two drabbles, two wips; donghae/hyukjae; hangeng/heechul; leeteuk/ot13; yesung.
stitches (work in progress); hyukjae, donghae/hyukjae (154).
No one realises nor notices for a while, and Hyukjae is glad.
He carefully wears his feelings on the inside of his sleeve, neat and solid - close to home.
But then one day, it happens. Heechul is yelling and throwing things around and Fear blooms up so bright and red that Hyukjae can't swallow. He runs into the bathroom and nearly slams the door on Donghae's foot before he's being pushed onto the edge of the bathtub.
Donghae smiles briefly at him, fake fake fake, and says, "It'll pass soon," squeezing his shoulder. Hyukjae tenses involuntarily and Donghae pulls away.
"What's wrong?" he says, but Hyukjae barely hears him because Fear is burning and pulsing little messages into his arm that say run but god, Donghae's eyes are beautiful in this light. Hyukjae briefly thinks that if Donghae had feelings stitched on the inside of his sleeve, too, it'd be pretty blue Worry.
the paper people; hangeng/heechul (140).
Hangeng's eyes widen. Heechul is smiling at him, red umbrella abandoned on the side of the road. "Are you crazy?" he yells and Heechul is still smiling, mouth stretching into a grin, but all Hankyung sees are ruined paper mâchés that were left in the sun to dry, only to be greeted by storm.
He moves to go get the umbrella but Heechul stops him with fingertips damp and bleeding against his skin. "I wanted to see you," Heechul says.
"We can talk under cover somewhere. Let's go."
But Heechul just shakes his head and smiles all pretty and wicked. The ink of his eyelashes run with the rain down his paper white skin, and Hankyung wonders, if they stand out here long enough, if he'd be able to see all the little parts that make up Heechul.
misconception of games; hyukjae, leeteuk, ot13 (299).
leeteuk plays favorites.
hyukjae sees it.
he sees it in the soft glint of leeteuk's eyes, when ryeowook cooks them dinner at one in the morning after a dance practice for the upcoming album, even though shindong and kangin aren't supposed to eat after eight and heechul never sits still at the table, when siwon shows up at their dorms randomly because my mom sent me off with some fried rice for you guys and hankyung left a pair of shoes in my suitca--- hi hyung, i've missed you.
there are times when he catches leeteuk smiling, not those giant grins aimed at camera lights but those stupid silly small smiles shared between old married couples, with a glazed look on his face when sungmin plays his acoustic guitar on the living room couch while yesung is humming along next to him seated on the floor, when donghae yells to kibum about ---those white shoes with red laces and little animals on the side that i'm sure i left on your drawer the other day because kyuhyun moved donghae's shoes again just to throw him off.
hyukjae sees and he knows, knows about all those boxes of pictures and birthday cards that leeteuk never ever forgets about whenever they have to move, so instead of playing favorites, he plays the waiting game.
he waits for those long days when ryeowook cooks them dinner at one in the morning to make napkin cranes that swoop down on the members' food, talking balloon patterned napkin cranes that have leeteuk laughing like it's friday afternoon and heechul's walking around with a mustache kangin drew on his face again.
he waits, marks days off calendars and counts down hours, for every single birthday with a handmade card and a camera in hand.
grand piano (work in progress); yesung, future yesung/ryeowook (288).
On the day Yesung moves into his new apartment located in a building that looks older than he is, all the residents open their doors when they hear his suitcase banging up the stairs.
The building is only three stories high and without an elevator. Yesung is lucky to have such a nice view from the third floor really, but he doesn't feel it when he practically crawls up that last step, with suitcases and bags feeling heavier than his own body because he didn't want to make a second trip, to find fourteen sets of eyes trained on him.
Yesung freezes in his spot, sweat making his hair stick to the back of his neck. A man with a cane laughs, eyes catching light behind his thick spectacles and it sets off a chain reaction, grayed hands holding onto door frames for support as bodies double over in laughter.
There is a moment where Yesung gets to think, Why is my life like this?, before everyone is on him, clamping him on the shoulder, shaking his hand, telling him their name and about how they have a grandchild working overseas at the moment, some still chuckling to themselves.
By the end of the day, Yesung has gotten five dinner invitations, two promises of Go Stop, six welcoming gifts, a box of laundry detergent, a blind date with that lady-who-lives-five-doors-over's daughter, and free breakfast coupons.
After half of his things are unpacked with barely any light coming from his bedroom window, Yesung lays down on his still bare mattress and thinks that maybe his life isn't so bad at all.
It's not the sun that wakes him up the next morning but a soft knock at his door.