all that I need is the air that I breathe
Title: all I need is the air that I breathe
Fandom: super junior
Pairing: heechul/eunhyuk
Rating: pg13
Summary: Eunhyuk and Heechul and early mornings.
Heechul’s index finger smells like cigarettes, the cheap kind that fall into pieces when he crushes the pack in his hand and throws them away when someone catches him at it.
“You shouldn’t do that,” Eunhyuk says softly when he catches Heechul hunched inside the doorway of a parking garage. The orange circle of ash glows and fades as Heechul inhales, and Eunhyuk can hear the hiss of the embers going out when he drops the cigarette into a puddle.
“What am I protecting, anyway,” he says bitterly, and turns on his heel. Eunhyuk bends and picks up the soggy cigarette with the tips of his fingers, carefully.
“You shouldn’t litter, hyung,” he says, but Heechul is already gone.
Eunhyuk gets up early. The floor creaks softly under his socked feet, and he boils water in a pot instead of the kettle, pours it into the plain white teapot with cornflower blue flowers along the lid. He lifts it high when he pours it into the mug, listens close so he can hear the trickle of the water as it falls. He warms the mug of tea in his palms and breathes the steam in as the early morning light starts to creep across the floor towards him, long fingers of grey sunshine.
Eunhyuk sits outside the door of the practice room, the door open a crack, and listens to Heechul and Jungmo practice. Heechul sounds different then he does in the Super Junior rehearsals, he sounds... happier. He hits a rough patch, his voice breaking, and curses. Jungmo murmurs to him, voice low, and Donghae settles next to Eunhyuk.
“What are we doing,” he whispers, and Eunhyuk holds a finger to his lips. Donghae smells metallic, the salty tang of sweat, and Eunhyuk leans against his side quietly. Heechul starts singing again, more smoothly.
“Hyung is singing,” Donghae says, surprised, and Eunhyuk nods. He can feel Donghae breathing against him, the wave of his ribcage. The floor is seeping cold into his legs and the wall is hard against his spine. Donghae takes his hand, fingers slipping against each other from sweat, and Eunhyuk holds on. “It’s going to be okay,” Donghae whispers, and Eunhyuk thinks that he likes that about Donghae, support independent of understanding.
Eunhyuk lifts the teapot high so he can hear the trickle of the water into his mug. He likes it when it hits the teabag and the smell springs up, fresh and clean into the air.
“What are you doing?” Heechul asks from behind him, and Eunhyuk drops the teapot. It bursts on the tiled floor, the water cresting like a wave, carrying pieces of porcelain across the floor. He winces at the small splashes of hot water that hit his toes.
“You made me drop it,” he blurts accusingly, and his mouth snaps shut as his brain catches up. Heechul’s eyes narrow. Eunhyuk takes half a step backwards and yelps in pain, his right foot shooting pain up to his calf. “Ah,” he gasps. There’s a shard of the lid embedded in his heel, and his blood is dripping all over the light blue petals. He stumbles slightly, and Heechul catches him around the waist.
“You’re going to get more,” Heechul scolds him lightly, and his voice is right in Eunhyuk’s ear. His breath smells like strong alcohol and fried rice. His voice is low, and Eunhyuk can feel the rumble of it in Heechul’s chest, vibrating up through Eunhyuk’s back. He stills, and Heechul loops one of his arms over Heechul’s shoulders. Eunhyuk hops awkwardly, leaning on Heechul, to the other side of the table and a chair away from the mess. He thinks that Heechul’s shoulders are broader than they seem.
“Stay here,” Heechul orders, and disappears down the hallway. Eunhyuk twists his foot around awkwardly, trying to see the damage. He touches the edge of the shard in his foot and winces.
“Yah,” Heechul barks, coming back in, “are you retarded?” He’s holding something in a red bag, with a white cross stitched on the sides. He shakes it at Eunhyuk. “Did you know we have this?”
“Oh,” Eunhyuk says, “Ryeowook made that because he saw a special on television.” Heechul snorts, and they share a light smile before Heechul unzips the bag and starts digging around.
“Okay,” Heechul says, and kneels, catching Eunhyuk’s foot by the ankle. His fingers brush over Eunhyuk’s achilles tendon and slide downwards, cool and gentle and curling around his heel. “Okay,” he murmurs to himself, and Eunhyuk watches his tongue curl around his teeth in concentration.
Eunhyuk’s hand is resting on Heechul’s shoulder, and he drums his fingers against Heechul’s shirt. He can feel the warmth of his body through the cotton. His grip tightens when Heechul draws the piece of porcelain out of his foot, and his finger slips under the wide collar and brushes against Heechul’s skin. He yelps again when Heechul presses a wet pad against his cut that stings and burns, and his thumb falls down against Heechul’s collarbone.
“How am I supposed to wrap this,” Heechul grumbles, “you even get cut in retarded places.” Eunhyuk doesn’t answer. His thumb is pressed lightly just below Heechul’s collarbone, and he can feel his heartbeat.
“Why are you awake?” he asks, and Heechul smiles.
“Haven’t gone to sleep yet,” he says. “It’s kind of nice like this, before everyone wakes up.” He wraps Eunhyuk’s foot in a slender length of beige bandage. His fingers press on the bandage instead of Eunhyuk’s skin, and Eunhyuk frowns reflexively.
“I’ll clean up,” Heechul says, standing and brushing at his pantlegs. He laughs at the expression on Eunhyuk’s face. “Maybe I’m still drunk,” he teases, and ruffles Eunhyuk’s hair. “Don’t question my fits of kindness.” Eunhyuk tilts his head away, but the scratch of Heechul’s nails on his scalp tingle pleasantly. He limps to his feet and tests his weight on his foot. It’s already faded to a dull ache.
“It wasn’t deep,” Heechul says absently, sweeping pieces of the teapot into a dustpan. Eunhyuk feels a little sad to see the cornflower flowers all cracked and broken. He reaches for two mugs and pours water from the tap into them, balancing them carefully in the microwave.
They drink tea together on the floor, toes tucked against the warm hardwood floors. Afterwards they do the dishes, Heechul washing and Eunhyuk drying. Eunhyuk fumbles the mugs, watching Heechul’s long fingers flick water from the nails and listening to the splash of the water on the side of the basin, the clink of ceramics when he puts the mugs in the drying rack.
“Let’s go eat,” Donghae says, tossing his controller aside, and Eunhyuk shrugs listlessly. “Fine,” Donghae sulks, and drags out his phone, tapping at the keyboard intently.
“Go with Heechul-hyung,” Eunhyuk suggests, trying to decide if he has the necessary energy to reach for the remote and change the channel.
“He’s at a radio broadcast,” Donghae mutters, still texting. Eunhyuk feels tension gather in his spine.
“Really?” he asks cautiously, and Donghae looks up.
“Why do you care,” he says suspiciously, and Eunhyuk makes himself relax back into the couch.
“Go eat,” he complains, “oh hey, hand me that remote.” Donghae kicks the remote across the room and dodges Eunhyuk’s retaliating flail. The door clicks shut behind him.
Eunhyuk thinks about the way Heechul’s skin felt under his fingertips, and the way his ear flinched when the teapot hit the ground, the way Heechul’s hair smelled and the feeling of his heartbeat in Eunhyuk’s palm. He stands up with the sofa against the backs of his legs. He takes a single hesitant step towards the hallway and stops. There’s a faint buzzing in his ears, and his stomach twists. He walks to Heechul’s bedroom and pauses at the threshold. The doorknob feels very smooth, and the sweat from his palms leave tiny drops of condensation on the brass. The door creaks very gently when he pushes it open, and he wipes his hands on his jeans.
He takes a deep breath, and brushes his fingers across Heechul’s duvet, rattles his nails across the spines of the books on Heechul’s bookcase. The sliding door stutters when he opens the closet. He curls one index finger around one of the drawer handles and stops.
Eunhyuk gets up before everyone else and almost kills himself trying not to step on a box left just outside his door. There’s a porcelain teapot lying on a bed of tissue paper, a shade of blue so light it looks almost white, with a ribbon of yellow twisting up around the spout.
When he opens it to run the tap into it a post it note floats to the top, blue ink running in rivulets and dripping stains on his fingers. He can’t make out what it says.
He looks for the green mug, the one with the yellow swirls, and leaves chamomile steeping outside Heechul’s door.
Heechul slips into Eunhyuk’s room before anyone wakes up and slides up next to him, the mattress dipping. Eunhyuk drags his hair out of his eyes and mumbles blearily. The side pressed against Heechul is beautifully warm, and Eunhyuk closes his eyes again.
“Hey,” Heechul whispers, “Hyuk-ah, hey.” Eunhyuk presses his face into Heechul’s ribs. He smells like night face cream and toothpaste. His ribs press into Eunhyuk’s face and bracket his eye.
“Hyung,” he sighs, and Heechul’s fingers ghost through his hair.
“Why’d you pick chamomile,” Heechul whispers, and Eunhyuk sits up against the headboard, shoulder to Heechul’s shoulder.
“S’good for sleeping and calm,” he says, and wonders why they’re whispering.
“Okay,” Heechul says softly, and wraps his arm around Eunhyuk’s shoulders. “Go back to sleep Hyukjae,” he says, and dry lips brush Eunhyuk’s forehead.
Heechul’s index finger smells like soap and Eunhyuk’s sheets.
Fandom: super junior
Pairing: heechul/eunhyuk
Rating: pg13
Summary: Eunhyuk and Heechul and early mornings.
Heechul’s index finger smells like cigarettes, the cheap kind that fall into pieces when he crushes the pack in his hand and throws them away when someone catches him at it.
“You shouldn’t do that,” Eunhyuk says softly when he catches Heechul hunched inside the doorway of a parking garage. The orange circle of ash glows and fades as Heechul inhales, and Eunhyuk can hear the hiss of the embers going out when he drops the cigarette into a puddle.
“What am I protecting, anyway,” he says bitterly, and turns on his heel. Eunhyuk bends and picks up the soggy cigarette with the tips of his fingers, carefully.
“You shouldn’t litter, hyung,” he says, but Heechul is already gone.
Eunhyuk gets up early. The floor creaks softly under his socked feet, and he boils water in a pot instead of the kettle, pours it into the plain white teapot with cornflower blue flowers along the lid. He lifts it high when he pours it into the mug, listens close so he can hear the trickle of the water as it falls. He warms the mug of tea in his palms and breathes the steam in as the early morning light starts to creep across the floor towards him, long fingers of grey sunshine.
Eunhyuk sits outside the door of the practice room, the door open a crack, and listens to Heechul and Jungmo practice. Heechul sounds different then he does in the Super Junior rehearsals, he sounds... happier. He hits a rough patch, his voice breaking, and curses. Jungmo murmurs to him, voice low, and Donghae settles next to Eunhyuk.
“What are we doing,” he whispers, and Eunhyuk holds a finger to his lips. Donghae smells metallic, the salty tang of sweat, and Eunhyuk leans against his side quietly. Heechul starts singing again, more smoothly.
“Hyung is singing,” Donghae says, surprised, and Eunhyuk nods. He can feel Donghae breathing against him, the wave of his ribcage. The floor is seeping cold into his legs and the wall is hard against his spine. Donghae takes his hand, fingers slipping against each other from sweat, and Eunhyuk holds on. “It’s going to be okay,” Donghae whispers, and Eunhyuk thinks that he likes that about Donghae, support independent of understanding.
Eunhyuk lifts the teapot high so he can hear the trickle of the water into his mug. He likes it when it hits the teabag and the smell springs up, fresh and clean into the air.
“What are you doing?” Heechul asks from behind him, and Eunhyuk drops the teapot. It bursts on the tiled floor, the water cresting like a wave, carrying pieces of porcelain across the floor. He winces at the small splashes of hot water that hit his toes.
“You made me drop it,” he blurts accusingly, and his mouth snaps shut as his brain catches up. Heechul’s eyes narrow. Eunhyuk takes half a step backwards and yelps in pain, his right foot shooting pain up to his calf. “Ah,” he gasps. There’s a shard of the lid embedded in his heel, and his blood is dripping all over the light blue petals. He stumbles slightly, and Heechul catches him around the waist.
“You’re going to get more,” Heechul scolds him lightly, and his voice is right in Eunhyuk’s ear. His breath smells like strong alcohol and fried rice. His voice is low, and Eunhyuk can feel the rumble of it in Heechul’s chest, vibrating up through Eunhyuk’s back. He stills, and Heechul loops one of his arms over Heechul’s shoulders. Eunhyuk hops awkwardly, leaning on Heechul, to the other side of the table and a chair away from the mess. He thinks that Heechul’s shoulders are broader than they seem.
“Stay here,” Heechul orders, and disappears down the hallway. Eunhyuk twists his foot around awkwardly, trying to see the damage. He touches the edge of the shard in his foot and winces.
“Yah,” Heechul barks, coming back in, “are you retarded?” He’s holding something in a red bag, with a white cross stitched on the sides. He shakes it at Eunhyuk. “Did you know we have this?”
“Oh,” Eunhyuk says, “Ryeowook made that because he saw a special on television.” Heechul snorts, and they share a light smile before Heechul unzips the bag and starts digging around.
“Okay,” Heechul says, and kneels, catching Eunhyuk’s foot by the ankle. His fingers brush over Eunhyuk’s achilles tendon and slide downwards, cool and gentle and curling around his heel. “Okay,” he murmurs to himself, and Eunhyuk watches his tongue curl around his teeth in concentration.
Eunhyuk’s hand is resting on Heechul’s shoulder, and he drums his fingers against Heechul’s shirt. He can feel the warmth of his body through the cotton. His grip tightens when Heechul draws the piece of porcelain out of his foot, and his finger slips under the wide collar and brushes against Heechul’s skin. He yelps again when Heechul presses a wet pad against his cut that stings and burns, and his thumb falls down against Heechul’s collarbone.
“How am I supposed to wrap this,” Heechul grumbles, “you even get cut in retarded places.” Eunhyuk doesn’t answer. His thumb is pressed lightly just below Heechul’s collarbone, and he can feel his heartbeat.
“Why are you awake?” he asks, and Heechul smiles.
“Haven’t gone to sleep yet,” he says. “It’s kind of nice like this, before everyone wakes up.” He wraps Eunhyuk’s foot in a slender length of beige bandage. His fingers press on the bandage instead of Eunhyuk’s skin, and Eunhyuk frowns reflexively.
“I’ll clean up,” Heechul says, standing and brushing at his pantlegs. He laughs at the expression on Eunhyuk’s face. “Maybe I’m still drunk,” he teases, and ruffles Eunhyuk’s hair. “Don’t question my fits of kindness.” Eunhyuk tilts his head away, but the scratch of Heechul’s nails on his scalp tingle pleasantly. He limps to his feet and tests his weight on his foot. It’s already faded to a dull ache.
“It wasn’t deep,” Heechul says absently, sweeping pieces of the teapot into a dustpan. Eunhyuk feels a little sad to see the cornflower flowers all cracked and broken. He reaches for two mugs and pours water from the tap into them, balancing them carefully in the microwave.
They drink tea together on the floor, toes tucked against the warm hardwood floors. Afterwards they do the dishes, Heechul washing and Eunhyuk drying. Eunhyuk fumbles the mugs, watching Heechul’s long fingers flick water from the nails and listening to the splash of the water on the side of the basin, the clink of ceramics when he puts the mugs in the drying rack.
“Let’s go eat,” Donghae says, tossing his controller aside, and Eunhyuk shrugs listlessly. “Fine,” Donghae sulks, and drags out his phone, tapping at the keyboard intently.
“Go with Heechul-hyung,” Eunhyuk suggests, trying to decide if he has the necessary energy to reach for the remote and change the channel.
“He’s at a radio broadcast,” Donghae mutters, still texting. Eunhyuk feels tension gather in his spine.
“Really?” he asks cautiously, and Donghae looks up.
“Why do you care,” he says suspiciously, and Eunhyuk makes himself relax back into the couch.
“Go eat,” he complains, “oh hey, hand me that remote.” Donghae kicks the remote across the room and dodges Eunhyuk’s retaliating flail. The door clicks shut behind him.
Eunhyuk thinks about the way Heechul’s skin felt under his fingertips, and the way his ear flinched when the teapot hit the ground, the way Heechul’s hair smelled and the feeling of his heartbeat in Eunhyuk’s palm. He stands up with the sofa against the backs of his legs. He takes a single hesitant step towards the hallway and stops. There’s a faint buzzing in his ears, and his stomach twists. He walks to Heechul’s bedroom and pauses at the threshold. The doorknob feels very smooth, and the sweat from his palms leave tiny drops of condensation on the brass. The door creaks very gently when he pushes it open, and he wipes his hands on his jeans.
He takes a deep breath, and brushes his fingers across Heechul’s duvet, rattles his nails across the spines of the books on Heechul’s bookcase. The sliding door stutters when he opens the closet. He curls one index finger around one of the drawer handles and stops.
Eunhyuk gets up before everyone else and almost kills himself trying not to step on a box left just outside his door. There’s a porcelain teapot lying on a bed of tissue paper, a shade of blue so light it looks almost white, with a ribbon of yellow twisting up around the spout.
When he opens it to run the tap into it a post it note floats to the top, blue ink running in rivulets and dripping stains on his fingers. He can’t make out what it says.
He looks for the green mug, the one with the yellow swirls, and leaves chamomile steeping outside Heechul’s door.
Heechul slips into Eunhyuk’s room before anyone wakes up and slides up next to him, the mattress dipping. Eunhyuk drags his hair out of his eyes and mumbles blearily. The side pressed against Heechul is beautifully warm, and Eunhyuk closes his eyes again.
“Hey,” Heechul whispers, “Hyuk-ah, hey.” Eunhyuk presses his face into Heechul’s ribs. He smells like night face cream and toothpaste. His ribs press into Eunhyuk’s face and bracket his eye.
“Hyung,” he sighs, and Heechul’s fingers ghost through his hair.
“Why’d you pick chamomile,” Heechul whispers, and Eunhyuk sits up against the headboard, shoulder to Heechul’s shoulder.
“S’good for sleeping and calm,” he says, and wonders why they’re whispering.
“Okay,” Heechul says softly, and wraps his arm around Eunhyuk’s shoulders. “Go back to sleep Hyukjae,” he says, and dry lips brush Eunhyuk’s forehead.
Heechul’s index finger smells like soap and Eunhyuk’s sheets.