What Doesn't Kill You Side Story: Hangeng
Title: What Doesn’t Kill You Side Story: Hangeng
Pairing: HanChul (only pairing in the side story)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: AU, Action, Superhero (is that a genre?)
Summary: The background story of Hangeng, how he contracted GAM, and how he came to live in 1502 Yumyeong Apartments.
Chapter 4 < ------- > Chapter 5
Side Story: Siwon
Character Profiles Song Inspiration: Crazy Angel by Kill Hannah
Vivre en Crever from Mozart L'Opera Rock
---
By the age of five, Hangeng had already known he was going to be a star. Of course, at that age he’d meant literally and it had taken several days of explanations from his father to tell him that no, living in space would not be fun and more importantly, it wasn’t possible for a little boy to become a star.
So Hangeng had gone for the next best thing: showbiz. If he couldn’t be a literal star, he could at least be a metaphorical one.
His parents had always been supportive. They paid for dance lessons, voice training, they encouraged him to continue his dream despite its impracticality (money was scarce and the dumpling shop wasn’t fairing well) and for that, Hangeng was forever grateful. He swore that he would become famous and give his family everything. He would buy his mother a house and nice clothes and jewelry. He would get his father that BMW and the Rolex he’d always wanted.
It didn’t take long for his dream to be fulfilled. He worked hard-he’d always been diligent-he practiced nonstop, he took rejection and turned it into positive criticism and at the age of sixteen he was recruited by an entertainment agency.
At age seventeen, Hangeng became an idol known throughout Asia.
“We have a fan-signing tomorrow at ten. That evening you’ll be appearing on Star King. Then Thursday you’ll appear as a special guest on Strong Heart. You also have two radio shows to attend…let’s see…Young Street and Kiss The Radio.”
Hangeng nodded, staring out the tinted window of the company van. His stomach wasn’t feeling well. Ever since they’d gotten off of the plane he’d been feeling a bit off. He wondered if he was coming down with something. If he got a cold now, it wouldn’t be good for his Korean debut!
“Can we get some medicine tonight? I think I have indigestion.” Hangeng murmured.
His manager nodded, jotting something down on his iPad, “Don’t eat anything spicy tonight. Just plain rice.”
Hangeng assented, although he was a bit disappointed. He’d wanted to try some kimchee. He went back to staring out the window at the busy streets of Seoul as the van whipped by. It was nearing evening, and the light had begun to fade behind the skyscrapers. The streetlamps provided little balls of light that swirled past him, along with the sound of honking horns and roaring engines.
He was about to turn to ask his manager about their hotel reservations when he saw a flash of honey brown. It wasn’t that unique of a color, but it held his attention long enough to see a startlingly pale and beautiful face and then it was gone as they sped past.
It took him several moments to remember to breathe.
When he looked down, his hand had unconsciously found its way to the door handle, ready to open it. He was certain that if the car had been moving any slower he would have. His heart was beating against his ribcage, almost painfully. He could feel every pulse, his throat dry.
“Hangeng, are you alright?”
“Ah? Y-yes, ge. I’m fine.” Hangeng managed to get out. He forcefully removed his fingers from the door handle and leaned back against the seat. He tried to relax but every time he closed his eyes he saw a glimpse of auburn and wide, dark eyes. Those eyes had connected with his through the glass, as if they could see him behind the tinted windows, knew he was there. Or had he just imagined that? Probably. It wouldn’t make sense otherwise…
With that thought, Hangeng took a deep breath and managed to still his frantically beating heart.
---
Hangeng attributed his vomiting to food poisoning. He wasn’t certain how his rice could have been undercooked in the first place-because he’d cooked it, and he knew how to cook rice-or how undercooked rice could give him food poisoning, but he had no other explanation for his current position beside the toilet.
He groaned, closing his eyes as another wave of nausea hit him.
Someone brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Geng, I’m going to go to the store and get you something for your stomach. Will you be alright by yourself? Ah, you have a fever. I’ll get some medicine for that too.”
Hangeng nodded wearily. “I’ll be fine ge-uhg!” Hangeng lurched forward, emptying what little was left in his stomach into the water beneath. His manager shied aay from the smell.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Hangeng waved him off, hand falling limply to his side as his manager left. Each footfall sounded like an gunshot. When the front door finally closed Hangeng let out a sigh of relief, reveling in the silence punctuated only by his own harsh breathing.
He gulped in a few mouthfuls of fresh air before he was heaving again. There was nothing left in his stomach to throw up, not even bile. His throat burned from the strain and he coughed weakly. He lifted a hand to flush the toilet out of instinct and closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the toilet seat as he listened to the water draining out of the bowl.
If he hadn’t flushed the toilet, he probably would have heard the door opening. As it were, he didn’t know that someone had entered the apartment until they pressed a hand to his forehead. “…you look like shit.”
His eyes flickered open and he found himself staring into dark, wide depths. His mouth dropped open as he scurried to sit up fully against the toilet. It was…the person from before.
“Ugh, you reek.” They wrinkled their nose, a delicate nose, but strong. Long, auburn curls were tied back in a ponytail, and the person was wearing an oversized lavender sweater. The entire look was distinctly feminine. But Hangeng knew that it was a man.
How had the man gotten into his apartment? Why was he there? Why did he have to come when Hangeng was glued to the toilet and smelled like a frat party?
Other than the initial nose wrinkle, the pretty man didn’t seem bothered by Hangeng’s smell. He knelt down, and Hangeng noticed designer leather boots, pulled over black skinny jeans. He hooked his hands under Hangeng’s armpits and pulled him upwards, surprisingly strong for such a thin person.
“…what…are you doing…?” Hangeng croaked out.
“Taking you back with me. You can’t stay here any longer.” The man replied coolly. “Come on, we need to leave before your manager comes back.”
“I can’t leave. I’m…” Hangeng was hit with another wave of nausea. His vision blanked and he stumbled back. The body pressed against his own was warm, oddly comforting. “…I have work…”
“Yes, yes, those prepubescent fangirls of yours will just have to wait.” The man mocked, and there was another tug toward the door. Hangeng found himself obeying. He was too sick to feel nervous around the beautiful man, even though his heartbeat had sped up. He couldn’t tell if he was flushed because the other man was so close or if it was from the fever.
“Come on Hankyung, just a few more steps.”
“It’s Hangeng.” He found himself saying. “You said it…wrong…” His vision was blurring again. “…how do you know my…?” He didn’t get to finish his question because he lost consciousness.
---
Hangeng woke up three days later in a hospital bed feeling like he’d been beaten with a pillowcase full of bricks.
“Good morning, Hangeng-ssi. I see you’ve finally regained consciousness.” A gruff voice to his right. Hangeng turned groggily. Inwardly he was panicking. Why was he here? Had he been kidnapped? Was this part of the human trafficking ring his mother had warned him about? But he was sedated, his thoughts fuzzy and stilted, so he simply stared up at the person in confusion.
He hadn’t understood anything the man had said, except for his name. He recognized it as Korean, though, and that made him feel a little better. He was in Korea still. The man was wearing a doctor’s coat so…maybe he was in the hospital? He had been sick. But then, where was that man? The beautiful man that had brought him here? Or had that been a hallucination brought on by his sickness?
It had to have been.
“Where is my manager?” He asked in Chinese, because even his limited, broken Korean-it consisted of greetings, honorifics, and “where is the restroom?”-seemed too difficult for him to remember at the moment.
The man stared at him from behind large, thick-rimmed glasses. He blinked, expression unchangeable, before he coughed, scribbling something down on a notepad. Hangeng managed to sit up, ignoring the wave of dizziness and fatigue that hit him. “Where is my manager?” He repeated.
The doctor ignored him, busying himself with the monitor to Hangeng’s left. He muttered something in Korean to a man to his right. Hangeng hadn’t even noticed that there were others in the room, at least three, all wearing white coats and looking over files and machines.
Hangeng swallowed, as panic began to set in again. What was he going to do? Where was he and why wasn’t his manager nearby? And no one spoke Chinese! What was he going to do? He didn’t know enough Korean to ask for help.
He wracked his brain for his miniscule Korean vocabulary, trying to think of something to say that would help. It ended in a bigger headache than he’d already had and he groaned softly, trying to suppress a whimper. His entire body ached, his head throbbed, and if he wanted to admit it, he was a little scared.
“Please…” He whispered in broken, heavily accented Korean. “…hello? Please…” He didn’t know if it made sense. The doctor looked up at him oddly, before they both turned as the door opened.
Hangeng was sure his heart stopped as the beautiful man from the street-and his bathroom-walked toward them. He said something to the doctor in Korean. The doctor nodded, looking wary-and a little afraid-of the beautiful man. He scuttled past him, as if afraid to touch, and hurried to the door. As the door closed behind him, the beautiful man looked back at Hangeng, sizing him up.
His gaze was cool, controlled. He was all angles, sharp cheekbones made even more defined by his soft curls. There was nothing gentle about his demeanor, but Hangeng suddenly felt a little less scared.
“Heechul.” The beautiful man reiterated, pointing to himself. “Kim Heechul.” He paused, before grabbing the clipboard from a passing lab assistant. He quickly scribbled something down and handed it over to Hangeng.
I can write Hànzì, you should be able to read some of this, right? My name is Kim Heechul.
Hangeng blinked, staring at the Chinese characters mixed with the Korean hangul. He nodded slowly, and relief bubbled up in his chest. He could communicate, at least on a very basic level, with this man. “Hangeng.” He pointed to himself, and bowed his head. “Xie xie.”
“I know your name, idiot. You’re famous, remember?” Heechul muttered, but upon seeing Hangeng’s confused glance he sighed and scribbled something else down.
Do you know why you are here?
Hangeng shook his head.
Heechul stared at him, his face unreadable, before he finally jotted something down.
You’re a member of the GAM project now.
---
For a few days after that, Hangeng didn’t see Heechul around. They’d found a lab technician who spoke basic Mandarin and he’d become Hangeng’s translator. There’d been no need for Heechul to tell him anything anymore and the other man didn’t seem too keen on coming to visit Hangeng either.
Hangeng supposed that he shouldn’t have felt so bad about it. The beautiful man hadn’t exactly been friendly to him. He hadn’t been rude, but he’d been cool, professional. There really wasn’t any reason for Hangeng to assume he’d want to come back and talk with him.
Eating in the mess hall was problematic. People recognized him, and then they asked questions, wanted autographs. It was during one of those times that he’d noticed Heechul in the cafeteria. He’d just walked in, saw the crowd hanging around Hangeng, and had sneered, giving him a scathing glare before he’d turned and left.
Hangeng didn’t eat in the cafeteria after that. He’d been told that once his “gift” appeared he would begin training. He wanted to ask Heechul what his gift was, but he was too shy to look for the man-that would be stalking, right?-and he didn’t think he had enough courage to talk to him even if he did.
He was certain that the beautiful man had plenty of admirers and friends. He wouldn’t want to hang out with the quiet Chinese man, even if he was famous. That was probably one of the reasons why he hated him.
It was hard, getting used to living in the facility. He’d demanded to be let home at first. His parents needed him. His manager was probably worried. His fans that had paid for their concert tickets were probably disappointed and angry. He needed to get out there and assure them all that he was fine.
But he couldn’t. They wouldn’t let him leave. They told him it was better that he forget about that life early on because he wouldn’t be going back there. Ever.
He still cried himself to sleep most nights.
He’d started learning Korean, because he knew that his translator wasn’t particularly excited about his current job. Sometimes he’d go out and walk at night in the halls, when it was quiet and there was no one to bug him about autographs or ask him to sing or dance. It was during one of these times that he noticed he was being followed.
By a kitten.
The fact that there was a kitten following him would have bothered him before, but it seemed normal now. He’d seen plenty of odder things at the training facility. A cat was normal. It was, however, unnerving to have a kitten stalker, so Hangeng picked up his pace.
The kitten followed suit. Hangeng broke into a run. The cat did as well. Hangeng turned a sharp corner, pressing himself up against the wall.
“Do you know how ridiculous you look running from a kitten?”
Hangeng blinked, getting some of what the person was saying-and understanding the scathing tone-and turned to see Heechul standing a few feet away, a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other.
There was a soft meow from behind him and Hangeng noticed the kitten. It walked past him and began brushing against Heechul’s socked foot, purring. Wait, Heechul wasn’t wearing shoes? Actually, he was only in his pajamas: a pair of sweatpants and an overly large shirt that looked like it was for someone twice his size. His long brown hair was tied up in a messy bun.
Hangeng had apparently been staring for longer than he’d thought, because Heechul was giving him a haughty, knowing smirk. Hangeng bowed his head, “Um, sorry. Sorry. Bed.” He managed to say.
Heechul scoffed. “Bed?” He looked down the darkened hallway before holding up his cup in invitation. “Coffee?”
Hangeng nodded slowly.
---
The cafeteria was empty, although that shouldn’t have surprised Hangeng. It was well past midnight. Heechul had picked up the kitten and placed it on the table, next to where Hangeng had sat. The cat had only stayed there long enough for Heechul to sit before it had crawled into his lap and fell asleep.
Heechul had flipped open his book and began reading it once they’d both gotten their coffee. Silence enveloped them, and Hangeng wondered what he was supposed to do. Was he supposed to talk? Was this the time to have a conversation? Why had Heechul brought him here if he was just going to sit there and read a book?
“Do…often…?” Hangeng ventured.
Heechul’s gaze flickered from his book to Hangeng. “…Yes. Do often. Do every night.” He answered sarcastically. “What about you?”
Hangeng knew that Heechul was making fun of him, but he simply blinked. “What?”
“Walk.” Heechul pantomimed walking with his fingers. “Do often?”
Yes, he was most definitely being rude, but for some reason Hangeng couldn’t find it in him to be angry. He nodded. “Yes. Every night.” He repeated Heechul’s words.
Heechul snorted. “Mm,” and went back to his book. As the silence stretched, Hangeng looked around the cafeteria, trying to find something to entertain himself. All of the lights were off except the one directly above their table. The rest of the room was pitch black. He could hear a click ticking on a wall in the far corner. It was unnecessarily loud. The cat’s purrs sounded like dull roars, and every turn of a page cut through the eerie stillness like a knife.
Hangeng grabbed his coffee and took a sip. He winced at how loud it sounded when he slurped. Heechul didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t care. He didn’t look up from his book.
“Gam Xi Che-ssi-”
“You’re not even pronouncing it correctly. Geeze.” Heechul snapped back. “Ya, Hankyung, it’s Kim Heechul. Kim Heechul.”
“It’s Hangeng.”
Heechul blinked. “…what?”
“My name is Hangeng.”
Heechul stared at him for a few moments, before he took a sip of his coffee. His eyes never left Hangeng’s. “…is that so? I’ll call you your real name when you get mine right, Chinaman.”
It was a challenge, said in a soft voice that sent a shiver down Hangeng’s spine.
---
Their late night coffee dates-Hangeng didn’t know what else to call them, date wasn’t correct, but it sounded better than rendezvous, and excursion wasn’t right either-continued after that. It wasn’t every night-sometimes Hangeng would show up and wait and Heechul wouldn’t come at all-but it was enough of a constant that Hangeng felt comfortable saying that they were friends now.
After night five, he’d begun to hope for more, and he didn’t even know why.
Heechul was not a likeable person. He didn’t talk much-he came to the cafeteria now and sat in a corner with a group of others and read his book-and when he did, it was usually to make fun of someone.
Hangeng had found himself at that back table as well, despite not really knowing anyone. There was Donghae, who he learned was actually his kitten stalker, and Yesung, a boy that could compete with Heechul in the “quiet” department. His was an eerie stillness though, and it almost made you wonder if he were actually real or a wax doll. That is, until he reached over and attacked your philtrum. This had apparently happened to everyone else at the table at some point in time and was seen as an odd kind of initiation rite.
Hangeng didn’t know if he should feel honored or not when his philtrum was finally violated, just as he’d gone to eat a mouthful of ramen and ended up spilling the entire bowl.
There were others at the table, people that Hangeng was introduced to but whom he didn’t talk with. There was an odd tension between them and Hangeng didn’t know enough Korean to understand the story behind it. Donghae had tried to explain at one point, but it had ended with Hangeng being more confused than ever.
One of these men was always around Heechul. Hangeng noticed that Heechul spent more time with him than anyone else. And it was only around this person that Heechul laughed. Hangeng didn’t know why that made him angry, why his gut clenched and his jaw tightened and his fingers curled into a fist under the table every time he witnessed it. All he knew was that it did and he didn’t like the feeling.
It was during one of these moments that his power awakened. He was eating his rice, watching as the man-Hangeng knew his name, he did, he thought he did, but it was something that always ended up on the tip of his tongue but just out of reach-leaned over and whispered something in Heechul’s ear, causing the other man to snicker.
Hangeng swallowed, and suddenly, everything stopped.
Everything.
He didn’t quite understand what happened, except that he’d leaned forward and noticed that no one else was moving and a split second later pain exploded in his chest and he had fallen backwards. Everything began moving again and he was gasping for air, clutching at his chest. It didn’t take long for the others to notice.
Donghae was on one side, looking scared, “Hankyung hyung?”
He recognized the designer boots to his right even through the haze of pain. He looked up into Heechul’s face. The usual milk-white complexion was a different kind of pale as he stared down at Hangeng, eyes dark, mouth a thin line.
“Hankyung.” Heechul finally muttered, and he brushed a gloved hand over Hangeng’s forehead. “Go to sleep.” It was an order, and Hangeng followed it gratefully, falling unconscious as the pain in his chest intensified.
---
He woke up the next day, feeling tired. His chest was sore, as if he’d run a lot and was out of breath, but the pain ebbed as the day went on. He’d been placed in the medical room but was allowed out after an initial check up. He knew that the doctors weren’t telling him something, but he couldn’t think of the right words to ask, and he knew he wouldn’t have understood even if they’d given him the answer.
He still didn’t know what happened, and no one else did either. They didn’t think of it as his power awakening. It had been an odd heart palpitation. It was the only explanation they could give. It wasn’t until a few days later, when Hangeng woke up with a kitten on his stomach, noticed that it wasn’t breathing in the few seconds he was conscious of the fact before everything was moving again and he was doubled over in pain, Donghae tumbling off of his chest with a surprised meow.
He could stop time.
It happened in odd bursts at first, and it was always followed with that terrible pain in his chest. They’d attributed it to the side effect of its unpredictability. They told him that when he learned to control his power he would be fine. The pain would ease with time.
It only intensified.
When time stopped, his heart stopped. At first, the scientists tried to lengthen the period. They did experiments, contemplated open heart surgery, a million different things that Hangeng didn’t understand. He could go for a few seconds…perhaps that was enough. Certainly it was enough for him to do something useful, to be of some help on a mission, even if it was miniscule.
The scientists continued to hypothesize. They continued Hangeng’s training. And Hangeng and Heechul’s late night coffee escapades-he’d decided on that one, because it was safe and Heechul wouldn’t like date because it meant they were more than friends and rendezvous had an entirely sexual connotation-continued as well.
For a while, Hangeng assumed that it was ok. His heart was toughening up. He could go for a little longer now.
He experimented with it outside of the testing rooms…on Heechul. He never told him, of course, and he always felt bad after doing so. But sometimes they would be sitting there and he would stop time. For those few gloriously painful seconds he would touch Heechul’s face, or hold his hand and then it would be over and he would grin, masking the pain that he was certain reflected in his eyes.
If Heechul knew what he did, he never got angry. But sometimes he would give Hangeng a look like he knew and Hangeng wondered briefly if that meant he could hope to do so without using his gift. Heechul wasn’t telling him to stop, was he? So that meant he didn’t mind? But Hangeng was too scared to see if he was right, too uncertain if Heechul even knew what Hangeng was doing in the first place.
So the moments were fleeting, stolen, and the guilt ate away at his chest along with the pain.
But Heechul’s lack of resistance-or awareness-made Hangeng bolder. He’d let his hands linger longer, let his fingertips brush along his jaw line and marvel at the soft skin. Soon, just touching like that wasn’t enough.
They were drinking their coffee like usual when he decided to do something stupid. He’d been planning it all day, psyching himself up for this moment. He would do it, and when it was over and done with, he’d start time again and he’d tell Heechul. He’d face either his acceptance or rejection-please, please, no rejection-and that would be the end of it.
No more hiding.
He’d gotten so good at stopping time by this point. Heechul had been reading his book, eyes glued to the pages. Hangeng had always wondered what it was, but he’d been more interested in the reader than the book itself so he’d never looked.
He leaned forward, ignoring the throbbing that had begun. Just a bit longer. A bit longer, that’s all.
He pressed his lips to Heechul’s forehead. A chaste kiss, and he felt his cheeks heat up with the knowledge of what he’d just done. He swallowed, pushing down the pain again, trying to ignore it. He took a deep breath, before he bent down, pulling his lips closer to Heechul’s own. This was it. With this kiss, he would show Heechul how he felt.
With this he would-
The pain hit like a freight train, leaving him breathless. He was on his back, choking. Heechul was standing over him, gloves hands touching his face. Hangeng didn’t see anything, but he could hear it faintly through the roaring in his ears.
“Hangeng! Hangeng!”
You said my name, Hangeng wanted to say, but the world went black before he could.
---
He was used to waking up in the medical room by now, so it was no surprise to him when he opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the tiled white ceiling with its rectangle lights. He blinked, turning his head so he wasn’t staring directly up at them and blinked.
Heechul was sitting in the chair beside his bed. He was awake, eyes trained on Hangeng’s face. He was not smiling. He looked angry, and weary, and perhaps even a little anxious. Hangeng had never seen those emotions from him before.
Hangeng figured he was angry about their almost kiss. He swallowed, and managed a weak smile. “…you finally said my name the right way.”
“You had a heart attack.”
Hangeng blinked at Heechul’s cold tone. “…what?”
“A heart attack.” Heechul repeated sharply, eyes flashing. “You stopped time for too long and you almost died. They had to use the defibrillator.”
Hangeng’s brow furrowed. “I…that can’t be right. It wasn’t longer than usual. I-”
“All for a kiss, Hannie. You almost fucking kissed me. You almost died. You’re lucky that you had a damn heart attack before it happened!” Heechul snapped. “Don’t you ever try and kiss me again, got it?”
“I…” Hangeng swallowed. So this was it. This was Heechul’s answer. “…I see. I’m sorry. I thought that-”
“If you kiss me, you will die.” Heechul replied, and his tone was more level now after his small outburst. He was still sitting stiffly in his chair. “It’s not a matter of me wanting you to or not, got it?”
It was as close to a confession as Hangeng figured he would ever get.
Heechul didn’t give Hangeng time to process it, however, before he’d already stood. “Get up, we have to get out of here.”
“Huh?”
“Your heart is getting weaker each time you use your power. The strain you’re putting on it is too much. That’s why you had the heart attack. If this continues, you really will die.” Heechul answered, and he swallowed. “…they don’t need you anymore, Hangeng.”
“Why?”
“Your power is useless to them.” Heechul answered back solemnly “You’re not needed.”
Heechul’s eyes were cold, frigid, and for a small moment Hangeng thought that Heechul had come to kill him. He was capable of doing it. It was what he’d been trained for. Heechul was going to kill him. Heechul was going to take off his gloves and-
“Get up, you idiot. We don’t have much time.” Heechul grabbed his arm and pulled. He’d already yanked out Hangeng’s IV none too gently. Hangeng simply stared in shock as Heechul continued to lead him out of the room.
“What are you doing?” One of the doctors stopped them at the end of the hallway.
“He needs to go to the bathroom.” Heechul replied. “I didn’t feel like taking the IV tower.”
The doctor swallowed, looking like he wanted to protest. Instead, he nodded slowly. “…alright. Bring him back quickly. The higher-ups want to see him.”
“Got it.” Heechul snapped, leading Hangeng around the corner.
“…Heechul…” The reality of Heechul’s words had begun to sink in. “They’re going to kill me.” Hangeng whispered faintly.
“That’s their plan, idiot.” Heechul muttered, turning another corner. “This is the security’s blind spot…let’s just hope they don’t have any gifted that can sense any of this…” Heechul pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number, leaning against the wall casually.
Hangeng stared. Was this…really a time to be calling someone on the phone? People would be coming for them soon. They were going to kill him-and possibly Heechul for being an accomplice. No, he couldn’t let this happen. They needed to make a run for it.
“Ya, hyung, come on. We’re here.” Heechul snapped into the phone, and a second later, a man ran through the wall. Hangeng jumped backwards, almost tripping over his own feet. He managed to catch himself just in time. The man was shorter than he was, with a big nose and a dimple. He smiled brightly at Heechul. “It’s good to see you too!”
Heechul rolled his eyes and grabbed Hangeng’s arm, pulling him forward. “Here he is. They’re going to notice that he’s missing soon. Is that idiot Shindong ready with a car?”
The other man nodded. “Of course.” He turned to Hangeng. “I’m Leeteuk.”
“…Leeteuk hyung.” Hangeng still didn’t know what was going on.
Leeteuk grabbed Hangeng’s arm. “Alright, well, we’ll be going then.” He tugged Hangeng toward the wall. “Is it only him?”
“He’s the only one they want dead right now.” Heechul answered back blandly. “Will you get going before security gets here? I don’t know if they have someone listening in or not.”
Leeteuk nodded. “Alright, alright. Heechul, be careful-”
“You’re not my mother.” Heechul shot back. “Just go, will you?”
Leeteuk gave another smile, and Hangeng resisted the urge to stick his finger in his dimple, just because it was so large and Hangeng was still on a shitload of pain killers and it seemed like a perfectly acceptable thing to do under those circumstances.
Leeteuk’s hand on his arm was warm, gentle. Skin against skin. It felt odd and foreign. Not like Heechul’s hands at all.
“Take care of him, his Korean is horrible.”
Those were the last words Hangeng heard before a roaring filled his eyes and he was pulled through solid concrete.
---