In Chains

For to be free is not merely

 To cast off one's chains,

 But to live in a way that respects

And enhances the freedom of others.
                        ~~Nelson Mandela

            The lights are too bright when he opens his eyes. The clamor of incoming crowds is too loud when he comes fully awake. The ground is too hard under his feet when he stands.

            The chains around his wrists are too heavy when he raises his hands to rub the sleep from his eyes.

            “The show begins in twenty minutes,” someone calls in to him. Briefly, he waves his hand, utterly disinterested. A commotion rises outside: people shouting, exclamations of dissent and anger, and the gruffness of one of the security guards. The bottom of the tent flaps gently as a man slides under it, rolling to his feet and coming almost face to face with the chained performer. For a moment, there is no movement, the fracas outside passing until the outside noise is no louder than usual.

            The performer is silent, lips curving up into as much of a smile as he can manage. His eyes are dark, and he studies the other man thoroughly, until the other breaks the silence by clearing his throat.

            “Sorry to bother you,” he mutters, bowing. After a moment of clear indecisiveness, he extends his hand, prompting a handshake from the performer. The performer raises an eyebrow in disdain, pushing his hand into the other man’s, the cool, heavy clink of metal seeming to echo in the silence that followed. Before he can begin to inquire as to why the beautiful performer is in chains, a bell sounds, and the performer startles, resentment, pain, sadness and resignation passing over his face, and then disappearing as he turns away, waving his hand at the intruder.

            “Get out.”

            “Wait.”

            The performer turns around at the intruder’s voice. Arching an eyebrow, he stares pointedly at the man.

            “Do you work here?” The intruder asks the other man, his eyes curious and quiet.

            The performer nods.

            “Are you part of the show?”

            The performer nods again.

            “Are you performing tonight?”

            Again, the performer nods.

            There is silence, and the intruder is gone, the bottom flap of the tent rustling, signaling that he had indeed left. From behind a pile of boxes, two people appear, their faces covered by paint, and their clothes styled the same way, but one outfit black, the other, white.

            The performer turns to look at the two. They are the closest things that he has to friends, and he appreciates their company. Neither is short, and both are lithe, muscular and beautiful. They are scarily similar in appearance, but they are not twins.

            “Who was that, hyung?” One asks the performer, his eyes big and bright against the black paint on his face.

            “Did you know him?” The other asks the same question, eyes not quite as bright against the nearly painful white paint covering his face. The performer is silent, and then shakes his head. No, he did not know the other man.

            “Good luck on your part of the show today, hyung,” the black-painted boy offers, bowing. The white-painted boy is forced to bow with him, the chain bound to each of their collars keeping their actions in sync. The performer shudders inwardly. He hates to see the boys contained, hates to see that their normally free, beautiful movement is restricted by the chain by their necks, and by the chain that bound their wrists together.

            Suddenly, the performer is overwhelmed by sadness, and he pulls both boys towards him, noticing that they are now taller than he is, despite his being ten years older than the oldest of the pair. Pulling back as the main flap of the tent is pulled open, he shoos the boys away, and prepares to be led from the tent. A thin, leather leash is attached to his collar, and he walks along with the handlers, following the ringmaster into the largest, most impressive tent on the grounds.

            The performer waits, his body already feeling the aches and stresses that it would experience in just a few minutes. Someone comes and unhooks his cuffs and shoves him towards the center of the large tent as the lights go dark. Loops of cloth are shoved into his hands, and he takes a deep breath.

            The ringmaster announces his name into the blackness of the tent, relishing in the silence that reigns. Bracing himself, tightening his muscles until he knows that he will cramp later, the performer is lifted into the air, wind whooshing by his ears, the buzz of machinery loud in the stillness that has fallen over the audience. A single spotlight clicks on, blinding the performer with its white, brilliant light. He can no longer see, but he does not panic. He does not need eyes, not for this.

            Slowly pulling his body into the first position as the music starts, he begins.

************************************************************************************************

There was a point in time when he had been called Heechul. Kim Heechul, they called him, to be exact.

“Heechul! Sign this, please?”

“Heechul, I love you!”

“Heechul, you’re so amazing!”

“Heechul, you’re my role model!”

“Heechul, marry me!”

“Heechul!”

“Heechul!”

“Heechul!”

He heard his name more times than he could count, but that was completely okay by him. He loved the attention. There was one thing that he loved more than the attention, and it was his closest friend, Cho Kyuhyun.

They performed together as an aerialist act in the largest traveling circus in the country, and the name “Kyuhyun” was screamed just as often as the name “Heechul.” Rarely were the two seen apart, and when they performed, there was nothing that the audience could do but watch and admire the two as their bodies strained, falling through the air, trusting that the other would be there to catch them.

“Great show today,” Kyuhyun panted, wiping the sweat from his neck with a towel that Heechul threw towards him. The older aerialist laughed, throwing his head back in delight. His laughter was infectious, and Kyuhyun could not help but chuckle at his hyung, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and steering them towards the clothing tent.

“Of course the show was great, Kyuhyun-ah. I was in it,” Heechul chuckled, shoving Kyuhyun away after they stepped inside the tent. Heading over to a makeshift sink, he soaked a cloth, and set to wiping the gold paint off of his arms and chest. The water in the basin swirled with flecks of gold, and Heechul emptied it onto the ground, filling it again with the hose that hung near him. Gently cleaning his face, he poured some water over his head and sighed.

His body ached, which was to be expected, since he had pushed his body through yet another set of flips and turns, trusting Kyuhyun and trusting himself to keep from falling dozens of feet to the ground. Standing up straight, he winced, catching his breath sharply. Kyuhyun glanced over at him, and then walked up, scrubbing at the gold paint on Heechul’s back, and humming softly. Clutching the edge of the sink, Heechul dropped his head, sighing heavily.

“It’s getting harder,” he whispered. Kyuhyun hummed in assent, making sure to clear every bit of paint from his hyung’s body. Heechul sighed again, and then turned around, taking the cloth from Kyuhyun, rinsing and wringing it out, and then motioning for the young aerialist to turn around. Cleaning off Kyuhyun’s back, ridding it of paint had become second nature to him, and he threw the younger man a towel to dry himself off.

Changing into jeans and tee-shirts, they made to head out of the tent. Heechul grabbed a pair of dark sunglasses and a blazer, donning both before leading Kyuhyun from the tent.

“It is getting harder, hyung,” Kyuhyun whispered, leaning close to Heechul so that nobody else could overhear him. A group of girls dashed by, squealing about a performance by two beautiful male aerialists, and Heechul couldn’t help the smirk that passed over his face. One of the girls collided with him, and for a moment, they squared off, the tension between them palpable, until she scoffed, rolled her eyes and followed after her friends. Clearly, she had not recognized him.

“That little-“ Heechul growled, starting after the girl with his teeth bared. Kyuhyun reached out and snagged Heechul’s sleeve, whirling him around and heading off in the other direction. Looping their arms together, he headed towards a cart that sold junk food, running his tongue over his lips in anticipation.

“Ew! You can’t eat that, Kyu!” Heechul shrieked, swatting at the younger’s head with his free hand. Kyuhyun ducked, and smiled broadly at his hyung.

“Which is why you’re going to be eating it with me,” he said, dragging the protesting aerialist up to the cart, ordering a hefty plate of food that Heechul barely allowed himself to smell, much less eat, and sat the two of them down at a table. Sitting across from Heechul, Kyuhyun saw the other crossing his arms and looking anywhere but at the food.

A crowd was assembled around the entire pavilion, every one of them eating food and talking about the performance, the male aerialists in particular.

“They don’t even recognize us,” Kyuhyun said, his voice quiet, and lips pouting.

“That’s a good thing,” Heechul said. “I have enough problems without having to deal with people who know who I am even when I don’t have half an inch of paint layered on me.”

Kyuhyun nodded slowly.

“You’re still new, so it’ll be a while until the novelty of being famous wears off, but until then, you still need to remember to keep a low profile. One of the others, a fire-breather, I think, took off his mask in public, and thousands of fans snapped his picture, spread it on the web, and now, he can’t go anywhere without being attacked by someone who wants a hug, a picture, an autograph, or a kiss. It’s hard enough being a famous performer, without everyone knowing who you are even when you’re not in that performing zone.”

For a moment, Kyuhyun digested the information. He propped his chin on his hand, and stared at Heechul a moment, until the older man became irritated, swiping at the young aerialist with a semi-playful hand.

“You’re the most narcissistic person that I know, and you don’t want people to know who you are?” Kyuhyun asked incredulously. Heechul leaned back as far as he could on the bench and still manage to look dignified, and offered a very “Kim Heechul” response.

“I need privacy. Too many people around all the time are very bad for the skin.”

Kyuhyun rolled his eyes.

The next night, they had another show, and Heechul returned to the tent ahead of Kyuhyun, a hand covering his mouth. Stumbling to his basin, he coughed harshly, the coughs turning into choking as blood and bile forced its way out of his throat. Steadying his breathing and rinsing out the basin as Kyuhyun appeared behind him, he washed his mouth out and turned to give the younger man a cocky smile.

“Hyung?” Kyuhyun asked, clearly unimpressed by the show of strength that Heechul was all too clearly displaying. “Are you okay? I know that the routine was a little different, and I could tell that you were having a little bit of trouble, but are you okay?”

Heechul scoffed, slinging the towel that he’d been using to clean his body with into a basket, pulling a shirt over his head and jeans up to his hips.

“Where are you going?” Kyuhyun called as Heechul ducked out of the tent.

“Away,” was all that the older aerialist said, disappearing without even looking at the younger man. Debating for just a moment, Kyuhyun let the matter drop, setting to washing the paint off of his body. Forgetting for a moment that Heechul was not behind him, he turned, holding up the cloth, prepared to ask the older to clean him off.

“Yah, can you get this paint for me?” He asked, holding the cloth up towards Siwon, who gave him a strange look.

“Heechul-sshi usually helps you, though,” he said, walking over to the aerialist and cleaning the paint off anyway. Kyuhyun bit his lip, ducking his head.

“Heechul left.”

Siwon stopped cleaning the paint off of the younger man’s skin.

“What?”

“He….. left…?”

Immediately, Siwon dropped the rag, dashing over to the mouth of the tent, screaming for the manager.

“What’s wrong?” The manager asked, barging into the tent, nearly bowling Kyuhyun over in the process.

Siwon’s eyes were huge, and his movements were exaggerated in his panic.

“Heechul’s gone!” He burst, pointing at Kyuhyun. Terrified, Kyuhyun dropped his rag, pulled a jacket over his head, and bolted, escaping to anywhere that wasn’t the grounds of the circus.

His lungs ached, and his body burned, muscles sore from the routine that he had forced it perform, and before long, he turned back, heading to the ringmaster’s trailer without asking anyone, tense in anticipation.

“Ah! Kyuhyun-ah!” The ringmaster exclaimed, throwing his hands up and embracing Kyuhyun as though he was a wayward child. “So glad that you came back. Heechul won’t be sleeping in your tent tonight.”

With that, Kyuhyun was escorted from the trailer, confused. He had not been scolded, or beaten, and he was in no way punished. Had Heechul returned?

The next day, Heechul did not perform (or make an appearance of any kind anywhere in the circus), and Kyuhyun had to learn and perform a new routine that was only him, suspended high above the crowd. The applause was less than usual, he noticed, and when he headed back to the tent, he found Heechul, sitting on the trunk that held his belongings with his legs and arms crossed. Despite a fading red mark on his cheek, he was otherwise unmarked, and the smirk that lit up his face upon seeing Kyuhyun was no dimmer than usual.  

“Saw your performance, Kyu, and I know that you could’ve done better,” Heechul commented, titling his head back in the peculiar way that he had. “Were you worried about me, or something?”

Kyuhyun shook his head immediately.

“No-Okay, yes, I was worried about you. I haven’t seen or heard from you all day, and the lack of constant updates on your pathetic life was startling. Where were you, hyung?” Kyuhyun dropped to the ground beside Heechul, his eyes wide and questioning.

“Ugh, the only thing around here that’s pathetic is you. Get up and get yourself cleaned off already!” Heechul shot out a long, thin leg, kicking Kyuhyun over. Grumbling the aerialist did just as his hyung had ordered, cleaning his body and changing into normal clothes. He tossed the light, baggy pants that were so common of an aerialist over his shoulder, only to have them whipped back at his head.

“Hang up your clothes, geez,” Heechul grumbled, shoving by Kyuhyun. “And, hurry up, I’m hungry.”

Kyuhyun stared after his hyung, amazed.

The next night, they were traveling, having ended the show with Kyuhyun’s solo performance, and Heechul sat just a little too close to Kyuhyun, leaning his head on the younger’s shoulder in a gesture of fondness that he so rarely displayed.

Resting his cheek on top of the silky mop of hair, Kyuhyun inhaled slowly, and sighed. Heechul smelled clean, his scent sharp and masculine in the other’s nose, and Kyuhyun relaxed. He’d been afraid that he’d detect the medicinal smell of antibiotics or muscle rub, indicating that Heechul had been in pain, but none of that was evident.

A couple of days later, the next shows were ready, and Heechul was lifted into the air alongside Kyuhyun. However, although the routine was one that called for the two performers to emote triumph, Heechul’s movements were desperate, suggesting suffering, grief and pain, and there was silence once the routine was over, before the audience was on their feet, clapping and cheering, screaming and applauding, beginning a chant of the two’s names.

Behind the scenes, the response was not so glamorous. Heechul ran out again, this time not even bothering to cover himself, tearing his silken pants on a sharp table corner.

Kyuhyun did not see him until two weeks later.

Heechul returned battered, moving sorely, a small, circular scar over his shoulder blade, head low, and all light missing from his eyes. The next show that he performed was again full of agony, every moment so painful that some of the audience had to wipe their tears.

After that performance, Heechul ran again.

The beatings began, and he started to be escorted by two circus guards.

Performance.

Agony.

Pain.

Longing. 

Kyuhyun worked himself into a frantic frenzy, tending to Heechul whenever he could, and practicing his show to perfect it when he was not by his hyung’s side.

“It’s getting harder, Kyu,” Heechul whispered one day after a show, this performance filled with desperation. Kyuhyun’s eyes filled with tears, although he did not know why, and led the elder to the tent where they found the ringmaster waiting for Heechul. The ringmaster shoved the aerialist into the ground, punching him, beating him with a piece of wood, but never marking his face or torso.  

Heechul did not try to fight the ringmaster, just kept his eyes trained on the man’s face, not offering a grimace or a sound of pain.

The next few performances went the same way, and then, Heechul discovered that he could escape his security guards, his thin, agile body weaving between them and disappearing into the throng of people leaving the circus.

The ringmaster began to put chains on the aerialist, to which Heechul reacted violently.

“I’m a human,” not an animal,” he spat, throwing his body against the chains.

“You gave up your humanity when you signed with me,” the ringmaster crooned, the side of Heechul’s face with a hand calloused from years upon years of holding the whip that controlled the show. Moving quickly as a snake, Heechul whipped his head around, setting his teeth into the man’s hand.

That night, the beatings were worse than usual, and Heechul cried afterwards, crawling to the pallet where he slept, collapsing onto it with a whimper. Kyuhyun couldn’t help but turn his back on the misery of his hyung, hiding his tears so that Heechul couldn’t say anything about him being weak.

Heechul was always chained, chained to the ground, chained to the guards, and chained to a life that he could no longer bear, every single movement resentful.

The ringmaster knew that the two aerialists were the circus’s best act, and so he modified the show so that the sadness of Heechul’s routine was not out of place, and for a while, all beatings ceased.

“Kyu, you need to get out of here,” Heechul whispered one night, his voice low and thick with tears.

“Huh?” Kyuhyun rolled over to face Heechul, but the aerialist was facing away from him and did not respond.

Kyuhyun messed up during practice for the first time that night, and he was soundly thrashed. Upon hearing about the man’s punishment, Heechul raged, exploding off of the ground and throwing his body against the chains over and over again, quieting only when the ringmaster entered his tent.

“Get out of here, Kyu,” Heechul said again, not a year later, and Kyuhyun understood.

Things had been far too intense for any of the circus performers, and Heechul was not the only who had noticed that Kyuhyun had been struggling.

Kyuhyun disappeared the next morning, and though the ringmaster had the police search everywhere, he could not be found. Heechul was beaten worse than ever that night, and the show was cancelled.

However, Kyuhyun was never recovered, and Heechul was forced to perform the show on his own, garnering applause from the crowd, never showing his weakness and always putting forth enough effort to make up for the lack of Kyuhyun at his side.

Three new aerialists were signed on as support for Heechul’s act, and he appreciated their company, even if he hated that every aerialist was now forced to be chained. Two of them were very similar in appearance, and their act was scarily good, although the haunting pain of Heechul’s act erased any memory of the previous performers. Their names were Taemin and Kai, and they were very close friends, every movement synchronized, although Heechul suspected that it has as much to do with the chains as it did with how in-tune they were with each other.

One night, he was approached by the newest aerialist, the youngest performer in the entire circus, a pale boy by the name of Sehun.

“Is it true that the last aerialist died?” He asked, staring right at Heechul. The elder smirked, ruffling his supporting act’s hair.

“No.”

“Then, what happened to him?”

“He flew.”

“Huh?”

But, Heechul was done talking, and he beckoned to his guards to take him to get ready.

The young lion tamer, pretty Luhan approached him with the same question, to which Heechul responded in the same way, avoiding him exactly the same way he had Sehun.

Two years went by, and Heechul was not beaten, only praised for his stunning performances. He got his hair styled and dyed, and his outfit was changed. The circus changed its name, and grew in popularity, and Heechul barely recognized himself in the mirror anymore.

Kyuhyun was always on his mind, and sometimes, he spent entire days wondering where his beloved friend was, and it reflected in his performance. He threw his body through the air, never missing his grip, performing each stunt perfectly, and though he was always emoting sadness, a faint smile was always on his face. After all, why wouldn’t there be a smile on his face? Kyuhyun had flown, and was free.

*********************************************************************************************

He swings through the air, his body performing as though it knows his plans. Opening his eyes, he makes eye contact with a member of the audience, the same man who had entered his tent earlier.

            Kyuhyun watches the performance with disinterested eyes, although he admires the aerialist as he flies through the air. Without even meaning to, he thinks of Heechul, thinks back to two years ago when he had fled the circus on Heechul’s orders.

            He notices that there is an excess of sadness in the performer’s movements, and he leans forward, almost knocking the air from his lungs as he bends over the railing, much to the chagrin of the patrons behind him. The aerialist makes eye contact with him, and a faint smile passes over his face.

            Kyuhyun is free, Heechul thinks. He modifies his routine, changing suddenly to a routine of triumph that his muscles had never forgotten, and the audience gasps as he flips, arcs, hangs from one foot, and the audience is utterly captivated, rising to their feet in thunderous applause.

            He feels his chest loosen in relief, lets it wash over him even as the music fades, and the technicians desperately play another one, noticing that Heechul is far from ending his routine. Heechul can almost feel the other aerialist beside him, does feel the other’s eyes pass over his body.

            Kyuhyun flew, Heechul thinks. Pulling his body up until he is standing in the loops meant for his feet, he bows to the audience, basking in their applause, eyes never leaving Kyuhyun’s.

            Somehow, Kyuhyun anticipates Heechul’s next move before the aerialist even does, and he fights his way through the crowd, only to be stopped by the balcony railing.

            Fly.

            Freeing his feet until nothing but his toes were in the loop, Heechul spreads his arms out, and allows his body to bend backwards gracefully.

            Closing his eyes, he falls.

**********************************************************************************************************

A/N~ This is unedited. 

~~Mak~