help_japan || [22] the arithmetics of basic equations | PG-13 | kyu/ofc, qmi
I thought about it. My thread for help_japan is here.
the arithmetics of basic equations
kyuhyun/ofc, zhou mi/kyuhyun | pg-13 | 1750w
three is always one too many for a relationship.
1
In this business, reputations tended to precede the person. You heard about him months, maybe years, before you met him. You'd always known who he was. You thought you knew what to expect from him. Cho Kyuhyun.
You heard he was incorrigible. Charming. Awkward, young, mischievous, hard-working. The youngest of his group with a wicked sense of humor, with a voice that wrapped you up and didn't let you go. You didn't expect beautiful, thoughtful, impressive, bashful. Sweet. The little things surprised you, like the way he blushed when he was teased about you and the way he punctuated his texts with smiley faces.
"It doesn't seem like him," you said, looking at your cell phone.
"That's not normal," you were told. A knowing smile. "He never does that."
"He's probably just making fun of me," you said, because you knew him.
But the butterflies never quite went away after that. You'd look at him and find yourself smiling. When you weren't around him, you were thinking about him all the time. He was busy, you knew that. But he texted you and he called you when he had time and you ate together. You talked and sat in silence, went out on dates and stayed in, saw each other and missed each other, and fell in love.
It was easier than you'd expected.
Truth be told, you spent most of your time aggravated by him. He was immature and sort of a jerk and more often than not your senses of humor didn't match up. But then he'd compliment your earrings or remember your favorite TV actor or text you to take care of your health, he was thinking of you. Or he'd sing you a lullaby over the phone or buy you things with Pochacco on them because he knew you went crazy over them.
He'd apologize or make you laugh, or make you cry, and at the end of it all, you began to suspect you were starting to reach a point where you wouldn't be able to live without him.
+
One night, one of those rare times in his schedule where you could be fit in, sliding into his arms, he said your name quietly into your hair. You didn't look up, but hummed into his shoulder, warm and unwilling to move. It had been two weeks and already it was getting too long, each day more unbearably lonely without him than the last.
He repeated your name. His hand stroked through your hair.
"I have something for you," he said.
"I don't need another keychain from China," you said.
He pinched your hip and you muffled your laugh into his shirt. "Some people collect coins. I thought I'd help you with your keychain collection."
"How thoughtful, oppa." You tilted your head to smile back at him, all saccharine.
But he pulled out a necklace, a gorgeous thin silver chain with a delicately twisted ring of silver and crystal on the end. It was beautiful and not at all his style. You knew this even as you lifted your eyes to his, surprised, touched, and baffled.
"Zhou Mi hyung helped me pick it out," he admitted. You watched his expression shift, starting from the curve to his lips.
"He has good taste," you said.
"Yeah. He's so huashionable." A shrug and a mocking tone, gilded with his laugh. A gentle look in those dark eyes. You weren't sure you understood the joke, but then he was sliding the chain around your neck, hands brushing against you as he lifted your hair.
A promise, he said, taking your hand later. You twined your fingers together and leaned your head onto his shoulder, the cold feeling in your heart easing.
2
In this business, rumors and speculation flew left and right. You learned better than to give them credence. Always check with a reliable source first. Always take things with a grain of salt. Trust those you knew to trust and remain skeptical about everyone else.
They said there was something in the way Kyuhyun looked at him. They said he treated him differently. They said they were more than friends. They said they said they said a lot, and you had to hear it all.
"Don't listen to them," your friends told you. "Fans will make up all sorts of things."
"It's just fanservice," his friends told you. "You know how it is."
"Don't worry. I know better," you said, bringing a hand up to trace the silver ring you wore around your neck. You smiled, because no matter what they said, you were the one he kissed. The one he texted sweet dreams. i love you. to every night.
The one whose hand he took, two years down the line, shaking and nearly unable to look you in the eye, as he dropped to one knee.
The one who said, yes, oh god yes, through your tears and joy.
=
Zhou Mi was the best man at the wedding. He hugged you so carefully afterwards, like he was afraid you'd break. "Congratulations!" he exclaimed, smiling down at you like he was brimming over with happiness. You laughed and kissed his cheek, because it was the happiest day of your life. You watchd him lope over to Kyuhyun, long-legged in his tuxedo, and wrap him up so tight he probably couldn't breathe. Flushed and laughing, Kyuhyun hugged him back, leaving a hand on Zhou Mi's waist when he pulled back. His eyes were bright and locked with Zhou Mi as they talked, exchanging congratulations and thanks.
You just smiled. They could say whatever they wanted, but you were glad Kyuhyun had someone who loved him so much. Almost as much as you did.
"He somehow ended up my best friend," Kyuhyun had told you, ages ago, grinning despite himself. "Of course I love him."
But not the way I love you.
3
In this business, a touch meant nothing. A show of affection and support, skinship, fanservice; it all blended together to mean nothing. There was no point to reading between the lines, because they were blank. There was no point in searching for a hidden meaning, because there was none.
Kyuhyun leaned into Zhou Mi on stage and off because they were friends. He let Zhou Mi press his mouth to his cheek and ear because he was waiting for a translation, a quick and quiet one. He wrapped his arm around him because that was what friends did.
You never looked for anything more than that, when Kyuhyun kissed you like he would die without you and touched you like he was burning for you. You cried the first time, an ache of pleasure and pain as he pushed into you, but you had learned to want him. Your body craved him these days, for his clever fingers and his cleverer tongue, for his skin to stick to yours with sweat, his hands gripping your hips as your thighs fell open around him.
When he was inside you, staring down at you with those dark eyes, you'd never doubted he was yours.
But sometimes.
You'd say something and realize he hadn't heard, laughing at a text. Smirking as he sent a reply instead of answering your question.
"Are you listening?" Irritable.
"What? Hang on. Zhou Mi sent me some stupid picture." And he'd show you some adorable small animal in some adorable pose, rolling his eyes. You'd smile because that was typical Zhou Mi, but your irritation wouldn't fade.
Was it so wrong to want his undivided attention sometimes?
You weren't a jealous person. Not really. But you were human. You got lonely, you got scared, you got angry. Still, you encouraged his solo career, because he was amazing and the world deserved to know. You encouraged his duets, because more exposure was better exposure. You encouraged collaborations with Zhou Mi, because he was a friend and Kyuhyun clearly enjoyed himself more working with him.
You encouraged the endless rehearsals and recordings because he came home to you at night. You put up with the extended promotions and overseas performances because you knew what the business entailed.
Two years after you said I do, you walked into your bedroom after a horrendous, awful day and crawled into bed next to him, miserable and seeking comfort. You fell asleep beside him with nothing more than a cool kiss to your lips, your forehead, and his hand on your hip, because the both of you were exhausted. You woke up in the middle of the night with him sitting up in the dark, his phone to his ear, his voice a low concerned murmur.
Chinese. It must've been Zhou Mi.
You rolled over, still hazy with sleep.
Then you heard a soft hum as he started to sing. Something in Chinese, sweet and low and quiet. It seeped into you, soothing, an ingrained and familiar sensation, like a favorite memory. Kyuhyun singing a lullaby, comforting.
By the time he finished the lullaby, leaning back into his pillows as he murmured a while longer into his phone, your eyes were open and staring into the shadows of your bedroom. Your fingers slid soundlessly over your pillow as you remembered everything they said, returning to you in a jumbled flood.
They said.
They said it was different. They said it was more. They said it was love.
He'd said, Not tonight, I'm tired.
He'd said, Not the way I love you.
He looked at Zhou Mi and touched him and made fun of him and laughed with him and sang with him. He let himself be looked at and touched and hugged and smiled at like he was the source of every miracle in Zhou Mi's life. They never kissed. They never fucked. They never said Will you? and Yes, forever.
Not the way I love you, you thought. No. Not the way he loved you.
But maybe, you realized as you looked at them with new eyes over the next few disquieting months, more.
It wasn't a war. You weren't fighting over anything.
There was a ring on your finger. You'd already won.
But when you looked at the test in your hands to the still-flat curve of your stomach, you wondered whether this would change anything. Whether it would make him look away and only at you.
"Kyuhyun," you said, because you had to find out. "I have something to tell you. Good news."
the arithmetics of basic equations
kyuhyun/ofc, zhou mi/kyuhyun | pg-13 | 1750w
three is always one too many for a relationship.
1
In this business, reputations tended to precede the person. You heard about him months, maybe years, before you met him. You'd always known who he was. You thought you knew what to expect from him. Cho Kyuhyun.
You heard he was incorrigible. Charming. Awkward, young, mischievous, hard-working. The youngest of his group with a wicked sense of humor, with a voice that wrapped you up and didn't let you go. You didn't expect beautiful, thoughtful, impressive, bashful. Sweet. The little things surprised you, like the way he blushed when he was teased about you and the way he punctuated his texts with smiley faces.
"It doesn't seem like him," you said, looking at your cell phone.
"That's not normal," you were told. A knowing smile. "He never does that."
"He's probably just making fun of me," you said, because you knew him.
But the butterflies never quite went away after that. You'd look at him and find yourself smiling. When you weren't around him, you were thinking about him all the time. He was busy, you knew that. But he texted you and he called you when he had time and you ate together. You talked and sat in silence, went out on dates and stayed in, saw each other and missed each other, and fell in love.
It was easier than you'd expected.
Truth be told, you spent most of your time aggravated by him. He was immature and sort of a jerk and more often than not your senses of humor didn't match up. But then he'd compliment your earrings or remember your favorite TV actor or text you to take care of your health, he was thinking of you. Or he'd sing you a lullaby over the phone or buy you things with Pochacco on them because he knew you went crazy over them.
He'd apologize or make you laugh, or make you cry, and at the end of it all, you began to suspect you were starting to reach a point where you wouldn't be able to live without him.
+
One night, one of those rare times in his schedule where you could be fit in, sliding into his arms, he said your name quietly into your hair. You didn't look up, but hummed into his shoulder, warm and unwilling to move. It had been two weeks and already it was getting too long, each day more unbearably lonely without him than the last.
He repeated your name. His hand stroked through your hair.
"I have something for you," he said.
"I don't need another keychain from China," you said.
He pinched your hip and you muffled your laugh into his shirt. "Some people collect coins. I thought I'd help you with your keychain collection."
"How thoughtful, oppa." You tilted your head to smile back at him, all saccharine.
But he pulled out a necklace, a gorgeous thin silver chain with a delicately twisted ring of silver and crystal on the end. It was beautiful and not at all his style. You knew this even as you lifted your eyes to his, surprised, touched, and baffled.
"Zhou Mi hyung helped me pick it out," he admitted. You watched his expression shift, starting from the curve to his lips.
"He has good taste," you said.
"Yeah. He's so huashionable." A shrug and a mocking tone, gilded with his laugh. A gentle look in those dark eyes. You weren't sure you understood the joke, but then he was sliding the chain around your neck, hands brushing against you as he lifted your hair.
A promise, he said, taking your hand later. You twined your fingers together and leaned your head onto his shoulder, the cold feeling in your heart easing.
2
In this business, rumors and speculation flew left and right. You learned better than to give them credence. Always check with a reliable source first. Always take things with a grain of salt. Trust those you knew to trust and remain skeptical about everyone else.
They said there was something in the way Kyuhyun looked at him. They said he treated him differently. They said they were more than friends. They said they said they said a lot, and you had to hear it all.
"Don't listen to them," your friends told you. "Fans will make up all sorts of things."
"It's just fanservice," his friends told you. "You know how it is."
"Don't worry. I know better," you said, bringing a hand up to trace the silver ring you wore around your neck. You smiled, because no matter what they said, you were the one he kissed. The one he texted sweet dreams. i love you. to every night.
The one whose hand he took, two years down the line, shaking and nearly unable to look you in the eye, as he dropped to one knee.
The one who said, yes, oh god yes, through your tears and joy.
=
Zhou Mi was the best man at the wedding. He hugged you so carefully afterwards, like he was afraid you'd break. "Congratulations!" he exclaimed, smiling down at you like he was brimming over with happiness. You laughed and kissed his cheek, because it was the happiest day of your life. You watchd him lope over to Kyuhyun, long-legged in his tuxedo, and wrap him up so tight he probably couldn't breathe. Flushed and laughing, Kyuhyun hugged him back, leaving a hand on Zhou Mi's waist when he pulled back. His eyes were bright and locked with Zhou Mi as they talked, exchanging congratulations and thanks.
You just smiled. They could say whatever they wanted, but you were glad Kyuhyun had someone who loved him so much. Almost as much as you did.
"He somehow ended up my best friend," Kyuhyun had told you, ages ago, grinning despite himself. "Of course I love him."
But not the way I love you.
3
In this business, a touch meant nothing. A show of affection and support, skinship, fanservice; it all blended together to mean nothing. There was no point to reading between the lines, because they were blank. There was no point in searching for a hidden meaning, because there was none.
Kyuhyun leaned into Zhou Mi on stage and off because they were friends. He let Zhou Mi press his mouth to his cheek and ear because he was waiting for a translation, a quick and quiet one. He wrapped his arm around him because that was what friends did.
You never looked for anything more than that, when Kyuhyun kissed you like he would die without you and touched you like he was burning for you. You cried the first time, an ache of pleasure and pain as he pushed into you, but you had learned to want him. Your body craved him these days, for his clever fingers and his cleverer tongue, for his skin to stick to yours with sweat, his hands gripping your hips as your thighs fell open around him.
When he was inside you, staring down at you with those dark eyes, you'd never doubted he was yours.
But sometimes.
You'd say something and realize he hadn't heard, laughing at a text. Smirking as he sent a reply instead of answering your question.
"Are you listening?" Irritable.
"What? Hang on. Zhou Mi sent me some stupid picture." And he'd show you some adorable small animal in some adorable pose, rolling his eyes. You'd smile because that was typical Zhou Mi, but your irritation wouldn't fade.
Was it so wrong to want his undivided attention sometimes?
You weren't a jealous person. Not really. But you were human. You got lonely, you got scared, you got angry. Still, you encouraged his solo career, because he was amazing and the world deserved to know. You encouraged his duets, because more exposure was better exposure. You encouraged collaborations with Zhou Mi, because he was a friend and Kyuhyun clearly enjoyed himself more working with him.
You encouraged the endless rehearsals and recordings because he came home to you at night. You put up with the extended promotions and overseas performances because you knew what the business entailed.
Two years after you said I do, you walked into your bedroom after a horrendous, awful day and crawled into bed next to him, miserable and seeking comfort. You fell asleep beside him with nothing more than a cool kiss to your lips, your forehead, and his hand on your hip, because the both of you were exhausted. You woke up in the middle of the night with him sitting up in the dark, his phone to his ear, his voice a low concerned murmur.
Chinese. It must've been Zhou Mi.
You rolled over, still hazy with sleep.
Then you heard a soft hum as he started to sing. Something in Chinese, sweet and low and quiet. It seeped into you, soothing, an ingrained and familiar sensation, like a favorite memory. Kyuhyun singing a lullaby, comforting.
By the time he finished the lullaby, leaning back into his pillows as he murmured a while longer into his phone, your eyes were open and staring into the shadows of your bedroom. Your fingers slid soundlessly over your pillow as you remembered everything they said, returning to you in a jumbled flood.
They said.
They said it was different. They said it was more. They said it was love.
He'd said, Not tonight, I'm tired.
He'd said, Not the way I love you.
He looked at Zhou Mi and touched him and made fun of him and laughed with him and sang with him. He let himself be looked at and touched and hugged and smiled at like he was the source of every miracle in Zhou Mi's life. They never kissed. They never fucked. They never said Will you? and Yes, forever.
Not the way I love you, you thought. No. Not the way he loved you.
But maybe, you realized as you looked at them with new eyes over the next few disquieting months, more.
It wasn't a war. You weren't fighting over anything.
There was a ring on your finger. You'd already won.
But when you looked at the test in your hands to the still-flat curve of your stomach, you wondered whether this would change anything. Whether it would make him look away and only at you.
"Kyuhyun," you said, because you had to find out. "I have something to tell you. Good news."