별
» Stars Hankyung/Heechul. Romance, drama. 4678 words.
Distance is relative.
SONG: LOOK! - The Antlers
Heechul is a firm disbeliever in fate; there is no substantial evidence that such a thing exists, let alone dictates events that occur throughout one's lifetime. It's a theory that society thrives on, the simple idea that something much greater than one's self decides how life for billions of people across the planet will play out; and it has next to no credibility, much in the way of a higher power.
Hankyung was a believer. Fate was legitimate, definite; a noun. His opinion may have changed since then; Heechul has never thought to ask.
The fact that Heechul happens to pass by that one store, that he chooses to cut through that specific alley;
The fact that he turns around when he's addressed by a voice -- with horrible grammar and even worse pronunciation -- that causes his blood pressure to rise and his heart to nearly stop mid-beat;
That is not fate. That's simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He doesn't know how to react; it's only been four months. "Why," is all he can muster, his brain scrambling, malfunctioning -- panic mode is set.
Hankyung's hands are shoved in his pockets, a pretentious smirk playing on his lips; Heechul finds himself wanting to grab him by his jaw and pull down until it snaps off completely. "Come on," Hankyung starts. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"
"You're not a friend," Heechul's voice trembles; he tries to play it off by adjusting his ponytail. "You're toxic. Detrimental to my health."
"Not as detrimental as those cigarettes in your pocket."
Heechul looks down and spies the top of the tiny carton sticking out, the words MARLBORO in black print staring back at him. He scoffs. "Fuck off, okay. You have no right to criticize me for anything I do."
"If that's the case, you can stop staring at me like I burned down half of Seoul," Hankyung's gaze is causing goosebumps to grow slowly on the back of Heechul's neck. "It needed to be done."
Heechul's self-control glitches for a quick moment. Disregarding any repercussions, he reaches out and smacks Hankyung across the face, not acknowledging austere sting on his palm; his stomach freezes over when he realizes the possible severity of his actions. He quickly turns around and stalks off, ignoring the hollers coming from the flighty Chinese man that he'd rather pretend doesn't exist --
He's two blocks away when he decides that he doesn't give a shit; smacking Hankyung felt really, really good.
SONG: I'VE BEEN - J. Robert Spencer
At some point in time, winter was positive -- or, rather, not negative. Good things happened in winter. There was Christmas and the first snowfall and New Year's and no humidity and cold and warm tea (via Ryeowook) and Hankyung.
Heechul is unsure of when things took that turn, when it flipped to the other side and suddenly the mere mention of winter makes him curl inside himself. It's okay, hyung, Ryeowook had insisted, a hand resting on Heechul's arm at dinner one night. A Tuesday, sometime last month. We're all hurting.
Shut the fuck up, Ryeowook, he remembers snapping, yanking his arm out from under the younger man's frail touch; he is just about to reply with I'm fine, but the sudden lack of oxygen restricts his voice.
It wasn't because of Hankyung leaving. No, he started hating winter when Hankyung was still around, when he was within arm's length at almost all times, when China was just that place that he's from (even though at this point, Hankyung is full Korean) and visits every once in a while. Heechul started hating winter when there was no whisper of a lawsuit and abandonment was just a three-pointer in Scrabble.
Heechul remembers Hankyung always having a sickly dry sense of humor. His humor was like not knowing how to eat a pomegranate, so you start eating the skin -- only to find out you were supposed to eat the seeds, which at this point you've thrown out, and you realize you have nothing to drink in the house. He always found shit like that to be hilarious.
The real irony of the situation was that there was no warning, no predisposition to the emotional onslaught he had lingering in his back pocket, like a Swiss army knife in the hands of a mugger, waiting for an unsuspecting old broad who just cashed her Social Security check.
What Heechul never understood was why. Oh, sure, he got explanations. He got dozens of them -- from management, from Leeteuk, from the Chinese media, from Sunle, who started threatening Heechul's safety if he continued to call --
But never from Hankyung himself, which brought Heechul to believe it was probably a cowardly cop-out; just a pathetic justification for his selfish actions.
SONG: ALONE THIS HOLIDAY - The Used
The ordeal sort of went something like this:
December twenty-second. Hankyung and Heechul are on a "date," which entails Hankyung buying Heechul a burgundy cashmere sweater, a new pair of boots (prostitute shoes, Hankyung had called them,) some sort of botanical facial scrub ("to help fight wrinkles, Kyungie. You might want to use this yourself,") and lunch at the most expensive Italian restaurant by the Han. They wander around Seoul, hand in hand, like couples tend to do; Hankyung laughs, Heechul gripes (a good sign; Heechul gripes when he's pleased with things.) They return to the dorms at sundown and Heechul eloquently demands sex, which of course he gets, because there is no such thing as denying Heechul and living to see sunrise. Heechul falls asleep curled against Hankyung's side, lulled to slumber by the sounds of his rhythmic breaths.
December twenty-third. Heechul starts the next morning, shaken from a sound sleep by the echo of metal-on-tile, and his first thought is whatthefuckingfuckearthquake?! He lays in wait, eyes still clenched shut, anticipating a shelf to crack on his head or the floor to give out beneath him, but all he hears is yelling. He finally opens his eyes and sees a piece of paper on his face -- a letter. He's confused when all it says is I'm sorry, but after looking around he notices that something's missing. Actually, a lot is missing -- all of Hankyung's stuff, gone, as if it had never been there in the first place.
Heechul's stomach twists in on itself and he nearly chokes on his tongue; he's confused.
He drags himself from the confines of his bed, shuffling painfully slow along the hardwood as if the Reaper waited for him at the end of the hall -- his heart slams in his chest, relentless, and his palms began to clam up; he has to wipe his hands on his pajama pants twice before even reaching the kitchen.
"This is fucking bullshit! Two days before fucking Christmas."
Another shatter; breaking dishes. Kyuhyun's voice muttering viciously under his breath.
"Stop it, Kyuhyun. You're going to wake Heechul." Leeteuk this time.
"Good," Kyuhyun snaps. "He needs to fucking know."
"He'll know when he wakes up on his own," The leader chides; Kyuhyun exhales harshly. "He's going to be affected the most, obviously...at least let him get some rest beforeha--"
"What's going on?"
Both pairs of eyes turn to him, along with the seven remaining pairs of eyes in the living room --
Heechul holds up the letter, presumably from Hankyung, and Kyuhyun immediately snatches it away. "Are you fucking serious," He growls at the paper, the restraint of not ripping the paper to shreds visible by the way his arms shake. Leeteuk sighs, grabbing Heechul's hands.
"When I woke up this morning," He starts, blatantly avoiding eye contact. "I came out to make some coffee, and, well, there was a note on the table."
"From Hankyung," Heechul breathes. Leeteuk reaches behind him, grabs a coffee-stained piece of paper and hands it over.
Everyone,
I'm sorry I have to do this. Life in Korea -- in Super Junior -- has been so trying over these past four...almost five years. I'm sick. Not physically, but emotionally. I need to go home to Chi--
Heechul stops there; he can't see the words on the paper. He feels his emotions getting the better of him -- building, suffocating, restricting the oxygen flow to his lungs. He shoves the letter into Leeteuk's chest and let's out a nervous, almost hysterical chuckle before spinning on his heel and locking himself in his room.
An ambush; a surprise attack. Unexpected, poorly executed, yet extremely effective.
Heechul spends the rest of the day surfacing his presents to Hankyung from the closet, climbing up onto the roof of their building and hurling them fifteen stories, down into the middle of the road; he giggles satisfactorily every time one is crushed by oncoming traffic.
SONG: BULLETPROOF -- La Roux
Summer is the good season. Restricting humidity, storms, beach trips. July is his favorite -- it's the month where the heat is so violent, exposure to the sun for fifteen minutes warrants you a first degree burn. (And of course, his birthday is in July, but he's positive that's not the reason it's his favorite.)
Five hours ago, he was seated comfortably in Incheon Airport by a rather large pane of glass, his iPod plugged into his ears and his laptop buzzing from overuse.
But that was five hours ago, before the torturous plane ride, the extreme turbulence and the glass of wine to the crotch.
Zhou Mi approaches him at the luggage pickup, all teeth and legs and radiating warmth. Heechul heaves his suitcase to the ground, then snatches up a rectangular crate with a barred door.
"Seasoning, please carry this," He shoves the crate in Zhou Mi's hands, who blinks, helter-skelter.
"You brought Heebum?"
"Of course," Heechul gapes at Zhou Mi, appalled at the idea that he wouldn't bring his little boy. "I don't trust anyone at home to take care of him. Well, except maybe Ryeowook. But still."
Zhou Mi thankfully brought his own car, although apparently it was across the parking lot from where they exited ("You try finding a decent spot in this place, it's like hoping for Hankyu...nevermind.") Heechul nearly has a meltdown when Zhou Mi tries to put Heebum in the trunk. He sits in the front seat, plucking the jet-lagged kitty from his crate and makes him dance on his lap.
The first half of the car ride is deafening silence; Zhou Mi clearly doesn't know what to say without possibly being offensive and Heechul is too busy making Heebum perform the Cha Cha on his legs to really care. He flicks on the radio; obnoxious synthesizers and computerized drumbeats blare in his ears. A familiar voice croons out to him,
ai qing shi feng kuang de meng, oh, wo zai lang man feng bao zhi zhong, ning yuan xiang fei e pu huo;
He chuckles inwardly.
"Guess who I ran into a few months ago," He makes Heebum do a little twirl; Zhou Mi's eyes don't leave the road.
"Lady Gaga."
Heechul snorts. "You know my luck isn't that good."
Zhou Mi flicks on his directional, doesn't reply; Hankyung is unsafe territory. Heechul takes this as a cue to continue.
"I was in Myeong-dong and he was there. He was all like, it needed to be done," He pets Heebum's head a little too harshly. "And he was all, treat me like I'm your friend or some shit. I mean, the fuck is that?"
"Delusional," Zhou Mi says, more about Heechul than Hankyung; the older man doesn't get the hint.
"I know right?" Heechul laughs, throwing Heebum in the air, letting him fall onto his lap. "And I smacked him. That was pretty fun."
Zhou Mi blinks a few times, throwing him a brief, manic glance. "I run into him occasionally," he says, pulling into the parking lot. "We only actually talked once."
Heechul reaches in the backseat and grabs Heebum's crate. "Does he ever mention me?"
"...Hyung," Zhou Mi touches Heechul's shoulder gingerly, as if too much pressure would break him; he waits like that for a moment, then shuts off the car. "I think you need some closure."
Heechul furrows his brow. "I don't care about him, Seasoning. Do you think I'm some sort of whipped teenage girl? I'm over it. I'm here for work, remember?"
Zhou Mi simply smiles and opens his door. "By the way, my apartment doesn't allow cats."
SONG: STAR! STAR! STAR! - 소녀시대
It was the good season.
Hankyung's arm around his waist; a sense of security. His hand in Hankyung's back pocket, an attempt at a cute gesture. Heechul has always been awkward with expressing his emotions effectively; Hankyung doesn't seem to mind.
It's their anniversary; two years.
It's around eight o'clock, maybe later; time doesn't exist, just like it never did when they were alone. Wandering aimlessly, they end up at the Han River -- they sit at the banks, silent. Words aren't needed.
"I've always wanted to own a star," Hankyung suddenly says, his nose pointed towards the sky. Heechul blinks at him. "They're romantic. I think it would be nice to have one of my own."
"You are strange," Heechul laughs; Hankyung chuckles softly in that way that makes Heechul's heart flutter. A feat in itself.
Hankyung pinches Heechul's cheek; he jerks his head away. "You don't think it would be cool to own a star?"
"Not really, Kyungie," Heechul laughs. Hankyung shrugs, looks at the sky. Heechul stares. "Are those stupid stars better than me?"
Hankyung looks at him, shocked -- Heechul rolls his eyes. Typical Hankyung. He's caught off-guard, though, when Hankyung leans over and kisses his ear softly.
"I love you more than the stars," He whispers, his breath shooting chills down Heechul's spine.
Heechul's eyes shoot open. He's not staring at the night sky above the Han river, nor is Hankyung whispering sweet-nothings in his ear; he is in a pitch-black guest room in a Beijing apartment that belongs to a pair of legs who never had to deal with what he was going through, because the pair of legs has a boyfriend who would never abandon him.
He flings himself out of bed and runs, bunny-rabbit quick, to the bathroom, where he collapses in a mangled heap and loses dinner to the toilet.
I love you as much as the stars. I came to find you; you're that far shining star.
SONG: BLACK & GOLD - Sam Sparro
Heechul takes a haphazard swig of wine, straight from the bottle; a few drops leak on his white shirt. He curses, but apparently the permanent red stain down his chest is amusing; he hiccups out a giggle and collapses in a heap on the couch. They'd been sharing drinks all night -- this was their second
no, maybe third
twelfth?
bottle of wine they had split; they were so incapacitated that Hankyung is having mobility issues (the side of the kitchen table is hilariously painful, he discovers) and Heechul is speaking in thick, sloppy fragments.
"Kyungie," He crows, speech broken by laugh-like shrills. "Kyungie, you're -- you're so so so so drrrrunk."
"Hyung," Hankyung plops down next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulder, partly for support. "Have you even hhheard yourself speak?"
Heechul sniggers; Hankyung's breath reeks of wine and mint gum. "You smell delicious, hah."
Hankyung leans forward and licks Heechul's bottom lip, eliciting a chill throughout his system; Hankyung breathes something in Chinese before crushing their mouths together. He weaves his fingers through Heechul's hair, closing any remnant of space between them; Heechul's hands instinctively clutch Hankyung's shoulders and he lets out a soft, almost whispered mewl.
These were nights Heechul cherished -- more so than the day he got his first car, or his first kiss, with a girl named Sun Joo in the sixth grade. Hankyung was not a fleeting moment of joy, not a one-time thrill but rather a constant; he was repetitive, always around when needed. Reliable.
On the way home, Heechul finds himself with his face plastered to the window, watching the multi-colored patches of Chinese farmland and counting the increasing number of miles between he and Hankyung.
SONG: CITY - Sara Bareilles
August comes quicker than expected; overall, life is normal, mundane. Simple. Weekly letters from Kangin are received (mostly describing how badly he needs a cigarette and how he misses Leeteuk's bitching; Leeteuk rereads the letter six times in a row,) and Super Show 3 is in the works; Kyuhyun anticipates seeing Shindong in a mini skirt and heels (for laughs, of course) and Eunhyuk is anticipating wearing said mini skirt and heels.
Heechul is to transform into Lady Heehee for Poker Face and part of Single Ladies; he finds himself to be not as excited as he originally thought.
He spends the first week of August locked in his room, leaving only when he runs out of Grey Goose and to nurse his seemingly-constant hangover in the bathroom. He bides his time by telling his companions -- Heebum, Baengsin and Champagne -- stories of yore: The Tales of Cinderella and Prince Kyungie, the tragic tale of a beautiful princess being left to rot by her good-for-nothing soul mate who decides that life in a foreign kingdom is "too difficult," and that he misses Mommy too much. The cats don't exactly supply sufficient feedback, however; even after his third time explaining the situation, Heebum still continues to simply swat at Heechul's face like a ball of yarn.
Leeteuk takes action Saturday afternoon.
"You need to leave this room," He chides, almost tripping over a growing mound of dirty clothes. "This is completely unhealthy. And a major fire hazard."
Heechul is laying on his back, Heebum laying in a compact ball on his chest; he picks up the cat and holds him above his head. "How do you do it, hyung?"
"Do what, exactly."
"Survive. With, you know. Kangin in the army."
Leeteuk sighs, shifts his weight to the other foot. Uncomfortable. "I just do."
"I hear you at night," Heechul sighs. "He calls you. Tells you he loves you."
Another sigh. "Heechul, don't do this."
Heechul flips to his stomach. "What? I'm just curious."
"Listen. If you don't get your shit together," Leeteuk points a finger, freshly manicured, in Heechul's face; he snaps at it. "I'll have you admitted."
"Admitted," Heechul repeats, scoffing. He digs through a mound of clothes on his mattress, plucks out a half-empty bottle of vodka and chugs. "You can't make me."
"Watch me."
Heechul snorts, an awkward gurgle; Leeteuk exhales and leaves, defeated.
SONG: HERO - Regina Spektor
Heechul sits back in his chair and it groans, making him think of the cow it's made of; he suddenly wants a nice big glass of milk. He wonders why psychiatrist's offices have a tendency to be ridiculously cold.
The psychiatrist, a woman probably three years older than himself, turns around to face him from across the too-organized desk; she folds her hands and smiles.
"Tell me, Heechul," She starts. He reads her name tag, Dr. Han. His stomach practically tears itself in two. "Why did you decide to come here today?"
He mimics her actions; hands folded in his lap, legs crossed, ladylike. "I didn't. I was bound and gagged, then dragged here against my own will." She nods slowly, scribbles something on her fuchsia note pad; he's tempted to grab it and chuck it at the wall.
"Tell me about yourself."
He smiles, his business smile. "Kim Heechul, late twenties. Second-oldest member in the boy-band Super Junior."
"You're gay, correct?" She probes, scribbling some more.
"More or less."
She nods, circles something. "Tell me about your family."
"Mom, dad, sister."
"Older?"
"Younger," He smiles.
"How is your relationship with them?"
"Functional," He spins in his chair.
"Tell me about your romantic relationships."
His body stops spinning but his head continues to spiral, completely out of control. He ponders for a minute. "I dated Hankyung -- you probably know him as Han Geng. For...two and a half years?"
"Impressive," She says, finally putting down the fucking pen. "Tell me about that experience."
Heechul smiles, looks to his lap; swallows hard. "It was beautiful. The greatest thing I had going for me."
"More than your career?"
"Being with Hankyung was worth throwing out my entire career and living as a beggar in an alley," He says, staring her dead in the eye. "I just wished I had realized that before he left."
She nods, clears her throat. He smiles.
"You frequently have prolonged periods of depression, correct?" She begins. "As in, more than a week."
He chuckles and leans back; cow-chair groans in protest. "Of course. I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
"How about times when you can't sleep? When you're up at all hours of the night, and yet aren't tired the next day?"
He tilts his head in thought. "Not that I can recall. It seems to me I just sink lower and lower than the day before."
She opens her drawer and pulls out a pad of receipts before turning to her computer and typing frivolously; Heechul starts spinning again, biding his time. Within moments she shoves a receipt and a prescription at him.
"This should help you feel better. Start tomorrow morning."
Heechul slides into the black excursion, slams the door shut, buckles up. Leeteuk looks over at him from the driver's seat.
"I'm on medication," Heechul smiles, borderline-creepy. Leeteuk pats his shoulder.
"This will be good for you," He says before turning on the car. "I promise you'll get over this...this whatever it is."
"Whatever," Heechul reaches over and flicks on the radio; Lady Gaga blares. He smirks. "I told you, you wouldn't admit me."
SONG: IF YOU CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT ME, WHY AREN'T YOU DEAD? - Mayday Parade
September is the precursor; the warning sign that winter is headed towards you and there's nothing you're able to do to slow the process. Leaves die and harden, turning to fragile limp crispy flakes, cold drafts blow through the city and school starts.
That doesn't exist in Los Angeles, California, which Heechul is exceedingly grateful for; September simply means the temperature drops ten degrees and there may be a few more rain showers here and there.
The SM Town plane arrives at LAX around eleven in the morning; fans from all over are packed, waiting, watching, hoping for a chance to see their oppas in person, maybe touch them, give them a gift.
Heechul manages to sneak out of the mob virtually unharmed; maybe a little deaf in his left ear, but that would gradually fade off. He climbs into the back of the van, Zhou Mi and Kyuhyun in tow, and the first thing he does is pull out a cigarette.
Heechul rooms with Leeteuk, dropping his bags on the bed closest to the window before the older man even has a choice; however, he doesn't argue.
"Everyone wants to wander around the city," Leeteuk says as he unpacks his clothes. "You gonna come?"
Heechul pulls out another cigarette, shoves it between his lips. "Nahh." Leeteuk shrugs, slings his bag over his shoulder and mutters a simple "suit yourself" on his way out the door.
Heechul stares out the window at the city -- skyscrapers, palm trees, an obnoxious sign screaming HOLLYWOOD in his face. Sleep sounds really good.
He's awoken by an irritatingly strong buzz in his ear; the room is dark, save for the automatic nightlight plugged into the wall and the screen of his phone lighting up. He gropes for it, holds it above his face, squints to read the name. His stomach freezes over.
ONE NEW TEXT MESSAGE FROM: Hankyung
I know you're in Los Angeles right now. How about you meet me for coffee tomorrow morning at the Starbucks on Melrose Ave?
Heechul heaves out an exhale, stares at the message much longer than is probably necessary; he replies before he can stop himself, then shuts off his phone, hopefully to ward off any unwanted texts for the remainder of the evening.
SONG: KNOCKOUT - Lil Wayne feat. Nicki Minaj
Heechul takes a rather liberal bite of his waffle, paid for via Hankyung, because it was the least he could do for dragging Heechul out of bed prior to noon. There is a sinking feeling in his stomach because Hankyung is giving him that look, the one that makes him ooze into a puddle in the middle of the floor -- something nobody else has ever accomplished, nor will ever accomplish, if Heechul has a say in anything.
"So, you know why I'm here," He says, licking a few globs of jelly off his fingers. "Why, exactly, are you?"
Hankyung takes a sip of his green tea; Heechul knows it's far too hot, by the way he cringes slightly when the liquid touches his lips. "Recording," He breathes, keeping his hands on the cup.
"You are so full of shit."
"No, honestly," Hankyung says, reaching his hand towards the half-eaten waffle in between them; Heechul whacks it away. "I'm always recording something new."
"Well if you're so fucking busy," Heechul grabs the waffle. "Why are you wasting time with your ex? Surely you have much better things to do than fuck with my sanity."
"Well, maybe I wanted to catch up?" Hankyung queries; Heechul rolls his eyes. "No, seriously. Hear me out. I want to bridge the gap here. Mend things. You know?"
Heechul's jaw goes slack; he blinks a few times, dumbstruck. "Excuse me?"
"Yeah," Hankyung smiles. "I kind of still want to be, you know...friends."
Heechul's emotions have a tendency to get the better of him. He's prone to random fits of anger, is occasionally prone to violence, and often times will sit in his room and wail, for seemingly no apparent reason, over something as trivial as a broken shoe or a lost nail file. There are just some things he simply has no control of.
He looks down at his waffle, still steaming hot, covered in liquefied butter and slightly-melted grape jelly. He smiles at Hankyung for a quick moment, then his face drops;
He reaches up and smashes the breakfast in his face, ensuring that at least half of the jelly got up his nose. For added effect, he even grabs his coffee and splashes it in Hankyung's face.
"Please, do me a fucking favor, Kyungie," Heechul hisses. "Stay out of my fucking life."
The restaurant applauds as he storms out, granted that nobody even understands the exchange of words.
SONG: APOLOGIZE - The Honorary Title
Heechul hates airports; they're too big, too crowded, too confusing, especially when you're in a foreign country where none of the words make sense. He sits in waiting in LAX next to Zhou Mi, who is excitedly chatting to Kyuhyun about all the designer stores they went to and how Kyuhyun had a seemingly large hole in his wallet. His phone is open, under Contacts; he scrolls down, one by one, reading the name three times to himself in his head.
He reaches one particular name, and pauses. Debates.
Zhou Mi peers over his shoulder. "What are you doing, hyung?"
Heechul smiles, clicks 'options,' then scrolls to 'delete contact.' "Making progress."
A week later, an article is released in the Chinese media, where Han Geng expresses that he and Heechul are still "best friends," despite the turmoil and the lawsuit and all the bullshit.
He shoves the magazine back to Zhou Mi and laughs.
THE END.
A/N pt2: THIS IS LONG \O/
Distance is relative.
SONG: LOOK! - The Antlers
Heechul is a firm disbeliever in fate; there is no substantial evidence that such a thing exists, let alone dictates events that occur throughout one's lifetime. It's a theory that society thrives on, the simple idea that something much greater than one's self decides how life for billions of people across the planet will play out; and it has next to no credibility, much in the way of a higher power.
Hankyung was a believer. Fate was legitimate, definite; a noun. His opinion may have changed since then; Heechul has never thought to ask.
The fact that Heechul happens to pass by that one store, that he chooses to cut through that specific alley;
The fact that he turns around when he's addressed by a voice -- with horrible grammar and even worse pronunciation -- that causes his blood pressure to rise and his heart to nearly stop mid-beat;
That is not fate. That's simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He doesn't know how to react; it's only been four months. "Why," is all he can muster, his brain scrambling, malfunctioning -- panic mode is set.
Hankyung's hands are shoved in his pockets, a pretentious smirk playing on his lips; Heechul finds himself wanting to grab him by his jaw and pull down until it snaps off completely. "Come on," Hankyung starts. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"
"You're not a friend," Heechul's voice trembles; he tries to play it off by adjusting his ponytail. "You're toxic. Detrimental to my health."
"Not as detrimental as those cigarettes in your pocket."
Heechul looks down and spies the top of the tiny carton sticking out, the words MARLBORO in black print staring back at him. He scoffs. "Fuck off, okay. You have no right to criticize me for anything I do."
"If that's the case, you can stop staring at me like I burned down half of Seoul," Hankyung's gaze is causing goosebumps to grow slowly on the back of Heechul's neck. "It needed to be done."
Heechul's self-control glitches for a quick moment. Disregarding any repercussions, he reaches out and smacks Hankyung across the face, not acknowledging austere sting on his palm; his stomach freezes over when he realizes the possible severity of his actions. He quickly turns around and stalks off, ignoring the hollers coming from the flighty Chinese man that he'd rather pretend doesn't exist --
He's two blocks away when he decides that he doesn't give a shit; smacking Hankyung felt really, really good.
SONG: I'VE BEEN - J. Robert Spencer
At some point in time, winter was positive -- or, rather, not negative. Good things happened in winter. There was Christmas and the first snowfall and New Year's and no humidity and cold and warm tea (via Ryeowook) and Hankyung.
Heechul is unsure of when things took that turn, when it flipped to the other side and suddenly the mere mention of winter makes him curl inside himself. It's okay, hyung, Ryeowook had insisted, a hand resting on Heechul's arm at dinner one night. A Tuesday, sometime last month. We're all hurting.
Shut the fuck up, Ryeowook, he remembers snapping, yanking his arm out from under the younger man's frail touch; he is just about to reply with I'm fine, but the sudden lack of oxygen restricts his voice.
It wasn't because of Hankyung leaving. No, he started hating winter when Hankyung was still around, when he was within arm's length at almost all times, when China was just that place that he's from (even though at this point, Hankyung is full Korean) and visits every once in a while. Heechul started hating winter when there was no whisper of a lawsuit and abandonment was just a three-pointer in Scrabble.
Heechul remembers Hankyung always having a sickly dry sense of humor. His humor was like not knowing how to eat a pomegranate, so you start eating the skin -- only to find out you were supposed to eat the seeds, which at this point you've thrown out, and you realize you have nothing to drink in the house. He always found shit like that to be hilarious.
The real irony of the situation was that there was no warning, no predisposition to the emotional onslaught he had lingering in his back pocket, like a Swiss army knife in the hands of a mugger, waiting for an unsuspecting old broad who just cashed her Social Security check.
What Heechul never understood was why. Oh, sure, he got explanations. He got dozens of them -- from management, from Leeteuk, from the Chinese media, from Sunle, who started threatening Heechul's safety if he continued to call --
But never from Hankyung himself, which brought Heechul to believe it was probably a cowardly cop-out; just a pathetic justification for his selfish actions.
SONG: ALONE THIS HOLIDAY - The Used
The ordeal sort of went something like this:
December twenty-second. Hankyung and Heechul are on a "date," which entails Hankyung buying Heechul a burgundy cashmere sweater, a new pair of boots (prostitute shoes, Hankyung had called them,) some sort of botanical facial scrub ("to help fight wrinkles, Kyungie. You might want to use this yourself,") and lunch at the most expensive Italian restaurant by the Han. They wander around Seoul, hand in hand, like couples tend to do; Hankyung laughs, Heechul gripes (a good sign; Heechul gripes when he's pleased with things.) They return to the dorms at sundown and Heechul eloquently demands sex, which of course he gets, because there is no such thing as denying Heechul and living to see sunrise. Heechul falls asleep curled against Hankyung's side, lulled to slumber by the sounds of his rhythmic breaths.
December twenty-third. Heechul starts the next morning, shaken from a sound sleep by the echo of metal-on-tile, and his first thought is whatthefuckingfuckearthquake?! He lays in wait, eyes still clenched shut, anticipating a shelf to crack on his head or the floor to give out beneath him, but all he hears is yelling. He finally opens his eyes and sees a piece of paper on his face -- a letter. He's confused when all it says is I'm sorry, but after looking around he notices that something's missing. Actually, a lot is missing -- all of Hankyung's stuff, gone, as if it had never been there in the first place.
Heechul's stomach twists in on itself and he nearly chokes on his tongue; he's confused.
He drags himself from the confines of his bed, shuffling painfully slow along the hardwood as if the Reaper waited for him at the end of the hall -- his heart slams in his chest, relentless, and his palms began to clam up; he has to wipe his hands on his pajama pants twice before even reaching the kitchen.
"This is fucking bullshit! Two days before fucking Christmas."
Another shatter; breaking dishes. Kyuhyun's voice muttering viciously under his breath.
"Stop it, Kyuhyun. You're going to wake Heechul." Leeteuk this time.
"Good," Kyuhyun snaps. "He needs to fucking know."
"He'll know when he wakes up on his own," The leader chides; Kyuhyun exhales harshly. "He's going to be affected the most, obviously...at least let him get some rest beforeha--"
"What's going on?"
Both pairs of eyes turn to him, along with the seven remaining pairs of eyes in the living room --
Heechul holds up the letter, presumably from Hankyung, and Kyuhyun immediately snatches it away. "Are you fucking serious," He growls at the paper, the restraint of not ripping the paper to shreds visible by the way his arms shake. Leeteuk sighs, grabbing Heechul's hands.
"When I woke up this morning," He starts, blatantly avoiding eye contact. "I came out to make some coffee, and, well, there was a note on the table."
"From Hankyung," Heechul breathes. Leeteuk reaches behind him, grabs a coffee-stained piece of paper and hands it over.
Everyone,
I'm sorry I have to do this. Life in Korea -- in Super Junior -- has been so trying over these past four...almost five years. I'm sick. Not physically, but emotionally. I need to go home to Chi--
Heechul stops there; he can't see the words on the paper. He feels his emotions getting the better of him -- building, suffocating, restricting the oxygen flow to his lungs. He shoves the letter into Leeteuk's chest and let's out a nervous, almost hysterical chuckle before spinning on his heel and locking himself in his room.
An ambush; a surprise attack. Unexpected, poorly executed, yet extremely effective.
Heechul spends the rest of the day surfacing his presents to Hankyung from the closet, climbing up onto the roof of their building and hurling them fifteen stories, down into the middle of the road; he giggles satisfactorily every time one is crushed by oncoming traffic.
SONG: BULLETPROOF -- La Roux
Summer is the good season. Restricting humidity, storms, beach trips. July is his favorite -- it's the month where the heat is so violent, exposure to the sun for fifteen minutes warrants you a first degree burn. (And of course, his birthday is in July, but he's positive that's not the reason it's his favorite.)
Five hours ago, he was seated comfortably in Incheon Airport by a rather large pane of glass, his iPod plugged into his ears and his laptop buzzing from overuse.
But that was five hours ago, before the torturous plane ride, the extreme turbulence and the glass of wine to the crotch.
Zhou Mi approaches him at the luggage pickup, all teeth and legs and radiating warmth. Heechul heaves his suitcase to the ground, then snatches up a rectangular crate with a barred door.
"Seasoning, please carry this," He shoves the crate in Zhou Mi's hands, who blinks, helter-skelter.
"You brought Heebum?"
"Of course," Heechul gapes at Zhou Mi, appalled at the idea that he wouldn't bring his little boy. "I don't trust anyone at home to take care of him. Well, except maybe Ryeowook. But still."
Zhou Mi thankfully brought his own car, although apparently it was across the parking lot from where they exited ("You try finding a decent spot in this place, it's like hoping for Hankyu...nevermind.") Heechul nearly has a meltdown when Zhou Mi tries to put Heebum in the trunk. He sits in the front seat, plucking the jet-lagged kitty from his crate and makes him dance on his lap.
The first half of the car ride is deafening silence; Zhou Mi clearly doesn't know what to say without possibly being offensive and Heechul is too busy making Heebum perform the Cha Cha on his legs to really care. He flicks on the radio; obnoxious synthesizers and computerized drumbeats blare in his ears. A familiar voice croons out to him,
ai qing shi feng kuang de meng, oh, wo zai lang man feng bao zhi zhong, ning yuan xiang fei e pu huo;
He chuckles inwardly.
"Guess who I ran into a few months ago," He makes Heebum do a little twirl; Zhou Mi's eyes don't leave the road.
"Lady Gaga."
Heechul snorts. "You know my luck isn't that good."
Zhou Mi flicks on his directional, doesn't reply; Hankyung is unsafe territory. Heechul takes this as a cue to continue.
"I was in Myeong-dong and he was there. He was all like, it needed to be done," He pets Heebum's head a little too harshly. "And he was all, treat me like I'm your friend or some shit. I mean, the fuck is that?"
"Delusional," Zhou Mi says, more about Heechul than Hankyung; the older man doesn't get the hint.
"I know right?" Heechul laughs, throwing Heebum in the air, letting him fall onto his lap. "And I smacked him. That was pretty fun."
Zhou Mi blinks a few times, throwing him a brief, manic glance. "I run into him occasionally," he says, pulling into the parking lot. "We only actually talked once."
Heechul reaches in the backseat and grabs Heebum's crate. "Does he ever mention me?"
"...Hyung," Zhou Mi touches Heechul's shoulder gingerly, as if too much pressure would break him; he waits like that for a moment, then shuts off the car. "I think you need some closure."
Heechul furrows his brow. "I don't care about him, Seasoning. Do you think I'm some sort of whipped teenage girl? I'm over it. I'm here for work, remember?"
Zhou Mi simply smiles and opens his door. "By the way, my apartment doesn't allow cats."
SONG: STAR! STAR! STAR! - 소녀시대
It was the good season.
Hankyung's arm around his waist; a sense of security. His hand in Hankyung's back pocket, an attempt at a cute gesture. Heechul has always been awkward with expressing his emotions effectively; Hankyung doesn't seem to mind.
It's their anniversary; two years.
It's around eight o'clock, maybe later; time doesn't exist, just like it never did when they were alone. Wandering aimlessly, they end up at the Han River -- they sit at the banks, silent. Words aren't needed.
"I've always wanted to own a star," Hankyung suddenly says, his nose pointed towards the sky. Heechul blinks at him. "They're romantic. I think it would be nice to have one of my own."
"You are strange," Heechul laughs; Hankyung chuckles softly in that way that makes Heechul's heart flutter. A feat in itself.
Hankyung pinches Heechul's cheek; he jerks his head away. "You don't think it would be cool to own a star?"
"Not really, Kyungie," Heechul laughs. Hankyung shrugs, looks at the sky. Heechul stares. "Are those stupid stars better than me?"
Hankyung looks at him, shocked -- Heechul rolls his eyes. Typical Hankyung. He's caught off-guard, though, when Hankyung leans over and kisses his ear softly.
"I love you more than the stars," He whispers, his breath shooting chills down Heechul's spine.
Heechul's eyes shoot open. He's not staring at the night sky above the Han river, nor is Hankyung whispering sweet-nothings in his ear; he is in a pitch-black guest room in a Beijing apartment that belongs to a pair of legs who never had to deal with what he was going through, because the pair of legs has a boyfriend who would never abandon him.
He flings himself out of bed and runs, bunny-rabbit quick, to the bathroom, where he collapses in a mangled heap and loses dinner to the toilet.
I love you as much as the stars. I came to find you; you're that far shining star.
SONG: BLACK & GOLD - Sam Sparro
Heechul takes a haphazard swig of wine, straight from the bottle; a few drops leak on his white shirt. He curses, but apparently the permanent red stain down his chest is amusing; he hiccups out a giggle and collapses in a heap on the couch. They'd been sharing drinks all night -- this was their second
no, maybe third
twelfth?
bottle of wine they had split; they were so incapacitated that Hankyung is having mobility issues (the side of the kitchen table is hilariously painful, he discovers) and Heechul is speaking in thick, sloppy fragments.
"Kyungie," He crows, speech broken by laugh-like shrills. "Kyungie, you're -- you're so so so so drrrrunk."
"Hyung," Hankyung plops down next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulder, partly for support. "Have you even hhheard yourself speak?"
Heechul sniggers; Hankyung's breath reeks of wine and mint gum. "You smell delicious, hah."
Hankyung leans forward and licks Heechul's bottom lip, eliciting a chill throughout his system; Hankyung breathes something in Chinese before crushing their mouths together. He weaves his fingers through Heechul's hair, closing any remnant of space between them; Heechul's hands instinctively clutch Hankyung's shoulders and he lets out a soft, almost whispered mewl.
These were nights Heechul cherished -- more so than the day he got his first car, or his first kiss, with a girl named Sun Joo in the sixth grade. Hankyung was not a fleeting moment of joy, not a one-time thrill but rather a constant; he was repetitive, always around when needed. Reliable.
On the way home, Heechul finds himself with his face plastered to the window, watching the multi-colored patches of Chinese farmland and counting the increasing number of miles between he and Hankyung.
SONG: CITY - Sara Bareilles
August comes quicker than expected; overall, life is normal, mundane. Simple. Weekly letters from Kangin are received (mostly describing how badly he needs a cigarette and how he misses Leeteuk's bitching; Leeteuk rereads the letter six times in a row,) and Super Show 3 is in the works; Kyuhyun anticipates seeing Shindong in a mini skirt and heels (for laughs, of course) and Eunhyuk is anticipating wearing said mini skirt and heels.
Heechul is to transform into Lady Heehee for Poker Face and part of Single Ladies; he finds himself to be not as excited as he originally thought.
He spends the first week of August locked in his room, leaving only when he runs out of Grey Goose and to nurse his seemingly-constant hangover in the bathroom. He bides his time by telling his companions -- Heebum, Baengsin and Champagne -- stories of yore: The Tales of Cinderella and Prince Kyungie, the tragic tale of a beautiful princess being left to rot by her good-for-nothing soul mate who decides that life in a foreign kingdom is "too difficult," and that he misses Mommy too much. The cats don't exactly supply sufficient feedback, however; even after his third time explaining the situation, Heebum still continues to simply swat at Heechul's face like a ball of yarn.
Leeteuk takes action Saturday afternoon.
"You need to leave this room," He chides, almost tripping over a growing mound of dirty clothes. "This is completely unhealthy. And a major fire hazard."
Heechul is laying on his back, Heebum laying in a compact ball on his chest; he picks up the cat and holds him above his head. "How do you do it, hyung?"
"Do what, exactly."
"Survive. With, you know. Kangin in the army."
Leeteuk sighs, shifts his weight to the other foot. Uncomfortable. "I just do."
"I hear you at night," Heechul sighs. "He calls you. Tells you he loves you."
Another sigh. "Heechul, don't do this."
Heechul flips to his stomach. "What? I'm just curious."
"Listen. If you don't get your shit together," Leeteuk points a finger, freshly manicured, in Heechul's face; he snaps at it. "I'll have you admitted."
"Admitted," Heechul repeats, scoffing. He digs through a mound of clothes on his mattress, plucks out a half-empty bottle of vodka and chugs. "You can't make me."
"Watch me."
Heechul snorts, an awkward gurgle; Leeteuk exhales and leaves, defeated.
SONG: HERO - Regina Spektor
Heechul sits back in his chair and it groans, making him think of the cow it's made of; he suddenly wants a nice big glass of milk. He wonders why psychiatrist's offices have a tendency to be ridiculously cold.
The psychiatrist, a woman probably three years older than himself, turns around to face him from across the too-organized desk; she folds her hands and smiles.
"Tell me, Heechul," She starts. He reads her name tag, Dr. Han. His stomach practically tears itself in two. "Why did you decide to come here today?"
He mimics her actions; hands folded in his lap, legs crossed, ladylike. "I didn't. I was bound and gagged, then dragged here against my own will." She nods slowly, scribbles something on her fuchsia note pad; he's tempted to grab it and chuck it at the wall.
"Tell me about yourself."
He smiles, his business smile. "Kim Heechul, late twenties. Second-oldest member in the boy-band Super Junior."
"You're gay, correct?" She probes, scribbling some more.
"More or less."
She nods, circles something. "Tell me about your family."
"Mom, dad, sister."
"Older?"
"Younger," He smiles.
"How is your relationship with them?"
"Functional," He spins in his chair.
"Tell me about your romantic relationships."
His body stops spinning but his head continues to spiral, completely out of control. He ponders for a minute. "I dated Hankyung -- you probably know him as Han Geng. For...two and a half years?"
"Impressive," She says, finally putting down the fucking pen. "Tell me about that experience."
Heechul smiles, looks to his lap; swallows hard. "It was beautiful. The greatest thing I had going for me."
"More than your career?"
"Being with Hankyung was worth throwing out my entire career and living as a beggar in an alley," He says, staring her dead in the eye. "I just wished I had realized that before he left."
She nods, clears her throat. He smiles.
"You frequently have prolonged periods of depression, correct?" She begins. "As in, more than a week."
He chuckles and leans back; cow-chair groans in protest. "Of course. I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
"How about times when you can't sleep? When you're up at all hours of the night, and yet aren't tired the next day?"
He tilts his head in thought. "Not that I can recall. It seems to me I just sink lower and lower than the day before."
She opens her drawer and pulls out a pad of receipts before turning to her computer and typing frivolously; Heechul starts spinning again, biding his time. Within moments she shoves a receipt and a prescription at him.
"This should help you feel better. Start tomorrow morning."
Heechul slides into the black excursion, slams the door shut, buckles up. Leeteuk looks over at him from the driver's seat.
"I'm on medication," Heechul smiles, borderline-creepy. Leeteuk pats his shoulder.
"This will be good for you," He says before turning on the car. "I promise you'll get over this...this whatever it is."
"Whatever," Heechul reaches over and flicks on the radio; Lady Gaga blares. He smirks. "I told you, you wouldn't admit me."
SONG: IF YOU CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT ME, WHY AREN'T YOU DEAD? - Mayday Parade
September is the precursor; the warning sign that winter is headed towards you and there's nothing you're able to do to slow the process. Leaves die and harden, turning to fragile limp crispy flakes, cold drafts blow through the city and school starts.
That doesn't exist in Los Angeles, California, which Heechul is exceedingly grateful for; September simply means the temperature drops ten degrees and there may be a few more rain showers here and there.
The SM Town plane arrives at LAX around eleven in the morning; fans from all over are packed, waiting, watching, hoping for a chance to see their oppas in person, maybe touch them, give them a gift.
Heechul manages to sneak out of the mob virtually unharmed; maybe a little deaf in his left ear, but that would gradually fade off. He climbs into the back of the van, Zhou Mi and Kyuhyun in tow, and the first thing he does is pull out a cigarette.
Heechul rooms with Leeteuk, dropping his bags on the bed closest to the window before the older man even has a choice; however, he doesn't argue.
"Everyone wants to wander around the city," Leeteuk says as he unpacks his clothes. "You gonna come?"
Heechul pulls out another cigarette, shoves it between his lips. "Nahh." Leeteuk shrugs, slings his bag over his shoulder and mutters a simple "suit yourself" on his way out the door.
Heechul stares out the window at the city -- skyscrapers, palm trees, an obnoxious sign screaming HOLLYWOOD in his face. Sleep sounds really good.
He's awoken by an irritatingly strong buzz in his ear; the room is dark, save for the automatic nightlight plugged into the wall and the screen of his phone lighting up. He gropes for it, holds it above his face, squints to read the name. His stomach freezes over.
ONE NEW TEXT MESSAGE FROM: Hankyung
I know you're in Los Angeles right now. How about you meet me for coffee tomorrow morning at the Starbucks on Melrose Ave?
Heechul heaves out an exhale, stares at the message much longer than is probably necessary; he replies before he can stop himself, then shuts off his phone, hopefully to ward off any unwanted texts for the remainder of the evening.
SONG: KNOCKOUT - Lil Wayne feat. Nicki Minaj
Heechul takes a rather liberal bite of his waffle, paid for via Hankyung, because it was the least he could do for dragging Heechul out of bed prior to noon. There is a sinking feeling in his stomach because Hankyung is giving him that look, the one that makes him ooze into a puddle in the middle of the floor -- something nobody else has ever accomplished, nor will ever accomplish, if Heechul has a say in anything.
"So, you know why I'm here," He says, licking a few globs of jelly off his fingers. "Why, exactly, are you?"
Hankyung takes a sip of his green tea; Heechul knows it's far too hot, by the way he cringes slightly when the liquid touches his lips. "Recording," He breathes, keeping his hands on the cup.
"You are so full of shit."
"No, honestly," Hankyung says, reaching his hand towards the half-eaten waffle in between them; Heechul whacks it away. "I'm always recording something new."
"Well if you're so fucking busy," Heechul grabs the waffle. "Why are you wasting time with your ex? Surely you have much better things to do than fuck with my sanity."
"Well, maybe I wanted to catch up?" Hankyung queries; Heechul rolls his eyes. "No, seriously. Hear me out. I want to bridge the gap here. Mend things. You know?"
Heechul's jaw goes slack; he blinks a few times, dumbstruck. "Excuse me?"
"Yeah," Hankyung smiles. "I kind of still want to be, you know...friends."
Heechul's emotions have a tendency to get the better of him. He's prone to random fits of anger, is occasionally prone to violence, and often times will sit in his room and wail, for seemingly no apparent reason, over something as trivial as a broken shoe or a lost nail file. There are just some things he simply has no control of.
He looks down at his waffle, still steaming hot, covered in liquefied butter and slightly-melted grape jelly. He smiles at Hankyung for a quick moment, then his face drops;
He reaches up and smashes the breakfast in his face, ensuring that at least half of the jelly got up his nose. For added effect, he even grabs his coffee and splashes it in Hankyung's face.
"Please, do me a fucking favor, Kyungie," Heechul hisses. "Stay out of my fucking life."
The restaurant applauds as he storms out, granted that nobody even understands the exchange of words.
SONG: APOLOGIZE - The Honorary Title
Heechul hates airports; they're too big, too crowded, too confusing, especially when you're in a foreign country where none of the words make sense. He sits in waiting in LAX next to Zhou Mi, who is excitedly chatting to Kyuhyun about all the designer stores they went to and how Kyuhyun had a seemingly large hole in his wallet. His phone is open, under Contacts; he scrolls down, one by one, reading the name three times to himself in his head.
He reaches one particular name, and pauses. Debates.
Zhou Mi peers over his shoulder. "What are you doing, hyung?"
Heechul smiles, clicks 'options,' then scrolls to 'delete contact.' "Making progress."
A week later, an article is released in the Chinese media, where Han Geng expresses that he and Heechul are still "best friends," despite the turmoil and the lawsuit and all the bullshit.
He shoves the magazine back to Zhou Mi and laughs.
THE END.
A/N pt2: THIS IS LONG \O/