Archive of Our Own ^beta

Inhale…

Exhale…

Nope.

Kang Suman paces in his room, white suit feeling wet and tacky with sweat against his skin, fuck, his fingers fumble to loosen the tie around his throat, fuck… fuck fuck fuck.

He kneels by his bed, knees weaken and tremble as he presses his forehead against the cool sheets. Fuck… how did he get in this situation again? Oh, right… because of that bastard, his mind spins as he recalls what happened just two days ago..

A long suffering sigh whistles through clenched teeth, fingers massaging the creases between his brows to quell a growing migraine, the meeting between Baekdu and Shinhwa went well alright… until his secretary informed him of… his, arrival.

The bastard in question was currently sat with his legs crossed on the sofa across him, elegant and poised with his cheek propped against a hand, “we meet again, Kang Suman of Baekdu, it’s been a while”. It’s purred to him in a way that sends a chill down his spine, suppressing a shudder in front of the powerful man presented before him.

“… Vatore” he gulps, the reason why the man comes to him now remains a mystery, the last time was those absurd requests to meet Kayden 3 months ago, and then Kartein, bringing hell to his life for a solid week before finally deciding to bid goodbye. “How are you? Has life been treating you well?”, the casual question is asked between sips of the Bori-cha served standard by the organisation, and Suman feels his tongue growing heavy, hesitant on how exactly to answer.

“… We have been well, all things considering”, it’s not exactly a lie, they have been… stable, even after losing their major powerhouses, his eyes grow somber at the reminder of his late brother and father. A low chuckle breaks him out of his thoughts, “not Baekdu, Kang Suman, I meant you, how are you?”, pardon? He stares, his mind blank at such a simple question, him? “I’m… fine”, pathetic, the whisper barely audible to his own ears, but apparently loud and clear to the enigmatic man.

He says nothing, and neither does him. The only sound audible was the slow sips of tea shared between two awakeners, and for a second Suman feels… peaceful. “Ahem”, his eyes snap to the other man, what? “Have you taken my question into consideration?”, his thoughts stall and his jaw drops, … what question?

A scoff has his heart jolting in fear, only then reminded of just who the man across him was, how powerful he is, “I have been waiting for months to hear back from you, about your favour”, OH! His back snaps straight, right! The favour! He gulps nervously, in complete honesty… he forgot entirely about that, and guilt consumes him instantly.

“I…”, he has no excuse, how dare he? A favour from a Top 50… entirely forgotten. His throat goes dry, heart palpating so hard in his chest he forgets how to breathe, a sigh interrupts his anxiety, “why didn’t you call me during that fight with Mioru’s disciple?”, his mind instantly goes back to the terrifying yet exhilarating event, of how dangerous and deadly it was, still visceral in his memory.

Huh, why didn’t he? His eyes scatter across the room, looking confused, but… he knows why, didn’t he? “Because I didn’t want to” the other awakener’s eyes widen sharply, offense makes his back snap straight, “because you didn’t want to?”, his tone drips with venom so thick he can feel it drop onto the carpeted floor.

Silence.

Vatore in quiet offense and Suman in defiant anxiousness, fingers fidgeting in his lap, the other man leans back against the hard cushions, eyes narrowed with a finger near his eye where his cheek leans on his hand, a silent permission to explain. “… Sir Vatore, Korea has long been kept under the radar, institutions of other countries barely bat an eye at us, and for years we have been at peace”, he pauses, taking a short sip of tea for his parched throat, fear pushed aside.

“But now? I dare say we are at the forefront of everyone’s attention, and we cannot afford to appear weak, not anymore”, his eyes harden with determination, watches as the man no longer looked at him with contempt, but with honest, raw curiosity. “Which is why… I took the opportunity, not to show off, not of arrogance, but to prove to the world that my country will no longer bow to their commands”, his hands clench from where they are in his lap, brow creasing in a show of bravery.

He stands to full height, ignoring the startled look of the other awakener, bowing at the waist as deeply as he could, gratitude rolling off of him in waves, “… I thank you, Sir Vatore, sincerely, for your favour”, he stands up again, hands to the side in formality, just like how his father taught him. “But for now… I will keep it in mind, and when the time comes”, his eyes soften, and the other man is stunned to silence, “I will call you”, the declaration hangs in the air, the silent promise weighs heavily on their shoulders.

The air was thick, not with tension nor threat, but with understanding. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Vatore stands, walking to stand beside Suman with his hat pressed to his chest before kneeling, right in front of him. Huh? Now it’s his turn to be stunned to silence, jaw hanging open and his eyes wide, what… what is he doing?

“Kang Suman… you truly are something else”, his voice is filled with mirth, chuckling at the shocked look on the other man, “I have a proposal, then, since I am not a man of patience”. A proposal? His eyes take in the powerful awakener, on his knees, hat to his chest and his wide, blue eye looking up at him, oh…oh no…

He has a bad feeling about this.

“Kang Suman” his throat goes parched as his hand is taken gently, encompassed by bigger, softer ones, “will you marry me?”

…. What?

And that brings him to his current situation, on the verge of a panic attack (or maybe he’s already having one, he has no idea), in his bedroom. How was he supposed to say no? Vatore (his soon to be husband, a voice in his head reminds), a Top 50, was on his knees, for him! … So of course he said yes (he regrets it, he regrets it so much), the image of the other man smiling widely at him crosses his mind, to which he quickly shakes away.

“Uncle?” a soft voice and an even softer knock brings him back to the present, Sucheon. “Come… come in”, he quickly stands up, hands grabbing at himself to make an effort to at least look presentable (even though he’s about to puke his guts out), he doesn’t turn around when quiet footsteps step inside and stops behind him, fingers fumbling to straighten his tie.

When he finally feels ready, he spins around, eyes finding the small form of his beloved nephew, fidgeting with the sleeves of his own burgundy suit, he looks… smaller than usual. “Hey…” he keeps his voice as soft as possible, out of fear of startling the only family he has left (well, until the wedding), leaning down with a hand on the lean shoulder.

Big, black eyes look up at him, fear of the unknown so visible he has to stop himself from gathering the boy up in his arms, “you don’t have to do this”, the silent plea falls from quivering lips, subtle, but there. His heart breaks, if he had only thought how this would’ve affected Sucheon, he never would’ve said yes, “don’t worry about me… I’ll be fine”, will he? He knows marriage isn’t a walk in the park (especially an arranged one, his own parents’ taught him that).

… But he has to do this, there’s not turning back now, a smile more confident than he feels graces his lips, standing to full height and straightening his suit, “how do I look?”, spreading his arms out slightly, showing off the pristine white suit, accented with burgundy with a matching tie. That seemed to loosen the boy up, who rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, that’s the Sucheon he knows, “ridiculous”, the insult falls slightly flat with the absence of his signature smirk, but he’ll take it.

Chuckling, he ruffles the dark hair, ignoring the indignant yelp that he gets, knowing his nephew, he probably spent at least half an hour on it. A knock breaks the tranquility they shared, both heads snapping up to the door, “sir? It’s time”, ah… so it is. He shares a small, hesitant smile with Sucheon, nudging him forward, “come on… “, the boy dug his feet at first, stubborn as always, but relents after a soft glare.

He opens the door to his secretary waiting for him, dressed in a similar suit, only dark grey in colour, he smiles politely, letting them lead the way. They walk in silence, the long stretch of corridors feel like forever to him, his stomach back to twisting in knots, and when they reach doors to the hall, he feels ready to throw up then and there.

The hulking figure of an aged man catches his attention, Seongik Han, the man supposed to give him away (if his father were here, he would’ve protested to his grave). They meet each other with smiles, momentarily taking the time to send Sucheon away, watching him grow more distant as his secretary leads him to where he’s supposed to be. His heart lurched to his throat, hands back to fidgeting with his sleeves in anxiety, only when he felt a firm grip on his forearm did he stop.

His eyes meet the sharp gaze of a man who’s seen many, strong still even in old age, “you will be alright”, such sureness in the older awakener’s voice almost brings him to tears, hands instinctively grip the one holding his arm. In return, he feels his fingers being held strongly, gentle enough it doesn’t hurt, “you will be alright”, he nods one too many times, wiping away at the tears he didn’t noticed gathering in his eyes, sniffing a few times.

Taking a few deep breaths to control himself, he finally stands straight, adjusting his suit with false bravado, “I’m ready”, he matches the soft smile he gets with his own, hand taking the arm offered to him, and finally…

They march

The wedding bells harmonising with the loud organs do nothing to lighten his mood, the veil over his head conceals his bleeding lips, bitten raw by sharp teeth. The songs come to a slow when they reach the altar, stopping right before he has to step on… and meet his husband. The man in question is also dressed sharply in a suit that matches his own, long teal hair tied neatly into a ponytail secured by a matching burgundy ribbon, even in the face of his doom does this man look handsome.

Just before he is to let go of the older man’s arm, he’s stopped, “if anything happens, remember, your home will always be here”, it's whispered so softly in his ears he almost doesn’t catch it, but tears well in his eyes nonetheless, barely managing to swallow them back, “thank you”, he chokes, and finally, he lets go.

It was a slow walk up those small stairs, his feet feel heavier with each step, but he pulls through, when he stands face to face with his husband, his head tilts downwards, not out of submission, but out of instinct. He feels hands lifting his veil, looking up slowly to meet the other man’s eyes, he looks blurry through his tears, but his gaze feels gentle, understanding.

The priest drones on what needs to be said, his ears too stuffed with cotton he doesn’t hear it, his eyes locked to the sea of teal. They skipped the vows, neither of them having prepared any, “Sir Vatore, do you take Kang Suman as your lawfully wedded husband?”, with no hesitation and the slightest smile, “I do”. Suman swallows thickly, realising it’s his turn, “And do you, Kang Suman, take Sir Vatore as your lawfully wedded husband?” , he hesitates, barely a second, clearing his throat, “… I do”, and his now husband smiles so wide it almost splits his face.

They exchange rings, simple silver bands with a single amethyst as decoration, “I pronounce you, husband and husband”, the roaring crowd claps before them, but Suman only has eyes to the man before him, watching him lean in for… a kiss. By reflect he flinches away (barely, he remembers where he is), expecting lips to be pressed on his own, instead, after a beat, they press on his forehead, unlike what he expected.

Next thing he knows he’s being lead away by a gentle grip on his hands by Vatore, who skillfully leads them through the thin path, his eyes scan the familiar and unfamiliar faces.

Sucheon’s wide, tearful eyes meet his, he doesn’t clap, sorrow rolls out of him in waves.

He looks away.

Yoo Jiyoung’s neutral (yet tarnished with a hint of concern… and pity), her slow clapping accompanied by Goo Inhyuk’s beside her, Yoo Jisuk’s almost sarcastic claps a sharp contrast to his sister’s .

Seongik Han along with the heads of other Korean organisations also stand within the crowd, a neutral smile of congratulations mar their aged features.

His head spins at all the possibilities and challenges he might face in the future, for his family, his organisation… his marriage.

Emotions clog his throat as he is whisked away to a car awaiting them, he doesn’t know what will happen once the doors slam shut, but…

He is Kang Suman of Baekdu. He inhales. He exhales. He will do just fine.