[Super Junior] 5 Times Heechul Didn't Confess..., PG, Angst, HanChul
Laura, bb, I'm glad you're back! I'm really sorry this turned out the way it did - depressing as hell. I am not pleased with it all that much either. I promise to write you something better and fluffier for your birthday. ♥
{06/12} CHRISTMAS REQUESTS
for black_goose ♥
5 Times Heechul Didn't Confess + 1 Time He Did
Super Junior, Hankyung/Heechul, PG, 1850 words
In which there is not a right time for everything.
WARNING: Angst. Unhappy endings. Relates to the current drama.
(1)
Heechul hated it when Han Geng - Hankyung - went to China. Part of him was always a little afraid that Hankyung would never want to come back.
"You're Korean now," he said loftily, trailing Hankyung around the apartment, only distantly aware of the camera following them. "Just remember that." If he said it enough times, it might be true.
Hankyung rolled his eyes and threw more clothes into his suitcase. "Whatever, Heechul."
"Will you miss me?" Heechul asked, deliberately obnoxious. "Hankyung, I want to go to China too!"
With a laugh, Hankyung indicated his open suitcase. "All right, go in here."
His words were still heavily accented, even though Heechul had yelled at him repeatedly to learn to speak Korean better. Heechul had heard him speak Mandarin before, though, fluent foreign sounds on his tongue as he laughed with a friend on the phone, or reassured his mother. Heechul liked that about him, too, that part of him that seemed so unreachable to Heechul.
"I don't have a plane ticket, so..." He climbed into the suitcase, grinning up the camera.
"Don't let your hands stick out," Hankyung warned him as he pretended to close the suitcase.
The light in his eyes made Heechul open his mouth, confession on the tip of his tongue. Hankyung was looking at Heechul with that patiently fond smile, as if he'd never understand Heechul but liked him anyway. As if he wasn't just as bad as Heechul off-camera. He had everyone fooled.
Heechul wondered how Hankyung's expression would change if he said it. I like you.
"Of course you like me," he'd reply. "I'm the only one who splits the alcohol with you."
The PD shuffled into Heechul's peripheral vision, camera on his shoulder. Heechul's words, half-formed, changed. "Aissh, this guy. I'm trying to be cute for Hankyung. If it weren't for you, I'd never..."
The PD muffled a laugh and Hankyung threw a shirt at Heechul.
"Will you miss Hankyung when he goes to China?"
"I'm sick of him," he scoffed. Hankyung would know it was a lie, but he wouldn't know to what extent. Heechul climbed out of the suitcase as he was replaced with necessities Hankyung would need to leave him.
(2)
The whir of machines was getting to more irritating by the day. Heechul woke groggily from his drugged sleep and glared blearily at his too-familiar hospital room. Everything grated. He was sick of these four walls: he wanted to see the sky again, to get out of this room and live again.
Life, he thought wearily, was such a stupidly fragile thing. Life was nothing but constant steps closer to death. Sometimes death came sooner than expected... (Donghae's tear-stained face, the red eyes that had been a constant for weeks.) But death came to everyone.
He half-remembered, half-dreamed the screech of tires and the immobilizing pain in his leg, the choking fear. He'd woken up terrified that he'd been paralyzed when he'd found his limbs unresponsive. But he'd only been heavily medicated for the pain, and operated on, and wheeled into this room to rot for the rest of his life. Sometimes, when he was at his ugliest, angry and frustrated at his lack of control, he thought death would have been a better choice.
He never said that aloud as the members came by, one by one or in small groups. They all said the same things, over and over again. You're so lucky. We're so glad you're alive. It's going to be okay.
Sometimes, Heechul thought he'd rather be dead than cooped up here for another week.
He watched Hankyung pull open the blinds at the window. When he turned around, he looked tired and worried. It was hard on all of them, life. (You're lucky you're alive, they'd said; he could feel his heart beating steadily in his chest.) Heechul said, because life was a stupidly precious thing, "Hankyung..."
Hankyung headed toward the bed as someone knocked tentatively on the door. Zhou Mi poked his head inside, smile wide. "Hi, hyung," he said shyly. "I brought two new books and some flowers." There was a fresh bouquet in his arms as he stepped inside. "They're from, um, Kim, oh here, there's a card-"
As he fumbled, Hankyung stepped forward and said something in Chinese. Zhou Mi murmured something back, and Heechul couldn't understand a word. He tore his eyes away, fighting the urge to snap at Hankyung, "Yah, speak Korean" like he always did. Life was short. Fragile. Precious.
"Aissh, I think I need a shave. I feel gross."
"Only you would be worried about how you look in a hospital." But Hankyung was looking at him again and smiling. Behind him, Zhou Mi laughed and deposited the bouquet on the table with the others.
When they were gone, Heechul stared at the flowers and wondered how long they had before they died.
(3)
"Thank you, that was the most delicious ramyun I've ever had," Heechul said gravely. "You could be a master chef, Kyungie."
Hankyung hit him in the face with a pillow. "Shut up, you can't even make ramyun properly."
"Poorly fed and domestically abused," sighed Heechul. "My lot in life is a hard one." He took the pillow and slipped it under his head, smirking at Hankyung, who was sprawled next to him on the bed with no pillows.
"Shut up and sleep," Hankyung muttered, throwing an arm over his face.
Heechul laughed and moved over so Hankyung could shift out of the direct sunlight. It wasn't often they had an afternoon off, but spending it napping seemed more pleasant than anything else he could be doing. The closed door kept out most of the voices and video game sounds from outside, and Hankyung was sleepily rolling his head onto Heechul's shoulder.
Heechul could count his lashes like this, a soft black fan over his cheeks. His mouth was slightly parted, warm breath easing in and out and evening as he drifted into sleep. His hair was blond for their new concept, flat against his skull and Heechul's hand as he pressed it against Hankyung's head. It was rare to see Hankyung peaceful like this, almost vulnerable. Heechul's thumb brushed the skin by his ear.
"Hankyung," he whispered. "You know how I feel, don't you?"
"Mmm," Hankyung murmured sleepily.
Heechul watched the shadows grow longer as Hankyung slept, a gentle marker of elapsing time. He eventually nodded off himself.
(4)
"I never see you anymore," Heechul complained and dragged Hankyung out drinking.
"You know I can't help it. SJM keeps us busy." He poured a shot of soju for Heechul, instinctively keeping his hand over the label even though there was far from any formalities between the two of them. Heechul thought, just as instinctively: You're Korean.
Heechul took his glass and Hankyung poured his shot. "Your Korean's gotten worse," he said. "Don't forget it just because you're in China. I won't help you out if you get lost here."
Hankyung snorted and raised his glass. "Like you ever help me out anyway? All I've learned from you are swear words."
"They're useful!" Heechul defended hotly. He raised his glass as well and they both drained their shots, heads tilting back. They slammed their glasses back onto the table at the same time and grinned at each other with burning throats. For a while, it was like before, like things were easy, before Hankyung had turned into Han Geng and Heechul had started losing him to something he could never challenge: China.
Always China.
Too much to drink was Heechul's excuse for draping himself over Hankyung, leaning into him with soju on his breath and limbs heavy with languor. "Kyuunngie, do you miss me when you're in China?"
"Heechul, you..." The rest of it sounded suspiciously like slurred Chinese. Wo yi zhi hen xiang nian ni.
"Yah, speak Korean." Heechul lurched closer and let out a long breath. Words swam in his vision, the words he still hadn't said. He could say them now, but would Hankyung remember them when he was sober?
Heechul reached unsteadily for another bottle of soju and swallowed his confession with the bitter bite of alcohol.
But Hankyung left in the morning, while Heechul was still nursing a hangover. He was always, it seemed, leaving Heechul for China.
(5)
"Heechul..."
There were explanations on Hankyung's tongue, poised and ready if Heechul would give him the time. Heechul thought about Donghae's red eyes and Eeteuk's muffled sobs at night. He thought about the exhuastion in Sungmin's eyes as he struggled to smile in front of the camera, the way Kangin looked like he wanted to get good and drunk but didn't touch a drop. He thought about the way Eunhyuk and Shindong had left him a place in the choreography, even though he'd missed more than his share of rehearsals.
There were no explanations good enough for killing something Heechul had finally learned to love.
"Hankyung," he said wearily, "you fucking retard." He spun on his heel as Hankyung reached out for him.
"Heechul, listen. It's not like that-"
Heechul slammed the door to his room and leaned back against it, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He tried not to think about how - if - Super Junior would survive without Hankyung.
There was nothing he could say now.
(+1)
Han Geng had returned to China, of course. He always did. But now he was there on his own, a promising solo career already in the works. He called Heechul twenty-four times in two weeks and left thirteen texts. Heechul meticulously deleted each alert from his phone.
"Are you ever going to talk to him again?" Donghae asked quietly months later on the night Super Junior was finally making their comeback - one member short.
Heechul fluffed up the ends of his newly-dyed flame-colored hair. "Why should I? He abandoned us." Even Kibum had showed up for the comeback, putting off another movie to learn dance steps he hated. At least Kibum understood. Kibum hadn't abandoned Heechul. No, of the thirteen - fifteen - of them, only Han Geng had.
Donghae's eyes were sad as he adjusted Heechul's microphone. "I thought you loved him."
"No." Heechul brushed Donghae's hand away and stepped back with a brittle smile. "I loved Hankyung, not Han Geng. And that's all he is now. Han Geng, China's pride and joy. China's darling."
I loved you, he texted that night, lost in bittersweet celebration and Eeteuk's tears and Kibum's arm around him.
I also love you was the immediate response. Heechul read over the stilted, too-stiff Korean again and again until his eyes blurred. The phone buzzed again, lighting up with another text from Han Geng.
Heechul put his head on Kibum's shoulder and loudly demanded another round of drinks to toast. Super Junior fourth album hwaiting! Super Junior forever!
Ten minutes later, he accidentally spilled beer onto his phone. Eunhyuk frantically tried to mop up and Heechul waved his hands at him.
"It's okay. It's time I got a new phone anyway."
--
Started/Finished: 2009.12.28
{06/12} CHRISTMAS REQUESTS
for black_goose ♥
5 Times Heechul Didn't Confess + 1 Time He Did
Super Junior, Hankyung/Heechul, PG, 1850 words
In which there is not a right time for everything.
WARNING: Angst. Unhappy endings. Relates to the current drama.
(1)
Heechul hated it when Han Geng - Hankyung - went to China. Part of him was always a little afraid that Hankyung would never want to come back.
"You're Korean now," he said loftily, trailing Hankyung around the apartment, only distantly aware of the camera following them. "Just remember that." If he said it enough times, it might be true.
Hankyung rolled his eyes and threw more clothes into his suitcase. "Whatever, Heechul."
"Will you miss me?" Heechul asked, deliberately obnoxious. "Hankyung, I want to go to China too!"
With a laugh, Hankyung indicated his open suitcase. "All right, go in here."
His words were still heavily accented, even though Heechul had yelled at him repeatedly to learn to speak Korean better. Heechul had heard him speak Mandarin before, though, fluent foreign sounds on his tongue as he laughed with a friend on the phone, or reassured his mother. Heechul liked that about him, too, that part of him that seemed so unreachable to Heechul.
"I don't have a plane ticket, so..." He climbed into the suitcase, grinning up the camera.
"Don't let your hands stick out," Hankyung warned him as he pretended to close the suitcase.
The light in his eyes made Heechul open his mouth, confession on the tip of his tongue. Hankyung was looking at Heechul with that patiently fond smile, as if he'd never understand Heechul but liked him anyway. As if he wasn't just as bad as Heechul off-camera. He had everyone fooled.
Heechul wondered how Hankyung's expression would change if he said it. I like you.
"Of course you like me," he'd reply. "I'm the only one who splits the alcohol with you."
The PD shuffled into Heechul's peripheral vision, camera on his shoulder. Heechul's words, half-formed, changed. "Aissh, this guy. I'm trying to be cute for Hankyung. If it weren't for you, I'd never..."
The PD muffled a laugh and Hankyung threw a shirt at Heechul.
"Will you miss Hankyung when he goes to China?"
"I'm sick of him," he scoffed. Hankyung would know it was a lie, but he wouldn't know to what extent. Heechul climbed out of the suitcase as he was replaced with necessities Hankyung would need to leave him.
(2)
The whir of machines was getting to more irritating by the day. Heechul woke groggily from his drugged sleep and glared blearily at his too-familiar hospital room. Everything grated. He was sick of these four walls: he wanted to see the sky again, to get out of this room and live again.
Life, he thought wearily, was such a stupidly fragile thing. Life was nothing but constant steps closer to death. Sometimes death came sooner than expected... (Donghae's tear-stained face, the red eyes that had been a constant for weeks.) But death came to everyone.
He half-remembered, half-dreamed the screech of tires and the immobilizing pain in his leg, the choking fear. He'd woken up terrified that he'd been paralyzed when he'd found his limbs unresponsive. But he'd only been heavily medicated for the pain, and operated on, and wheeled into this room to rot for the rest of his life. Sometimes, when he was at his ugliest, angry and frustrated at his lack of control, he thought death would have been a better choice.
He never said that aloud as the members came by, one by one or in small groups. They all said the same things, over and over again. You're so lucky. We're so glad you're alive. It's going to be okay.
Sometimes, Heechul thought he'd rather be dead than cooped up here for another week.
He watched Hankyung pull open the blinds at the window. When he turned around, he looked tired and worried. It was hard on all of them, life. (You're lucky you're alive, they'd said; he could feel his heart beating steadily in his chest.) Heechul said, because life was a stupidly precious thing, "Hankyung..."
Hankyung headed toward the bed as someone knocked tentatively on the door. Zhou Mi poked his head inside, smile wide. "Hi, hyung," he said shyly. "I brought two new books and some flowers." There was a fresh bouquet in his arms as he stepped inside. "They're from, um, Kim, oh here, there's a card-"
As he fumbled, Hankyung stepped forward and said something in Chinese. Zhou Mi murmured something back, and Heechul couldn't understand a word. He tore his eyes away, fighting the urge to snap at Hankyung, "Yah, speak Korean" like he always did. Life was short. Fragile. Precious.
"Aissh, I think I need a shave. I feel gross."
"Only you would be worried about how you look in a hospital." But Hankyung was looking at him again and smiling. Behind him, Zhou Mi laughed and deposited the bouquet on the table with the others.
When they were gone, Heechul stared at the flowers and wondered how long they had before they died.
(3)
"Thank you, that was the most delicious ramyun I've ever had," Heechul said gravely. "You could be a master chef, Kyungie."
Hankyung hit him in the face with a pillow. "Shut up, you can't even make ramyun properly."
"Poorly fed and domestically abused," sighed Heechul. "My lot in life is a hard one." He took the pillow and slipped it under his head, smirking at Hankyung, who was sprawled next to him on the bed with no pillows.
"Shut up and sleep," Hankyung muttered, throwing an arm over his face.
Heechul laughed and moved over so Hankyung could shift out of the direct sunlight. It wasn't often they had an afternoon off, but spending it napping seemed more pleasant than anything else he could be doing. The closed door kept out most of the voices and video game sounds from outside, and Hankyung was sleepily rolling his head onto Heechul's shoulder.
Heechul could count his lashes like this, a soft black fan over his cheeks. His mouth was slightly parted, warm breath easing in and out and evening as he drifted into sleep. His hair was blond for their new concept, flat against his skull and Heechul's hand as he pressed it against Hankyung's head. It was rare to see Hankyung peaceful like this, almost vulnerable. Heechul's thumb brushed the skin by his ear.
"Hankyung," he whispered. "You know how I feel, don't you?"
"Mmm," Hankyung murmured sleepily.
Heechul watched the shadows grow longer as Hankyung slept, a gentle marker of elapsing time. He eventually nodded off himself.
(4)
"I never see you anymore," Heechul complained and dragged Hankyung out drinking.
"You know I can't help it. SJM keeps us busy." He poured a shot of soju for Heechul, instinctively keeping his hand over the label even though there was far from any formalities between the two of them. Heechul thought, just as instinctively: You're Korean.
Heechul took his glass and Hankyung poured his shot. "Your Korean's gotten worse," he said. "Don't forget it just because you're in China. I won't help you out if you get lost here."
Hankyung snorted and raised his glass. "Like you ever help me out anyway? All I've learned from you are swear words."
"They're useful!" Heechul defended hotly. He raised his glass as well and they both drained their shots, heads tilting back. They slammed their glasses back onto the table at the same time and grinned at each other with burning throats. For a while, it was like before, like things were easy, before Hankyung had turned into Han Geng and Heechul had started losing him to something he could never challenge: China.
Always China.
Too much to drink was Heechul's excuse for draping himself over Hankyung, leaning into him with soju on his breath and limbs heavy with languor. "Kyuunngie, do you miss me when you're in China?"
"Heechul, you..." The rest of it sounded suspiciously like slurred Chinese. Wo yi zhi hen xiang nian ni.
"Yah, speak Korean." Heechul lurched closer and let out a long breath. Words swam in his vision, the words he still hadn't said. He could say them now, but would Hankyung remember them when he was sober?
Heechul reached unsteadily for another bottle of soju and swallowed his confession with the bitter bite of alcohol.
But Hankyung left in the morning, while Heechul was still nursing a hangover. He was always, it seemed, leaving Heechul for China.
(5)
"Heechul..."
There were explanations on Hankyung's tongue, poised and ready if Heechul would give him the time. Heechul thought about Donghae's red eyes and Eeteuk's muffled sobs at night. He thought about the exhuastion in Sungmin's eyes as he struggled to smile in front of the camera, the way Kangin looked like he wanted to get good and drunk but didn't touch a drop. He thought about the way Eunhyuk and Shindong had left him a place in the choreography, even though he'd missed more than his share of rehearsals.
There were no explanations good enough for killing something Heechul had finally learned to love.
"Hankyung," he said wearily, "you fucking retard." He spun on his heel as Hankyung reached out for him.
"Heechul, listen. It's not like that-"
Heechul slammed the door to his room and leaned back against it, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He tried not to think about how - if - Super Junior would survive without Hankyung.
There was nothing he could say now.
(+1)
Han Geng had returned to China, of course. He always did. But now he was there on his own, a promising solo career already in the works. He called Heechul twenty-four times in two weeks and left thirteen texts. Heechul meticulously deleted each alert from his phone.
"Are you ever going to talk to him again?" Donghae asked quietly months later on the night Super Junior was finally making their comeback - one member short.
Heechul fluffed up the ends of his newly-dyed flame-colored hair. "Why should I? He abandoned us." Even Kibum had showed up for the comeback, putting off another movie to learn dance steps he hated. At least Kibum understood. Kibum hadn't abandoned Heechul. No, of the thirteen - fifteen - of them, only Han Geng had.
Donghae's eyes were sad as he adjusted Heechul's microphone. "I thought you loved him."
"No." Heechul brushed Donghae's hand away and stepped back with a brittle smile. "I loved Hankyung, not Han Geng. And that's all he is now. Han Geng, China's pride and joy. China's darling."
I loved you, he texted that night, lost in bittersweet celebration and Eeteuk's tears and Kibum's arm around him.
I also love you was the immediate response. Heechul read over the stilted, too-stiff Korean again and again until his eyes blurred. The phone buzzed again, lighting up with another text from Han Geng.
Heechul put his head on Kibum's shoulder and loudly demanded another round of drinks to toast. Super Junior fourth album hwaiting! Super Junior forever!
Ten minutes later, he accidentally spilled beer onto his phone. Eunhyuk frantically tried to mop up and Heechul waved his hands at him.
"It's okay. It's time I got a new phone anyway."
--
Started/Finished: 2009.12.28