Work Text:
He marvels at the way his heart leaps at the mere sight of her – no, the mere possibility of her, for the woman’s face is turned away from him...
+++
It had been Kiha’s smile that did this before, controlling his heart. Beautiful as they were, it was the rarity of those fleeting moments that left him giddy in awe of her. The nearness of her lifted his spirits, quieted his troubled thoughts, and made him immensely aware of his every move should he stumble and say something to break the spell. Such was the panacea that was his Kiha that from time to time he thinks of her still – the trace, addicting relief that his heart holds on to, remembering, just because it can; because it is easy, and the other memories of her are difficult.
He does not like the way his heart reacted—reacts–to each possibility of Sujini, like it would a lover, and he takes comfort in the myriad of differences that arise at the thought of her. Like the way every inhale of breath seems to clench around his heart in a way that never happened before. How it forces out of his chest a feeling that is equal parts dread and desperation. (Kiha’s betrayal did not need to coax out such feelings, and what was love if it wretches out such passions?) How despite these things, Damdeok dare not breathe, lest the vision in front of him disappears, or worse—reveals something so crushingly other. How, pained as his love for Kiha had been, he does not resent her as (he tells himself) he does Sujini. His love for Sujini is not what it was (is?) for Kiha.
It is lies like these that console him on the worst of sleepless nights, for the best of lies are but half-truths.
Damdeok dismounts. He tells himself that there is nothing of his Sujini in the woman whose back is turned, this woman with a horse and a cart and a child old enough to play at the edge of the pier; who is merely traveling without company on a road that leads to nowhere-soon. There is nothing of her in the poised way that, resigned, she rises and turns to him, slowly, for aid that she would rather – oh.
Oh.
Has he ever imagined this moment? He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t even remember how to breathe, too busy taking in her clothes...the length of her hair...her plain look of heartbroken, pleading recognition in her unwavering stare...his Sujini, his Sujini who wears her heart on her sleeve. Her lamenting gaze fills him with such a sense of completeness then—oh you, too, were lost all these years—that words, if any, dry on his tongue, though words were hardly necessary between the two of them.
Except that he’s desperate for them now. He swallows. He wants to say anything, everything.
He wants to hear her voice.
+++
Please, she says, in the quietest voice, let me go. Her words echo too strongly of her farewell-that-wasn’t, a plea that has stayed with him all these years. He doesn’t need to hear it again.
I won’t let you leave a second time, he vows. Never again. He’s tired of choices made under the pretense of Heaven’s will, of being told to sit idly by in ignorance. He was robbed of choice all those years ago, in the form of an incoherent girl in a ridiculous, pink dress; when he didn’t understand what it would mean, what it would do to him.
What use was it to be a king, if Heaven controlled him thus? If all his strength and might could do nothing for the woman he loved?
What good was a palace if she wasn’t there? Even when he tells her so, he’s not sure if she believes him.
(Isn’t it nice? he remembers asking her, To be together every night?
He was insistent on an answer. But Sujini made a point of evading his question then, and Damdeok, so assured of her presence in his life, had let her...He let so many things go, when it came to her…
I wonder if you know that I feel regretful even now?)
It scares him more than anything, her doubt; her, leaving. It immobilizes him, when he has only taken a few paces away from her, just out of reach. (Do you know the meaning of my name?)
He embraces her desperately, to gratify the years-long urge to touch her and confirm that she’s real. Once, it had been easy to sling an arm around her and feel her warm presence tucked close to him.
Fear leeches out of him in waves and he finds himself blurting out ridiculous vows that he has every intention of keeping, because his Sujini is selfless and kind. So she’ll leave. And although he knows that he’s far from the man she thinks he is—he’s spent his life actively not being the man that Everyone said he was—he’s tried to be, for her; she taught him how; and the man she thinks he is would step aside.
So he lets himself have this moment. Just this once, where he doesn’t bother to mask his thoughts behind royal decorum or witty banter, doesn’t bother with the pretense of being a considerate king looking out for his armor-bearer. (Just once, can’t you just obediently say yes?) He commands. He loves.
And though the sweet relief of her arms clinging to him is closure enough, for now, it does nothing to quell the fear that she would leave again. So he presses her closer and buries his fingers through her hair as he waits for his heartbeat to calm. And even after, for a very long time, he does not let go.
He lets the world burn. Over and over.