trying to make sure your head stayed perfectly balanced on his shoulder.

but by the time the trolley does squeak and stutter to your stop, it’s pouring. you slowly get up and hover by the exit, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “i bet you hadn’t insisted on taking me home now.” you say between a yawn.

juyeon shakes his head and joins you by the exit, wearing a smile that feels too bright against the weather outside. “make a run for it?” he suggests.

you scrunch your nose and crack your knuckles. “yeah, okay.” you find his hand, and fit it against your own. “ready?”

juyeon swallows the fluttering in his stomach. “ready.”

despite the running and shocked yelps, you’re drenched before you even make it to the end of the street. and it’s sometime after the second turn that you both give up entirely, jumping into puddles at the corner of rosebud and kicking water at each other.

“look,” you exclaim, pointing at the sky, “there’s a break in the clouds.” juyeon looks up at where you point. ironport is known for its ferocious storms with dark grey and angry clouds that tumble across the sky and linger there for days on end. juyeon, living in ironport his whole life, has seen his fair share of the town’s storms, but this, juyeon has never seen. over the farmlands, the clouds part across the sky and a golden light comes pouring over the grassy hills. your voice comes out low. “it’s beautiful isn’t it?”

his eyes land on you. “yeah, it is.”

and juyeon’s so lost, mindlessly staring at you that he almost doesn’t register the way you stare back at him with a lopsided smile, grab his color, and pull him towards you until his lips meet yours.

almost.

“still raining?” juyeon asks, just to check if you’re still behind.

“yeah.”

“you must be drenched.”

“i am.” you pause. “and cold.” it must be a test, juyeon thinks. or a trial of some sort, because how is he supposed to not turn around right at this moment and give you something to make you warm.

after some time, you ask: “how do you know you’ve made a mistake?”

he tilts his head at the question. it’s an odd question, yes. but something to pass the time he assumes. “you know the sensation you get on the air lift right before the drop by the watchtower.” he waits for some affirmation that you’ve heard. it never comes. “it feels like that for me. like a rock in my gut. i know i’ve made a mistake because i feel the wrongness of it.”

you let out a small cough. “do you feel that right now?”

“no.” something akin to fear settles underneath his tongue. “do you?”

when eric asks if you and juyeon are friends, juyeon doesn’t think to mention the way you two have been hanging out at the warehouse every day after work or how much he enjoys talking with you. it doesn’t phase juyeon to describe the lack of air in his lungs each time you’re so much as mentioned or the smile that appears whenever you’re near. instead, he shrugs, and says, “yeah, i guess we’ve gotten close.”

“it stopped raining,” you murmur softly, sounding close. so close juyeon thinks he can smell the rainwater dripping from your clothes and hear your arms flailing in the darkness. it takes a moment for him to realize, you actually are.

“when did you get so close?”

“oh, juyeon,” you smile, or at least he imagines you do, “i’ve never been far.”

the second time juyeon sees you is not a coincidence. he’s been spending every evening at the warehouse since your first conversation together, hoping at some point you’ll walk in with the other plant workers. until finally one night you do.

“small world.” he begins, meeting you at the bar.

“yeah,” you reply, and a sudden warmth fills juyeon when you purse your lips, as if there’s a private joke waiting on your tongue, “we’re all closer than we assume.”

the first thing juyeon thinks when a sort of warmth fills his body, is that there’s a fire growing in the dark abyss that is the road between the underworld and the real one.

it’s only when he hears you say, “juyeon is that the…?” does he realize that the warmth lingering in his fingertips is from the sun. the world around him is still entirely dark, the only light being from the lantern still. but before juyeon sees the light of the sun, he can feel the sunlight and taste it on his tongue.

“it’s almost over,” he says to the new warmth in his knees and to you who’s now so close behind him.

you don’t respond. and some small part of juyeon that’s buried under oceans of grief and love, knows what the silence means. a miniscule, almost negligible, part of juyeon knows how to interpret your lack of response.

but the larger, more intruding part of juyeon that can’t bear the idea of letting you go, selfishly asks, “what about your dream? what about center circle?”

you sigh, and it’s the first sound you’ve made since noticing the sun. “oh juyeon, i stopped caring about center circle the day i met you.”

the first time juyeon sees you is at the warehouse. and as soon as you enter with the other plant workers, juyeon knows you’re new. he can tell by the way you talk, with an accent that sounds too western to be from around here, and from the way your face is the only one he doesn’t know. curiosity is what he tells himself and eric when asked later that week. juyeon approaches you at the warehouse bar because he’s curious. although, curiosity doesn’t begin to explain the churning in his gut and the chill running down his spine as he does.

“hey,” he greets, resting his elbows against the bar. “i’m juyeon.”

you study him before answering, as if determining whether you should even bother with giving him your name. lucky for him, you do.

“you new around here?” he asks, despite knowing you are. the polite thing to do, he figures.

“what gave me away?” you snort.

“ironport’s a small town.” he shrugs, with a degree of nonchalance that doesn’t at all match the current pace of his heart. “the people that are born here tend to die here as well.”

“not me.” you mutter, shaking your head. “i’m certainly not dying in ironport.”

juyeon seats himself on the barstool next to you. “is there a preferred place of death then?”

“center circle.” you tell him, as the barkeep slides you your drink. “it’s been my dream since forever. i’ve worked my way up from the wallows. if i die before getting to the center circle, i’ll walk there from hell myself.”

“that’s insane.” he responds half-teasing, half-not.

you take a long sip from your drink. “i know.”

“and yet?”

you meet his eyes steadily. “and yet i can’t let it go.”

at the bottom of his gut juyeon again feels curiosity tug.

“juyeon,” you breathe, so close he can feel it on his shoulder. “come back to me.” he doesn’t respond, acts like he doesn’t even hear the words. instead, he steps forward, feels the warmth of the sun on his cheek, and then sinks back into the cool sensation of your forehead knocking against his neck.

“come back to me, okay?” you repeat into his back. “but don’t come back too soon.”

“and you’ll wait for me?” he asks, yearning for nothing more than to turn around and kiss your eyelids and nose and cheeks and lips. wanting nothing more than to turn around and memorize your face in all the ways he forgot to do while you were alive and on earth.

“well yeah,” you smile against his shirt, “what else is a dead person supposed to do?”

and for a small second, relishing in the sensation of your chest shaking with laughter against his back, juyeon feels at peace.

“so have you figured it out yet?” you start, lifting your chin from his shoulder, and interlocking your fingers with his. “have you figured out why orpheus turned?”

“no.” he returns, with a squeeze.

“but i guess i’m about to find out.”

#the boyz scenarios #the boyz x reader #the boyz imagines #juyeon x reader #juyeon scenarios #juyeon imagines #the boyz fanfic #the boyz angst #the boyz fluff #juyeon fanfic #juyeon fluff #juyeon angst #kpop scnearios #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic #mine #my writing #lowqualityseventeen #eurydice

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crystalrequiem · 5 years

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The Voice that Urged Orpheus

[Part 2/6(?)] [TRC] Summary: Kurogane is very hot, reasonably paranoid, and adds tallies to his running total of failed proposals. Tags: Kuro/Fai, Canon Universe, Post-Canon, Warnings: suggestive thoughts and implications (nothing graphic), So fluffy you may cry, Is it still slow-burn if they’re already in a relationship? because that’s basically what this is. [Part 1] [Part 3]

Hello again. Wow! the reaction to this was WAY stronger than I thought! I really appreciate all the love and feedback. It’s really kept me going. Hope you like this one as well! Still planning on eventual citrus content of some sort. we’ll see when we get there. This thing has the loosest outline I believe I’ve ever written.

He doesn’t manage to ask before the end of the night. They retire to their shared room, and Kurogane tries fruitlessly to summon meaning in the shape of words. Of course, alone with no one to interrupt them he has an even more difficult time staying focused on talk. Fai interrupts his thoughts with every breath—a gorgeous distraction he wants to lose his wits to again and again. Kurogane winds up forgoing verbal communication mid-sentence, finally overwhelmed by the sight of his love bathed in moonlight. Fai’s… enthusiastic response suggests he may have battled similar frustrations throughout Tomoyo’s soiree. So, he doesn’t regret putting the discussion off a second time.

But then he can’t ask in the next day either. Or the one after that. Somehow, every time he tries to mention ideas of certainty and forever, his tongue locks in place and he loses his footing. Or worse, he knows what he wants and how he means to ask, but someone or something steps in before he can complete the thought. Before he knows it, they’ve already moved on to the next world and he still hasn’t managed to broach the subject for more than two phrases of a sentence.

Gods, it shouldn’t be this hard. “Hey mage, can we settle down together after all this is over?” or hell, even something as simple as, “I want to know what you want from this,” feels beyond him. He keeps running it over in his thoughts—over thinking it. He starts to worry less about his own proposal, and more over Fai’s imagined response. Things like ‘marriage’ don’t even exist consistently across every world, and he doesn’t know how such customs were handled in Celes. Maybe there’s no point to putting a name on their relationship and he’s just complicating things unnecessarily. Or maybe—

Kurogane shakes his head, as if that will empty it of the tangled logic that plagues him. Dithering over what to do isn’t something he makes a habit of. No sense trying to guess at what Fai will say—He wants to ask, so he’ll ask. Simple as that. Whatever comes after… comes after.

For now, he has to keep his focus. This new world they’ve landed in doesn’t bear any familiar faces, and they have no idea what sort of dangers it might hold. In architecture and climate it reminds him of Clow, though the air boils even hotter here. Unfortunately, it doesn’t share a language with Sakura’s home. Whatever basis for its elegant, connected scrawl, Syaoran can’t read it and it looks nothing like the letters of Nihon or Celes. They find themselves in the uncommon and unenviable position of illiteracy, without local currency or any obvious way to earn it. On the other hand, strangely shaped humanoids and talking creatures wander the streets feely, so at least they don’t have to hide Mokona.

Or…. He doesn’t think they do. As far as he can tell, the traveling clothes they got from the Kingdom of Clow echo the styles he sees on the street, and he spots hair and skin colorations of nearly every shade in the milling crowd. Still, they garner stares from everyone they pass. His fingers twitch, itching for the hilt of a sword.

“Ah, so you’ve noticed too,” Fai murmurs, dropping back a step and leaning his way. Mokona maintains an obliviously cheerful soliloquy perched on Syaoran’s shoulder, but the kid looks tense. Good. He might have to try to figure out some kind of awareness training regimen otherwise.

“Hard to miss,” he grouches back. The mage hums in agreement, his face a placid mask for his hardened gaze to hide behind. “Should we skip town?”

“Not yet I think—I’d rather not sleep in the desert if we can avoid it.” Fair enough, he supposes. Still, the eyes on the back of his neck make his skin crawl, and he marches forward tense as a strung bow.

Wide swaths of pale fabric stretch between the rooves of the white-washed abodes overhead, granting a measure of merciful shade to the market-goers. Even so, the heat is enough to swell his joints and set his shoulder aching where it joins the prosthetic. He does his best not to give any hint of his discomfort to their audience, but the effort takes its toll.

By the time they find something that looks like a curio shop, even the manjuu has noticed the stares and the burning desert sun sees all of them wilting in the heat. Syaoran lifts the sheet that serves as the store’s front entrance aside and they step into the cooler space with a collective sigh of relief. Kurogane pauses just a moment longer in the doorway to watch for followers, but despite the plentiful staring it doesn’t seem they’ve picked up a tail.

“Wao~ so much to look at! Mokona wants to touch everything—”

“Maybe not everything? We have to be careful, okay?” He heaves a tired sigh at the kids’ antics and leans against a narrow space of wall just at the door, careful not to jostle the wrong arm. The room is deceptively large and stacked with rows and rows of shelves. It appears to be empty. Not so huge he won’t be able to tell if they get into trouble, but large enough he can afford to hang back and let his arm rest a while.

“How about you just don’t touch anything.” He grouches to the empty air they leave behind. If they hear, they give no indication. With a tch, he shakes his head and turns back toward the center of the room, only to catch Fai’s narrow-eyed glare. “…what?”

The mage doesn’t say a word. He simply reaches up, taps once on Kurogane’s shoulder, and watches nonplussed as his whole body recoils in pain.

“Stubborn man,” Fai murmurs. Frustration colors his voice, but the look on his face is so fond it pulls at Kurogane’s heart.

“You’re one to talk.” He takes a deep breath and tries to smooth his expression back to something unbothered. Looking at his worried jerk of a partner helps. Fai’s hair is a tangled mess, even pulled back. Wisping strands escape the hold of his ribbon and stick to his face, glittering with sweat and already just a touch too pink. His fair skin certainly won’t do him any favors in this world… “I’m fine. It’s just the heat.”

“Is that all?” Fai grins and looks both ways, makes sure that no one is there to see before he starts weaving a spell. His hands are a blur of motion, tracing familiar characters in blue and white.

It probably says something that Kurogane doesn’t even think to duck away or put a stop to whatever the mage plans to cast. When did he start trusting Fai so completely? He can’t point to an exact moment. He just knows it feels strangely natural to watch without worry as Fai’s spell lights the space between their bodies, cradled between them like a secret.

“When are you going to learn to ask for help, Kuro-sama?” Fai chides just as he traces the last rune, and his charm snaps into place. Magic sinks into Kurogane’s cloak. He doesn’t usually have much aptitude for sensing the stuff, but like most things, he’s tuned to Fai. It flashes like ice water through the fibers of his clothes, leaving an echo on his skin that sees him shiver for more reasons than one. “Not too cold, I hope? It’s supposed to give you something on the cool side of normal. Maybe—” This time when he feels Fai starting to pull the magic forward, he stills his lover’s hands with his own.

“It’s fine, I’m just—” Just. Just what? “Somehow still learning how amazing you are.” True, but embarrassing as hell to say out loud. “Distracted by how hot that was,” also true, also embarrassing for different reasons. “Glad you’re here,” “shocked you can always read me so well,” and “trying to figure out how to ask you to marry me,” all slide firmly into the mental trash.

Kurogane sets his jaw, shakes his head and starts over, shifting his hold on Fai’s hands until the two of them stand linked like a pair of dancers about to begin. The distant sounds of Syaoran and Mokona speaking together somewhere nearby drift muted and muddled through the air—a quiet reminder that he has other things to worry about. They still don’t know whether this world is safe. That hasn’t changed. He takes another second’s breath, wishing he could convey this messy tangle of sentiment bundled in his chest, and mutters only, “thanks.”

“Yeah,” Fai sighs, seemingly caught in the sincerity of the moment. Minor sunburn makes him no less beautiful when he smiles, quiet and slow, like dawn breaking. They waste a good handful of seconds staring into each other’s eyes like fools before Fai re-discovers his senses. “Or—I mean you’re welcome! Of course. You’re always welcome. I only… wish I could do more.”

The way his gaze drifts towards the false arm as he talks leaves a sour taste in Kurogane’s mouth. There he goes again, blaming himself for a decision that wasn’t his to make. It shouldn’t be so frustrating. In all fairness, if it weren’t Fai saying the words—if he didn’t know exactly what foolish paths the mage’s mind sees fit to walk, it wouldn’t frustrate him. But he does. And it does. More than that, it frightens him. Left alone with his demons, Fai has a nasty habit of abandoning the will to live. He can’t let that happen again. He won’t, embarrassment be damned.

Kurogane growls, veins surging with an angry heat Fai’s charm can’t cool. He pulls his idiot in closer, determined not to let Fai’s doubts fester.

“You do enough,” he blurts, but even to his own ears it sounds like a chastisement and not the reassurance he desperately wants to communicate. Swallowing frustration, he tries to clarify for his wide-eyed audience of one. “You do—you are enough. More than enough. No matter what. even if you never cast another spell in your life.”

In the breathless moment that follows, he watches tears form, heart twisting in his chest as they gather and darken Fai’s long eyelashes. He wishes he could eradicate them at the source—somehow convince Fai of his own worth despite the long years of tragedy that constantly tell him otherwise. Kurogane doesn’t know if he can, but he knows he wants to try. He’ll keep trying forever if that’s what it takes.

He frees the fingers of his good hand from Fai’s and lifts them to brush away the first tear track that snakes its way downward, heart so full of love that it aches. He could say it now, he thinks. He really, really could. His lungs fill with air, the words flow from thought to throat and he opens his mou—

“Sorry about that! Had to take care of a few things in the back. Welcome to The Enchantress! What can I do for you?” A third voice mixes with Syaoran and Mokona’s conversation and Fai falls back into his careful persona with a jolt. He pulls away, stepping backwards so quickly he nearly careens into an over-stacked shelf. Damnit.

“Fai?” Kurogane wants to reach out and steady the blond, but not at the risk of startling him worse. Nearby, he can hear the kid stumbling through the process of introductions and asking whether they might sell a few items. He knows they need to head over there.

“Sheesh, Kuro-wan, you can’t just spring things like that on a guy.” Fai’s cheerful tone rings hollow. He doesn’t look back until any evidence of tears have been scrubbed thoroughly from his face. “I’m fine,” he lies. Kurogane just stares, one eyebrow raised in clear disbelief. “Alright! Alright, you… Later. Okay?”

Later. Sure. Why not? He huffs and trails in Fai’s wake through the shelves. The pain of his shoulder lessens with every second as the spell works its magic and helps him cool down. Kurogane curses his own stupid inability to communicate and wishes he knew how to weave charms for emotional hurt.

#TRC #tsubasa reservoir chronicle #kurogane #kurofai #fanfic

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crossgartered · 4 years

Text

P5R liveblog (8/?)

(Makoto arc end)

[[MORE]]

Oh, hey, Chihaya.

Idk if I'm remembering the timing right, but it looks like they took out Ryuji's interaction with those two entirely. I told him to wait outside bc of his uniform and he said he'd kill some time somewhere until I was done

It really does seem kind of awful of us to volunteer Mishima for this, especially without him knowing.

OH HERE THEY ARE

Oh, hey, they think he's interested in drag bc of how he was looking into Crossroads. They want to help him out. Still sucks that this supposed to be something funny, and that they're dragging him off without his wanting to, but it is better than it was.

UGHHHH MISHIMA IM SORRY

Oh, this translation seems different. A bit more natural, I think. Still really harsh, though. Sae...

Makoto...

FUCKING PRIESTESS LISTEN TO YOUR INNER SELF THIS IS JUST DOING SOMETHING FOR THE SAKE OF DOING ANYTHING PLEASE PULL BACK AND THINK STRATEGICALLY INSTEAD IF GOING ABOUT THIS SO EMOTIONALLY

Honestly her charm stat is in the pits. It's kind of hilarious since you need high (max? Idr) charm to progress past rank 5 with her.

Huh, if she had social stats... High knowledge, low charm, good guts, not totally sure about proficiency & kindness but I'm leaning towards okay-low proficiency and middling-decent kindness.

Now, the others...

Ryuji would have low knowledge, good guts,

Listen, I'm having trouble with quantifying their kindness. Because, they all have differing levels of what I consider personal-kindness and general-kindness

Wait. Do I really want to get on this tangent right now? ...Not really. Hold that thought. Back to the game.

GOD this was so dangerous I am honestly amazed that she got out of this okay.

GOD THAT IS SO DANGEROUS I AM HONESTLY AMAZED THAT HE GOT OUT OF THAT OKAY

Honestly I'm kind of surprised Kaneshiro doesn't have a doorman or anything.

Jeez, Kaneshiro's face looks off compared to everyone else. Like, on its own, it's a decent face, but it looks like it doesn't belong with the rest.

Huh, I wonder how many of them actually have mommies and daddies to beg money from. Let's see... Makoto is being raised by her prosecutor sister. Parents dead. Ryuji is being raised by a single mom. Dad left a long time ago. Canonically poor. Yusuke was being raised by Madarame. Mom dead. Dad out of the picture, idr how. Canonically poor, with poor money sense. Ann has parents. Successful fashion designers that she doesn't see half the year. And the protag has an ambiguous family situation. Of course, I have my headcanons, but that's nothing. Anyway, if we were going about this the way Kaneshiro wanted us to, Ann would probably be able to provide the most, followed by Makoto. (Again, leaving Ren out of this).

Guh, thinking about it like that feels shitty.

...can you even imagine an ATM with Ann's pigtails though? I mean I know the other ATMs don't have any distinguishing features but still

Anyway

Godddd, I really love when people are given reaction shots when something another character is saying is resonating or otherwise meaningful to them

Makoto: "A lot happened after we lost her father three years ago, so it's just us living together... But I'm still a child, so all I am is a burden to her..."

Yusuke: *cut-in* "......"

Me: *chef's kiss*

...it happens at other times in this game (and other stuff), too, but I just wanted to point it out. Especially bc you kind of have to infer a lot of the time when it comes to Yusuke.

OHHHDJDJSJDJJDS HE LOOKED SO SAD WHEN MAKOTO CALLED HIM A CANINE

"IT'S FOX" HE SAYS

Both Makoto and Ann called him specifically a monster cat. I wonder if the Japanese calls him a cat ayakashi or something.

What property damage did any of us cause?

Why is Shadow Kaneshiro purple anyway?

JOHANNA IS SO FUCKING COOL GODDAMN

I love Makoto's awakening ngl

But honestly, is there a /bad/ awakening in the bunch? They really killed it with the game aesthetics, you know?

"No weaknesses. Our only chance is to make them confused" or whatever she just said about confusing them. Idk if I just tune her out or if that's a new thing

Didn't Makoto have Flash Bomb or whatever that multi-phys + chance of Dizzy skill was called? Maybe she gets that at a higher level

*heavy sigh* Okay, Makoto

"I will crush him like a fly" I see what you did there

It really is nice that they're bringing up the advisor thing instead of just her doing it herself. I still feel like there should have been a little more talk about it amongst the 5 of them instead of just the 3 human-shaped guys but w/e

The references to English songs and memes is a little jarring, ngl

Man, Sae's gonna flip her shit when she hears what Makoto did to get here.

Awww Ann & Makoto are bonding

*sigh* listen, I like Makoto, I even dated her in my first playthrough of vanilla p5, but I really dislike how they just keep shilling her around this time. It's a little off-putting. I think it's a thing Atlus likes to do.

Hmm? Is the man getting joint pain on rainy days going to affect his Mementos fight?? Interesting.

Ughhhhhh Queen choosing her name and then the """strategy""" thing is exactly the same. Like her being there even changes anything about how we go about things. And we do think about what we're doing, actually! Well, mostly Morgana bc Phantom thievery is his whole schtick. But like, outside our usual plans, we successfully pulled off the heist in the Madarame Palace, for example. We also opened the locked door and dealt with that. We go about the palaces with intent! Blugh.

"it's my role to be the brain of this team and give out orders" BLUGH

And then Ryuji & Mona are into it... -_-+

I hate this part. It's awkward and dumb. There are better ways to make her their advisor, Atlus

Also someone mention that I am field leader pls. I know you did in vanilla p5 do it now as well

I wonder if they've changed her s.link abilities? They at least have to have given her 1 more thing due to the baton pass thing

I WONDER IF EIKO WILL HAVE A SPRITE NOW?!?!? I hope so ^u^

GUH I love Makoto's Queen outfit.

Oh, whoops, I forgot about that conversation. Maybe I should have put Morgana in my party.

But heck yeah, let's do a finisher! I wonder how to get these for people.

RYUJI WANTS TO DO A SHOWTIME WITH FOX "We could call it Art Run or something" I LOVE HIM

SHIT WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME I SAVED

Ugh, it's really frustrating that they're trying to get me to showtime w Ann & Morgana when all the enemies here are weak to Zio & Bufu (with a little bit of Psi & Gun thrown in for good measure).

Okay, have reorganized my party so I don't have to use an Agi-weak persona to go after enemy weaknesses. That was so embarrassing.

Oh, neat! My sleuthing instinct kicked in! ... Makoto's abilities have to have changed.

YOU MEAN SHOWTIME CAN KICK IN EVEN WHEN ONE OF THE MEMBERS IS NOT IN THE PARTY?!?!?! AHHHH

Maybe even both, idk. Morgana seemed like the best choice to heal/lucky punch so he's in my party rn but maybe when he gets swapped out later I'll find the answer to that

...this is being surprisingly easy. But I don't think I'm overleveled... Jeez, I haven't bought weapons since Kamoshida's Palace. And they give you so many clothes in this game... And accessories! Really!

But yeah, I finished that security guy in 3 moves. Morgana - Garu (absorbed), Yusuke - Bufu (inflicting Freeze), Ryuji - Headbutt (Technical) -> All-Out Attack. I remember it being a lot harder in the original. Idk.

Okay, the next one was slightly harder. It took two All-out-attacks to beat it. But hmm.

Maybe I am overleveled, though. Apparently that miniboss (??) Was only level 21, and I am 23.

Oh, I'm getting Sigma feelings. Ann's counting down for opening the vault-like door.

I don't think I've ever noticed before how neat Kaneshiro's palace music is. Well, at least the Laundering Office, anyway. What is this, exactly? It's some version of Price - that's the same melody line, but the instrumentation is all different. That's not to say that Price isn't good; it's just that I'm weak for strings & orchestra instruments in non- orchestral songs. It sounds darker and more intense. I love it

Oho? That gold vault door seems new.

Or maybe I just don't remember it.

Anyway. I really do appreciate that Morgana mentions Shadow personalities in negotiations. Like, I read the tutorial on it, but it's nice to have him like "what's this one so happy about? Well, guess we'll play long for now" or whatever he says for an upbeat shadow. It's pretty neat.

"I wonder what it'd be like if we had Palaces instead of Personas." SAME, RYUJI, SAME 👀👀👀👀👀

Hmm, I know Joker Palace has some fics, and I think I remember seeing a Crow Palace fic, but I wonder about the others...? Hmm 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

I don't want to accidentally spoil myself, though. I'll go through the archive after I finish this.

"Your Palace would definitely be a beef bowl shop." ANN OMG

"Why'd you gotta give a straight answer right off the bat? I can't argue with that!" Ryuji pls ;u;

Why do Will Seeds all look like that? I know there are those death things with the hollow eyes like that, but is that what it is? It just seems so out of place in this technical setting. I'm kind of surprised they don't change appearances to suit their Palace. Tbh, it doesn't really look like anything that comes from Mementos, either. But I suppose it must...

WHOA, why did the Velvet Room door turn red? "I have an uneasy feeling" Same, protag, same

WHY IS THE VELVET ROOM ON HIGH ALERT

A fusion alarm? OH COME ON IT HASNT BEEN THAT LONG SINCE I FUSED ANYONE

Is this because I still have Jack Frost with me? But come onnnn I already had most of this palace's inhabitants alreadyyyy

By /fusing/ them

Could this have come at any time? Or was this scripted for now? Oh, wait, I overreacted, this says that my Personas will be stronger if I do it during a fusion alarm. Kind of incentivizes him to slack off, though, doesn't it? Lol

Oh, interesting. Look at all those accident possibilities. Nvm.

Orpheus... ;-;

Huh, I didn't realize the Picaro versions also were not just dlc

"You would like me to become your mask? Well then, let us search for the answers of life together."

*lie down* *try not to cry* *cry a lot*

Anyway.

I need to go to Mementos and find an Eligor. Gotta get that Flauros.

YES FINALLY MY GUTS INCREASED

Aww, the newspaper club girl is rooting for the phantom thieves. She's so angry at akechi rn

Oh, speaking of! Hello, Akechi!

AHHH RYUJI AND MAKOTO TEAM UP IM SO PSYCHED

Oh man it's bc of the motorcycle ISNT IT, RYUJI : DDDDDD

JDSKSKXNXJKS

The voice acting there was. Wonderful. Omfg

Actually, now that I think about it, it makes a lot of sense that Ryuji's tried to suggest team ups twice now, ever as soon as he learned they were a thing. He was on the track team, and the team aspect of that was very important to him. He likes cheering others on and being cheered on by others. Specifically by training and sweating and testing limits together - by fighting together. Of course ryuji is interested. Of course he is.

Man, I wish I had better context for the "you filthy fly on dirty money" line - I mean, obviously he's Beelzebub, who is apparently in charge of gluttony, but like, is that a phrase? Is this just a Beelzebub reference or is there more to it bc it feels like there's more to it and I don't understand bc cultural reasons

Blegh I don't want to give up my expensive items...guess I'll do this the tedious way.

Ah, here we go. Let's see how these hired guns are. Hopefully I can see the Makoto & Ryuji showtime? :3 ?

Wait, Bael? Not Beelzebub? Really? Huh?

YES IT'S SHOWTIME

HOLY SHIT I LOVE IT

I wonder why that briefcase was related to his distorted desires. We really know so little about Kaneshiro, relatively

Yusuke's kinda on the ball today.

...*snerk*

Wow, damn, Akechi was potentially onto us since the Kaneshiro calling card? He gave a list of potential candidates, maybe we were on it...

Makoto, really, it was unfair of everyone to put the burden of resolving the Kaneshiro issue on you. You really can't be blamed. you know that, right?

Oh, hey look, it's 'Gaudy Student' there in the background

Hhhhhhhhhhh there are so many choices I have 5 potential social links to do tonight. I could start Kawakami, Ohya, Chihaya, or Hifumi, or I could level up Yoshida since it's Sunday

AHH KASUMI IS SO CUTE. FUCK!

BWAHAHAHAHA justice rank 3 is. Amazing.

"I've seen everything. A vision of you groveling on the ground..." IS THIS THE THING IN DECEMBER SHES TALKING ABOUT

#p5r liveblog #p5r #p5r spoilers #spoilers #persona 5 royal #long post #no like seriously #this one gets emotional at video games

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wavesmp3 · 4 years

Text

eurydice

minghao x reader - retelling of orpheus and eurydice, steampunk au - warnings: death - wc: 3.8k - for cwc fall fic fest !

---

minghao hadn’t expected the underworld to be this quiet. although, when he thinks about it, he isn’t sure what he did expect. there’s an eerie stillness in the silent air that drips down his torso and dangles by his feet begging him to stay. be weary of the underworld the guide had warned him it lives to tempt fools like you.

‘fool’ was the word the guide had used. minghao had denied it in the moment. “love,” he said to the guide, with a determined set to his jaw, “i’m doing this for love.” but now as he wanders the silent darkness and unnatural heat of the underworld with only a lantern to light his passage, he thinks that perhaps the guide wasn’t too far off. for his love made him foolish enough to make a deal with a demon and travel the underworld all in search of you.

“you came.” you say to him once he finds you with a voice so quiet it almost gets lost before it reaches his ears. you don’t look shocked to see him. you don’t even look happy. in fact, you barely look like you. minghao doesn’t recognize the hollowed shape of your face and the dull line your lips make. he found your body in the darkness, but for a moment, minghao can’t be positive he found you with it.

“well, yeah,” you shrug, “what else is a dead person supposed to do?”

minghao remembers the day you died. remembers it too well, almost. he remembers the ringing in his ears and a hollowness inside his chest. he remembers the way he couldn’t cry. the way he couldn’t feel sad. he remembers hearing that you had died and thinking there was no way in hell he’d let it stay like that. minghao knew, from the moment he heard, that he’d come and find you.

minghao hasn’t cried. but right now, staring at the face of someone who’s been dead for too long, he feels like he just might.

“you made a deal with a demon.” you repeat, voice still void of anything sounding remotely like you.

you nod. “what is it?”

“you get to come with me back to the real world...”

“...but?”

“but you have to walk behind me the entire time. and I can’t look back. not once, not until we’re back up above.”

“and what happens if you do?”

“you die.” he waits a beat. “again.”

you utter something incomprehensible, a small croak that sounds faintly like a scoff. “kind of like eurydice.”

minghao leans forward. “what?”

you meet his eyes suddenly, as if only now realizing he’s been next to you this entire time. you blink. “nevermind.”

you don’t make a sound after that, don’t even move a muscle. minghao didn’t expect you to be elated, but he did expect you to at least be surprised. and your lack of shock, your lack of… you, creates a knee-deep river of doubt in his mind. “you don’t have to come with me.” he says with what he hopes is reassurance. “i didn’t come here to force you back. i came here to ask.”

and the silence that comes after he says it stretches into eternity. an infinite eternity that ends the second your mouth twitches, just barely, into what minghao swears is a smile. “you came.”

he inhales, and the air tastes faintly like hope. “i couldn’t let you go.”

“okay.” you accept, fiddling with something minghao can’t make out in your hand. and the admission, makes him release a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. minghao knew coming down here was a shot in the dark. literally. his friends had made sure he knew. even the guide had made it clear: sometimes the dead don’t want to return. so, yeah, minghao knew there was no guarantee you’d want to follow him back to the real world and no guarantee you’d agree to the demon’s terms. but all that doubt, all those voices telling him no seem so insignificant when he hears you say: “i’ll come with you.”

you meet his eyes again, and this time they look a little more like yours.

throughout his relationship with you, minghao grew fond of the way you cracked your knuckles and joints. it’s stress relief you’d tell him popping your neck for the fifth time that morning. he’d found it odd at first, concerning even. but now days, minghao can’t seem to find the way you crack your back every time you get up as anything but endearing.

even now, as you pace around the small, tattered couch that you had bought off of the old apothecary owner, cracking your knuckles anxiously, minghao feels nothing more than a small, comforting pang of affection for the way you worry about tomorrow’s work at the plant.

“it’s a really big shipment,” you tell him, coming around the couch for what he counts as the sixteenth time, “and i’m gonna be running it alone.”

“you’ve done solo shipments before.”

“not one like this.”

“i think,” minghao says, patting the spot next to him on the couch, “you’ll be fine.” you slump into the couch, the green cloth almost swallowing you whole.

“yeah,” you nod, leaning into his side, “you’re probably right.”

“and also,” minghao begins, reaching over to retrieve a piece of folded paper from his coat pocket, “soonyoung gave this to me today.”

he hands you the ad for a ticket to center circle. tickets to center circle are hard to come by and expensive to buy. but minghao figures if he pitches some money in, you’ll have just enough for a one-way ticket there.

you study the ad for a while, running your finger against the crease in the paper. minghao shifts uncomfortably in his seat while you do.

wordlessly, you fold the paper back up and toss it on the coffee table.

minghao gulps. “you don’t want it?”

“i don’t need it anymore.” you shrug.

“but it’s your dream.” he insists, hoping his face doesn’t give away how happy he is that you want to stay in ironport.

burying your face against his body, you murmur, “dreams change.”

this time, minghao doesn’t hide his elation at the news.

the walk to the real world begins quietly.

“do you remember the myth of orpheus and eurydice?” you say from somewhere behind minghao, voice quiet and yet far. and yes, it must be far because the words sound like they’ve been echoing off the rocks and stones for years.

“remind me.”

“from what i can remember, they were in love.” you wait a moment, and minghao could bet that if he turned around right now, he’d find you somewhere far behind him, cracking your knuckles. “and when eurydice died, orpheus convinced hades to let her go on the same terms as your deal with the demon. or something like that.”

“i see,” minghao whispers. “so what happened when they made it back to earth?”

“that’s the thing,” you say, this time nearly yelling the words, “they didn’t. orpheus looked back at the last second.”

minghao stops walking. “well, that’s not going to be us.”

he hears you sigh. “i know.”

minghao starts walking again, holding up the lantern that emits just enough light to see his feet and nothing else. “so why’d he look back?”

the implication makes minghao gulp. “why would she do that?”

you don’t answer the question. “why do you think orpheus turned?”

“i don’t know.”

“turn around and you will.”

“that’s not funny.”

quietly, you say: “it wasn’t a joke.”

minghao pretends to not hear.

when minghao realized he loved you, it wasn’t something big or spectacular. it wasn’t a tidal wave of emotion that crashed and dragged him below the tide. rather, it was a small wave of adoration that lapped by his feet, a cool and calm sensation that made him want to dig his heels in the sand and wade further into the water.

when minghao realizes he loves you, you’re sitting on his kitchen counter, complaining about work.

“i love you.” he admits, walking towards where you sit. he doesn’t miss the way you still and the way you refuse to look anywhere but at your own hands. and minghao knows it’s too soon, too fast. it’s only been two months since he’s known you. one month since you started dating. he knows it’s too soon to have fallen in love. but that doesn’t really change the fact that he has. he repeats it, feeling a deep need to cement this moment further into his memory and another to memorize the image of you sitting on his kitchen counter smiling at your hands.

“for real?” you mutter, biting back either a smile or a laugh, minghao can’t be sure which one. he nods, wrapping his arms around your waist. you crack a lone knuckle. “well that makes this awkward, and i really hadn’t planned on telling you liked this but,” you hold up your left hand, the ring that’s usually on your middle finger now fitted around your ring finger, “i’m actually married.”

“really?” he leans back. you give him a sympathetic nod. “to who?”

you switch the ring back. “oh well to the music of course.”

“yeah,” minghao laughs, leaning forward until his forehead is pressed against yours, “i’m definitely in love with you.”

you don’t hide the smile this time. instead you take his face between his palms and press your lips to his.

it’s three weeks after that moment in his kitchen, that you return the statement, although you don’t return it with the words themself.

minghao’s surprised by the gesture. you were never one to initiate affectionate and even less likely in public. he places a kiss on your temple. “you okay?”

“i had the worst day at the plant.” you mumble into his coat.

“do you wanna talk about it?”

“no,” you hesitate as if deciding what it is that you do want. after a moment you answer: “i just want you near.”

“do you feel that?” minghao hears you ask.

“feel what?”

“the rain?”

he holds out his palm and stares at the darkness above. how could it possibly rain in a place like this, minghao wonders to himself.

“no.” he finally answers. “i don’t feel anything.”

“no!” he yells back.

“i’m tired.”

“we’re almost there.” he says to the darkness that stretches before him, praying that it bounces off the emptiness of this world and finds you. “we just have to make it through the night.”

“no, minghao, i’m tired.” you repeat frustrated. and with the way you say it, minghao isn’t sure what exactly you’re tired of.

“do you remember your first storm in ironport?” he asks, a desperate attempt to take your mind off the current storm, and another, more hopeless try to make you miss home.

“yeah,” you murmur, voice no longer a desperate yell. and yet somehow, minghao hears you better now than he did before. “how could i forget?”

the day of your first ironport strom is also the day of you and minghao’s first kiss.

in all transparency, minghao hadn’t noticed the dark clouds gathering above and the distant rumbling coming from the farmlands in the west. he’d been too distracted with watching you nod off during the trolley ride back from the warehouse, too distracted trying to make sure your head stayed perfectly balanced on his shoulder.

minghao shakes his head and joins you by the exit, wearing a smile that feels too bright against the weather outside. “make a run for it?” he suggests.

you scrunch your nose and crack your knuckles. “yeah, okay.” you find his hand, and fit it against your own. “ready?”

minghao swallows the fluttering in his stomach. “ready.”

“look,” you exclaim, pointing at the sky, “there’s a break in the clouds.” minghao looks up at where you point. ironport is known for its ferocious storms with dark grey and angry clouds that tumble across the sky and linger there for days on end. minghao, living in ironport his whole life, has seen his fair share of the town’s storms, but this, minghao has never seen. over the farmlands, the clouds part across the sky and a golden light comes pouring over the grassy hills. and for a small moment, gazing upon the sky’s golden spotlight, minghao lets himself believe that the heavens are real. your voice comes out low. “it’s beautiful isn’t it?”

his eyes land on you. “yeah, it is.”

and minghao’s so lost, mindlessly staring at you that he almost doesn’t register the way you stare back at him with a lopsided smile, grab his color, and pull him towards you until his lips meet yours.

almost.

“still raining?” minghao asks, just to check if you’re still behind.

“yeah.”

“you must be drenched.”

“i am.” you pause. “and cold.” it must be a test, minghao thinks. or a trial of some sort, because how is he supposed to not turn around right at this moment and give you something to make you warm. with a sinking feeling that never seems to diminish in the underworld, minghao trudges on through the dark. he’s pulled out of his thoughts when you ask: “how do you know you’ve made a mistake?”

you let out a small cough. “do you feel that right now?”

“no.” something akin to fear settles underneath his tongue. “do you?”

it’s after you’ve been in town for a month that soonyoung asks if you and minghao are friends. minghao doesn’t think to mention the way you two have been hanging out at the warehouse every day after work or how much he enjoys talking with you. it doesn’t phase minghao to describe the lack of air in his lungs each time you’re so much as mentioned or the smile that appears whenever you’re near. instead, he shrugs, and says, “yeah, i guess we’ve gotten close.”

“it stopped raining,” you murmur softly, sounding close. so close minghao thinks he can smell the rainwater dripping from your clothes and hear your arms flailing in the darkness. it takes a moment for him to realize, you actually are.

“when did you get so close?”

“oh, minghao,” you smile, or at least he imagines you do, “i’ve never been far.”

the second time minghao sees you is not a coincidence. he’s been spending every evening at the warehouse since your first conversation together, hoping at some point in the night you’ll walk in with the other plant workers. until finally one night you do.

“small world.” he begins, meeting you at the bar.

“yeah,” you reply, and a sudden warmth fills minghao when you purse your lips, as if there’s a private joke hiding behind your teeth. “we’re all closer than we think.”

the first thing minghao thinks when a sort of warmth fills his body, is that there’s a fire growing in the dark abyss that is the road between the underworld and the real one.

it’s only when he hears you say, “minghao is that the…?” does he realize that the warmth lingering in his fingertips is from the sun. the world around him is still entirely dark, the only light being from the lantern still. but before minghao sees the light of the sun, he can feel the sunlight and taste it on his tongue.

“it’s almost over,” he says to the new warmth in his knees and to you who’s now so close behind him.

you don’t respond. and some small part of minghao that’s buried under oceans of grief and love, knows what the silence means. a miniscule, almost negligible, part of minghao knows how to interpret your lack of response.

but the larger, more intruding part of minghao that can’t bear the idea of letting you go, selfishly asks, “what about your dream? what about center circle?”

you sigh, and it’s the first sound you’ve made since noticing the sun. “oh minghao, i stopped caring about center circle the day i met you.”

the first time minghao sees you is at the warehouse. and as soon as you enter with the other plant workers, minghao knows you’re new. he can tell by the way you talk, with an accent that sounds too western to be from around here, and from the way your face is the only one he doesn’t know. curiosity is what he tells himself and soonyoung when asked later that week. minghao approaches you at the warehouse bar because he’s curious. although, curiosity doesn’t begin to explain the churning in his gut and the chill running down his spine as he does.

“hey,” he greets, resting his elbows against the bar. “i’m minghao.”

you study him before answering, as if determining whether you should even bother with giving him your name. lucky for him, you do.

“you new around here?�� he asks, despite knowing you are. the polite thing to do, he figures.

“what gave me away?” you snort.

“ironport’s a small town.” he shrugs, with a degree of nonchalance that doesn’t at all match the current pace of his heart. “the people that are born here tend to die here as well.”

“not me.” you mutter, shaking your head. “i’m certainly not dying in ironport.”

minghao seats himself on the barstool next to you. “is there a preferred place of death then?”

“center circle.” you tell him, as the barkeep slides you your drink. “it’s been my dream since forever. i’ve worked my way up from the wallows to the plains and now finally to ironport. if i die before getting to the center circle, i’ll walk there from hell myself.”

“that’s a bold dream.” he responds half-teasing, half-not.

you take a long sip from your drink. “i know.”

“and yet?”

you meet his eyes steadily. “and yet i can’t let it go.”

at the bottom of his gut minghao again feels curiosity tug.

“minghao,” you breathe, so close he can feel it on his shoulder. “come back to me.” he doesn’t respond, acts like he doesn’t even hear the words. instead, he steps forward, feels the warmth of the sun on his cheek, and then sinks back into the cool sensation of your forehead knocking against his neck.

“come back to me, okay?” you repeat into his back. “but don’t come back too soon.”

“well yeah,” you smile against his shirt, “what else is a dead person supposed to do?”

and for a small second, relishing in the sensation of your chest shaking with laughter against his back, minghao feels at peace.

“so have you figured it out yet?” you start, lifting your chin from his shoulder, and interlocking your fingers with his. “have you figured out why orpheus turned?”

“no.” he returns, with a squeeze.

“but i’m about to find out.”

a/n: kind of a mess of a fic at this point, but idk also i may or may not have edited this one bit ...

#minghao scenarios #seventeen scenarios #cwcfff #caratwritersclub #seventeen fanfic #minghao fanfic #minghao imagines #seventeen imagines #minghao fluff #minghao angst #minghao #seventeen #mine #eurydice #wait i used to tag all my writing with my old url too :((#lowqualityseventeen

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