Work Text:
Something about you
It's like an addiction
Hit me with your best shot honey
I've got no reason to doubt you
'Cause certain things hurt
And you're my only virtue
And I'm virtually yours
-Lyrics taken from Certain Things by James Arthur-
The sea was a silver mirror when she broke my heart.
The morning sun was hiding behind the clouds, draping the beach in grey shadows and inwardly, I swallowed my pride as she mercilessly hurled my confession to the bottom of the ocean. I could only watch as it tumbled on the waves like foam for a short while—before the sea swallowed it, rendering it obsolete. From somewhere, a seashell must have cracked; its sound too distinct for me to ignore.
"I could never leave the palace—also...I...I have feelings for another." What she just said ricocheted in my brain like an underwater tsunami, silent yet deadly.
I observed her for a while, searching for signs of tremor, for any indication that it was a lie—but she wouldn't meet my eyes, her gaze fixed upon the raging ocean. She seemed resolute, unwilling to crumble in front of me. She squared her shoulders in anticipation of my response, and that was when I know for sure that she spoke the truth. How did I not know this?
The waves hit the boulders with a new purpose, and I hardened my heart against the cruelty wedged by her reply. The silver hairpin pricked my palm as I fisted it and I wondered—how could something so harmless and beautiful hurt me so bad? And why am I allowing her to hurt me so?
I could never see it coming—that she has someone else. I didn't know why, but even the possibility of her liking someone, having someone—has never crossed my mind. Perhaps because I've wanted her so badly for myself, because I tried so hard to make her notice me—I failed to entertain the thought that she might belong to another—that she might harbour feelings for another. No..she—she can't be—I will make sure of that. Otherwise, I don’t think I would be able to live with myself.
Have you ever lost your heart to someone because of a touch, a voice, a look, a certain kindness that kept coming back even when you shoved it over the edge of a bottomless crevice? I wish I can tell you I haven't—because I'm not even the type of person to fall like that. I am alligator skin and desert dust; thick and tactless, careless even. I have killed without batting an eyelid—as the blood of my enemies oozed down my armour, seeping into my skin and dripping down my sword like floodwater towards the ocean in full moon. I have fought my way through a wolves’ den and survived—convinced myself that I was still alive because my eardrum was throbbing with blood, my own blood which I thought have turned silver with ages of abuse and neglect. So…love? Don't make me laugh. I might just stick my sword into your chest and twist it against your ribcage—as you scream in agony. A person like me couldn’t afford the luxury, nor dares to think of such a thing called love. Love was like trying to swim without getting wet or finding a cosmos blossom in deep winter. Love was a boat drifting in the lake, floating far away with each ripple on its surface while I stood on the shore, frozen in time. Love was my mother wiping the blood from my broken lip, and love was her singing me to sleep when I was screaming and begging her not to leave me; a young and terrified child in need of his mother's protection. Love was non-existent because my mother never did any of that. She smirked upon seeing the bumps and bruises that coloured my skin and allowed the darkness to consume her own son like a starving lion. So you want to ask me about love? I'd kill you in a heartbeat before the word could even roll out of your tongue. Love screamed into my face, letting the world know that I was unworthy—that was the only love that I know of.
But these days—well, these days…I seemed to be tripping over my own feet, countless times.
I fell for the sweet voice that travelled on the wind, soothing the twelve-headed dragon residing somewhere in my soul. Her voice numbed all my rough edges and destroyed the glass prison that has held me captive for years and years since I was a child and first learned that I was not to be loved, or held, or even thought about. Even my name was not supposed to be uttered or whispered about. My whole existence is like the wind; it’s there, but invisible to the naked eye. She sang a simple song, even a childish one at that, something about a friend. And she wasn't even singing to me, but to Eun—always to Eun. I didn't get whatever it was that she saw in him. They spent a lot of time together—that I knew of. Eun is a five-year-old trapped in a young man's body and she was sweet enough to acknowledge that. Eun, who has the moon and stars and wishful thinking reflected in his eyes whenever he laid them on her. But she's blind, you see. I didn’t think she noticed the moon and stars and wishful thinking at all. I didn't think she even noticed me; the long and lonely river heading towards the ocean that is her affection. My bank overflowed, and I ached for her, ached until my spine was all crooked from the extra weight carried by my heart and yet she remained blind to all these newfound emotions which continued to weigh me down. I’m like the wind, invisible and swirling silently around her. Except that now I am a full-blown hurricane, bellowing and swishing with such vengeance so that she would finally acknowledge my presence. She sang for Eun, but how I wished the song was for me.
I fell for the silent, thoughtful looks she threw in my direction when she thought I wasn't looking. I couldn't tell what she was thinking, but I wished she would stop poking and pondering through my skin with her gaze. All my life, I only want to be unnoticed, unseen. I despised the sympathy, the fear, the disgust that was mounted up against me. Sometimes I wish I am invisible—but I want, I need her to see me, all the while half-afraid that she would tear me apart limb by limb and really see through me. See beyond this mask of fear and anger that I wear on a daily basis, beyond my smirk that was actually longing for some sort of kindness or mercy, beyond my callousness that was a shield moulded from years of fears and rejections. Above all else, I hope she'll see the real me. The once-upon-a-time young boy who wished nonstop for a mother's slight interest in him. The teenaged boy who scoffed at stargazing but muttered a silent prayer to the heavens each time a star fell from the sky. The man who wreaked havoc and seemed to kill for sport, but is slowly dying inside with each head count, each soul silently wiped out by his sword. The monster who seemed to be made of barbed wire and lava, but is actually a man—just a man who can't seem to quell this raging whitewater rapids from heading towards her, too afraid that he might end up killing all the sunshine butterflies that fly around in her world, or step upon and destroy all the wild lilies blooming in the depth of her eyes.. I...I want her more than I've ever wanted anything else, more than I've ever wished for anything else—and yet I was too afraid that I might fail at this too, like how I failed at everything else. But there seems to be no end, no ultimatum in my need for her. I just want her—in ways I can't explain nor comprehend. I want her because I don't think I can continue being like this—a fly on the wall as she roams the garden free.
I fell for her thoughtfulness, for the extra effort she made just to include me when others go out of their way to avoid me—my own brothers included. She touched me with such tenderness, her fingers tracing each line upon my face like she actually meant it when she said it wasn't hideous, that it shouldn't be my cage. How did she know—that it wasn't a scar, but my own personal prison?
So ask me again about love and this is what I will tell you; love was her cradling my head in her lap, poisoned blood seeping into her skirt like dye on white cloth. Love was her screaming for help, foolishly exposing herself to suspicion as I was gasping for air, for life. Love was her wiping the pain from my brow, begging me to hold on, to just hold on because she's there. Love was her anchoring me back when I was slipping away unnoticed into the nothingness; forgotten. Love was her stubbornly dragging me back from the pit of my own self-made hell. Love was—love was her; simple and complex, stardust and cobwebs woven into the court lady who dares to admonish a prince. Love was the eye of a hurricane, sucking me into its vortex with each spin. Love is her, and me her ever willing victim.
So she already has someone—so what? One thing she has yet to find out about me—I never quit until I win the battle. And I've never lost one, not yet. I don’t plan on losing this time as well. I leant in close, so close until I was reflected in her eyes and I’m all that she saw, before asking her about my moniker, “You know why they called me the wolf-dog?”.
She shook her head; slightly confused and wary. But something in my expression must have betrayed my feelings, as she slowly leant back in caution.
I caught her, spanned my hand against her back and prepared her for the answer, which I whispered against her nose, “Because once I bite, I never let go.”
Then I leant back and watched as her eyes widened, before darting away again, running from mine. The skittish look was back and her breath quickened, sending signal that she might flee at any given moment. I could tell that she expected me to lash out, to shake her senseless and interrogate the name of her betrothed out of her. Normally, that’s what I would do—that’s what I plan to do. But then again, neither could I ignore the distraction imposed by her slightly parted lips that quivered a little.
“It doesn’t matter—whoever your betrothed is, you’ll soon change your mind about him.”
“..You don’t mean wh—.” Her eyelashes fluttered with panic, like butterflies trapped in a glass jar.
“Have I ever said things I didn’t mean?” I raised an eyebrow, daring her to prove me wrong.
“Your Highness, you can’t just force someone to like you when—oomf!”
She argued again for this nameless man and I lost it there and then. All I see was a red screen, all-encompassing and full of fury, as I dragged her against me and bent my head towards her, silencing all her rising arguments. The need to wipe out this other person from her mind turned into a primal urge, desperate and wild as I swallowed her remaining words and thoughts, even as she resisted. Her small fists balled up against my chest, but I ignored the physical blows. She couldn’t hurt me more than she just did, her words cutting into my skin like a well-aimed arrow; too well-aimed. A certain throbbing filled my loins and all of a sudden I was consumed with the need to punish her—for daring to think of another man, for mentioning him in my presence. For hitting me with these waves of unfamiliar pain.
I wanted to hunt him down, to ask her what is it that she likes about him so? To ask her if I’m really unworthy of her affection, if she really couldn’t stand being near me? Do I terrify her so? Instead, I bit her lower lip hard, ravishing her like a starving wolf that hasn’t eaten for weeks. I kissed her until we were both panting, gasping for mercy, or air, or perhaps both. As I pulled away, I tasted copper upon my tongue, and part of me wanted to apologise for hurting her so—but I have never been good at listening to the rational part of me, you see. She parted her lips to say something and like a wolf, I acted upon instinct, as I thumbed the trickle of blood away from the corner of her lip and swooped in for the kill—You’ll change your mind—you have to. You’re my person, are you not?
Somehow her chignon unravelled itself and my fingers were lost in her hair. Somehow she was sandwiched between me and a huge boulder. Somehow I forgot to breathe, as my lips enveloped her, owned her. Somehow her body was pressed against mine; every muscle, every plane of my masculinity swallowed by her softness and I groaned, wanting to possess every inch of her.
My fingers slid down her back and I groaned harder, the sound almost feral even to my own ears. I cupped her curves and begged her to let me in, to envelope me in her warmth—because when I’m around her, close to her like this—I can’t seem to stop trembling.
I didn't know back then—that when I slipped that hairpin into her palm afterwards, I’ve also slipped my own heart along with it. I gave her all the thunderbolts and cold winter sea raging on the beach that is her acceptance. Perhaps…perhaps, that as much as I wanted her to be mine—I wanted to be hers even more.
And there's certain things that I adore
And there's certain things that I ignore
But I'm certain that I'm yours
Certain that I'm yours
Certain that I'm yours.