Ship/Member: seokmin/minghao, soonyoung/wonwoo Major Tags: MCD? I guess? Additional Tags: soonwoo bickering like an old married couple, greek myth Permission to remix: Yes
when i read this prompt i simply could not look away. this take on orpheus/eurydice and hades/persephone is (intended to be) closer to hadestown than the classic greek myth! (crossposted to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36474550)
***
when he bursts into the cavernous throne room seokmin is fully aware that he looks a mess. the path down to hadestown is not meant to be charted in this direction, and he was already scruffy before. he swipes at his hair futilely, inadvertently streaking a little more soil across his face from his dirty fingers. straightening his clothes and adjusting the strap of his guitar, seokmin clears his throat, his posture forced stock-straight as he stands before the pair of imposing thrones.
the sterner-looking of the two men – no, seokmin has to remind himself – gods raises one disapproving eyebrow in his direction, and he cowers immediately. “the road’s meant to be one way, you know.”
“i’m sorry, sir –” he rushes, almost tripping over his own words. “i just– i really needed to get here. to see you. i need–”
the god lifts a palm, and seokmin falls silent. “i know what you’re here for.” the deep baritone of wonwoo’s voice can be felt in the air, and seokmin can almost feel it squashing down the rebellious sprouts of hope that had deigned to bloom in his chest. “death isn’t something that can be taken back.”
“oh, don’t be such a miserable bastard,” soonyoung cuts in. seokmin sucks in a breath, eyes widening in surprise. in all his imaginations of the relationship between the god of death and his consort he could not have foreseen this. “let him speak, at least?” seokmin’s gaze flits between the two gods, knowing that whatever he does next will be interpreted as him taking sides in a conflict that far outranks him. while wonwoo stares into the distance impassively, soonyoung holds his eyes meaningfully, gesturing with one hand for him to continue.
“i– i’ve come for minghao, sir.” his chest puffs up a little, confidence restored by the encouragement soonyoung is offering. someone’s on their side, he thinks. that makes all the difference. “i’ve come to take him back. back up to the surface.”
wonwoo barks out a laugh, the sound short and bitter. “like i said, young man. death is final. you should be glad i’m not keeping you here, for your little intrusion.”
he can feel his lips tremble, his throat constricting painfully. what else can he say to an immovable wall?
“you’ve never lost a thing in your life,” soonyoung shoots his husband a poisonous gaze as he breaks the silence. “and we both know the road can be used both ways. i do it all the time.” he does a little flourish at the end of his sentence.
“please,” seokmin whispers. “i’ll do anything. let me… let me sing for you.”
soonyoung claps his hands together with a bright smile. “music! we could use some of that to liven up these halls.”
“really, what value do you think that holds?” wonwoo’s voice remains level and cold. “a human’s music couldn’t possibly have that effect on me.”
“but i–” before he can complete his protest, soonyoung’s leaned across the broad arm of his throne to half-drape himself across wonwoo’s arm. “so you think you won’t feel a thing?” his eyes glimmer with mischief. “let’s make a bet then. if his song can make you feel something, anything, you have to give him a shot.”
“or what?” wonwoo’s eyes are narrowed, but for the first time seokmin sees the possibility for hope again.
“or…” soonyoung drags out the word, righting himself up in his own throne again and smiling beatifically. “or else i’ll make the rest of winter insufferable for you.”
wonwoo sighs deeply, as though this is a threat he’s heard a million times. “fine. just sing already, so he’ll shut up.”
seokmin’s heart leaps into his throat as he pulls his guitar around from where it’d lain against his back, taking a few moments to tune the strings. there have been many performances that have felt like they’d make or break his career, but none so serious as this. it’s not his own life on the line, but it may as well be. a life without minghao, to him, is no life at all. still, this is no time to dawdle – he cannot risk running out of the god’s patience.
so he opens his mouth and begins to sing. it is not a song of hope, of love. it is a mournful sound, a thread of grief and yearning that slices through the air to garrote his listeners. the sound is suspended in the high expanse of the room, the subtle reverb only amplifying the hurt that bleeds through his voice. seokmin continues to sing, his eyes still squeezed shut, and the song begins to shift as he focuses on the idea of minghao in his mind. the song thaws, blooms, as it speaks to love returning. love rebuilding. love reviving.
he only opens his eyes again when the last note hangs in the air, the echo lingering. soonyoung’s eyes are wet, he notes, and at some point the gods had stretched their hands out to intertwine their fingers. there’s nothing left for him to say, now.
soonyoung hums in appreciation, his lips lifting up into a smile. “that was beautiful, son. you sang beautifully.”
“it was okay,” wonwoo acknowledges, though the gruffness in his voice seems to have softened just by a little. “but–”
“no buts!” soonyoung declares, pulling his hand out of his husband’s and crossing his arms firmly over his chest. “you have to let them go, my love. it’s so poetic!”
seokmin cannot help it, this time. he finally breaks into a smile, his chest fit to burst from the hope that crescendos unrestrained now.
“these are the terms,” wonwoo says, the acquiescence evident in the way he inclines his head ever so slightly in his husband’s direction. “you may take minghao and make your way back to the surface. you journey on foot, and…” his mouth twists into a bitter smile. “you cannot look back at him, not until you’ve both reached the surface proper.”
“or–” his voice catches in his throat, the disbelief still colouring his tone. “or what?”
“well, if you look back,” wonwoo’s smile widens, wolfish and sharp. “then his soul is mine to keep. no second chances.”
oh. seokmin nods numbly, knowing this is the absolute most he could’ve wrung out of the unsympathetic god. no turning back – that’s simple enough to remember, right?
“okay,” seokmin speaks, more to reinforce his own confidence than anything. “okay, yes, i understand. Thank you, thank you both.” he smiles gratefully, his eyes lingering on soonyoung.
wonwoo waves silently in the direction he’d come from, and seokmin understands his implicit dismissal. soonyoung offers him a small wave and one last encouraging smile. “remember, seokmin. remember your promises.”
/
seokmin hovers at the mouth of the river styx, just steps away from the rugged path he’d just trudged down earlier. there hasn’t been a sign of minghao yet, though seokmin knows better than to turn around and check. it’s too soon in their journey to make a stupid mistake like that.
eventually, he hears the sound of footsteps falling on the uneven floor, and a voice.
“hello, seokmin.” those two words alone send seokmin’s heart soaring – the familiar timbre of minghao’s voice finally, finally allowing him to let go of the grief he’d been nursing.
“hello, minghao,” seokmin replies, the smile evident in his voice. he stretches one hand backwards, gesturing for minghao to grasp it with his own. “let’s go home, okay?”
they walk in silence for a while, the only sounds coming from the way their feet scuff against the rocks and soil. seokmin is content like this, the solid weight of minghao’s hand in his own a good enough confirmation that he’s still there.
“you know, i still can’t believe i did it.” seokmin begins to babble, his voice bright and hopeful. “you told me my music was good, but good enough to earn a miracle?” he laughs, incredulous and giddy. “they let me take you back, i– i’m never letting you go again, minghao.”
but there is no response. his words crash into the solid walls of the tunnel and no sound returns.
did they switch minghao out? seokmin wonders. did they try to trick him by replacing minghao with someone else, were they trying to goad him into turning by muting minghao?
he squeezes the other’s hand, just once, experimentally. it’s still there, warm and soft in his palm.
“minghao?” seokmin calls out, confusion tinging his voice. “minghao, you’re being really quiet. are you still there?”
“yes, i’m here.” minghao’s voice returns, low and quiet, and seokmin lets out the breath he’d been holding. “but did you… did you even think to ask if i wanted to be saved?”
“what?” seokmin’s heart plummets down, down, down. “why wouldn’t you want to be saved? we’re not finished yet.” his voice cracks.
“well, there’s… what’s there for me to go back to? what kind of a life?” minghao sounds weary, the way he had even before the underworld, and seokmin’s chest continues to tighten. “i have you, but… it’s hard, seokmin. at least down there the suffering is over.”
“do you really mean that?”
“i don’t know, seokmin. i’m just… i’m tired.” when minghao sighs, seokmin feels the movement ripple down where their hands are joined. “resting… it’s not so bad.”
“no!” seokmin half-shouts, his eyes beginning to feel uncomfortably warm. “no, i can’t just lose you like that!”
“seokmin… i chose to go with him. wonwoo. it was my choice.” he tries to pull his hand free, but seokmin’s fingers close tighter around it before he can slip away. “please, seokmin.”
minghao stops walking, even as seokmin’s attempts to keep advancing jerk his shoulder in its socket. “please. i want you to let me go, seokmin. go back to your life and your music, but… leave me here.”
he tugs at seokmin’s hand once, and waits.
“if that’s what you want, i… i won’t force you to come home.”
when seokmin turns his eyes are brimming with tears that begin to course down his cheeks. he pulls minghao into a tight embrace, pressing a kiss to his lips as he feels his corporeality begin to fade. he cries into the nook of minghao’s neck, hands trying to take stock of what little remains of minghao’s flesh as he simply fades away, pulled back into the underworld.
he’s only a few steps from the entrance, seokmin knows. he can see the sunlight creeping in, can hear the sounds of life and laughter at the gates, but seokmin can’t bring himself to move. he falls to his knees where he stands, wordless in his mourning. so close, yet so far.
“go on, seokmin.” soonyoung’s voice speaks directly in his mind, apologetic and gentle, the ghost of a hand patting his shoulder. “go live your life. i’ll take good care of him until your time comes.”
[FILL] slipping, slipping through my fingers
Major Tags: MCD? I guess?
Additional Tags: soonwoo bickering like an old married couple, greek myth
Permission to remix: Yes
when i read this prompt i simply could not look away. this take on orpheus/eurydice and hades/persephone is (intended to be) closer to hadestown than the classic greek myth!
(crossposted to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36474550)
***
when he bursts into the cavernous throne room seokmin is fully aware that he looks a mess. the path down to hadestown is not meant to be charted in this direction, and he was already scruffy before. he swipes at his hair futilely, inadvertently streaking a little more soil across his face from his dirty fingers. straightening his clothes and adjusting the strap of his guitar, seokmin clears his throat, his posture forced stock-straight as he stands before the pair of imposing thrones.
the sterner-looking of the two
men– no, seokmin has to remind himself – gods raises one disapproving eyebrow in his direction, and he cowers immediately. “the road’s meant to be one way, you know.”“i’m sorry, sir –” he rushes, almost tripping over his own words. “i just– i really needed to get here. to see you. i need–”
the god lifts a palm, and seokmin falls silent. “i know what you’re here for.” the deep baritone of wonwoo’s voice can be felt in the air, and seokmin can almost feel it squashing down the rebellious sprouts of hope that had deigned to bloom in his chest. “death isn’t something that can be taken back.”
“oh, don’t be such a miserable bastard,” soonyoung cuts in. seokmin sucks in a breath, eyes widening in surprise. in all his imaginations of the relationship between the god of death and his consort he could not have foreseen this. “let him speak, at least?”
seokmin’s gaze flits between the two gods, knowing that whatever he does next will be interpreted as him taking sides in a conflict that far outranks him. while wonwoo stares into the distance impassively, soonyoung holds his eyes meaningfully, gesturing with one hand for him to continue.
“i– i’ve come for minghao, sir.” his chest puffs up a little, confidence restored by the encouragement soonyoung is offering. someone’s on their side, he thinks. that makes all the difference. “i’ve come to take him back. back up to the surface.”
wonwoo barks out a laugh, the sound short and bitter. “like i said, young man. death is final. you should be glad i’m not keeping you here, for your little intrusion.”
he can feel his lips tremble, his throat constricting painfully. what else can he say to an immovable wall?
“you’ve never lost a thing in your life,” soonyoung shoots his husband a poisonous gaze as he breaks the silence. “and we both know the road can be used both ways. i do it all the time.” he does a little flourish at the end of his sentence.
“please,” seokmin whispers. “i’ll do anything. let me… let me sing for you.”
soonyoung claps his hands together with a bright smile. “music! we could use some of that to liven up these halls.”
“really, what value do you think that holds?” wonwoo’s voice remains level and cold. “a human’s music couldn’t possibly have that effect on me.”
“but i–” before he can complete his protest, soonyoung’s leaned across the broad arm of his throne to half-drape himself across wonwoo’s arm. “so you think you won’t feel a thing?” his eyes glimmer with mischief. “let’s make a bet then. if his song can make you feel something, anything, you have to give him a shot.”
“or what?” wonwoo’s eyes are narrowed, but for the first time seokmin sees the possibility for hope again.
“or…” soonyoung drags out the word, righting himself up in his own throne again and smiling beatifically. “or else i’ll make the rest of winter insufferable for you.”
wonwoo sighs deeply, as though this is a threat he’s heard a million times. “fine. just sing already, so he’ll shut up.”
seokmin’s heart leaps into his throat as he pulls his guitar around from where it’d lain against his back, taking a few moments to tune the strings. there have been many performances that have felt like they’d make or break his career, but none so serious as this. it’s not his own life on the line, but it may as well be. a life without minghao, to him, is no life at all. still, this is no time to dawdle – he cannot risk running out of the god’s patience.
so he opens his mouth and begins to sing. it is not a song of hope, of love. it is a mournful sound, a thread of grief and yearning that slices through the air to garrote his listeners. the sound is suspended in the high expanse of the room, the subtle reverb only amplifying the hurt that bleeds through his voice. seokmin continues to sing, his eyes still squeezed shut, and the song begins to shift as he focuses on the idea of minghao in his mind. the song thaws, blooms, as it speaks to love returning. love rebuilding. love reviving.
he only opens his eyes again when the last note hangs in the air, the echo lingering. soonyoung’s eyes are wet, he notes, and at some point the gods had stretched their hands out to intertwine their fingers. there’s nothing left for him to say, now.
soonyoung hums in appreciation, his lips lifting up into a smile. “that was beautiful, son. you sang beautifully.”
“it was okay,” wonwoo acknowledges, though the gruffness in his voice seems to have softened just by a little. “but–”
“no buts!” soonyoung declares, pulling his hand out of his husband’s and crossing his arms firmly over his chest. “you have to let them go, my love. it’s so poetic!”
seokmin cannot help it, this time. he finally breaks into a smile, his chest fit to burst from the hope that crescendos unrestrained now.
“these are the terms,” wonwoo says, the acquiescence evident in the way he inclines his head ever so slightly in his husband’s direction. “you may take minghao and make your way back to the surface. you journey on foot, and…” his mouth twists into a bitter smile. “you cannot look back at him, not until you’ve both reached the surface proper.”
“or–” his voice catches in his throat, the disbelief still colouring his tone. “or what?”
“well, if you look back,” wonwoo’s smile widens, wolfish and sharp. “then his soul is mine to keep. no second chances.”
oh. seokmin nods numbly, knowing this is the absolute most he could’ve wrung out of the unsympathetic god. no turning back – that’s simple enough to remember, right?
“okay,” seokmin speaks, more to reinforce his own confidence than anything. “okay, yes, i understand. Thank you, thank you both.” he smiles gratefully, his eyes lingering on soonyoung.
wonwoo waves silently in the direction he’d come from, and seokmin understands his implicit dismissal. soonyoung offers him a small wave and one last encouraging smile. “remember, seokmin. remember your promises.”
/
seokmin hovers at the mouth of the river styx, just steps away from the rugged path he’d just trudged down earlier. there hasn’t been a sign of minghao yet, though seokmin knows better than to turn around and check. it’s too soon in their journey to make a stupid mistake like that.
eventually, he hears the sound of footsteps falling on the uneven floor, and a voice.
“hello, seokmin.” those two words alone send seokmin’s heart soaring – the familiar timbre of minghao’s voice finally, finally allowing him to let go of the grief he’d been nursing.
“hello, minghao,” seokmin replies, the smile evident in his voice. he stretches one hand backwards, gesturing for minghao to grasp it with his own. “let’s go home, okay?”
they walk in silence for a while, the only sounds coming from the way their feet scuff against the rocks and soil. seokmin is content like this, the solid weight of minghao’s hand in his own a good enough confirmation that he’s still there.
“you know, i still can’t believe i did it.” seokmin begins to babble, his voice bright and hopeful. “you told me my music was good, but good enough to earn a miracle?” he laughs, incredulous and giddy. “they let me take you back, i– i’m never letting you go again, minghao.”
but there is no response. his words crash into the solid walls of the tunnel and no sound returns.
did they switch minghao out? seokmin wonders. did they try to trick him by replacing minghao with someone else, were they trying to goad him into turning by muting minghao?
he squeezes the other’s hand, just once, experimentally. it’s still there, warm and soft in his palm.
“minghao?” seokmin calls out, confusion tinging his voice. “minghao, you’re being really quiet. are you still there?”
“yes, i’m here.” minghao’s voice returns, low and quiet, and seokmin lets out the breath he’d been holding. “but did you… did you even think to ask if i wanted to be saved?”
“what?” seokmin’s heart plummets down, down, down. “why wouldn’t you want to be saved? we’re not finished yet.” his voice cracks.
“well, there’s… what’s there for me to go back to? what kind of a life?” minghao sounds weary, the way he had even before the underworld, and seokmin’s chest continues to tighten. “i have you, but… it’s hard, seokmin. at least down there the suffering is over.”
“do you really mean that?”
“i don’t know, seokmin. i’m just… i’m tired.” when minghao sighs, seokmin feels the movement ripple down where their hands are joined. “resting… it’s not so bad.”
“no!” seokmin half-shouts, his eyes beginning to feel uncomfortably warm. “no, i can’t just lose you like that!”
“seokmin… i chose to go with him. wonwoo. it was my choice.” he tries to pull his hand free, but seokmin’s fingers close tighter around it before he can slip away. “please, seokmin.”
minghao stops walking, even as seokmin’s attempts to keep advancing jerk his shoulder in its socket. “please. i want you to let me go, seokmin. go back to your life and your music, but… leave me here.”
he tugs at seokmin’s hand once, and waits.
“if that’s what you want, i… i won’t force you to come home.”
when seokmin turns his eyes are brimming with tears that begin to course down his cheeks. he pulls minghao into a tight embrace, pressing a kiss to his lips as he feels his corporeality begin to fade. he cries into the nook of minghao’s neck, hands trying to take stock of what little remains of minghao’s flesh as he simply fades away, pulled back into the underworld.
he’s only a few steps from the entrance, seokmin knows. he can see the sunlight creeping in, can hear the sounds of life and laughter at the gates, but seokmin can’t bring himself to move. he falls to his knees where he stands, wordless in his mourning. so close, yet so far.
“go on, seokmin.” soonyoung’s voice speaks directly in his mind, apologetic and gentle, the ghost of a hand patting his shoulder. “go live your life. i’ll take good care of him until your time comes.”