Deception | Taeyong | Sicheng
Genre: Drama ; Mystery
Description: He had been your world. Your world had been a lie.
Word Count: 3800
Author’s Note: How do you even pick a bias in NCT!!!11 Seriously tho, they wreck me, I’m considering writing a “cherry bomb” inspired scenario with Yuta or Jaehyun helP. Anyway, this took me kind of long and it is kind of long lmao, please don’t leave 😂😂 also, I’ve thought about writting a second part?? I actually lost part of it and had to write it again I– ;^;
e n j o y *^*
He smiled at you—your hand in his grasp, soft and warm, not unlike him—his eyes expectant, waiting for your answer. How was your day? Not hard to answer, yet you wondered why was it almost impossible in that instant to let out a single word, why you had to stop and rewind your every second to remember what you had for breakfast. You could talk to him about anything. The ideas that went through your head in a moment. The opinion you had on the often-discouraging news that flashed through the T.V every morning. Even the dreams, those little snips that woke you lightheaded, sometimes nauseated, or the fact that you could barely remember them. You could tell him all that and more (after a minute of pause, that is) and he would be willing to listen just as much. Why wouldn’t he? He was your boyfriend after all.
“It was alright,” you replied with all honesty. It hadn’t been the best morning, waking up with a ruthless headache and finding you’d slept in anything but comfy PJ’s.
He pouted lightly, blue eyes glimmering with mischief. “Is there any way I could help? Do you want anything else?”
He’d always been like that, Lee Taeyong, for as long as you knew him. Soft and compliant, casually naughty. You’d been together for the longest time, perhaps as long as you could remember. You often smiled at the thought, you couldn’t be more happier and safe and warm and everything. Yes, Lee Taeyong made you everything. As if you knew only him and you and nothing else in the world—as if there were nothing else in the world.
You often felt that was the case.
“I’m pretty full, actually,” you smiled after taking his offer into consideration, setting down a laminated menu. “But, thanks.”
The place wasn’t at all flashy or posh or any of the liking. A mere restaurant cornering the street that led to your apartment, it had become sort of a habit for you to visit at least once a week. You liked it, the lack of extravagancy, the smell of food and familiarity.
A friendly lady, whose name you’ve come to know was Jiwoo, approached your table. Her hair was golden and her smile bright; she worked there and you two had developed a bit of a friendship between the days you dropped by the establishment. “Is there something else you need?”
Taeyong returned the smile, “No, that’d be all, thank you.”
Jiwoo’s smile seemed to falter, something you’d come to notice happened when Taeyong was around. You didn’t give it much of a thought, though. Perhaps it was just you being over analytic.
“Here you go, then,” the flicker of seeming disdain in her eyes seemed to disappear and he offered Taeyong the bill, along with a pair of fortune cookies for which the restaurant was known for. She hurried down behind the counter not before giving you a smile, somehow off putting you with the almost overlooked veil of concern in them.
“May I?” You turned to the delicacy, placing the previous thought on the back of your mind.
“Be my guest,” Taeyong replied, running a hand through his colored hair. Pink. You weren’t going to lie; the color was unexpected. It suited his countenance, without a doubt, but there was simply something off. It wouldn’t keep you from thinking about how cute he was, however. Cute and handsome. The sharp lines and precise, almost aggressive, angles of his jaw, right above the expanses of his neck; the smooth curves of a clavicle, the glowing ivory white extent of his chest, then another; the soft locks of hair; the feathered kisses that were his eyelashes on his cheeks whenever his blue eyes came to a close. You were no artist but you itched to engrave his beauty on paper, on millions of them. You couldn’t stare enough, you felt as if he might suddenly disappear.
Noticing his smirk, you decided you might just have stared for a bit too long and cowered your eyes to the treat in your hands shyly, cracking it open.
“Be careful who you trust, the devil was an angel once.”
Well, that’s relieving, you thought. You weren’t expecting anything at all like that. You’d been ready for the short gags or generic advice or anything but that. There was an unsettling feeling on your stomach, a shiver along your back. Taeyong seemed to be battling with something in the back of his mind, but then again you couldn’t tell, you never could. Lee Taeyong was the closest thing you knew to home but his eyes were something so distant. Radiant and impossibly out of reach like a star. You knew nothing in the world but him yet sometimes you felt as if you knew anything but him. Now was one of those times. You struggled to swallow a bitter acid that clogged your throat, static at your ears, nonexistent fog clouding your vision.
“Everything good there, love?”
There it was. The word that seemed to make everything right. You waited for its effects, toxic seeping through your veins akin to anesthesia or any other mind-numbing drug. You managed to nod, though you felt you’d only been compelled to do so. Your eyes shifted away, and, as if from a distance, you saw a silhouette, the intricate outline of a man.
Dong Sicheng, you remembered. You’d seen him before—he worked there, after all. Black, no, red hair (you recalled just briefly that one time the light had shone directly upon him and you’d noted the streaks of copper and rays of scarlet), bronze skin, brown eyes, you remembered seeing him just once or twice up close, never had your eyes truly met his until now. He seemed to be looking directly at you.
His eyes were intense, a bit hostile. Then you noticed, he was not looking at you. His eyes bore directly into Taeyong—his back, really—and seemed to travel down his figure. His mouth twitched, the hands at his sides gripped into tight fists. Your eyes fell on your hand, fingers in tangles with Taeyong’s slender ones, where his eyes had stopped. You looked back at him in wonder, brows knitted together in a frown.
Now he was looking directly at you. The unwavering vehemence in his eyes made you try to tear your sight away from his yet you couldn’t. You felt lost, so sudden, a misplaced object in a broken space. The ghost of a smile in his plump lips, something you felt was so intimate and forbidden, not meant for your eyes to see.
A tug at your hand and you were up on your feet. Taeyong smiled. He had settled the bill already and was pulling you out of the establishment in a hurry, disregarding your protests about you having agreed to pay half of it. A blowing gale slapped your face, the chiming of a bell above your head, and you almost failed to turn back one last time only to notice Sicheng gone.
Taeyong’s hold on your hand failed to be gentle, its pressing force only increasing every step you took. You didn’t know where he was leading you to, you never really did, quite frankly—you had no need to question, you simply followed.
His free hand, you realized, hung in a tight fist by his side. He was clutching something, a white thin strip of paper which, after a second of thought, you distinguished as your “fortune”.
Be careful who you trust…
Your eyes darted back and forth between the vicinity. It had darkened quite suddenly and you couldn’t help but shiver at the mist of darkness and crisp that overcame you.
“Where are we going?” You asked, waiting in vain for an answer that would not come. Your hand tightened on Taeyong’s and eventually tugged. “Taeyong,” you called slightly on edge. He did not glance back, nor did he offer one of his darling smiles—his face was hidden, both under the shadows and too far away from you to notice the sharp incisors that worried at his lip.
“You had to make it more difficult than it already is.”
A hiss, barely a whisper—a warning. Then, a low throaty chuckle.
You didn’t know what took over you. Shudders far too adamant to even get a taste of the fire that seemed to sizzle the air around you. You broke free from his hand with a start and ran, not before realizing you’d been pulled into a pitch-black passage that had the faint smell of salt and flames. Too distracted by the loud palpitations by your ear and the nauseating scent, something caught your arm and you were sent backwards and onto the pavement.
Oxygen was forced out from your lungs and you lost focus along with the smallest sense of where you were and what you were. Flat palms against moisture running chills up your spine—it had rained, and you were attacked by the fresh smell of petrichor and the treacherous presence of someone behind you. You were lost, once again, but you stood nevertheless and readied yourself for a second chase.
A step. Another. A clash.
You were seized by a pair of firm arms, amusingly familiar. Not the I’ve-felt-this-before familiar but the type of familiar that came with the most pleasant of inexperiences—the one that spelled safety without being recognizable or known, the one that was simply right.
“Sicheng?” His name felt strange against your lips, like a foreign delicacy that had only ever been desired but not once tasted. You’d never actually said his name aloud; there wasn’t a need for he usually remained behind the counter and, if not, only ever crossed words with you in a meticulously brief manner. His eyes seemed to glimmer a dark brown even under the dark wave of night hovering above you.
“Are you in pain? Did he do anything to you?” His words came out in a fluster; the desperation in them produced panic from within you. His hands gripped at your shoulders and you felt as if you might break. Not because they clung onto you with such strength—which surprisingly did not hurt in any way—but because they felt as if they were the very reason why in that moment you were standing. Because you did not know why Sicheng might think Taeyong would hurt you—and because you did not know why you suddenly considered it possible.
It was just a flash of hesitancy, gone as fast as it had arrived. “No. No, he wouldn’t…” You replied with a sort of unwavering certainty. You knew Lee Taeyong. Your Taeyong. Who had made his way into your heart with impossible vehemence– your heart that did not let just anyone in, your heart that only ever held him.
Sicheng sighed, a long, restless noise as if from someone who’d been dealing with a fight and realized that it wasn’t over just yet. You felt like you might fall when he released you from his hold but when he reached to frame your face with his hands, a thumb tracing the expanses of your cheek, you felt like you might utterly collapse.
He drew his forehead to yours and spoke in the softest, most tender of voices, “Good. If something were to happen to you again,” his head shook against yours in denial. “I would not stop them. I would let them dispose of me as best they like this time.”
You couldn’t bear his closeness, suddenly, and backed away in almost leaping steps. It could have appeared cartoonish if it weren’t for his reaction—he did not find it funny, his eyes reflected the night and dark and the deepest of sorrows and it hurt. It hurt to see the desperation as he took another step forward and you did nothing but take one backward.
And you felt desperate, too. Perhaps it’d been his words—if something were to happen to you again—because just what did he mean by that? Or maybe it was the fact that you did not know where Taeyong went or what happened to him and why it mattered a bit less than it should. Your mind could not concentrate in anything but the rippling fire that surged from where Sicheng had touched; your shoulder blades through your coat; your cheeks and forehead through no barrier; and it scared you. The burning thrill of it all did.
“You, what do you mean by that?” You managed to whisper. Your hands were stilled in front of you to offer protection, though for some reason you doubted Sicheng might try to hurt you.
That line from your fortune burned at the back of your mind and you reminded yourself that you shouldn’t trust anyone. Not Jiwoo who had appeared to be the only familiar face in that restaurant and whom you suddenly remembered, nor Sicheng whose hands had been so pleasurably tender. No, you reminded yourself, not anyone but Taeyong.
Sicheng seemed to have a tough time coming up with an answer, either because he hadn’t planned for one or it mentally consumed him to think about it. Anyway, you found it was one more reason to be wary of him. “He really erased them,” he answered, finally. He looked as if he’d been expecting, as if whatever he meant by that could only but be certain. “He really erased you.”
Your brows furrowed and as an instinct you glanced down at yourself. You were, well, you. There was nothing strange, out-of-the-norm about you. Sure, you’d lost a bit of weight—the tiniest bit, you weren’t sure why but lately you’d lost your appetite and nothing enticed you either—but you weren’t disappearing.
“I don’t understand,” you sounded rather apologetic as your head shook. “Erased? Who is ‘he’, exactly?”
“Taeyong. I’m talking about Taeyong.”
The bile and detestation with which he said it had the hairs at the back of your neck rising. Sicheng, you had to admit, looked dangerous. From his long, dark red bangs to his sole posture and lean physique. He was the kind of dangerous to be somewhat afraid of—the hidden, never expected kind.
“Is there something wrong with him?” You couldn’t help but wonder. Had there been anything between the two of them you didn’t know of?
His perilous gaze turned soft again, a bit melancholic. It gave you some kind of relief. “Don’t worry about him, worry about yourself.”
“How can I not worry, he’s my boyfriend, all I love.” Maybe the last part had been a bit too much, you realized belatedly.
“No, he’s not.”
Too late you realized he’d closed the space between you. His hand clung at your wrist with a gentle forcefulness which only seemed to be possible in him, and the other circled your waist and positioned itself more tenderly on the small of your back. You could feel his lungs expanding and contracting with every breath and the wild palpitations of his heart against you. You could see his breaths against the cold, dark night and his eyes, impossible windows of menace and hazard and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
“Fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this. But I can’t stand here listening to you calling him your lover after we—dammit. I can’t, and I don’t want to, I need you to know. Call me fucking selfish, it won’t stop me. Even if the king might want me beheaded by tomorrow morning, at least I had this one night with you, this one moment. And you need to know, I know it’s not the best way but it’s your right, you would want it this way. So please, My Lady, remember.”
You were mute. Your eyes did not waver, they held his, but you couldn’t help the blinding pain in your head that caused you to recoil lightly in his arms, which still, so strangely, held you.
“Please, if you could not bite your lip.” It’d barely been a whisper, clearly not intended for you to hear, but you managed to do so either way. That woke you up.
You collected all your strength on that one swing. A single punch and his grasp had dissolved to nothing. You massaged your hand, waiting for the pain that never came. You decided you couldn’t do enough damaged so you readied yourself for a second swing. You did until he finally looked back at you.
You were taken aback—you had never been the violent type. Blood dripping from a cut on his lips told you otherwise. You felt sick that you managed to hurt him like that—yes, he had been weirdly close but perhaps if you moved him aside first you wouldn’t have had to do that—and took a step forward with every intention to help when he held his hand up to stop you.
His gaze lowered and you heard him laugh. An actual laugh, a joyous laugh, the kind of when you’re told the funniest, most clever joke or simply given an exquisite treat.
“I was wrong,” he gasped, redirecting his eyes towards you. You saw the tiniest gleam of pride and adoration and amusement all the same. “You’re still here.”
Confusion seemed to have become a part of you but you did not hesitate to answer. “I’ve always been.”
Sicheng was awestricken in all his usual calm and collectedness, which gave you a moment of fleeting pride, as he straightened himself before taking a small step toward you. You did not back away this time, instead you raised your hands tight in fists, you felt more confident about your skills.
He called your name for the first time, softly, as if finally savoring something he had been deprived of for the longest time. He began towards you when a voice ripped through the night.
“Have you been looking for me, love?”
Your eyes darted immediately from Sicheng to the owner of the voice. You knew, of course you did. If the tone of his voice hadn’t convinced you—which, really, was nearly impossible, you’d memorized every word and sound of him—the other certainly did, the little hope, the little “love”.
Without a second thought, you started for him, when something caught your wrist. You turned to look at the culprit. “Don’t go,” his voice was demanding, yet you could hear the silent plea. “Please.”
But how could you not go, when he was all you had? How could you not go, when he was your “love”?
“Let’s go back home, baby. Don’t waste our time.”
And you finally looked at him. He was different, very much so. Cotton candy pink replaced by black, so very dark it could easily blend as a shadow, perhaps even a smudge of charcoal on a drawing. The only thing darker were his eyes. They were the depths of the sea where murderous creatures hid and monstrosities dwelled. Taeyong had always been art to you, surreal beauty—the menace and hazard did little to change the fact.
Suddenly you felt the warmth by your wrist gone and saw Sicheng leaping forward. A swift movement against the dark, he seemed to dance in the night. And he seemed to glimmer. Though, belatedly you realized, the object which he held outstretched towards Taeyong. And you screamed.
“Taeyong!” The shrill of your voice frightened even you and you ran forward until then not.
Taeyong collapsed. And your world collided.
You fell on your knees, stiff and rigid, a death weight. Your mind was clogged with the image. Sicheng, the figure of grace, spiraling in the night; a gleaming dagger; Taeyong; the perfect puncture to the heart. Blood rushed savagely through your system and you were momentarily deaf, you failed to listen.
“How does it feel,” he smiled, the inside of his mouth tinted with scarlet blood, the aroma of metal alive and enduring. “How does it feel to know she’s no longer yours, little warrior.”
Sicheng was still, disgust clear in his features as what had been Taeyong vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving the reek of salt and inferno behind. Figures, Sicheng thought, straightening up.
“He…” Your voice was silent—you had managed to regain strength at the last moment to see Taeyong vanish into nothing. “He…disappeared.”
“It wasn’t him,” Sicheng replied curtly, a bit cold, a bit distant. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye briefly before returning to his dagger, free from any vital body fluids. “It was an illusion, a deception. I do not know where he learned that from, but it could be dangerous.”
You wanted to joke and say that he looked more dangerous with a dagger than Taeyong would ever be but decided it would be best not to.
“Listen,” his hands clenched by his sides, he seemed hesitant. He did not reach for you. “I promised you once I will not lie to you, and I will not. Nothing about Taeyong is real. None of it. He is not whom he appears to be nor whom you think he is. He has lied. To you, to everyone. Countless of times. You cannot trust him, for your safety, you cannot.”
And then, you truly knew your world had collided. You felt as if your breath had suddenly decided to rip itself out from your body, leaving you trembling, gasping. Taeyong had been your world. Now it was taken away from you. But how, just how were you to live from then on? You had lost everything with him, and it wasn’t an understatement. You had found a home in him, a friend, a lover. And it had all been a hoax. Your life had been one.
Sicheng sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and slowly found the courage to place his hand over yours; waited for your reaction, and gripped it tightly, intertwining, unaware and in the most subtle of ways, his fingers with yours. “You are not alone. You have thousands behind you, believe it or not. And you have me,” his hand gave yours a little squeeze, a small notice, perhaps a supplication. “Please do remember you have me.”
You could only but nod. You didn’t know what you were agreeing to but, really, you had no other choice. Sicheng was perchance the only other “someone” in your life. One of the few constants in it and, somehow, you had already decided you wanted to keep it that way. You wanted to trust him. You truly did. But, as his hand brushed strands of hair tenderly away from your face, you smiled and couldn’t help remembering,
the devil was an angel once, after all.
