Filling the Void
Title: Filling the Void
Pairing(s): HanChul
Genre(s): Romance
Length: 4227 words
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In which Han Geng and Heechul are alone no more.
Inspiration(s): I walked by a construction site and saw a young skinny guy at the top, and all of a sudden I thought of this plotline.
```
Not all things work out the way people want them to. Sometimes it’s a good thing.
`
Being a construction worker, for Han Geng, was both a blessing as well as a curse.
He had always been an admirer. In the rural town he lived in, he could survey the beautiful landscape from the rooftop of the rundown town hall and admire the great expanse of magnificence in its entire splendor. He was able to see the sunbathed rooftops inhabited by seagulls and their newborn chicks, the maze that was the streets and avenues that connected like standard gridlines, and best of all, the shining blue ocean that spanned just before the horizon (god, sometimes he caught himself staring at the vast breadth of seawater, hardly breathing). He loved the view, he loved the elevation (just high enough to be exhilarated but not too high as to be scared shitless), and he loved the clean unpolluted air. Sure, it was dangerous work and he scored more than a few injuries on the job, but it was worth the happiness and the sense of home he felt from above, where nothing could hurt him.
However, every day at three forty-five sharp, he would not be able to restrain himself from leaning forward from the top of his construction site just to catch a glimpse of a stunning expensively-dressed redhead strut down the streets and haughtily ignore the catcalls of the other workers situated nearer the ground. Sometimes Han Geng would cuss at his job since it would strip him of his chance to get a clearer look at the glamorous individual or even strike up a conversation with him, but he knew that it would take only a permission slip to switch positions not to mention the fact that he could always descend with the pretense of retrieving tools. But he never did, so instead of taking matters into his own hands, Han Geng continued to watch this mysterious person with the striking red hair and proud aura from afar, all the while secretly praying that he may by some ungodly chance cast a quick glance upwards-if only for a moment! Yet, every time the man passed the site, he would unwaveringly keep his eyes straight ahead of him, and the Chinese worker would resume his laborious profession with a heavy weight of disappointment on his shoulders.
Indeed, Han Geng had always been an admirer, but from time to time he truly wished that he could be something more than just an inanimate object that did nothing but watch from afar. Because it was starting to occur to him that being just another aficionado would not come close to filling the void that was his whole life.
`
When Han Geng first relocated into the Korean town into a small cottage-like house, he was a foreigner in every sense of the word.
Having grown up in the busy rush of Beijing, China, he had a culture shock when he realized that what happened in cities did not necessarily happen in the countryside. Because it was such a small town, almost everybody knew everybody else, and the closeness of the population startled Han Geng who was more accustomed to walking down the streets without giving a thought on who those hundreds and thousands of meaningless faces were. One too many times he had walked down a road and forgotten to say hello to some neighbor three doors down from him, causing a ludicrous amount of uproar in the community due to his “blatant disrespect as a citizen” and his “penchant for the cold shoulder”. Within weeks, he was given the stereotypical label of The Strange Man Who Doesn’t Belong. Adults gossiped about his shadowy appearance and exaggerated his public coldness. Parents told their children to stay away from the dark scary-looking-and-therefore-dangerous man with the funny accent. Children made horror stories about how he worked in construction sites to plant zombie eggs in between the walls. Everywhere he went, eyes were averted and feet turned in the opposite direction.
Honestly, Han Geng did not mind the distance the other townspeople kept from him. Socially, he was less than proficient (or in other words, painfully awkward), not only because of the language barrier but also because of the fact that it was in his nature to be pitifully shy. He never talked unless it was seriously necessary, he never struck up a conversation with anybody, and he usually nodded or shook his head at yes-or-no questions. It was as if his mouth was glued shut, zipped up, and covered with three layers of duct tape, and when he went in for his first interview the employer had thought he was mute. It had even taken his only Chinese-speaking coworker Zhou Mi a whole month of one-sided conversations before Han Geng started talking in sentences consisting of more than three words, and Zhou Mi was the type that average people warmed up to instantly.
(“You should talk more, you know,” the smiley man had suggested one day during work. “I went to church last week and nobody here knows anything about you. You know why? Because you don’t tell them anything about you. Thus, because they don’t know anything about you, they’re scared of you. Maybe if you opened up a little bit, you could make some friends.”
“My business is my own business,” Han Geng replied dully over the buzzing of the screwdriver. “They can think whatever they want.”
Zhou Mi laughed. “You’re such a nice guy, though. I would love for you to meet some people. You know, get acquainted with someone and immerse into community life. It’s really not that bad once you get used to all the attention.”
“No, it’s okay” was the three-word reply.)
Knowing full well what the others thought of him, Han Geng went through life with a solid titanium protective emotional covering. He would wake up at the crack of dawn, walk down to the small bakery shop a few blocks down, pretend not to notice the hard glare the baker gave him, pay the $1.50 for his damn bagel, and walk off with his eyes downcast until he made it to his construction site. Then he would retrieve his to-do list from his boss and set to work. He preferred life this way. It was quiet, easy, and though solitary, simple.
Nevertheless, just because he preferred it this way did not mean that he did not want it that way. Secretly, he wanted company because, despite being in heavy denial, he was dolefully lonely. He desperately wanted somebody by his side, somebody to smile at, somebody who could understand him when nobody else could, somebody who could just be there so that he would not have to face everything all alone.
Han Geng knew that he was a foreigner, and as such he was pretty much destined to live and die all by himself. Perhaps that was why he kept gazing at the redhead every day: he was always alone and always pushing all other company away. And thus, during those few moments letting his eyes follow the red dot walking along level ground, Han Geng could at least imagine that he was not totally alone in the whole wide world.
`
Resentment was what dominated Heechul’s life. That and pride.
It was not like that before. He had stayed in that little town his whole life and became pretty much a legend in terms of causing creative mischief and getting away with it. He was a verbal manipulation expert, and his cleverness and sly remarks could come up with the most plausible excuses that both tickled peoples’ minds while still making sense.
(“Heechul, you’ve been in the front one too many times now,” a first-grade teacher berated as his liveliest student clambered into the front seat without a moment’s hesitation. “Let Kyuhyun have a chance, won’t you?”
“But Sir,” six-year-old Heechul pouted, stubbornly jutting out his lower lip. “The back seat is so much cooler. Aren’t the back seats in limousines where the Very Important People sit?”
“Well, yes, but-”
“And besides, Kyuhyun has motion sickness,” he continued, ignoring the indignant I do not! in the background, “and it’s only natural that he gets the more comfortable seat, don’t you think?”
“Well. Alright. Fine. Just as long as Kyuhyun doesn’t mind.”)
He had been a diva through and through, and he lived for the moment. He drank in all the attention he could draw to himself, and loved being in the spotlight. Call him an egotistical show-off or walking circus act, but it was the truth.
But then when he was fifteen, Mrs. Kim passed away, and suddenly Heechul felt totally insignificant. Ever since his mother’s death, there was no doubt that something snapped inside the previously carefree teenager. He started thinking and he began analyzing himself and his life. He realized the superficiality of his existence, and was horrified at the hollowness of the whole goddamn town. He started acknowledging that many of his so-called friends were status whores and gold diggers who only stayed by his side for materialistic purposes, and as a result his former social butterfly persona was replaced by a cold and haughty stuck-up bastard who talked to no one.
Often he felt bitter about his mother’s death. Why his mother? Why his beautiful, caring, intelligent, definition of perfection of a mother who deserved life more than anybody? If she had not died, he would still be that naive superficial redhead who would revel in his popularity day after day without another thought. In his former life, he had believed that he had friends and admirers who loved him; at present, he knew that he only had followers and leeches who wanted to use him.
And thus, the new Kim Heechul was reborn, for the name of resentment and pride.
`
Heechul’s day was routine and mundane, which thoroughly annoyed him to no end.
If there was one thing that would never change about him, it would be that he loved glamor and spontaneity. He loved surprises, and sometimes during another boring day he would yearn for something that could just jump out at him and say boo! and take him completely off guard. Sadly, that hardly ever happened, and Heechul would have to get through another twenty-four hours of crap and bull.
Yet, the one thing that he would never want to change would be the daily visits to his grandmother’s. Grandmother Kim was a strong woman in every way. She never married, preferring to live her own independent life without the help of a man, and despite coming from a lower class family of nine children she managed to finance her way through university. She would tell Heechul all about her days travelling the world as a successful businesswoman, from the culture-filled cities of Europe to the exotic lands of Africa, and her grandson could only listen in admiration. That was what Heechul wanted in his life-success and fulfillment. As juvenile as it sounded, he wanted to be just like his grandmother. He, too, wanted to be strong, determined, and independent, and strove to live life without the help for others. He wanted to know what achievement felt like, and he wanted to experience real triumph.
Why? Easy, he wanted to live life for a reason. How? He had no idea.
Surprisingly, Heechul always took the same route from his grandmother’s house back to his own. It was mostly for sentimental purposes, really. He and his mother used to walk down that road every day, hand in hand, just chatting about the most ordinary of things for the good fifteen minutes that they had all to themselves, before Heechul would run off with his “friends” and continue living life as the golden boy. It was the only time in the whole day when the two could be alone together, and after Mrs. Kim’s death, Heechul regretted that he had never put in any effort to make more time for her.
As he strolled along the path that had been imprinted in his mind since childhood, he could not help but feel a bit vulnerable. Independent or not, Heechul knew that he missed his mother terribly and would probably give up everything to have her back by his side, and at times like those, he would chastise his maudlin behavior, reminding himself that strong individuals move on and look forward without dwindling in the past. But it was difficult nonetheless, for loneliness is a powerful emotion.
Before long, the construction site he passed every day came into sight. Heechul grimaced at the wooden frame surrounding the rundown three-story building; he never liked the idea of “improving” the town hall. It looked perfectly fine the last time he had seen it. Plain, obviously, but nevertheless functional. He figured that it was just a building where the important people hosted meetings and time-consuming things like that. What improvements could be made to something like that? Just as long as it had a roof and furniture with little chance of toppling over during an earthquake, who really cared about what else it could do? Cosmetic replenishes should be saved for entertainment-based architectures, where beauty overshadowed qualifications hands down.
A whistle was heard and Heechul quickened his pace, clenching his fists. He hated the wolf calls he got from those grimy workers. Yes, he knew he was good-looking and gorgeous, but he did not need the same opinions from low-class superficial bastards for verification, thank you very much. Luckily, a familiar face was just around the corner. “Seasoning!” he called out in relief.
A wide smile greeted him. “Heechul, how are you?”
The redhead grinned. Zhou Mi was probably the only real person in the town. He was humble and modest, and love practically radiated from his soul with genuine sincerity. “Same old, unfortunately. How are things here? Tired of chopping up wood?” Heechul winked teasingly.
Zhou Mi tilted his head upward and smiled proudly in the renovations. “We’re installing bullet-proof windows now. So far, no injuries or accidents.”
“Why bullet-proof windows? Nobody in this town would have a gun in the first place.”
“Safety purposes, I guess.”
For the first time since the beginning of the project, Heechul looked upwards. It was an ugly building, made only uglier with the wooden framework on the outside. He let his eyes roam the three-story building and he spotted a motionless figure on the roof. The figure was dark and shadowy, and refused to avert his coal-black eyes even when Heechul kept his gaze steady. “Who’s that?”
Zhou Mi followed his friend’s path of vision and laughed. “Oh, that’s Han Geng. He’s a newcomer from China, like I was. You probably heard that he is some sort of psychopath, but he’s actually a super nice guy. Totally shy and on the verge of being antisocial, but still super nice.”
Heechul nodded, his signature smirk appearing on his picture-perfect face. He did in fact hear of this alleged axe murderer who slaughtered little children for sport and ate earthworms from his backyard, and just by looking at the construction worker he could see why people would say that about him. Han Geng just rained buckets of mystery, and the darkness of his persona was so thick that Heechul could even feel it from a distance. Smiling softly, the redhead started to wave.
Believe it or not, Heechul unknowingly established another mundane routine to add to his long grueling list of boring mundane routines.
`
Han Geng had never really thought of himself as a shy person. Autonomous, definitely. A lone wolf, maybe. But shy, not a chance. He could very well go up to somebody and ask for their phone number if he so chose. He just didn’t for personal space purposes.
Of course, there was no doubting that there was a hugely nauseating sensation stirring in the pit of his stomach every time he looked down to find the redhead he had been admiring smiling and waving at him. It was probably embarrassment, considering the fact that his face heated up like a boiling pot. God, though, it made him feel almost, well, special, seeing as the beautiful man below never seemed to notice anybody else around him. It was always like a secret language between them at three forty-five. Han Geng would look over the railing and attempt at a meaningful smile, to which the other would respond with a playful smirk and an equally playful wave. After a while of this, the Chinaman realized that he hardly knew a thing about the guy. He did not know where he lived, what food he liked best, or even what his name was. And he was starting to wonder.
One day, at three fifteen, a good half an hour before the object of his admiration was due to arrive, curiosity got a hold of him. “Zhou Mi, do you know anything about that guy who always walks by in the afternoon?”
“You have to be more specific, old man,” the taller one teased. “Many people pass by here in the afternoons, nice weather and all.”
“You know, they one that you were talking to some days ago. Red hair, posh clothing.”
“Oh, you must be talking about Heechul. He’s the only one in the whole town with hair color other than black. What do you want to know about him?”
Swallowing noisily Han Geng spent a minute to think about the question. “Anything.”
Zhou Mi chuckled. “Okay, well, it’s sort of difficult to describe Heechul. He’s a personality, that’s for sure. To some, he comes off as really proud and conceited, but it’s actually quite endearing. He loves cats and clothing and hair products, and he’s known for being witty and mischievous. He’s one of my closest friends, though, because he’s really loyal to me-like a big diva brother of sorts. So, to sum it up, a farfetched and a bit of a weirdo but still a good guy. How does that sound?”
Han Geng only nodded, a soft curve on his lips as he put his imagination to work. It sounded perfect.
“Would you like me to introduce you to him sometime?” Zhou Mi asked, raising a knowing eyebrow. “He’s totally cool and I’m sure that he’ll like you. I’m also sure that you’ll like him.” There was no response, and the younger one only chuckled as he noticed a faint blush on the other’s cheeks. “Hey Han Geng, can you come with me to get a different screwdriver. You know how I prefer the yellow one.”
The elder frowned in confusion but doggedly followed his only confidante down the ladder. He strode towards the toolbox and mechanically hauled out the sunshine-colored apparatus, and meant to turn around to hand it to his coworker but ended up just dropping it onto the sidewalk. Standing before him was a familiar looking redhead clad in an elaborate top and skin-tight leather pants, an eyebrow raised and a hand on his hip. Han Geng thought it was beauty personified.
“So you’re the famous serial killer,” Heechul smirked roguishly. “Somehow you seem too docile for such an adrenaline-charged deed. It’s a shame, really. You were so much darker and more mysterious from far away.”
“I-I beg your pardon?” Han Geng was at a loss for words. It had been a long time since he had spoken Korean, and it was starting to take its toll on the agility of his tongue.
Spirited laughter ensued. “I’m Heechul. Kim Heechul. I assume that I’ll be seeing a lot of you now that we have finally met face-to-face.”
The foreigner fought back a smile but lost by a landslide. “Yah.”
Shyness was not a sin, but it was not a virtue either. And try as he might, Han Geng could not help but think that no, I’m not a shy person, but I may or may not act like a totally timid and introverted individual in front of special people. Heechul was, if nothing else, special.
`
Heechul never thought of himself as powerless. He may have been unable to lift more than twenty pounds, but that was because he hated exercise; and he may have been unable to beat up his second-grade bully, but that was because the kid was frigging huge! and therefore had an unfair advantage; but he never really in his whole life felt powerless. Heck, for all he knew, he was the most powerful, most captivating, and most independent spirit he knew.
Still, there was this shiver down his spine every time he looked up to see a pair of jet-black eyes glowering back down at him. It was not due to fear, though, was it?
He certainly thought that Han Geng was a handsome being-tan, lean, and shrouded in mystery-and that he had this different feel to him that he never felt from anybody else. Whenever interacting with any other person, they were always emotionally detached and artificially pleasant (the only exception was Zhou Mi). When Heechul looked at the strange man (China-born, Zhou Mi said?), there was this tangibility and concreteness that made him feel real.
Out of curiosity, Heechul started listening in on the conversations that revolved around the man who never spoke a word.
(“He’s a bad man,” they would say. “Stay away from him, whatever you do.”
“My goodness, I would hate to be alone in the same room as him. Imagine what cruel thoughts he would have!”
The others around would harmonize in accordance, muttering their agreement.
“He escaped from prison after being put behind bars for raping and dismembering a six-year-old girl in China.” Cries of wonder and surprise.
“Oh, and have you heard of little Susie? She came home crying yesterday and refused to talk about it; I have this gut feeling that Han Geng was behind that.”
“And remember how the Cho family moved several weeks ago for personal reasons? Who bets that ‘personal’ meant trouble from the one and only?”
“He should just run back home to China!”
“I bumped into him on the street once, and when he looked up I swore that there was red in his eyes. He is the devil in disguise, I tell you!)
He did not believe a word of it, but it still sent a wave of cautiousness over his head. Heechul did not believe for a second that the man who made him feel he actually existed was actually a prison breaker or a drug dealer or a serial rapist. Either way, Zhou Mi had already told him most of what he wanted to know about the “child molester” who scarcely spoke a word: he was half a year younger than Heechul, socially awkward, but in every way decent-not at all what the other gossip said about him.
Walking back from Grandmother’s house, he started thinking about those engaging dark eyes and was shocked to find himself shuddering wildly. He brought his hand to his heart and his eyes automatically travelled upwards. Heart beating at a thousand miles an hour, he grinned when he saw his own personal construction worker make his way down the ladder. Heechul skipped towards the site, disregarding the ogles of the other workers as their perverted eyes followed his ass.
He stopped right behind Han Geng, and was pleased to note that the Chinaman conspicuously started when he turned around, dropping his screwdriver. “So you’re the famous serial killer,” Heechul crossed his arms and brought out his trademark smirk. “Somehow you seem too docile for such an adrenaline-charged deed. It’s a shame, really. You were so much darker and more mysterious from far away.” Which, in Heechul’s language, was a compliment.
“I-I beg your pardon?”
Heechul never thought that Chinese-accent stuttering could be so adorable, and thus he laughed, spirits lifting. “I’m Heechul. Kim Heechul. I assume that I’ll be seeing a lot of you now that we have finally met face-to-face.” He threw in a wink for good measure.
The foreigner smiled hesitantly. “Yah.”
Heechul almost fainted from the other’s smile-so soft and so candid. His knees shook, his eyes softened, and just for a moment he stopped breathing. Suddenly he conjured up a mental picture of his mother and realized that looking in the eyes of the man in front of him dulled the pain that he fought against for so many years. And for the first time in his life, Heechul felt genuinely powerless.
`
Han Geng was a shy admirer and foreigner who cared not for the false slanders that polluted the town. Heechul was a resentful spontaneity-loving orphan with a dream of personal independence. Both expected to live and die all alone.
Then again, expectations were usually broken. The fact that they completed each other was definitely unexpected. Of course, it did not change the fact that Han Geng was shy, introverted, and misunderstood. Nor did it change the fact that Heechul’s life was mundane and lacking of a mother. Sometimes Han Geng still felt like a lone admirer, and sometimes Heechul still felt weak and dependent.
But that’s life, and not all things work out the way people want them to. Sometimes it’s a good thing.
Pairing(s): HanChul
Genre(s): Romance
Length: 4227 words
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In which Han Geng and Heechul are alone no more.
Inspiration(s): I walked by a construction site and saw a young skinny guy at the top, and all of a sudden I thought of this plotline.
```
Not all things work out the way people want them to. Sometimes it’s a good thing.
`
Being a construction worker, for Han Geng, was both a blessing as well as a curse.
He had always been an admirer. In the rural town he lived in, he could survey the beautiful landscape from the rooftop of the rundown town hall and admire the great expanse of magnificence in its entire splendor. He was able to see the sunbathed rooftops inhabited by seagulls and their newborn chicks, the maze that was the streets and avenues that connected like standard gridlines, and best of all, the shining blue ocean that spanned just before the horizon (god, sometimes he caught himself staring at the vast breadth of seawater, hardly breathing). He loved the view, he loved the elevation (just high enough to be exhilarated but not too high as to be scared shitless), and he loved the clean unpolluted air. Sure, it was dangerous work and he scored more than a few injuries on the job, but it was worth the happiness and the sense of home he felt from above, where nothing could hurt him.
However, every day at three forty-five sharp, he would not be able to restrain himself from leaning forward from the top of his construction site just to catch a glimpse of a stunning expensively-dressed redhead strut down the streets and haughtily ignore the catcalls of the other workers situated nearer the ground. Sometimes Han Geng would cuss at his job since it would strip him of his chance to get a clearer look at the glamorous individual or even strike up a conversation with him, but he knew that it would take only a permission slip to switch positions not to mention the fact that he could always descend with the pretense of retrieving tools. But he never did, so instead of taking matters into his own hands, Han Geng continued to watch this mysterious person with the striking red hair and proud aura from afar, all the while secretly praying that he may by some ungodly chance cast a quick glance upwards-if only for a moment! Yet, every time the man passed the site, he would unwaveringly keep his eyes straight ahead of him, and the Chinese worker would resume his laborious profession with a heavy weight of disappointment on his shoulders.
Indeed, Han Geng had always been an admirer, but from time to time he truly wished that he could be something more than just an inanimate object that did nothing but watch from afar. Because it was starting to occur to him that being just another aficionado would not come close to filling the void that was his whole life.
`
When Han Geng first relocated into the Korean town into a small cottage-like house, he was a foreigner in every sense of the word.
Having grown up in the busy rush of Beijing, China, he had a culture shock when he realized that what happened in cities did not necessarily happen in the countryside. Because it was such a small town, almost everybody knew everybody else, and the closeness of the population startled Han Geng who was more accustomed to walking down the streets without giving a thought on who those hundreds and thousands of meaningless faces were. One too many times he had walked down a road and forgotten to say hello to some neighbor three doors down from him, causing a ludicrous amount of uproar in the community due to his “blatant disrespect as a citizen” and his “penchant for the cold shoulder”. Within weeks, he was given the stereotypical label of The Strange Man Who Doesn’t Belong. Adults gossiped about his shadowy appearance and exaggerated his public coldness. Parents told their children to stay away from the dark scary-looking-and-therefore-dangerous man with the funny accent. Children made horror stories about how he worked in construction sites to plant zombie eggs in between the walls. Everywhere he went, eyes were averted and feet turned in the opposite direction.
Honestly, Han Geng did not mind the distance the other townspeople kept from him. Socially, he was less than proficient (or in other words, painfully awkward), not only because of the language barrier but also because of the fact that it was in his nature to be pitifully shy. He never talked unless it was seriously necessary, he never struck up a conversation with anybody, and he usually nodded or shook his head at yes-or-no questions. It was as if his mouth was glued shut, zipped up, and covered with three layers of duct tape, and when he went in for his first interview the employer had thought he was mute. It had even taken his only Chinese-speaking coworker Zhou Mi a whole month of one-sided conversations before Han Geng started talking in sentences consisting of more than three words, and Zhou Mi was the type that average people warmed up to instantly.
(“You should talk more, you know,” the smiley man had suggested one day during work. “I went to church last week and nobody here knows anything about you. You know why? Because you don’t tell them anything about you. Thus, because they don’t know anything about you, they’re scared of you. Maybe if you opened up a little bit, you could make some friends.”
“My business is my own business,” Han Geng replied dully over the buzzing of the screwdriver. “They can think whatever they want.”
Zhou Mi laughed. “You’re such a nice guy, though. I would love for you to meet some people. You know, get acquainted with someone and immerse into community life. It’s really not that bad once you get used to all the attention.”
“No, it’s okay” was the three-word reply.)
Knowing full well what the others thought of him, Han Geng went through life with a solid titanium protective emotional covering. He would wake up at the crack of dawn, walk down to the small bakery shop a few blocks down, pretend not to notice the hard glare the baker gave him, pay the $1.50 for his damn bagel, and walk off with his eyes downcast until he made it to his construction site. Then he would retrieve his to-do list from his boss and set to work. He preferred life this way. It was quiet, easy, and though solitary, simple.
Nevertheless, just because he preferred it this way did not mean that he did not want it that way. Secretly, he wanted company because, despite being in heavy denial, he was dolefully lonely. He desperately wanted somebody by his side, somebody to smile at, somebody who could understand him when nobody else could, somebody who could just be there so that he would not have to face everything all alone.
Han Geng knew that he was a foreigner, and as such he was pretty much destined to live and die all by himself. Perhaps that was why he kept gazing at the redhead every day: he was always alone and always pushing all other company away. And thus, during those few moments letting his eyes follow the red dot walking along level ground, Han Geng could at least imagine that he was not totally alone in the whole wide world.
`
Resentment was what dominated Heechul’s life. That and pride.
It was not like that before. He had stayed in that little town his whole life and became pretty much a legend in terms of causing creative mischief and getting away with it. He was a verbal manipulation expert, and his cleverness and sly remarks could come up with the most plausible excuses that both tickled peoples’ minds while still making sense.
(“Heechul, you’ve been in the front one too many times now,” a first-grade teacher berated as his liveliest student clambered into the front seat without a moment’s hesitation. “Let Kyuhyun have a chance, won’t you?”
“But Sir,” six-year-old Heechul pouted, stubbornly jutting out his lower lip. “The back seat is so much cooler. Aren’t the back seats in limousines where the Very Important People sit?”
“Well, yes, but-”
“And besides, Kyuhyun has motion sickness,” he continued, ignoring the indignant I do not! in the background, “and it’s only natural that he gets the more comfortable seat, don’t you think?”
“Well. Alright. Fine. Just as long as Kyuhyun doesn’t mind.”)
He had been a diva through and through, and he lived for the moment. He drank in all the attention he could draw to himself, and loved being in the spotlight. Call him an egotistical show-off or walking circus act, but it was the truth.
But then when he was fifteen, Mrs. Kim passed away, and suddenly Heechul felt totally insignificant. Ever since his mother’s death, there was no doubt that something snapped inside the previously carefree teenager. He started thinking and he began analyzing himself and his life. He realized the superficiality of his existence, and was horrified at the hollowness of the whole goddamn town. He started acknowledging that many of his so-called friends were status whores and gold diggers who only stayed by his side for materialistic purposes, and as a result his former social butterfly persona was replaced by a cold and haughty stuck-up bastard who talked to no one.
Often he felt bitter about his mother’s death. Why his mother? Why his beautiful, caring, intelligent, definition of perfection of a mother who deserved life more than anybody? If she had not died, he would still be that naive superficial redhead who would revel in his popularity day after day without another thought. In his former life, he had believed that he had friends and admirers who loved him; at present, he knew that he only had followers and leeches who wanted to use him.
And thus, the new Kim Heechul was reborn, for the name of resentment and pride.
`
Heechul’s day was routine and mundane, which thoroughly annoyed him to no end.
If there was one thing that would never change about him, it would be that he loved glamor and spontaneity. He loved surprises, and sometimes during another boring day he would yearn for something that could just jump out at him and say boo! and take him completely off guard. Sadly, that hardly ever happened, and Heechul would have to get through another twenty-four hours of crap and bull.
Yet, the one thing that he would never want to change would be the daily visits to his grandmother’s. Grandmother Kim was a strong woman in every way. She never married, preferring to live her own independent life without the help of a man, and despite coming from a lower class family of nine children she managed to finance her way through university. She would tell Heechul all about her days travelling the world as a successful businesswoman, from the culture-filled cities of Europe to the exotic lands of Africa, and her grandson could only listen in admiration. That was what Heechul wanted in his life-success and fulfillment. As juvenile as it sounded, he wanted to be just like his grandmother. He, too, wanted to be strong, determined, and independent, and strove to live life without the help for others. He wanted to know what achievement felt like, and he wanted to experience real triumph.
Why? Easy, he wanted to live life for a reason. How? He had no idea.
Surprisingly, Heechul always took the same route from his grandmother’s house back to his own. It was mostly for sentimental purposes, really. He and his mother used to walk down that road every day, hand in hand, just chatting about the most ordinary of things for the good fifteen minutes that they had all to themselves, before Heechul would run off with his “friends” and continue living life as the golden boy. It was the only time in the whole day when the two could be alone together, and after Mrs. Kim’s death, Heechul regretted that he had never put in any effort to make more time for her.
As he strolled along the path that had been imprinted in his mind since childhood, he could not help but feel a bit vulnerable. Independent or not, Heechul knew that he missed his mother terribly and would probably give up everything to have her back by his side, and at times like those, he would chastise his maudlin behavior, reminding himself that strong individuals move on and look forward without dwindling in the past. But it was difficult nonetheless, for loneliness is a powerful emotion.
Before long, the construction site he passed every day came into sight. Heechul grimaced at the wooden frame surrounding the rundown three-story building; he never liked the idea of “improving” the town hall. It looked perfectly fine the last time he had seen it. Plain, obviously, but nevertheless functional. He figured that it was just a building where the important people hosted meetings and time-consuming things like that. What improvements could be made to something like that? Just as long as it had a roof and furniture with little chance of toppling over during an earthquake, who really cared about what else it could do? Cosmetic replenishes should be saved for entertainment-based architectures, where beauty overshadowed qualifications hands down.
A whistle was heard and Heechul quickened his pace, clenching his fists. He hated the wolf calls he got from those grimy workers. Yes, he knew he was good-looking and gorgeous, but he did not need the same opinions from low-class superficial bastards for verification, thank you very much. Luckily, a familiar face was just around the corner. “Seasoning!” he called out in relief.
A wide smile greeted him. “Heechul, how are you?”
The redhead grinned. Zhou Mi was probably the only real person in the town. He was humble and modest, and love practically radiated from his soul with genuine sincerity. “Same old, unfortunately. How are things here? Tired of chopping up wood?” Heechul winked teasingly.
Zhou Mi tilted his head upward and smiled proudly in the renovations. “We’re installing bullet-proof windows now. So far, no injuries or accidents.”
“Why bullet-proof windows? Nobody in this town would have a gun in the first place.”
“Safety purposes, I guess.”
For the first time since the beginning of the project, Heechul looked upwards. It was an ugly building, made only uglier with the wooden framework on the outside. He let his eyes roam the three-story building and he spotted a motionless figure on the roof. The figure was dark and shadowy, and refused to avert his coal-black eyes even when Heechul kept his gaze steady. “Who’s that?”
Zhou Mi followed his friend’s path of vision and laughed. “Oh, that’s Han Geng. He’s a newcomer from China, like I was. You probably heard that he is some sort of psychopath, but he’s actually a super nice guy. Totally shy and on the verge of being antisocial, but still super nice.”
Heechul nodded, his signature smirk appearing on his picture-perfect face. He did in fact hear of this alleged axe murderer who slaughtered little children for sport and ate earthworms from his backyard, and just by looking at the construction worker he could see why people would say that about him. Han Geng just rained buckets of mystery, and the darkness of his persona was so thick that Heechul could even feel it from a distance. Smiling softly, the redhead started to wave.
Believe it or not, Heechul unknowingly established another mundane routine to add to his long grueling list of boring mundane routines.
`
Han Geng had never really thought of himself as a shy person. Autonomous, definitely. A lone wolf, maybe. But shy, not a chance. He could very well go up to somebody and ask for their phone number if he so chose. He just didn’t for personal space purposes.
Of course, there was no doubting that there was a hugely nauseating sensation stirring in the pit of his stomach every time he looked down to find the redhead he had been admiring smiling and waving at him. It was probably embarrassment, considering the fact that his face heated up like a boiling pot. God, though, it made him feel almost, well, special, seeing as the beautiful man below never seemed to notice anybody else around him. It was always like a secret language between them at three forty-five. Han Geng would look over the railing and attempt at a meaningful smile, to which the other would respond with a playful smirk and an equally playful wave. After a while of this, the Chinaman realized that he hardly knew a thing about the guy. He did not know where he lived, what food he liked best, or even what his name was. And he was starting to wonder.
One day, at three fifteen, a good half an hour before the object of his admiration was due to arrive, curiosity got a hold of him. “Zhou Mi, do you know anything about that guy who always walks by in the afternoon?”
“You have to be more specific, old man,” the taller one teased. “Many people pass by here in the afternoons, nice weather and all.”
“You know, they one that you were talking to some days ago. Red hair, posh clothing.”
“Oh, you must be talking about Heechul. He’s the only one in the whole town with hair color other than black. What do you want to know about him?”
Swallowing noisily Han Geng spent a minute to think about the question. “Anything.”
Zhou Mi chuckled. “Okay, well, it’s sort of difficult to describe Heechul. He’s a personality, that’s for sure. To some, he comes off as really proud and conceited, but it’s actually quite endearing. He loves cats and clothing and hair products, and he’s known for being witty and mischievous. He’s one of my closest friends, though, because he’s really loyal to me-like a big diva brother of sorts. So, to sum it up, a farfetched and a bit of a weirdo but still a good guy. How does that sound?”
Han Geng only nodded, a soft curve on his lips as he put his imagination to work. It sounded perfect.
“Would you like me to introduce you to him sometime?” Zhou Mi asked, raising a knowing eyebrow. “He’s totally cool and I’m sure that he’ll like you. I’m also sure that you’ll like him.” There was no response, and the younger one only chuckled as he noticed a faint blush on the other’s cheeks. “Hey Han Geng, can you come with me to get a different screwdriver. You know how I prefer the yellow one.”
The elder frowned in confusion but doggedly followed his only confidante down the ladder. He strode towards the toolbox and mechanically hauled out the sunshine-colored apparatus, and meant to turn around to hand it to his coworker but ended up just dropping it onto the sidewalk. Standing before him was a familiar looking redhead clad in an elaborate top and skin-tight leather pants, an eyebrow raised and a hand on his hip. Han Geng thought it was beauty personified.
“So you’re the famous serial killer,” Heechul smirked roguishly. “Somehow you seem too docile for such an adrenaline-charged deed. It’s a shame, really. You were so much darker and more mysterious from far away.”
“I-I beg your pardon?” Han Geng was at a loss for words. It had been a long time since he had spoken Korean, and it was starting to take its toll on the agility of his tongue.
Spirited laughter ensued. “I’m Heechul. Kim Heechul. I assume that I’ll be seeing a lot of you now that we have finally met face-to-face.”
The foreigner fought back a smile but lost by a landslide. “Yah.”
Shyness was not a sin, but it was not a virtue either. And try as he might, Han Geng could not help but think that no, I’m not a shy person, but I may or may not act like a totally timid and introverted individual in front of special people. Heechul was, if nothing else, special.
`
Heechul never thought of himself as powerless. He may have been unable to lift more than twenty pounds, but that was because he hated exercise; and he may have been unable to beat up his second-grade bully, but that was because the kid was frigging huge! and therefore had an unfair advantage; but he never really in his whole life felt powerless. Heck, for all he knew, he was the most powerful, most captivating, and most independent spirit he knew.
Still, there was this shiver down his spine every time he looked up to see a pair of jet-black eyes glowering back down at him. It was not due to fear, though, was it?
He certainly thought that Han Geng was a handsome being-tan, lean, and shrouded in mystery-and that he had this different feel to him that he never felt from anybody else. Whenever interacting with any other person, they were always emotionally detached and artificially pleasant (the only exception was Zhou Mi). When Heechul looked at the strange man (China-born, Zhou Mi said?), there was this tangibility and concreteness that made him feel real.
Out of curiosity, Heechul started listening in on the conversations that revolved around the man who never spoke a word.
(“He’s a bad man,” they would say. “Stay away from him, whatever you do.”
“My goodness, I would hate to be alone in the same room as him. Imagine what cruel thoughts he would have!”
The others around would harmonize in accordance, muttering their agreement.
“He escaped from prison after being put behind bars for raping and dismembering a six-year-old girl in China.” Cries of wonder and surprise.
“Oh, and have you heard of little Susie? She came home crying yesterday and refused to talk about it; I have this gut feeling that Han Geng was behind that.”
“And remember how the Cho family moved several weeks ago for personal reasons? Who bets that ‘personal’ meant trouble from the one and only?”
“He should just run back home to China!”
“I bumped into him on the street once, and when he looked up I swore that there was red in his eyes. He is the devil in disguise, I tell you!)
He did not believe a word of it, but it still sent a wave of cautiousness over his head. Heechul did not believe for a second that the man who made him feel he actually existed was actually a prison breaker or a drug dealer or a serial rapist. Either way, Zhou Mi had already told him most of what he wanted to know about the “child molester” who scarcely spoke a word: he was half a year younger than Heechul, socially awkward, but in every way decent-not at all what the other gossip said about him.
Walking back from Grandmother’s house, he started thinking about those engaging dark eyes and was shocked to find himself shuddering wildly. He brought his hand to his heart and his eyes automatically travelled upwards. Heart beating at a thousand miles an hour, he grinned when he saw his own personal construction worker make his way down the ladder. Heechul skipped towards the site, disregarding the ogles of the other workers as their perverted eyes followed his ass.
He stopped right behind Han Geng, and was pleased to note that the Chinaman conspicuously started when he turned around, dropping his screwdriver. “So you’re the famous serial killer,” Heechul crossed his arms and brought out his trademark smirk. “Somehow you seem too docile for such an adrenaline-charged deed. It’s a shame, really. You were so much darker and more mysterious from far away.” Which, in Heechul’s language, was a compliment.
“I-I beg your pardon?”
Heechul never thought that Chinese-accent stuttering could be so adorable, and thus he laughed, spirits lifting. “I’m Heechul. Kim Heechul. I assume that I’ll be seeing a lot of you now that we have finally met face-to-face.” He threw in a wink for good measure.
The foreigner smiled hesitantly. “Yah.”
Heechul almost fainted from the other’s smile-so soft and so candid. His knees shook, his eyes softened, and just for a moment he stopped breathing. Suddenly he conjured up a mental picture of his mother and realized that looking in the eyes of the man in front of him dulled the pain that he fought against for so many years. And for the first time in his life, Heechul felt genuinely powerless.
`
Han Geng was a shy admirer and foreigner who cared not for the false slanders that polluted the town. Heechul was a resentful spontaneity-loving orphan with a dream of personal independence. Both expected to live and die all alone.
Then again, expectations were usually broken. The fact that they completed each other was definitely unexpected. Of course, it did not change the fact that Han Geng was shy, introverted, and misunderstood. Nor did it change the fact that Heechul’s life was mundane and lacking of a mother. Sometimes Han Geng still felt like a lone admirer, and sometimes Heechul still felt weak and dependent.
But that’s life, and not all things work out the way people want them to. Sometimes it’s a good thing.