xenophobia, part 3
» Xenophobia - 3/4. Kyuhyun/Donghae. 2,987 words.
Kyuhyun decides that moving to New York City was the biggest mistake of his life.
________
Kyuhyun has always been organized, to some extent of the word - he washes his clothes, puts his keys in the conveniently-placed bowl on the counter, makes his bed every morning and does the dishes. He does things that normal men leave to the women, and he’s always wondered if it was because he was naturally organized, or if it was simply because of the lack of feminine influence in his life.
However, after Donghae’s departure from the apartment, any trace of organizational skill seemed to have simply been tossed out the window, much like Kyuhyun was tempted to do with whatever random items Donghae neglected to take with him. Clothes were still washed, the keys were still in the bowl on the counter, his bed was still made and dishes were still cleaned, but it was simply because Sungmin and Zhou Mi offered to. Heechul, on the other hand, became Kyuhyun’s couch buddy and designated store-runner - they would watch disgustingly cheesy American romance movies, drink Smirnoff Ices by the case, and if they happened to run out of ice cream, Heechul would simply hop up, pull on his Cinderella bathrobe and strut to the corner store. Kyuhyun was surprised at this; Heechul was all but recognized for his extremely xenophobic ways. He began to think that maybe he had taken a page from Heechul’s book.
“I have to commend you,” Sungmin said one night over takeout -- a large serving of chicken chow mein, pork fried rice and two large servings of crab rangoons. “At least you’re showering and still going to work.”
“I have to,” Kyuhyun said in monotone as he mixed his rice with chow mein. “This is still Donghae’s apartment, too. He’s still paying half the expenses, so obviously he plans on coming back at some point.”
Kyuhyun didn’t catch the plaintive looks that passed between Zhou Mi and Sungmin.
________
Donghae was happy, in a sense - he was making money, he had a roof (a very nice one, in fact) over his head, he had food in his stomach and he was getting laid. He had the bare necessities; the essentials for survival.
Luckily, it seemed that the only people to discover of his new-found relationship with Giselle were the Trio that currently inhabited his (is it still?) and Kyuhyun’s apartment and Eunhyuk, which he couldn’t really complain about because it kept the taunting phone calls to a minimum. Sungmin had called him once, telling him that this whole thing was a mistake and Kyuhyun needed him back, which Donghae wasn’t sure he could argue with. Zhou Mi never called, only sent him texts with frowny faces and broken hearts, which he never replied to. Heechul left him voicemails that threatened his safety regularly, the time span between each message being anywhere between once a day to every two hours. He always saved these, and would listen to them whenever he was bored, although it was more for amusement than to actually soak up the meaning of the message.
“Are you okay?” Giselle asked one night; they were on a date at some high-class French restaurant whose name Donghae couldn’t pronounce. He stabbed furtively at his filet mignon. “Donghae.”
“Hmm,” He replied, cutting into the steak; he made a face as it bled all over his plate. “I asked for medium well and I get rare. I thought you said this was a five-star restaurant?”
“It is,” Giselle spooned some spaghetti into her mouth. “You’ve been acting weird lately. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” He said, taking a bite of his steak; it mushes like butter in his mouth. “I’m tired. I’m sorry.”
They ate the rest of the meal in silence.
_______
It was around August that Kyuhyun stopped eating. There was a vast emptiness inside him, one that he had felt before but never to this extent, and figured that maybe not eating for a while would help. He realized around this time that his plans are usually really dumb and never work out correctly.
He also started to become an alcoholic, drinking a bottle of Grey Goose pretty much every night unless Sungmin or Zhou Mi managed to snatch the bottle from his iron grip. Heechul became something of an enabler; he would never take Kyuhyun’s alcohol away and many times he would tell Kyuhyun that Donghae would come home soon, which at this point seemed highly unlikely. One thing Heechul never did, however, was fuel this self-inflicted eating disorder Kyuhyun seemed to have developed; he would often try and shove leftover pieces of pizza or some cookies into Kyuhyun’s mouth, but he would end up winning the argument by saying that the amount of alcohol he consumed had enough caloric intake to keep his body sustained.
The Trio came to a conclusion that what was only to be a brief check-up on their friend had to be indefinitely extended until further notice - that is, until Kyuhyun either started functioning properly or Donghae came back. Heechul was certain Kyuhyun would end up committing suicide, most likely from overdosing on sleep medication or throwing himself out the window; Sungmin reminded him that his bitter sense of humor wasn’t so funny anymore.
Over the following weeks, Kyuhyun continued to spiral out of control - he stopped showering and work was practically out of the question, and his insomnia was back in full force. It was a force unable to be reckoned with; he would lay in bed, limbs splayed as he memorized the grooves in the ceiling and tried to find patterns in Sungmin, Zhou Mi or Heechul’s breathing, depending on who volunteered to sleep next to him that night. Kyuhyun wasn’t completely immune to slumber - he did, in fact, sleep most nights, but they were only for short increments of time before nauseating images jerked him awake and kept him up for the remainder of the night.
_______
The air was thick with moisture and sickly sweet with the smell of incense, just like every other Saturday night in the month of August. A single candle was the only source of light in the room, casting their silhouettes on the wall like a projector.
Flushed skin pressed against skin, lips collided and breathing was shallow and labored; the only other sound in the room was the soft tapping of rain against the window. These were the nights Donghae anticipated every week; the ones where nothing seemed to exist except for her, and there was finally a distraction from the other things that plagued his conscience.
She pushed him down by his shoulders, situating him so his lips lay where her hips met. He paused momentarily, listening to her shallow breaths and the crack of thunder in the distance; he was stalling, he knew she could tell by the way she yanked at his hair a little too roughly. With a slight flick of his tongue her body trembled, whimpers of satisfaction crawling from her lips, so he continued; a soft, almost ginger rhythm that made her entire body shake. With a rather harsh yank of hair she moaned his name, and suddenly he flashed in Donghae’s mind - lips parted, cheeks flushed, on his back in their bed at the apartment - and then everything about the situation was horribly, disgustingly wrong.
He pulled away and stared at her for an inordinate amount of time; he memorized her every feature, every asset of her body that originally attracted him to her, and in that moment they were all her greatest flaws.
“Donghae?” She propped herself up on her elbows. “What is it?
Donghae didn’t answer; the quiver in his stomach told him it would be in his best interest if he held his tongue. With another crack of thunder, he rushed into the bathroom and lost his dinner to the toilet.
_______
Kyuhyun was fired in the middle of October.
They had been cutting him slack, they said, as they knew how hard it was to establish yourself in another country halfway across the planet. They had been cutting him slack because they felt bad of the hardships he was going through. They had been cutting him slack, because they felt he had the most potential of all the workers there. But potential could only go so far.
That was what the entire ordeal was made of - potential. The potential to be great. The potential to live in the greatest city in North America. The potential to be with Donghae. To be happy.
The only potential he seemed to have left was to be the first member of Super Junior to commit suicide.
After being in New York since the end of July, the Trio had adjusted particularly well to American life - Zhou Mi managed to pick up gigs at karaoke bars to earn some extra money and Sungmin struck affiliation deals with local guitar shops. Heechul didn’t have to work so hard - just by making an appearance at restaurants in clubs in the Asian part of the city, he got paid, so with Donghae covering half the bills, they managed to scrape by.
_______
Kyuhyun was alone - as alone as you can be with a fat cat by your side - when Donghae showed up one day; a Saturday. Kyuhyun didn’t really react, only stared at him incredulously, his jaw agape and his breathing hushed. Elisa, however, darted from her spot on the couch to Donghae’s feet, where she promptly arched her back and hissed.
“Hi,” Donghae scratched the back of his head, avoiding eye contact.
“You’re here.”
“I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t paying for half of an apartment for no reason.”
Kyuhyun turned back to the television. “I see.”
“All three of them are here, aren’t they?” Donghae pointed to the sleeping bag on the floor, along with the pile of suitcases in the corner.
“They figured a cat wasn’t sufficient company in a foreign country.”
Donghae sighed. “Look...Kyuhyun, I didn’t -!”
“Didn’t what, Donghae? Didn’t mean it?” Donghae opened his mouth to speak, but quickly rethought his actions and closed it. Kyuhyun stood up shakily. “How could you do this to me? Do you think this is funny?”
“No.”
“Is it some sort of sick joke? Because honestly, this isn’t fucking funny. I have been one-hundred percent faithful to for the past, oh I don’t know, five years.”
“Look,” Donghae massaged his temples with his fingertips, shooing away Elisa with a limp foot. “Maybe I never entirely got over the entire you-sleeping-with-Zhou Mi thing.”
Kyuhyun’s jaw dropped - there was no way, no way were those words just spoken. “What?”
“Yeah,” Donghae pointed a finger accusingly at Kyuhyun. “That really screwed me up, you know?”
“Donghae,” Kyuhyun gaped, his brain scrambling for something to respond; the only thing he could think of was, “That was six fucking years ago.”
“Seven, actually,” Donghae responded matter-of-factly; Kyuhyun’s arms shot into the air.
“Exactly!” He cried. “It was so long ago that I’ve lost track! I thought you got over this shit!”
“Well, I haven’t,” Donghae snatched his keys up from the counter, his gaze never leaving Kyuhyun’s. “It still fucking hurt and I just couldn’t deal with the dread and the worry in the back of my mind anymore.” He turned on his heel, not even giving a proper goodbye before slamming his way out of the apartment.
Kyuhyun stared at the open door, jaw slack and body completely numb; almost like his nerve endings had been snipped, causing a numb feeling to spread through his limbs like fire. His brain seemed to split directly in half at this point, becoming the Axis and Allied Powers of the World War his mind seemed to be fighting as of late - one side told him to stick it out, to wait for Donghae, because there was no way in Hell Donghae would be gone forever. Then there was the side that said no, the side that would try to shoot down any (false, fleeting or otherwise) hopes of Donghae’s eventual return as simply his own foolish fantasies.
Then there was the third side; that Kyuhyun desperately tried to ignore - the side that figured emotional genocide was the only way to go, and that no emotion would be heaps better than the raw ache that still lingered in the pit of his stomach.
_______
Heechul detested American food. It was the slimiest, greasiest, most fattening, disgusting, horrifying, and putrid assortment of mushed-together toxic waste products mankind has ever come up with, and it petrified him that people actually ate this sorry excuse for food on a daily basis. There were only a few times when he would even allow himself a small batch of French fries from McDonald’s - when he was PMSing (because, let’s face it - he practically got his period every month, sans the bleeding) or when he was out doing business.
That day, his mission was simple: tell Donghae he is stupid.
They met at the McDonald’s in Times Square, on the second level nearest to the window; Heechul sat pensively with his small order of fries and his diet soda as he waited for Donghae, who, by the texts Heechul kept receiving, was stuck in line and horribly, horribly confused.
“I swear,” Donghae said as he dropped his bag on the table; Heechul peeked inside and grimaced at the words BIG MAC. “This city is more of a zoo than anything else.”
“Well, yeah,” Heechul stuck a fry in his mouth, chewing it slowly as he stared at Donghae from behind his sunglasses. “There’s only, oh, I dunno, a million people here.”
Donghae nodded, pulling his sandwich out of the bag. “So what’s this about? It was quite a shocker, going from getting death threats to, ‘hey you, let’s go for lunch, shall we?’” Heechul nodded, swirling the straw of his soda.
“We need to talk.”
Donghae took a rather obnoxious bite of his sandwich, ignoring the sneer on Heechul’s lips. “About?”
“Don’t play dumb, Donghae. I’m only in this city for one fucking reason.” Heechul laced his fingers together, analyzing Donghae as he ate his sandwich in silence. “I take back what I said.”
“And what exactly did you say,” Donghae asked between bites.
“I take back what I said about Kyuhyun not deserving your forgiveness,” Heechul ate another fry. “You’re the one who doesn’t deserve his forgiveness.”
Donghae stared at Heechul, mid-bite. Heechul smiled.
“I remember, seven years ago,” Heechul tapped a freshly-manicured nail against the tabletop. “That was the worst time of your life - one of them, at least. Am I right?”
“Yes,” Donghae put his sandwich in the box and closed it; food could wait a little longer.
“Because you had never felt like that before. You were always the heartbreaker, not the heartbroken. Correct?” Donghae nodded; Heechul’s cue. “It was difficult for Kyuhyun, too, you know. I remember hearing him cry every night - I mean, fuck, he was in the room right next door, and he is fucking loud when he cries; no wonder Leeteuk got earplugs. Anyway, earplugs aren’t the point.” Heechul shoved three fries in his mouth. “The point is, you are doing exactly what Kyuhyun did to you, except twenty times worse.”
“How is it worse?” Donghae took a sip of Heechul’s soda. “No, seriously. I don’t understand how it’s worse. I’m doing exactly what he did to me.”
“It’s worse, because you dragged him halfway across the fucking world, uprooting him from his happiness in Seoul to this shithole city, only to cheat on him a month later with your employer because he can’t handle this place,” Heechul snapped, whipping off his sunglasses. “Jesus, I know you know this already. Don’t think I haven’t been in contact with Hyukjae.”
Donghae rubbed his eyes as he felt his blood pressure rising. It took a lot to get him to the breaking point, but he was past breaking at this point; he was done with everything. Secretly, he wished he had never brought up the idea of New York - everything would have been normal, he and Kyuhyun would have been normal, he would have been normal. He wasn’t bothered by the events that occurred seven years ago; those were feelings long since forgotten, they were just simply an excuse to justify his actions.
Heechul sighed, cramming the last of his grease-slathered fries in his mouth and wiping his hands on his jeans, something he normally would only do on his death bed. “You are free to stop paying for half of the apartment. Kyuhyun will be returning to Seoul with us next week, so unless you plan on living in that apartment, I suggest you save your - or, rather, your girlfriend’s - money.”
Donghae exhaled slowly. “So he wants to leave.”
“Can you blame him? This place is disgusting.” Heechul crumpled the fry wrapper, wadding into a compact ball as he stood up. “It’s really a shame, Donghae. I figured you guys would have gotten married one day.”
Heechul didn’t catch that, as he walked away from the table, Donghae muttered, “yeah, me too.”
_______
Kyuhyun leaned against the window to his left, watching as the ground slowly morphed from a solid mass of black to broken puffs of white and sighing to himself. This is the right choice, he thought to himself as he took a peak over to Zhou Mi, who was deep in sleep on his right. You need to do this. For yourself. Over the past few years, it seemed everything was about KyuhyunandDonghae as one being; never one or the other, but the two as a whole. It was Heechul who smacked him across the face one night (literally and metaphorically,) saying that maybe it was time he started to think about himself.
Leaving Donghae in America was painful - almost as painful as the fact that Donghae probably didn’t care that he was leaving - but somehow, Kyuhyun found it almost impossible to cry.
Almost.
end of part 3.
Kyuhyun decides that moving to New York City was the biggest mistake of his life.
________
Kyuhyun has always been organized, to some extent of the word - he washes his clothes, puts his keys in the conveniently-placed bowl on the counter, makes his bed every morning and does the dishes. He does things that normal men leave to the women, and he’s always wondered if it was because he was naturally organized, or if it was simply because of the lack of feminine influence in his life.
However, after Donghae’s departure from the apartment, any trace of organizational skill seemed to have simply been tossed out the window, much like Kyuhyun was tempted to do with whatever random items Donghae neglected to take with him. Clothes were still washed, the keys were still in the bowl on the counter, his bed was still made and dishes were still cleaned, but it was simply because Sungmin and Zhou Mi offered to. Heechul, on the other hand, became Kyuhyun’s couch buddy and designated store-runner - they would watch disgustingly cheesy American romance movies, drink Smirnoff Ices by the case, and if they happened to run out of ice cream, Heechul would simply hop up, pull on his Cinderella bathrobe and strut to the corner store. Kyuhyun was surprised at this; Heechul was all but recognized for his extremely xenophobic ways. He began to think that maybe he had taken a page from Heechul’s book.
“I have to commend you,” Sungmin said one night over takeout -- a large serving of chicken chow mein, pork fried rice and two large servings of crab rangoons. “At least you’re showering and still going to work.”
“I have to,” Kyuhyun said in monotone as he mixed his rice with chow mein. “This is still Donghae’s apartment, too. He’s still paying half the expenses, so obviously he plans on coming back at some point.”
Kyuhyun didn’t catch the plaintive looks that passed between Zhou Mi and Sungmin.
________
Donghae was happy, in a sense - he was making money, he had a roof (a very nice one, in fact) over his head, he had food in his stomach and he was getting laid. He had the bare necessities; the essentials for survival.
Luckily, it seemed that the only people to discover of his new-found relationship with Giselle were the Trio that currently inhabited his (is it still?) and Kyuhyun’s apartment and Eunhyuk, which he couldn’t really complain about because it kept the taunting phone calls to a minimum. Sungmin had called him once, telling him that this whole thing was a mistake and Kyuhyun needed him back, which Donghae wasn’t sure he could argue with. Zhou Mi never called, only sent him texts with frowny faces and broken hearts, which he never replied to. Heechul left him voicemails that threatened his safety regularly, the time span between each message being anywhere between once a day to every two hours. He always saved these, and would listen to them whenever he was bored, although it was more for amusement than to actually soak up the meaning of the message.
“Are you okay?” Giselle asked one night; they were on a date at some high-class French restaurant whose name Donghae couldn’t pronounce. He stabbed furtively at his filet mignon. “Donghae.”
“Hmm,” He replied, cutting into the steak; he made a face as it bled all over his plate. “I asked for medium well and I get rare. I thought you said this was a five-star restaurant?”
“It is,” Giselle spooned some spaghetti into her mouth. “You’ve been acting weird lately. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” He said, taking a bite of his steak; it mushes like butter in his mouth. “I’m tired. I’m sorry.”
They ate the rest of the meal in silence.
_______
It was around August that Kyuhyun stopped eating. There was a vast emptiness inside him, one that he had felt before but never to this extent, and figured that maybe not eating for a while would help. He realized around this time that his plans are usually really dumb and never work out correctly.
He also started to become an alcoholic, drinking a bottle of Grey Goose pretty much every night unless Sungmin or Zhou Mi managed to snatch the bottle from his iron grip. Heechul became something of an enabler; he would never take Kyuhyun’s alcohol away and many times he would tell Kyuhyun that Donghae would come home soon, which at this point seemed highly unlikely. One thing Heechul never did, however, was fuel this self-inflicted eating disorder Kyuhyun seemed to have developed; he would often try and shove leftover pieces of pizza or some cookies into Kyuhyun’s mouth, but he would end up winning the argument by saying that the amount of alcohol he consumed had enough caloric intake to keep his body sustained.
The Trio came to a conclusion that what was only to be a brief check-up on their friend had to be indefinitely extended until further notice - that is, until Kyuhyun either started functioning properly or Donghae came back. Heechul was certain Kyuhyun would end up committing suicide, most likely from overdosing on sleep medication or throwing himself out the window; Sungmin reminded him that his bitter sense of humor wasn’t so funny anymore.
Over the following weeks, Kyuhyun continued to spiral out of control - he stopped showering and work was practically out of the question, and his insomnia was back in full force. It was a force unable to be reckoned with; he would lay in bed, limbs splayed as he memorized the grooves in the ceiling and tried to find patterns in Sungmin, Zhou Mi or Heechul’s breathing, depending on who volunteered to sleep next to him that night. Kyuhyun wasn’t completely immune to slumber - he did, in fact, sleep most nights, but they were only for short increments of time before nauseating images jerked him awake and kept him up for the remainder of the night.
_______
The air was thick with moisture and sickly sweet with the smell of incense, just like every other Saturday night in the month of August. A single candle was the only source of light in the room, casting their silhouettes on the wall like a projector.
Flushed skin pressed against skin, lips collided and breathing was shallow and labored; the only other sound in the room was the soft tapping of rain against the window. These were the nights Donghae anticipated every week; the ones where nothing seemed to exist except for her, and there was finally a distraction from the other things that plagued his conscience.
She pushed him down by his shoulders, situating him so his lips lay where her hips met. He paused momentarily, listening to her shallow breaths and the crack of thunder in the distance; he was stalling, he knew she could tell by the way she yanked at his hair a little too roughly. With a slight flick of his tongue her body trembled, whimpers of satisfaction crawling from her lips, so he continued; a soft, almost ginger rhythm that made her entire body shake. With a rather harsh yank of hair she moaned his name, and suddenly he flashed in Donghae’s mind - lips parted, cheeks flushed, on his back in their bed at the apartment - and then everything about the situation was horribly, disgustingly wrong.
He pulled away and stared at her for an inordinate amount of time; he memorized her every feature, every asset of her body that originally attracted him to her, and in that moment they were all her greatest flaws.
“Donghae?” She propped herself up on her elbows. “What is it?
Donghae didn’t answer; the quiver in his stomach told him it would be in his best interest if he held his tongue. With another crack of thunder, he rushed into the bathroom and lost his dinner to the toilet.
_______
Kyuhyun was fired in the middle of October.
They had been cutting him slack, they said, as they knew how hard it was to establish yourself in another country halfway across the planet. They had been cutting him slack because they felt bad of the hardships he was going through. They had been cutting him slack, because they felt he had the most potential of all the workers there. But potential could only go so far.
That was what the entire ordeal was made of - potential. The potential to be great. The potential to live in the greatest city in North America. The potential to be with Donghae. To be happy.
The only potential he seemed to have left was to be the first member of Super Junior to commit suicide.
After being in New York since the end of July, the Trio had adjusted particularly well to American life - Zhou Mi managed to pick up gigs at karaoke bars to earn some extra money and Sungmin struck affiliation deals with local guitar shops. Heechul didn’t have to work so hard - just by making an appearance at restaurants in clubs in the Asian part of the city, he got paid, so with Donghae covering half the bills, they managed to scrape by.
_______
Kyuhyun was alone - as alone as you can be with a fat cat by your side - when Donghae showed up one day; a Saturday. Kyuhyun didn’t really react, only stared at him incredulously, his jaw agape and his breathing hushed. Elisa, however, darted from her spot on the couch to Donghae’s feet, where she promptly arched her back and hissed.
“Hi,” Donghae scratched the back of his head, avoiding eye contact.
“You’re here.”
“I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t paying for half of an apartment for no reason.”
Kyuhyun turned back to the television. “I see.”
“All three of them are here, aren’t they?” Donghae pointed to the sleeping bag on the floor, along with the pile of suitcases in the corner.
“They figured a cat wasn’t sufficient company in a foreign country.”
Donghae sighed. “Look...Kyuhyun, I didn’t -!”
“Didn’t what, Donghae? Didn’t mean it?” Donghae opened his mouth to speak, but quickly rethought his actions and closed it. Kyuhyun stood up shakily. “How could you do this to me? Do you think this is funny?”
“No.”
“Is it some sort of sick joke? Because honestly, this isn’t fucking funny. I have been one-hundred percent faithful to for the past, oh I don’t know, five years.”
“Look,” Donghae massaged his temples with his fingertips, shooing away Elisa with a limp foot. “Maybe I never entirely got over the entire you-sleeping-with-Zhou Mi thing.”
Kyuhyun’s jaw dropped - there was no way, no way were those words just spoken. “What?”
“Yeah,” Donghae pointed a finger accusingly at Kyuhyun. “That really screwed me up, you know?”
“Donghae,” Kyuhyun gaped, his brain scrambling for something to respond; the only thing he could think of was, “That was six fucking years ago.”
“Seven, actually,” Donghae responded matter-of-factly; Kyuhyun’s arms shot into the air.
“Exactly!” He cried. “It was so long ago that I’ve lost track! I thought you got over this shit!”
“Well, I haven’t,” Donghae snatched his keys up from the counter, his gaze never leaving Kyuhyun’s. “It still fucking hurt and I just couldn’t deal with the dread and the worry in the back of my mind anymore.” He turned on his heel, not even giving a proper goodbye before slamming his way out of the apartment.
Kyuhyun stared at the open door, jaw slack and body completely numb; almost like his nerve endings had been snipped, causing a numb feeling to spread through his limbs like fire. His brain seemed to split directly in half at this point, becoming the Axis and Allied Powers of the World War his mind seemed to be fighting as of late - one side told him to stick it out, to wait for Donghae, because there was no way in Hell Donghae would be gone forever. Then there was the side that said no, the side that would try to shoot down any (false, fleeting or otherwise) hopes of Donghae’s eventual return as simply his own foolish fantasies.
Then there was the third side; that Kyuhyun desperately tried to ignore - the side that figured emotional genocide was the only way to go, and that no emotion would be heaps better than the raw ache that still lingered in the pit of his stomach.
_______
Heechul detested American food. It was the slimiest, greasiest, most fattening, disgusting, horrifying, and putrid assortment of mushed-together toxic waste products mankind has ever come up with, and it petrified him that people actually ate this sorry excuse for food on a daily basis. There were only a few times when he would even allow himself a small batch of French fries from McDonald’s - when he was PMSing (because, let’s face it - he practically got his period every month, sans the bleeding) or when he was out doing business.
That day, his mission was simple: tell Donghae he is stupid.
They met at the McDonald’s in Times Square, on the second level nearest to the window; Heechul sat pensively with his small order of fries and his diet soda as he waited for Donghae, who, by the texts Heechul kept receiving, was stuck in line and horribly, horribly confused.
“I swear,” Donghae said as he dropped his bag on the table; Heechul peeked inside and grimaced at the words BIG MAC. “This city is more of a zoo than anything else.”
“Well, yeah,” Heechul stuck a fry in his mouth, chewing it slowly as he stared at Donghae from behind his sunglasses. “There’s only, oh, I dunno, a million people here.”
Donghae nodded, pulling his sandwich out of the bag. “So what’s this about? It was quite a shocker, going from getting death threats to, ‘hey you, let’s go for lunch, shall we?’” Heechul nodded, swirling the straw of his soda.
“We need to talk.”
Donghae took a rather obnoxious bite of his sandwich, ignoring the sneer on Heechul’s lips. “About?”
“Don’t play dumb, Donghae. I’m only in this city for one fucking reason.” Heechul laced his fingers together, analyzing Donghae as he ate his sandwich in silence. “I take back what I said.”
“And what exactly did you say,” Donghae asked between bites.
“I take back what I said about Kyuhyun not deserving your forgiveness,” Heechul ate another fry. “You’re the one who doesn’t deserve his forgiveness.”
Donghae stared at Heechul, mid-bite. Heechul smiled.
“I remember, seven years ago,” Heechul tapped a freshly-manicured nail against the tabletop. “That was the worst time of your life - one of them, at least. Am I right?”
“Yes,” Donghae put his sandwich in the box and closed it; food could wait a little longer.
“Because you had never felt like that before. You were always the heartbreaker, not the heartbroken. Correct?” Donghae nodded; Heechul’s cue. “It was difficult for Kyuhyun, too, you know. I remember hearing him cry every night - I mean, fuck, he was in the room right next door, and he is fucking loud when he cries; no wonder Leeteuk got earplugs. Anyway, earplugs aren’t the point.” Heechul shoved three fries in his mouth. “The point is, you are doing exactly what Kyuhyun did to you, except twenty times worse.”
“How is it worse?” Donghae took a sip of Heechul’s soda. “No, seriously. I don’t understand how it’s worse. I’m doing exactly what he did to me.”
“It’s worse, because you dragged him halfway across the fucking world, uprooting him from his happiness in Seoul to this shithole city, only to cheat on him a month later with your employer because he can’t handle this place,” Heechul snapped, whipping off his sunglasses. “Jesus, I know you know this already. Don’t think I haven’t been in contact with Hyukjae.”
Donghae rubbed his eyes as he felt his blood pressure rising. It took a lot to get him to the breaking point, but he was past breaking at this point; he was done with everything. Secretly, he wished he had never brought up the idea of New York - everything would have been normal, he and Kyuhyun would have been normal, he would have been normal. He wasn’t bothered by the events that occurred seven years ago; those were feelings long since forgotten, they were just simply an excuse to justify his actions.
Heechul sighed, cramming the last of his grease-slathered fries in his mouth and wiping his hands on his jeans, something he normally would only do on his death bed. “You are free to stop paying for half of the apartment. Kyuhyun will be returning to Seoul with us next week, so unless you plan on living in that apartment, I suggest you save your - or, rather, your girlfriend’s - money.”
Donghae exhaled slowly. “So he wants to leave.”
“Can you blame him? This place is disgusting.” Heechul crumpled the fry wrapper, wadding into a compact ball as he stood up. “It’s really a shame, Donghae. I figured you guys would have gotten married one day.”
Heechul didn’t catch that, as he walked away from the table, Donghae muttered, “yeah, me too.”
_______
Kyuhyun leaned against the window to his left, watching as the ground slowly morphed from a solid mass of black to broken puffs of white and sighing to himself. This is the right choice, he thought to himself as he took a peak over to Zhou Mi, who was deep in sleep on his right. You need to do this. For yourself. Over the past few years, it seemed everything was about KyuhyunandDonghae as one being; never one or the other, but the two as a whole. It was Heechul who smacked him across the face one night (literally and metaphorically,) saying that maybe it was time he started to think about himself.
Leaving Donghae in America was painful - almost as painful as the fact that Donghae probably didn’t care that he was leaving - but somehow, Kyuhyun found it almost impossible to cry.
Almost.
end of part 3.