All the Lines We Cast 2/2 (Han Geng/Zhou Mi, R)
PART ONE.
***
All of SM’s official and unofficial policies regarding Han Geng couldn’t dictate where Han Geng’s own management put him: Marina Bay Sands was the premiere hotel in Singapore, ritzy and upscale, and so it was almost inevitable that they - being Asian superstars of similar caliber - would end up in the same place.
They were smarter than to risk meeting inside the hotel, though.
They were smarter than to be seen leaving together too.
Not quite sober - he’d had a few drinks with the group - Zhou Mi tugged on a cap and lost himself in the milling crowd at the bottom of Tower 2. Singapore’s thriving nightlife meant a constant throb of locals and tourists around Marina Bay - for the hotel, the restaurant atop it, the Infinity Pool, the casino, the Singapore Flyer, or the endless shops. There was always something to do or see or eat, even on a Thursday night. Zhou Mi loved it.
He loved, too, how easy it was to slip away unnoticed and hail himself a cab. “Marina Square,” he told the driver cheerfully. So normal. Just as if he were any local resident, off to meet his friends for the night. The driver didn’t look twice at him and didn’t seem inclined to chat. He left Zhou Mi in peace with his thoughts and his habit of staring out the windows at the passing lights. In front, the meter ticked up steadily.
It didn’t go far. They arrived before Zhou Mi knew it, jolting him out of his glassy-eyed stares.
A short ride, but it wasn’t as if he could have walked or hopped on the MRT. He paid and climbed out, then took a moment to survey the mall before him. Korea had its fair share of shopping centers, all of which Zhou Mi was proud to report his intimate familiarity. He and Victoria had seen them all at one point or another. Singapore, though, was another thing altogether. It felt like he couldn’t turn a corner without running into another mall, another cluster of shops, rising above the street in clean, modern lines but bursting with color and aromas at the same time. Where Seoul was dotted with hills and trees, Singapore stretched out nearly flat before him, unapologetically metropolitan and bustling with a young, energetic crowd. From their well-kept enclosures in front of buildings or lining street medians, shocks of tropical flora contributed to the overall foreign atmosphere. Singapore was not Seoul. Nor was it as familiar as Beijing, which was well-loved but cramped, crowded, and smoggy.
Here, Zhou Mi felt a wild flash of potential. Possibilities.
It made him a little giddy as he entered the shopping center - or maybe that was the alcohol. Maybe a little of both. He went hunting for a directory. From here to the karaoke place, wherever that was. A little online investigation had informed him that Marina Square had a KBOX; a darkened, private room was as discreet as they could get and close enough to their hotel that if they were missed it wouldn’t take long to reappear, playing innocent. Eyebrows would be raised at either of them checking into another hotel room, even more so if it were only for a few hours. So here they were.
He was first to arrive. He bowed and thanked the girl in awkward English when she led him to the room. She smiled and retreated back to the front desk. He wondered if she spoke Mandarin - she looked Chinese and he had been told that most Singaporeans were bilingual or multilingual. Zhou Mi hadn’t had much opportunity to actually chat with Singaporeans, despite Super Junior’s fairly frequent visits.
The room was as dim as he’d hoped, flashy disco lights revolving along the wall. Zhou Mi pulled up a number of old Super Junior songs, laughing to himself, and settled back against the couch to wait.
Han Geng slipped inside when the stereos were blasting Twins. The shell-shocked expression drew a giggle from Zhou Mi.
“Shit,” Han Geng said, shutting the door behind him. “Turn that off.”
“Look at your hair!”
“I’d rather not.”
On screen, a younger Han Geng danced front and center, eyes piercing even as his hair - fluffy and a hideous beige-gray non-color that offended Zhou Mi’s sensibilities - offset some of that intensity. Off screen, Han Geng grimaced as he dropped onto the couch beside Zhou Mi. “Can we not live in the past?”
“Haven’t you always said you’d never forget your roots?” Zhou Mi responded lightly, because he was in a good mood and he wouldn’t let Han Geng ruin it.
As Kibum took over the screen, Han Geng grabbed Zhou Mi’s chin in one hand. “Hey,” he said. His voice was low.
In the dark, it was hard to see his eyes, but Zhou Mi felt a shiver go up his spine anyway. The grip on his chin was firm and Han Geng’s intent clear. It wasn’t like Zhou Mi could claim surprise - he knew why they’d come here, after all. He’d initiated it, for once.
When Han Geng kissed him, his mouth tasted like coffee and something sweet. Zhou Mi let himself be pressed back against the couch, Han Geng leaning over from the side as his hand slid from Zhou Mi’s chin to cup his face, fingers pressing a little too hard to be gentle. When his teeth closed around Zhou Mi’s bottom lip and tugged, Zhou Mi let out a shuddery little sigh.
“You taste like…coconut?” he murmured.
“I had some toast with some sort of spread. Singaporean thing.” He shifted, putting one foot on the ground so he could nudge the other leg between Zhou Mi’s thighs. His mouth sealed over Zhou Mi’s again, hot, effectively silencing him from further inane comments.
Like it mattered what Han Geng tasted of. As long as he kept kissing Zhou Mi like that, as long as he kept that pressure on Zhou Mi’s crotch, tiny little rocks of his thigh against the fly of Zhou Mi’s slacks.
He was flushed hot from head to toe, his fingers winding desperately in Han Geng’s hair to keep him close. Fingers inched up his hip to hook in his waistband, and Zhou Mi’s stomach jumped at the touch, trembling.
Han Geng drew his mouth away, breath damp against Zhou Mi’s cheek. “Turn around.”
Heeding Han Geng’s tugs and nudges, Zhou Mi rearranged himself until he turned sideways on the couch, Han Geng spooned behind him rather than hovering over him. The heat from Han Geng’s body plastered to his back made Zhou Mi feel hotter than ever, almost feverish, but maybe that was only his own blood pounding furiously through his veins. Or the alcohol from earlier. Every touch seemed magnified in response, screaming along his nerves with sensation. Han Geng had deftly contrived sometime during this rearrangement to undo the button of Zhou Mi’s fly; Zhou Mi’s breath caught in his throat as the zipper was eased down over his aching cock.
He whimpered when Han Geng finally palmed him through his underwear. Han Geng nipped his ear, sharp. “Quiet.”
There was steel in his tone, like always, and Zhou Mi responded to it unthinkingly, as always. Under the cover of the music still blaring from the TV and speakers, Han Geng wrapped his hand around Zhou Mi and jerked him slow. His grip was a little too dry, a little too tight, but Zhou Mi bit his lip hard and thrust shallowly into his fist.
It felt a little surreal, jerking in response to Han Geng’s hand as Sungmin’s cheerful voice rang out to Haengbok in the background. At some point, Zhou Mi squeezed his eyes shut. His own hands had curled into fists beside him on the couch - Han Geng had murmured “Hands off” between nosing at Zhou Mi’s jaw and sucking kisses into his neck and Zhou Mi had frozen, lifting his hands away. His hips pumped to the rhythm of Han Geng’s hand on him, slick now with the precome that had dripped from the head of his cock.
Fuck. Zhou Mi swallowed the curse and choked for air as he came, dots dancing before his eyes. Han Geng’s tongue slid over a particularly sharp bite along his shoulder. He wrung out the aftershocks slowly, hand loosening.
When Zhou Mi caught his breath, eyes opening to meet Han Geng’s, his mouth went dry.
As Don’t Don came on, Zhou Mi twisted off the couch and sank to his knees between Han Geng’s spread legs. He licked his lips and fumbled at the zipper of Han Geng’s jeans, then licked his lips again, nervous and excited and dazed still as he freed Han Geng’s erection from its confines.
It didn’t take long. It took, in fact, exactly the length of Don’t Don. Han Geng was rock hard and on edge. His fingers dug into Zhou Mi’s scalp as he fucked Zhou Mi’s mouth, and he arched and spilled down Zhou Mi’s throat as Heechul screamed Super Junior in the background.
It was so strange as to be utterly real, because nothing could be this fantastically timed otherwise. Zhou Mi pulled off, wiping at his mouth, his knees aching on the hard linoleum floor. Han Geng’s head tipped back, exposing his throat, as he caught his breath. The light from the screen left him highlighted in pale, sickly blues and yellows while the colorful disco lights continued dancing along the walls, disconcerting. They gave Zhou Mi a headache.
He pulled himself back onto the couch, perching on the edge as he conscientiously dusted off the knees of his slacks. They didn’t speak for several minutes as Don’t Don wrapped up and the next song was cued. Zhou Mi glanced at the screen. Me. Super Junior M.
Himself on the screen, hair longer, shaped differently; black. Han Geng on the screen, smiling widely and expression open. It was a far cry from the lean body slumped beside him now, sex-drained and flushed, but expression as guarded as ever. Counter to that, his eyes spoke volumes in person, in ways that could never be conveyed on screen - Han Geng was careful to draw those curtains shut when cameras came about.
Zhou Mi was startled when Han Geng spoke. “Put something else in. Zhang Xue You or something. Chen Long. Whatever. I don’t want to hear all this crap.”
“Go put some in yourself,” Zhou Mi said, and he’d meant to sound churlish but he wasn’t that annoyed. It was hard to be after orgasm. He contented himself with making a face of discontent as he slid down the couch to the touchscreen controls.
By the time the opening strains of Frankie Wang’s As Long As You’re Happy sounded, they had both cleaned up and tucked themselves in, buttoned up neat and proper. Zhou Mi was fishing for the mic when Han Geng said, unexpectedly, “Hey, do lunch with me.”
Zhou Mi stared.
“Saturday sometime. I wrap up tomorrow but I don’t leave until Saturday afternoon. I know you guys are here through the show that night.”
Han Geng cocked a brow, as if he were extending some sort of challenge - and maybe he was. Lunch? The two of them?
“In public?”
“We don’t have to throw a parade or take out an ad in the newspaper, if that’s what you mean. You can wear all your usual disguises. Let’s get lunch. See a little more of Singapore.”
The last bit, thrown out casually, was the bait. Zhou Mi knew it; Han Geng knew it. Zhou Mi was dying to see more of Singapore than the inside of his hotel room and whatever scenery he glimpsed through the windows of rented vans and the occasional cab. He thought of his managers, earnestly pleading him to not do anything stupid. No catastrophes, Zhou Mi. He thought of the official company line regarding Han Geng.
What was Han Geng even getting out of this lunch date? It would be normal between friends, but they weren’t-
Zhou Mi pursed his lips. He wasn’t a risk-taker by nature. Some things were worth a calculated risk, certainly, but not everything. Zhou Mi was the frantic overthinker, a secretive planner beneath his spontaneously cheerful image. He worried and fretted over everything and sometimes - often times - that was tiring.
This thing with Han Geng wasn’t smart. Hadn’t ever been. Meeting here tonight itself had been a risk, but Zhou Mi had thrown caution to the wind. There was something in the air here, something that surrounded him like the clinging warmth, that made him think that maybe he could get away with more here, far from Seoul. He’d felt it as soon as he’d stepped out of the airport earlier that day; he’d felt it again arriving at Marina Square. Heady possibility.
“All right.”
Han Geng grinned. Zhou Mi still had no idea what he was gaining from it. “Eleven or so. I’ll text you.” He unfolded himself lazily from the couch and stood. “You should go back to the drinking party.”
Zhou Mi couldn’t taste the soju in his mouth anymore but evidently Han Geng had noticed it earlier. “What I do is none of your business.” It was a standard flippant answer. He’d never seen Han Geng take it so well before, however, with a hum and that grin again. He left as quickly and quietly as he’d entered, slipping from the darkened room into the halls and avoiding, Zhou Mi presumed, as many attendants as he could. It wouldn’t do for Han Geng to be caught here without a handy excuse.
It wouldn’t do for Zhou Mi to leave too soon after, either. Plausible deniability was what they needed, so Zhou Mi settled back into the couch and scrolled through available Taiwanese artists for songs he knew.
After he belted out Fan Fan and Lara then detoured through Wang Lee Hom and Jay Chou, Zhou Mi returned to the female singers and came across A-Mei. With a laugh, he sang If You’ve Also Heard in the original register - unlike Kyuhyun, he had no need to drop it. Feeling smug and self-satisfied, he ended on A-Mei’s Listen to the Sea.
Zhou Mi figured he’d killed enough time to leave safely by the time the last melancholy notes died off. Cap back on his head, he strolled out to the front counter to pay. Muffled music sounded from behind various doors; KBOX was doing pretty good business for a Thursday night. University students who didn’t have class on Fridays, maybe, or not until late. Zhou Mi sneaked sideways glances into the mostly dark rooms; he was pleased to find that he couldn’t see much.
The girl at the register wasn’t the same one he’d seen upon arrival. He hoped that was for the best. She wouldn’t have connected him, then, with the person who’d turned up later to join him in the room. Zhou Mi smiled at her as she rung him up. He found it a little strange that she wouldn’t meet his eye, looking embarrassed as she handed him his receipt.
“Thank you.” Maybe she was a fan? They sometimes ran into fans who got self-conscious as soon as they recognized the person standing in front of them as one of their favorite idols. Zhou Mi smiled at her again as he took his leave, but she continued to avoid his gaze, eyes glued to the countertop.
He shrugged and headed for the escalator, eyes wandering across the brightly lit mall. It buzzed with people, a cacophony of voices and background noise. There was food somewhere nearby - there was always food somewhere nearby, Zhou Mi thought. Whatever it was smelled delicious. He was mostly sober now, the haze from first the alcohol and then orgasm clearing away, and found that he was starving.
Half an hour later, he was back in the hotel clutching a few bags of chicken skewers, save the two he’d already eaten two while waiting for a cab. He found the majority of his bandmates still in the hotel room where he’d left them earlier, drunk and loud. Donghae and Henry had teamed up to annoy Siwon to some success and Eunhyuk was nearly passed out on Sungmin, his head cushioned on Sungmin’s thigh and Sungmin’s fingers threaded through his hair. The lowest of low tolerances, Zhou Mi noted with a snicker, which came of hardly ever drinking. Kyuhyun and Ryeowook were arguing about something very loudly, while nearby Yesung was lying on his back, poking at his phone. Shindong and Eeteuk were missing.
Zhou Mi’s offering of chicken skewers was met with a loud clamor of approval and he was nearly mauled in Henry’s efforts to get to the food. Kyuhyun eyed him with disquieting sobriety - damn his high tolerance - but he didn’t ask where Zhou Mi had gone.
“To get food,” would’ve been Zhou Mi’s ready quip, at any rate.
“Hey, don’t take my portion!” Ryeowook cried, wrestling Henry’s fourth stick from him.
***
Back in school, Chen Xin had been frequently reprimanded by their instructors for lacking drive. “Where is your ambition?” they asked disapprovingly. “You have talent, but talent itself is not enough if you do not put in the work.”
While Zhou Mi was sympathetic to his friend’s complaints about his repetitive scoldings, he was never subject to the same. His instructors saw both talent and drive in him and their critiques came more in the form of counsel: enunciate, gesture less, remember to rest your vocal chords. It’s good to push yourself, Zhou Mi, but not to hurt yourself.
He signed up for nearly every talent show, every holiday performance. Zhou Mi had never been particularly shy or reticent. He had been a lively child and thrived on positive attention. It translated in university to a love of performance, stage-fright cowed early into obedience.
He loved singing because he was good at it; he ate up the accolades with a dazzling smile. The compliments shored up his dreams, building them higher and higher. He had many aspirations where Chen Xin had few.
“Did you hear? That Korean group has a Chinese member!” Li Yuming told him all about Han Geng over lunch in the cafeteria one day. “My roommate says he’s from Beijing. I wonder what it’s like, going to another country where you can’t even speak the language to get famous.” She looked pensive. “I don’t think I would enjoy that. I want to be well-known here, in China.”
“It might be easier to be famous here once you’re established elsewhere,” Zhou Mi pointed out.
Still, she shook her head. “I’ll stay in China no matter what. It’s meaningless elsewhere. They won’t even understand what you sing!”
Zhou Mi had always found her rather hard-headed in certain beliefs. He privately thought it would be her stumbling block, the obstacle that kept her back from true success. She was close-minded about a lot of things, which limited in his opinion her ability to make the most of an opportunity. Besides, it wasn’t difficult to sing in another language: the foreign sounds were just another component of the music.
When he found out Chen Xin had submitted a video of him singing in Korean to a UCC competition, Zhou Mi didn’t think much of it. When he found he’d won, Zhou Mi found himself facing a fork in the road. He had goals and aspirations, much like everyone else, but he saw opportunity where some of them saw none.
“You don’t even know Korean,” Yuming exclaimed.
Zhou Mi shrugged and turned up the walkway to his building. Yuming tagged along behind, exasperated at the cavalierness in Zhou Mi’s attitude.
“I’ll learn,” he said.
***
“Overheated yet?” Han Geng asked him with false sympathy. He’d rolled his eyes pointedly when he’d seen the fashion scarf Zhou Mi had draped around his neck and kept needling Zhou Mi about it as they’d braved the sea of people in search the place Han Geng’s manager had discreetly booked under his name. Marmalade Pantry, Han Geng had said. Very popular, apparently. When they’d finally been seated, their table was tucked far enough in a corner that they wouldn’t likely attract unwarranted attention. It was a busy Saturday.
ION was gigantic. It was, the friendly cab driver had informed Zhou Mi, the newest of the malls lining Orchard Road. It was designed to be airy and bright and modern, and it was all of that in spades. Zhou Mi liked it immediately. It certainly hadn’t hurt that he’d passed signs for Louis Vuitton and Burberry on meeting up with Han Geng. The urge to shop tickled him but he squashed it for the time being. There might be time later… Or not, realistically speaking, as he’d sneaked out for a quick lunch before the afternoon run-through for the concert. The Saturday show wasn’t until six at least, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to squeak out the time.
Zhou Mi spared a moment to feel guilty about his managers. He then redirected his attentions to perusing the menu. He answered Han Geng with cool dignity as he flipped the page. “I’m fine, thanks.” While it was hot outside, undeniably so, the air conditioning inside the mall kept Zhou Mi at a perfectly comfortable temperature with his scarf.
Like Han Geng had any right to comment on fashion. He was a walking sartorial crime, with or without his stylists. Zhou Mi had some serious reservations about their work as showcased in Han Geng’s music videos.
“I’m surprised you came,” Han Geng said after they placed their orders and the waitress retreated. His gaze was assessing.
It made Zhou Mi want to squirm in his seat. He frowned. “Yeah?”
He supposed it was odd. He couldn’t remember the last time in the past two years they’d spent time in person that hadn’t involved sex in some form.
“They treat you a hell of a lot better than they ever treated me.”
“What?” Zhou Mi blinked. “The company?”
“Yeah. They certainly wouldn’t have given me the luxury of having a nice lunch out in whichever city we had to perform in. Must be nice, having all this freedom. I wonder when they changed their policies.”
Zhou Mi laughed mostly out of surprise. Han Geng’s resentment was a familiar thing, as much a staple of the past two years as the sex. But this angle of attack was almost absurd. “They don’t know. It’s not like I was given permission to saunter out to meet you. Honestly, I have to sneak back in before one-thirty and pray no one missed me too much.”
Han Geng looked faintly incredulous. “You sneaked out?”
“Of course I did. Even if they gave me freedom to wander around Singapore, which they didn’t, I’d still be forbidden to see you. Don’t you know, Geng-ge? You’re a touchy subject for the company.”
It couldn’t be said that Han Geng looked very remorseful or, in fact, penitent at all. The arrival of their drinks interrupted the conversation. Han Geng had gotten some sort of mango drink; Zhou Mi, conscientious of his throat as always, had gotten hot green tea with honey. He sipped at it and considered the man across the table.
“I don’t regret it,” Han Geng said quietly. He was strangely reserved today, aside from the barbs about the scarf. Zhou Mi knew Han Geng had his thoughtful side, the contemplative, compassionate side that made him dear to China’s media and his fanbase, but he rarely saw it for himself. Another unsettling factor to an already unsettling meeting.
Lips drawn tight at the corners, Han Geng looked unhappy and far older than he was in reality. “My contract was bullshit. The things they were forcing me to do just because they could - bullshit. They’ll always look down on foreigners, you know. They’ll always treat you worse than they treat their own citizens. They just don’t care as much when you’re not Korean.”
He met Zhou Mi’s eyes. “Am I wrong? Is it different for you?”
“Well,” said Zhou Mi. The drawn expression transformed into a little smirk on Han Geng’s face. He knew he wasn’t wrong. “Not exactly,” said Zhou Mi, irritated at the conclusions Han Geng was leaping to and more irritated that he couldn’t explicitly disagree. Damn Han Geng and his sure convictions.
“It is different,” Zhou Mi said at last. “I’m not worked to the bone the way you were. I’m not a - full member.” Official member. He would never have the same sort of true acceptance Han Geng had received, that Victoria and Amber and Jia and Fei received now. It meant he wasn’t expected (nor particularly welcome) to show up at official Super Junior events with the press or at awards shows or photoshoots. It wasn’t as bad as it had been - they made an effort nowadays to include him and Henry where they could, in SM Town activities, at least, if nothing else. On the whole, Zhou Mi tried to stay optimistic: This way he had more time to focus on developing Super Junior M tracks, putting his input in with Sujeong and Zak. He had more free time to shop and eat, to fly back to China once in a while.
He found that his gaze had dropped at some point. Looking up, Zhou Mi found Han Geng staring at him with pity in his eyes. It lent steel to his spine. Zhou Mi hated few things more than being pitied. He was not that pathetic. “I have good friends,” he said, “and a lot of connections. I have more input in our music. Super Junior M is getting more popular than ever. I have time to rest and visit China. You’re right, I have it much better than you ever did.”
Don’t you dare pity me.
Han Geng had the grace to look away.
After a moment, he drawled, “Well, I expect Eeteuk is still being his typical self. Hypocritical liar.”
It was always odd to hear Eeteuk’s name in Chinese but the substance of this bitterness was, again, not unfamiliar to Zhou Mi. Han Geng didn’t make it a practice of ranting to Zhou Mi the grudges he held, but the topic had come up before. For all that he still cared for most of the members, Han Geng had found it difficult - nearly impossible in some cases - to forgive some of them. Eeteuk was chief among them. His spineless inability to stand up to the managers and their outrageous demands, Han Geng had snarled, makes him a coward and a fool. And worse, he presents himself as a caring leader. He’s the most self-involved, mercenary little weasel I know. Any care he has for the other members comes secondary to his own interests. I was ten times the leader he was.
Yes, Zhou Mi had agreed at length. But he’s still there. You left.
The argument held little water for Han Geng, who’d only snorted. Don’t mistake that for nobleness on his part. He’s only too scared to take any risks without the group as his safety net. He needs to know there’s always something to fall back on while he climbs his way up the ladder.
Eeteuk had made far too many sacrifices, in Han Geng’s opinions. The welfare and well-being of his band members, primarily. He’s never looked out for me and then he accuses me of betraying them?
“Eeteuk is Eeteuk,” Zhou Mi said, diplomatic. Eeteuk wasn’t his favorite member. They weren’t that close, all told. But neither did he feel kindly enough towards Han Geng to feed his grudge.
Han Geng made no effort to hide his contempt.
“Weaselly as ever,” he concluded. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Ever thought about leaving, Zhou Mi?”
“What do you mean?”
“Going solo. Doing something on your own. I hear you’ve met a lot of people, made a lot of connections.” Han Geng grinned, and China’s favorite son was back. “And, of course, there’s always me. I know everyone. More importantly, they like me.”
“Are you implying they don’t like me?”
“Let’s be honest: you’re not the ideal boy next door that appeals to the older generation. You might be fashionable, but you’re a little too…” He waved at the scarf. “You know.”
Zhou Mi had come to this conclusion himself a long time ago. He didn’t, however, appreciate it coming from Han Geng. “At least the connections I’ve made are friends. I know they’re willing to help me if I need it. To be perfectly frank, I have no idea why you’re offering, considering that we’ve both agreed that we’re hardly friends.” This odd lunch outing notwithstanding.
“You can call it duty, maybe. An obligation to help out someone in similar circumstances. Mentorship, perhaps.”
“There’s no need to help me if you’re moved by pity, I already told you I’m doing fine-”
“Do you want to do a collab? Be featured on my next album?”
That drew him up short. Han Geng’s eyes were mischievous but he seemed otherwise serious. “We could even do a duet - you could sing, you know, and not just write lyrics or correct pronunciation or whatever it is you do for M. Get your foot in the door in China. Get to know the producers.”
Zhou Mi was saved from answering him when their waitress approached again with a tray bearing their food. Han Geng looked away from him to smile at her, charming, and she was visibly flustered as she set down their respective plates. The scent of fresh-baked bread made Zhou Mi’s mouth water, reminding him that he had eaten very little for breakfast as he’d known he’d be going out for lunch.
They put their conversation on hold as they ate. The clink of silverware against their plates and the hum of other conversations in the background was the only accompaniment to their meal. Zhou Mi’s mind overflowed with thoughts, jumbled and each vying for attention. The entire timeline of his acquaintance with Han Geng washed across his mind in short bursts of memories, from that initial meeting to the awkward times during Super Junior M, to the sex, frantic and dangerous, and the barbs, the endless disagreements, the strange fascination with each other that had pervaded everything, from the beginning. That unexplainable way they were drawn together, meeting up time and time again, despite how much they disagreed with and often disliked each other. Not friends, Han Geng had made clear multiple times. And yet this offer for a collaboration, for some possibility of advancing Zhou Mi’s career…
He wouldn’t put it past Han Geng to be offering mostly out of spite - some sort of twisted delight in seeing SM lose another artist, particularly a foreign one. More proof positive to the world, Han Geng would view it, that SM treated its artists like shit.
Petty. If Zhou Mi viewed it that way, he found the entire thing incredibly distasteful.
On the other hand, if he viewed it in light of his future… Everything Han Geng had said was true. It would go incredibly far in establishing a foundation for Zhou Mi’s career, wherever it went after Super Junior M. And it would, because Super Junior M was not forever. It couldn’t be. Zhou Mi wouldn’t let it be.
“Think about it,” Han Geng said when they parted ways later.
***
Zhou Mi thought about it. Over the next few weeks, it popped into his head with discomfiting regularity. It didn’t help that in between the Super Shows and the fine-tuning of the Super Junior M album, he ended up filming in Beijing. When the offer had come for him to be part of a Chinese drama, he hadn’t hesitated long before accepting. Opportunity. He didn’t turn those down. He didn’t leap at every opportunity, of course; being the worrier he was, he always feared where he might land if he leaped without looking, but his mental calculations tended to weigh heavily in favor of building bridges. Those were solid and safe.
“Of course!” he’d said, delighted. Bridges were good investments.
“Wah, how great!” said Ryeowook. “It’s always good to get experience in different things, too. My musical taught me a lot. I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun.”
“Do you think Siwon would have useful tips?” Zhou Mi had wondered.
“Don’t go to Donghae,” advised Henry.
Kyuhyun had only smirked when he’d heard. “Are you going to have a love story? Are you going to have to kiss a girl on screen?” With the rest of Zhou Mi’s dorm empty, he’d taken over the couch and stretched out along the length of it. Zhou Mi stood above him and slapped his thigh.
“Can you at least pretend to be happy for me?”
“I’m very happy you’ll get to kiss a girl on screen,” Kyuhyun said dutifully, the evil wretch. When he’d finally dropped the smirk, he’d said with surprising sincerity, “It’ll be a good opportunity for you.”
Later, he’d added, “You better call.” And, “Beijing, right? Hankyung’s there.”
Indeed. Zhou Mi hadn’t forgotten. Knowing he was going to be in Beijing, and being in Beijing, hadn’t helped the constant replaying of Han Geng’s offer. Getting a foot in the door, establishing contacts - the things Han Geng had offered stayed forefront his mind even as he was doing the self-same things: meeting directors, actors, actresses; establishing himself as a hard worker, a talent, someone they would be interested in working with again, someone they would support in his own ventures… It was always an ongoing process.
In the cramped dressing rooms behind set one day, while getting direction from a harried-looking producer and editing comments from one of the script-writers, Zhou Mi was distracted by the sound of Han Geng’s name.
One of the lead actresses was chatting with her make-up artist beside him. Her eyes were shut as her stylist drew carefully across them with liquid eyeliner. “He’s such a charmer,” she was saying, and her voice was trembling with laughter even as she held still. “He sent me a weibo message about how much he was looking forward to this drama. He wished us a lot of success.”
It planted a seed of doubt in Zhou Mi’s mind. Since he’d arrived in Beijing two weeks ago, he’d made a conscious effort not to see Han Geng, and hadn’t communicated with him beyond text messages. That changed that night, when Zhou Mi called.
“Did you have something to do with this?”
“What? Your drama?” A laugh rang in Zhou Mi’s ear.
“Tell me.”
“How far do you think I’m willing to go for you? We’re not friends. I don’t owe you anything. I made you my offer; it’s up to you whether or not you’ll accept it. I’m not going to pull strings for you heedlessly.”
The rebuff should have annoyed Zhou Mi but strangely relieved him. Han Geng wasn’t responsible for the drama opportunity. It had been stupid to think so. Zhou Mi was more than aware of his own strengths and the ability to make close friends and keep them was one he prided himself on. He had his own network of people willing to pull strings for him or drop a complimentary word in the right ear - all without Han Geng’s say-so, thank you very much.
They’d all offered to help him before, some more explicitly than others. Calvin Chen and Ken Wu leaped immediately to mind as two of the more recent, and rather more vocal, parties. Taiwan had been…a revelation of sorts and a reminder that he knew how to operate without Super Junior M as his defining factor. He recalled the years before Super Junior M, before SM at all, when he’d been pressing forward in his career as an individual. He knew how to do this, even if there was a bit of relearning in the process.
He thought of Han Geng again, flying solo after - how long had it been? Seven, eight years?
It wasn’t impossible, Zhou Mi mused. This potential future Han Geng was laying out before him like that legendary City of Gold. It was attainable. Of course, he didn’t have to go Han Geng’s route and file a suit, leaving in bitter terms and severing any number of long-standing relationships. It made far more practical sense to preserve good relations, to use his existing circumstances to his benefit. With M, Zhou Mi could reap the benefits of an established fanbase and a well-respected company with a lot of useful connections. With the time he had to himself, when M was on hiatus, he could foray into more individual activities, especially those based in China.
Zhou Mi held back a noise of surprise when someone touched his harm, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Your turn in the chair, Zhou Mi.” The make-up stylist nodded at him and his answering smile was reflexive. He seated himself in front of the brightly-lit mirror and stared vaguely at his reflection. Another day on set. Another scene to film.
Don’t burn bridges was an admonishment he remembered from his university day. Not if you want to succeed in the entertainment industry.
“-so you have to look like you hate him, even if you don’t. Got it?” Today it was the director ranting, frazzled. “Tell me you got it, I refuse to repeat myself. How many times do I have to repeat myself every day, we don’t have that kind of time to waste-!”
“Got it.” The leading lady laid a calming hand on his arm. Her smile was warm. “Don’t worry, director, we’ll do exactly as you said. Right, Zhou Mi?”
“Of course. We’ll make you proud.”
“Good,” snapped the director. “Hurry up. Your turn’s up next and we don’t have time to waste. Get ready.”
“Almost done,” promised the stylist.
The lights were hot when he stepped out under them a few minutes later. The cameras were rolling. As Zhou Mi moved into position, he reflected that it was something he’d been doing all his life, from the blocking on stage as an MC to getting behind a mic stand to sing, to arranging himself according to choreography during Super Shows. Timing was everything. You couldn’t miss the cue.
***
Chen Xin lacks ambition, the instructors wrote in their report. He has so much potential, but he fails to capitalize on possibilities.
Zhou Mi lacks foresight, the instructors said. He is passionate and he is driven, but he can’t always see the big picture. He focuses on what is in front of him and forgets to think of the long-term effects. Be careful of your voice, Zhou Mi. Be careful of your choices. Be sure they are carrying you where you want to go.
Zhou Mi took the criticism to heart.
***
The weather was turning; the cherry and plum trees were already budding and would soon bear a sea of pink-white blossoms on their bare branches. It was one of Zhou Mi’s favorite times of the year. It made him think of the traditional Chinese paintings, flowers and birds stretching across the canvas in delicate brushstrokes, made warm with touches of gentle color. Spring meant the end of winter, the closing of the door to the old year. Spring meant new beginnings.
Early spring also meant the last of the awards season celebrating the previous year. Curled up on the frankly uncomfortable couch in his tiny Beijing apartment, Zhou Mi watched Han Geng lit up with the bright stage lights, grinning widely and waving at the audience. In his other hand he held his award. It was his second of the night.
He was dressed in a neatly tailored suit, one even Zhou Mi approved of. The questionable stylists had not erred here. He looked happy, absolutely thrilled and grateful to be up there receiving this award. He had teared up the first time, voice choked as he thanked his mother and his fans. It’d made a pang shoot through Zhou Mi, watching.
Han Geng looked…like the leader Super Junior M had been lucky to have in its inception. Without his clout, his popularity, carrying them, they wouldn’t have managed to stay afloat. M had been his dream first. M had stopped being enough somewhere along the way. But for those two years they’d been seven, Han Geng at the helm, they had navigated the troubled waters with the unwavering belief that it would all turn out okay in the end. Han Geng had seemed so fervent, and so proud. He’d looked like his dreams had come true again.
Zhou Mi had respected him then, even if he hadn’t liked him. Despite what Han Geng thought, despite their arguments, despite the unusual arrangement they’d fallen into - Zhou Mi had admired him in a way. A way he had perhaps, he thought now ruefully, never let Han Geng know. All the same, it had been there and lingered still: the strength of Han Geng’s convictions and his willingness to make the necessary sacrifices. He might have faltered on occasion, like any human was bound to (and in the extreme circumstances to which Han Geng had been subject, it was amazing he hadn’t lost his way more) but he never let his doubts hold him back long.
He hadn’t seemed to fear the way Zhou Mi tended to. Or perhaps he was just better at conquering those fears.
The camera panned to the audience. It paused on Han Geng’s empty seat and zoomed in on the woman in the next seat. She was wearing a full-length gown in deep bronze, elegantly draped from one shoulder and tucked in at the waist with a tasteful pattern of tiny crystals across the bust. Zhou Mi had approved of her dress earlier as she’d walked down the red carpet on Han Geng’s arm, beaming and radiant. She was clapping now, that same brilliant smile from earlier making a reappearance and eyes shining like she couldn’t be prouder.
“What’re you making that face for?” Han Geng asked, emerging from the tiny kitchen with a fresh bottle of Tsingdao beer in one hand. “Are you still watching that awards show?”
Zhou Mi motioned at the screen.
“Girlfriend?”
“Are you kidding? I don’t have the time to spare for a girlfriend.”
Han Geng sat down on the couch and Zhou Mi gave him a sidelong look. “Haven’t you always talked about wanting to get married? Finding that perfect girl you can take home to your mom?”
“Yeah, well.” A shrug. “I don’t have the time right now. I’ll figure that out later. Work takes priority right now.”
Which explained why he’d taken the night off and invited himself over to Zhou Mi’s apartment, sure.
“You don’t have to date a girl to fuck her,” Zhou Mi said, deliberately crude.
Han Geng’s laugh still had that edge of mockery to it. He tipped the neck of his bottle in Zhou Mi’s direction, as if acknowledging him for that hit. “But I don’t need that when I have you, right?”
“Fuck you.”
“I do. And you like it.”
Tight-lipped, Zhou Mi stared at the TV.
“You can’t deny that, can you?” He dropped a hand to Zhou Mi’s knee, palm warm through the thin wool blend. “Do you care who I fuck, Mi?”
In the unforgiving florescent lighting of the apartment, he looked tired. There were circles under his eyes. Zhou Mi knew the kind of ragged schedule Han Geng ran - heard about it through mutual acquaintances, remembered it from M days - and it was no surprise that he worked himself to the bone. Sacrifices he was willing to bear for his dreams had always been one of the things Zhou Mi had admired, after all. Yet for the lines on his face, the imperfections of his skin free of make-up, he still radiated some form of earnestness. Dependability. This was China’s landlord, their eternal son.
It was so much at odds with what lived inside him, as much bitterness and pettiness as there was grace and generosity. So much twisted enjoyment at playing others to his own tune. He loved his mother, true enough. Loved his fans. Loved as well the way they would defend him blindly and never think him capable of this, leaning forward and catching Zhou Mi’s mouth with his own.
He tasted of the sharp tang of beer, his mouth cold as Zhou Mi’s tongue slipped inside. His hand ran up Zhou Mi’s thigh, thumb running along the inner inseam of his slacks.
The heater in the window was still humming: early spring nights were still cold. Zhou Mi felt himself shiver under Han Geng’s hands for another reason altogether. He swallowed convulsively.
“Do you care who I fuck?” Han Geng murmured again, low and close. His lips skated across Zhou Mi’s jaw to his neck. His breath was hot. “You shouldn’t.”
His hand closed over Zhou Mi’s cock, half-hard and rising between them.
Silently and steadily, he rubbed at Zhou Mi’s erection through his clothes. His eyes were narrowed in concentration as he wrung aborted gasps from Zhou Mi with every firm rub of his thumb, every press of the heel of his palm. The rhythm increased and, with it, Zhou Mi’s pounding pulse. His hands clutched at the sofa beneath him. He knew the rules. No touching allowed. Not when Han Geng was getting him off.
The pressure built low in Zhou Mi’s spine until he had to bite back a groan. He came with a shudder and a hot flush of embarrassment, feeling the spreading warmth soaking into his briefs.
Han Geng sat back and watched him. He was still holding his beer with his free hand.
“Would you fuck a girl for your career?”
Zhou Mi clenched his hands. “No!” He might build bridges and make the most of his connections, but there were lines, goddammit.
Han Geng’s mouth quirked. He took a swig of his beer. “No, you probably wouldn’t fuck her. But you’d hang her on your arm and let the world think what they wanted, wouldn’t you? They’d leap to the wrong conclusion and you would let them, because it would help you. Just think of the scandal if they knew the truth.”
“I’m not you.”
Zhou Mi stood up, legs still trembling. He locked eyes with Han Geng for a long moment, staring with a sort of desperate hatred that he hadn’t felt in ages. So some part of him had once respected Han Geng and maybe still did, unwillingly. But Zhou Mi also hated him.
Turning, he stalked towards the bathroom to clean himself off.
Behind him, Han Geng laughed again. It was an ugly sound. “We’re more alike than you think, Zhou Mi.” Zhou Mi didn’t turn around. “It’s why we’re drawn to each other. Birds of a feather…”
I’ll never be anything like you, Zhou Mi thought furiously. He shut the bathroom door with emphasis.
***
Han Geng auditioned for SM mostly out of desperation. He lived the life of a poor student ready to risk anything to make it big. He had nothing to lose. This was all or nothing, and Han Geng always gave his all.
Zhou Mi auditioned by accident, through a friend. He had already been making inroads on a successful future career in the industry. He thought it was worth putting on hold to see this new opportunity out. Never overlook an opportunity, after all.
Han Geng trained for four years in SM before he could debut. He struggled to learn a new language, one that never felt familiar tripping off his tongue. He never felt at home.
Zhou Mi trained for a year and half before he debuted with Super Junior M. He was welcomed from the first by a dark-eyed boy with a bite of his food. If Korea wasn’t home, he had people there who made him feel like it could be.
Han Geng was the first foreign idol in Korea. He broke all kinds of new ground. He worked to his bones to hold his head up high, maskless and proud. He became the pride of a nation.
Zhou Mi entered an industry populated with foreign idols, a diversity used as a selling point. He faced an overwhelming anti-fan sentiment that chased down his every insecurity and laid it bare. He integrated himself as best he could in response.
Han Geng had enough of being treated like dirt for every ounce of blood and sweat he put forth. He knew he was worth more. He went home, where he’d always known he belonged. He built up a new empire, one that knew his value and respected it.
Zhou Mi worked the system instead, from inside. His name, tiny, went in the contributing lines of every Super Junior M album. He honed his language skills until it earned him an indispensable position in the group. He created his own value.
Han Geng said, “We’re more alike than you think, Zhou Mi.”
They were not, Zhou Mi realized, so different in the end.
***
Frost no longer curled across the window panes in the morning. Spring was in full bloom, quite literally, chilly sunlight washing over a colorful array of green buds and cheerful flowers. By some miracle, no one Zhou Mi knew was sick, though that hadn’t been the case just last week. It was like a collective bug, he reflected, that had gotten Ryeowook, Luna, and Donghae all at once, and had left them at the same time. At least it hadn’t been anyone he’d had to live with. While Henry whined with predictable misery when sick, Jungmo, maybe surprisingly, wasn’t much better. Zhou Mi lived a happier life not having to nurse either of them.
He waited by the door while Henry grabbed his jacket and took a whirlwind detour back into his room for his sunglasses and scrambled back out, socked feet sliding along the wood floor. “Ready!” he said. “Sorry!” He stuffed his feet into his sneakers, hooked them on from the back, and was out the door right behind Zhou Mi.
“Do you want to stop for coffee?” Zhou Mi asked, slipping his sunglasses over his nose as they stepped outside the building.
“Yeah,” said Henry eagerly. “We can go to that Paris Baguette on the corner. It shouldn’t be too crowded, right? I think the before-work rush is over.”
“Should we get something for Sujeong?”
“Maybe.” Henry looked doubtful. “He might’ve already had some though?”
“A second cup wouldn’t go unwelcomed, I think.”
Henry shrugged. “Sure, dude. I don’t really get this politeness stuff. All the rules are so complicated.”
Zhou Mi laughed. “It’s just being nice to people who help you out. It leaves them with a good impression, so they’re more likely to help you again. Building bridges.”
“Sounds complicated,” Henry repeated.
He seemed to conclude it was a convoluted adult thing he wasn’t ready to untangle and Zhou Mi wasn’t particularly up to the task of edifying him, not without caffeine to fortify him, at any rate. They picked up their coffees and an extra for their music producer with minimal fuss and then Henry flagged down a cab for them.
Studio today? Zhou Mi’s phone buzzed with a text from Kyuhyun on the ride.
yes!! :) what about you?
Can’t, unless it’s late. You free around 11?
drinks with Changmin. you want to come? he’d be happy to see you!!
Yeah, like I need to see his ugly face. I’ll call you when I’m done or you can text me where you are.
okay :)
Cheerful, Zhou Mi tucked his phone away. He chuckled when he saw Henry dozing again, head tilted against the window on his side of the car and baseball cap pressed awkwardly into his face. That kid could honestly sleep anywhere. It had to be some sort of life skill. A useful one in this business though.
The building was moderately busy when they arrived and they passed both familiar and unfamiliar faces on their way up to the studio. Henry got the door to 504B and held it open for Zhou Mi, who came in with a coffee in each hand. Sujeong had his back to them but turned upon their entrance.
“Hey, guys.”
“Hi!” Henry grinned. “We got you coffee.”
Zhou Mi extended his left arm in offering.
Sujeong laughed. “Good kids. You know how to treat an old man right.”
“You work so hard for us,” Zhou Mi said when Sujeong had relieved him of the coffee. He turned to set his own cup down on the back table so he could shrug off the bag he’d slung over his shoulder.
Sujeong patted Henry affectionately. “Pull up a chair. It’s good, we’re nearing the end now. You here for those touch-ups? We can probably start with Henry’s back-up track, if you’re ready?” His questioning look was met with a nod, so he continued. “And Zhou Mi, show me that song you have in mind. Adding a track at this late in the stage - doable, but it’ll require some long hours. At least you’ve already picked the title songs. Have you filmed the MV yet?”
“Yeah, just last week, actually. Through the night.”
Henry made a noise of discontent, muffled into his coffee. He could put in the long hours as required, but he still didn’t enjoy them. Unlike Zhou Mi, he wasn’t afraid to complain about them either. Zhou Mi just got snappish. He was still short on sleep, if he were being perfectly honest, but that was pretty much par for the course these days. Sujeong gave them both a sympathetic look.
“At least that’s out of the way. Let’s focus on getting the rest of this album finished and polished up.” While he turned to Henry to discuss the particulars, Zhou Mi rummaged through his bag for his composition notebook. Its corners were well-worn, having seen a lot of use the past few weeks; Zhou Mi had taken to carrying it everywhere with him so he could jot down ideas for lyrics and, tentatively, music. That was new, yeah. He’d been interested in composition for a long time now. After seeing Ryeowook or Henry at work over staved paper, after hearing Jungmo pick out melodies on his guitar, seemingly out of nowhere, Zhou Mi had wondered what it’d be like to create music like that. He thought he’d give it a shot.
He wasn’t a fast learner by any means. His current attempts at the basics were probably on par with his piano skills - far from being the next prodigy. All the same, it left Zhou Mi with a delicious curl of satisfaction in his stomach. He was slowly on his way to achieving another long-held goal.
There was a song floating in his mind too. A love song, of course. Something terribly sad, because those were the most romantic. He laughed a little to himself when he thought of it. It was nothing more than an idea at this point. Zhou Mi glanced down at the open page of the notebook and the mostly empty bars. The music sounded better in his head than written down, but he was convinced he’d get it right one day. The title was already there: 人生无憾. Life without regret. A story about a pair of lovers who were no longer together, who had suffered a painful separation, but who found that, for all the pain, they could never look back and regret their love. Or something silly and romantic like that. He’d thought of it after watching one of the recently airing dramas.
The point, perhaps, wasn’t the content of the song. It was instead the way Zhou Mi heard the song in his head: powerful and soulful. Chinese. A duet. He pictured the male voice in his own register and the female in another’s - Lara, perhaps. She had done such an amazing job with Jay Chou’s Coral Sea, after all.
Brushing the thought away, Zhou Mi flipped through his notebook until he found the pages he was looking for. Potential last track, Sujeong and Zak had suggested to them a few weeks ago, handing over a song Super Junior M’s manager had passed along to them. “Want to do the lyrics, Zhou Mi?” Sujeong had asked, once he’d played it for Zhou Mi’s benefit.
“I think I can manage something,” Zhou Mi had said.
And he had. Henry thought the lyrics were pretty good - or what half he’d understood, at any rate, he’d admitted freely with a boyish smirk. The others wouldn’t even bother asking for translations until it was time to record and they needed some understanding of the emotion behind the lyrics. Sujeong, however, looked pleased by them, reading over the translations Zhou Mi and a manager had cobbled together.
“Nice work, Zhou Mi. We’ll do a demo and see how everything sounds together, make any changes necessary.”
Henry piped in his opinions as they ran through a rough demo. The rest of the morning passed by in a blur. By the time Sujeong thought to order lunch, it was already nearing two.
“I’m so hungry,” Henry whined pitifully, pillowing his head on his arms on the table.
“Food’ll be here in ten minutes.”
“Oh, your phone buzzed a few times while you were recording.”
Zhou Mi checked his messages.
We’re still on for tonight, right?
Changmin. Zhou Mi sent back a cheerful of course!
Ran into Danson Tang the other day. He couldn’t quit talking about you and that time you showed him around Seoul. Anything you need to tell me?
Zhou Mi rolled his eyes. He thought about pointedly ignoring the text, but decided after a few minutes to respond.
I don’t need fuck my way through the business.
The reply came five minutes after the food did. Henry had yet to surface from his kimchi fried rice.
You’re a hundred years too early, Zhou Mi.
Zhou Mi waited until the long day at the studio wrapped up. In the elevator on the way down, he pulled out his phone and looked it, thinking about his reply. When he stepped outside, the sun was dipping below the horizon, the sky highlighted in pinks and oranges, and flickers of lights coming on all over the city.
Zhou Mi thought of the notebook in his bag with its unfinished song. Maybe after he finished that one he’d write a song for himself. A solo. He laughed a little at the thought. It would be a long time before he got to that point, considering the state of his composition skills. But someday…
He thought of Sujeong, who’d bid him goodbye with a hearty clap on the back and a warm, “You worked hard today.” He thought of meeting with Changmin and Kyuhyun later. He thought of Danson, who still spoke so well of him. He thought, too, of Han Geng - the darling of China, the dancing king, the good son and landlord of a billion hearts - and the way his eyes darkened when Zhou Mi knelt between his legs. The way he kissed Zhou Mi and taunted him and obsessed over him and, in a twisted and tangled way, drew him slowly back towards China, inexorably.
Don’t worry, Zhou Mi wrote. I’m coming home.
In his own time. In his own way.
There was another hour and a half before he had to meet Changmin for dinner. Zhou Mi tucked his phone away and started down the street, walking at a steady clip but with no particular destination in mind. He had some time to kill.
All the lines we cast will bring us home
It's a long way but I'm coming home
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***
All of SM’s official and unofficial policies regarding Han Geng couldn’t dictate where Han Geng’s own management put him: Marina Bay Sands was the premiere hotel in Singapore, ritzy and upscale, and so it was almost inevitable that they - being Asian superstars of similar caliber - would end up in the same place.
They were smarter than to risk meeting inside the hotel, though.
They were smarter than to be seen leaving together too.
Not quite sober - he’d had a few drinks with the group - Zhou Mi tugged on a cap and lost himself in the milling crowd at the bottom of Tower 2. Singapore’s thriving nightlife meant a constant throb of locals and tourists around Marina Bay - for the hotel, the restaurant atop it, the Infinity Pool, the casino, the Singapore Flyer, or the endless shops. There was always something to do or see or eat, even on a Thursday night. Zhou Mi loved it.
He loved, too, how easy it was to slip away unnoticed and hail himself a cab. “Marina Square,” he told the driver cheerfully. So normal. Just as if he were any local resident, off to meet his friends for the night. The driver didn’t look twice at him and didn’t seem inclined to chat. He left Zhou Mi in peace with his thoughts and his habit of staring out the windows at the passing lights. In front, the meter ticked up steadily.
It didn’t go far. They arrived before Zhou Mi knew it, jolting him out of his glassy-eyed stares.
A short ride, but it wasn’t as if he could have walked or hopped on the MRT. He paid and climbed out, then took a moment to survey the mall before him. Korea had its fair share of shopping centers, all of which Zhou Mi was proud to report his intimate familiarity. He and Victoria had seen them all at one point or another. Singapore, though, was another thing altogether. It felt like he couldn’t turn a corner without running into another mall, another cluster of shops, rising above the street in clean, modern lines but bursting with color and aromas at the same time. Where Seoul was dotted with hills and trees, Singapore stretched out nearly flat before him, unapologetically metropolitan and bustling with a young, energetic crowd. From their well-kept enclosures in front of buildings or lining street medians, shocks of tropical flora contributed to the overall foreign atmosphere. Singapore was not Seoul. Nor was it as familiar as Beijing, which was well-loved but cramped, crowded, and smoggy.
Here, Zhou Mi felt a wild flash of potential. Possibilities.
It made him a little giddy as he entered the shopping center - or maybe that was the alcohol. Maybe a little of both. He went hunting for a directory. From here to the karaoke place, wherever that was. A little online investigation had informed him that Marina Square had a KBOX; a darkened, private room was as discreet as they could get and close enough to their hotel that if they were missed it wouldn’t take long to reappear, playing innocent. Eyebrows would be raised at either of them checking into another hotel room, even more so if it were only for a few hours. So here they were.
He was first to arrive. He bowed and thanked the girl in awkward English when she led him to the room. She smiled and retreated back to the front desk. He wondered if she spoke Mandarin - she looked Chinese and he had been told that most Singaporeans were bilingual or multilingual. Zhou Mi hadn’t had much opportunity to actually chat with Singaporeans, despite Super Junior’s fairly frequent visits.
The room was as dim as he’d hoped, flashy disco lights revolving along the wall. Zhou Mi pulled up a number of old Super Junior songs, laughing to himself, and settled back against the couch to wait.
Han Geng slipped inside when the stereos were blasting Twins. The shell-shocked expression drew a giggle from Zhou Mi.
“Shit,” Han Geng said, shutting the door behind him. “Turn that off.”
“Look at your hair!”
“I’d rather not.”
On screen, a younger Han Geng danced front and center, eyes piercing even as his hair - fluffy and a hideous beige-gray non-color that offended Zhou Mi’s sensibilities - offset some of that intensity. Off screen, Han Geng grimaced as he dropped onto the couch beside Zhou Mi. “Can we not live in the past?”
“Haven’t you always said you’d never forget your roots?” Zhou Mi responded lightly, because he was in a good mood and he wouldn’t let Han Geng ruin it.
As Kibum took over the screen, Han Geng grabbed Zhou Mi’s chin in one hand. “Hey,” he said. His voice was low.
In the dark, it was hard to see his eyes, but Zhou Mi felt a shiver go up his spine anyway. The grip on his chin was firm and Han Geng’s intent clear. It wasn’t like Zhou Mi could claim surprise - he knew why they’d come here, after all. He’d initiated it, for once.
When Han Geng kissed him, his mouth tasted like coffee and something sweet. Zhou Mi let himself be pressed back against the couch, Han Geng leaning over from the side as his hand slid from Zhou Mi’s chin to cup his face, fingers pressing a little too hard to be gentle. When his teeth closed around Zhou Mi’s bottom lip and tugged, Zhou Mi let out a shuddery little sigh.
“You taste like…coconut?” he murmured.
“I had some toast with some sort of spread. Singaporean thing.” He shifted, putting one foot on the ground so he could nudge the other leg between Zhou Mi’s thighs. His mouth sealed over Zhou Mi’s again, hot, effectively silencing him from further inane comments.
Like it mattered what Han Geng tasted of. As long as he kept kissing Zhou Mi like that, as long as he kept that pressure on Zhou Mi’s crotch, tiny little rocks of his thigh against the fly of Zhou Mi’s slacks.
He was flushed hot from head to toe, his fingers winding desperately in Han Geng’s hair to keep him close. Fingers inched up his hip to hook in his waistband, and Zhou Mi’s stomach jumped at the touch, trembling.
Han Geng drew his mouth away, breath damp against Zhou Mi’s cheek. “Turn around.”
Heeding Han Geng’s tugs and nudges, Zhou Mi rearranged himself until he turned sideways on the couch, Han Geng spooned behind him rather than hovering over him. The heat from Han Geng’s body plastered to his back made Zhou Mi feel hotter than ever, almost feverish, but maybe that was only his own blood pounding furiously through his veins. Or the alcohol from earlier. Every touch seemed magnified in response, screaming along his nerves with sensation. Han Geng had deftly contrived sometime during this rearrangement to undo the button of Zhou Mi’s fly; Zhou Mi’s breath caught in his throat as the zipper was eased down over his aching cock.
He whimpered when Han Geng finally palmed him through his underwear. Han Geng nipped his ear, sharp. “Quiet.”
There was steel in his tone, like always, and Zhou Mi responded to it unthinkingly, as always. Under the cover of the music still blaring from the TV and speakers, Han Geng wrapped his hand around Zhou Mi and jerked him slow. His grip was a little too dry, a little too tight, but Zhou Mi bit his lip hard and thrust shallowly into his fist.
It felt a little surreal, jerking in response to Han Geng’s hand as Sungmin’s cheerful voice rang out to Haengbok in the background. At some point, Zhou Mi squeezed his eyes shut. His own hands had curled into fists beside him on the couch - Han Geng had murmured “Hands off” between nosing at Zhou Mi’s jaw and sucking kisses into his neck and Zhou Mi had frozen, lifting his hands away. His hips pumped to the rhythm of Han Geng’s hand on him, slick now with the precome that had dripped from the head of his cock.
Fuck. Zhou Mi swallowed the curse and choked for air as he came, dots dancing before his eyes. Han Geng’s tongue slid over a particularly sharp bite along his shoulder. He wrung out the aftershocks slowly, hand loosening.
When Zhou Mi caught his breath, eyes opening to meet Han Geng’s, his mouth went dry.
As Don’t Don came on, Zhou Mi twisted off the couch and sank to his knees between Han Geng’s spread legs. He licked his lips and fumbled at the zipper of Han Geng’s jeans, then licked his lips again, nervous and excited and dazed still as he freed Han Geng’s erection from its confines.
It didn’t take long. It took, in fact, exactly the length of Don’t Don. Han Geng was rock hard and on edge. His fingers dug into Zhou Mi’s scalp as he fucked Zhou Mi’s mouth, and he arched and spilled down Zhou Mi’s throat as Heechul screamed Super Junior in the background.
It was so strange as to be utterly real, because nothing could be this fantastically timed otherwise. Zhou Mi pulled off, wiping at his mouth, his knees aching on the hard linoleum floor. Han Geng’s head tipped back, exposing his throat, as he caught his breath. The light from the screen left him highlighted in pale, sickly blues and yellows while the colorful disco lights continued dancing along the walls, disconcerting. They gave Zhou Mi a headache.
He pulled himself back onto the couch, perching on the edge as he conscientiously dusted off the knees of his slacks. They didn’t speak for several minutes as Don’t Don wrapped up and the next song was cued. Zhou Mi glanced at the screen. Me. Super Junior M.
Himself on the screen, hair longer, shaped differently; black. Han Geng on the screen, smiling widely and expression open. It was a far cry from the lean body slumped beside him now, sex-drained and flushed, but expression as guarded as ever. Counter to that, his eyes spoke volumes in person, in ways that could never be conveyed on screen - Han Geng was careful to draw those curtains shut when cameras came about.
Zhou Mi was startled when Han Geng spoke. “Put something else in. Zhang Xue You or something. Chen Long. Whatever. I don’t want to hear all this crap.”
“Go put some in yourself,” Zhou Mi said, and he’d meant to sound churlish but he wasn’t that annoyed. It was hard to be after orgasm. He contented himself with making a face of discontent as he slid down the couch to the touchscreen controls.
By the time the opening strains of Frankie Wang’s As Long As You’re Happy sounded, they had both cleaned up and tucked themselves in, buttoned up neat and proper. Zhou Mi was fishing for the mic when Han Geng said, unexpectedly, “Hey, do lunch with me.”
Zhou Mi stared.
“Saturday sometime. I wrap up tomorrow but I don’t leave until Saturday afternoon. I know you guys are here through the show that night.”
Han Geng cocked a brow, as if he were extending some sort of challenge - and maybe he was. Lunch? The two of them?
“In public?”
“We don’t have to throw a parade or take out an ad in the newspaper, if that’s what you mean. You can wear all your usual disguises. Let’s get lunch. See a little more of Singapore.”
The last bit, thrown out casually, was the bait. Zhou Mi knew it; Han Geng knew it. Zhou Mi was dying to see more of Singapore than the inside of his hotel room and whatever scenery he glimpsed through the windows of rented vans and the occasional cab. He thought of his managers, earnestly pleading him to not do anything stupid. No catastrophes, Zhou Mi. He thought of the official company line regarding Han Geng.
What was Han Geng even getting out of this lunch date? It would be normal between friends, but they weren’t-
Zhou Mi pursed his lips. He wasn’t a risk-taker by nature. Some things were worth a calculated risk, certainly, but not everything. Zhou Mi was the frantic overthinker, a secretive planner beneath his spontaneously cheerful image. He worried and fretted over everything and sometimes - often times - that was tiring.
This thing with Han Geng wasn’t smart. Hadn’t ever been. Meeting here tonight itself had been a risk, but Zhou Mi had thrown caution to the wind. There was something in the air here, something that surrounded him like the clinging warmth, that made him think that maybe he could get away with more here, far from Seoul. He’d felt it as soon as he’d stepped out of the airport earlier that day; he’d felt it again arriving at Marina Square. Heady possibility.
“All right.”
Han Geng grinned. Zhou Mi still had no idea what he was gaining from it. “Eleven or so. I’ll text you.” He unfolded himself lazily from the couch and stood. “You should go back to the drinking party.”
Zhou Mi couldn’t taste the soju in his mouth anymore but evidently Han Geng had noticed it earlier. “What I do is none of your business.” It was a standard flippant answer. He’d never seen Han Geng take it so well before, however, with a hum and that grin again. He left as quickly and quietly as he’d entered, slipping from the darkened room into the halls and avoiding, Zhou Mi presumed, as many attendants as he could. It wouldn’t do for Han Geng to be caught here without a handy excuse.
It wouldn’t do for Zhou Mi to leave too soon after, either. Plausible deniability was what they needed, so Zhou Mi settled back into the couch and scrolled through available Taiwanese artists for songs he knew.
After he belted out Fan Fan and Lara then detoured through Wang Lee Hom and Jay Chou, Zhou Mi returned to the female singers and came across A-Mei. With a laugh, he sang If You’ve Also Heard in the original register - unlike Kyuhyun, he had no need to drop it. Feeling smug and self-satisfied, he ended on A-Mei’s Listen to the Sea.
Zhou Mi figured he’d killed enough time to leave safely by the time the last melancholy notes died off. Cap back on his head, he strolled out to the front counter to pay. Muffled music sounded from behind various doors; KBOX was doing pretty good business for a Thursday night. University students who didn’t have class on Fridays, maybe, or not until late. Zhou Mi sneaked sideways glances into the mostly dark rooms; he was pleased to find that he couldn’t see much.
The girl at the register wasn’t the same one he’d seen upon arrival. He hoped that was for the best. She wouldn’t have connected him, then, with the person who’d turned up later to join him in the room. Zhou Mi smiled at her as she rung him up. He found it a little strange that she wouldn’t meet his eye, looking embarrassed as she handed him his receipt.
“Thank you.” Maybe she was a fan? They sometimes ran into fans who got self-conscious as soon as they recognized the person standing in front of them as one of their favorite idols. Zhou Mi smiled at her again as he took his leave, but she continued to avoid his gaze, eyes glued to the countertop.
He shrugged and headed for the escalator, eyes wandering across the brightly lit mall. It buzzed with people, a cacophony of voices and background noise. There was food somewhere nearby - there was always food somewhere nearby, Zhou Mi thought. Whatever it was smelled delicious. He was mostly sober now, the haze from first the alcohol and then orgasm clearing away, and found that he was starving.
Half an hour later, he was back in the hotel clutching a few bags of chicken skewers, save the two he’d already eaten two while waiting for a cab. He found the majority of his bandmates still in the hotel room where he’d left them earlier, drunk and loud. Donghae and Henry had teamed up to annoy Siwon to some success and Eunhyuk was nearly passed out on Sungmin, his head cushioned on Sungmin’s thigh and Sungmin’s fingers threaded through his hair. The lowest of low tolerances, Zhou Mi noted with a snicker, which came of hardly ever drinking. Kyuhyun and Ryeowook were arguing about something very loudly, while nearby Yesung was lying on his back, poking at his phone. Shindong and Eeteuk were missing.
Zhou Mi’s offering of chicken skewers was met with a loud clamor of approval and he was nearly mauled in Henry’s efforts to get to the food. Kyuhyun eyed him with disquieting sobriety - damn his high tolerance - but he didn’t ask where Zhou Mi had gone.
“To get food,” would’ve been Zhou Mi’s ready quip, at any rate.
“Hey, don’t take my portion!” Ryeowook cried, wrestling Henry’s fourth stick from him.
***
Back in school, Chen Xin had been frequently reprimanded by their instructors for lacking drive. “Where is your ambition?” they asked disapprovingly. “You have talent, but talent itself is not enough if you do not put in the work.”
While Zhou Mi was sympathetic to his friend’s complaints about his repetitive scoldings, he was never subject to the same. His instructors saw both talent and drive in him and their critiques came more in the form of counsel: enunciate, gesture less, remember to rest your vocal chords. It’s good to push yourself, Zhou Mi, but not to hurt yourself.
He signed up for nearly every talent show, every holiday performance. Zhou Mi had never been particularly shy or reticent. He had been a lively child and thrived on positive attention. It translated in university to a love of performance, stage-fright cowed early into obedience.
He loved singing because he was good at it; he ate up the accolades with a dazzling smile. The compliments shored up his dreams, building them higher and higher. He had many aspirations where Chen Xin had few.
“Did you hear? That Korean group has a Chinese member!” Li Yuming told him all about Han Geng over lunch in the cafeteria one day. “My roommate says he’s from Beijing. I wonder what it’s like, going to another country where you can’t even speak the language to get famous.” She looked pensive. “I don’t think I would enjoy that. I want to be well-known here, in China.”
“It might be easier to be famous here once you’re established elsewhere,” Zhou Mi pointed out.
Still, she shook her head. “I’ll stay in China no matter what. It’s meaningless elsewhere. They won’t even understand what you sing!”
Zhou Mi had always found her rather hard-headed in certain beliefs. He privately thought it would be her stumbling block, the obstacle that kept her back from true success. She was close-minded about a lot of things, which limited in his opinion her ability to make the most of an opportunity. Besides, it wasn’t difficult to sing in another language: the foreign sounds were just another component of the music.
When he found out Chen Xin had submitted a video of him singing in Korean to a UCC competition, Zhou Mi didn’t think much of it. When he found he’d won, Zhou Mi found himself facing a fork in the road. He had goals and aspirations, much like everyone else, but he saw opportunity where some of them saw none.
“You don’t even know Korean,” Yuming exclaimed.
Zhou Mi shrugged and turned up the walkway to his building. Yuming tagged along behind, exasperated at the cavalierness in Zhou Mi’s attitude.
“I’ll learn,” he said.
***
“Overheated yet?” Han Geng asked him with false sympathy. He’d rolled his eyes pointedly when he’d seen the fashion scarf Zhou Mi had draped around his neck and kept needling Zhou Mi about it as they’d braved the sea of people in search the place Han Geng’s manager had discreetly booked under his name. Marmalade Pantry, Han Geng had said. Very popular, apparently. When they’d finally been seated, their table was tucked far enough in a corner that they wouldn’t likely attract unwarranted attention. It was a busy Saturday.
ION was gigantic. It was, the friendly cab driver had informed Zhou Mi, the newest of the malls lining Orchard Road. It was designed to be airy and bright and modern, and it was all of that in spades. Zhou Mi liked it immediately. It certainly hadn’t hurt that he’d passed signs for Louis Vuitton and Burberry on meeting up with Han Geng. The urge to shop tickled him but he squashed it for the time being. There might be time later… Or not, realistically speaking, as he’d sneaked out for a quick lunch before the afternoon run-through for the concert. The Saturday show wasn’t until six at least, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to squeak out the time.
Zhou Mi spared a moment to feel guilty about his managers. He then redirected his attentions to perusing the menu. He answered Han Geng with cool dignity as he flipped the page. “I’m fine, thanks.” While it was hot outside, undeniably so, the air conditioning inside the mall kept Zhou Mi at a perfectly comfortable temperature with his scarf.
Like Han Geng had any right to comment on fashion. He was a walking sartorial crime, with or without his stylists. Zhou Mi had some serious reservations about their work as showcased in Han Geng’s music videos.
“I’m surprised you came,” Han Geng said after they placed their orders and the waitress retreated. His gaze was assessing.
It made Zhou Mi want to squirm in his seat. He frowned. “Yeah?”
He supposed it was odd. He couldn’t remember the last time in the past two years they’d spent time in person that hadn’t involved sex in some form.
“They treat you a hell of a lot better than they ever treated me.”
“What?” Zhou Mi blinked. “The company?”
“Yeah. They certainly wouldn’t have given me the luxury of having a nice lunch out in whichever city we had to perform in. Must be nice, having all this freedom. I wonder when they changed their policies.”
Zhou Mi laughed mostly out of surprise. Han Geng’s resentment was a familiar thing, as much a staple of the past two years as the sex. But this angle of attack was almost absurd. “They don’t know. It’s not like I was given permission to saunter out to meet you. Honestly, I have to sneak back in before one-thirty and pray no one missed me too much.”
Han Geng looked faintly incredulous. “You sneaked out?”
“Of course I did. Even if they gave me freedom to wander around Singapore, which they didn’t, I’d still be forbidden to see you. Don’t you know, Geng-ge? You’re a touchy subject for the company.”
It couldn’t be said that Han Geng looked very remorseful or, in fact, penitent at all. The arrival of their drinks interrupted the conversation. Han Geng had gotten some sort of mango drink; Zhou Mi, conscientious of his throat as always, had gotten hot green tea with honey. He sipped at it and considered the man across the table.
“I don’t regret it,” Han Geng said quietly. He was strangely reserved today, aside from the barbs about the scarf. Zhou Mi knew Han Geng had his thoughtful side, the contemplative, compassionate side that made him dear to China’s media and his fanbase, but he rarely saw it for himself. Another unsettling factor to an already unsettling meeting.
Lips drawn tight at the corners, Han Geng looked unhappy and far older than he was in reality. “My contract was bullshit. The things they were forcing me to do just because they could - bullshit. They’ll always look down on foreigners, you know. They’ll always treat you worse than they treat their own citizens. They just don’t care as much when you’re not Korean.”
He met Zhou Mi’s eyes. “Am I wrong? Is it different for you?”
“Well,” said Zhou Mi. The drawn expression transformed into a little smirk on Han Geng’s face. He knew he wasn’t wrong. “Not exactly,” said Zhou Mi, irritated at the conclusions Han Geng was leaping to and more irritated that he couldn’t explicitly disagree. Damn Han Geng and his sure convictions.
“It is different,” Zhou Mi said at last. “I’m not worked to the bone the way you were. I’m not a - full member.” Official member. He would never have the same sort of true acceptance Han Geng had received, that Victoria and Amber and Jia and Fei received now. It meant he wasn’t expected (nor particularly welcome) to show up at official Super Junior events with the press or at awards shows or photoshoots. It wasn’t as bad as it had been - they made an effort nowadays to include him and Henry where they could, in SM Town activities, at least, if nothing else. On the whole, Zhou Mi tried to stay optimistic: This way he had more time to focus on developing Super Junior M tracks, putting his input in with Sujeong and Zak. He had more free time to shop and eat, to fly back to China once in a while.
He found that his gaze had dropped at some point. Looking up, Zhou Mi found Han Geng staring at him with pity in his eyes. It lent steel to his spine. Zhou Mi hated few things more than being pitied. He was not that pathetic. “I have good friends,” he said, “and a lot of connections. I have more input in our music. Super Junior M is getting more popular than ever. I have time to rest and visit China. You’re right, I have it much better than you ever did.”
Don’t you dare pity me.
Han Geng had the grace to look away.
After a moment, he drawled, “Well, I expect Eeteuk is still being his typical self. Hypocritical liar.”
It was always odd to hear Eeteuk’s name in Chinese but the substance of this bitterness was, again, not unfamiliar to Zhou Mi. Han Geng didn’t make it a practice of ranting to Zhou Mi the grudges he held, but the topic had come up before. For all that he still cared for most of the members, Han Geng had found it difficult - nearly impossible in some cases - to forgive some of them. Eeteuk was chief among them. His spineless inability to stand up to the managers and their outrageous demands, Han Geng had snarled, makes him a coward and a fool. And worse, he presents himself as a caring leader. He’s the most self-involved, mercenary little weasel I know. Any care he has for the other members comes secondary to his own interests. I was ten times the leader he was.
Yes, Zhou Mi had agreed at length. But he’s still there. You left.
The argument held little water for Han Geng, who’d only snorted. Don’t mistake that for nobleness on his part. He’s only too scared to take any risks without the group as his safety net. He needs to know there’s always something to fall back on while he climbs his way up the ladder.
Eeteuk had made far too many sacrifices, in Han Geng’s opinions. The welfare and well-being of his band members, primarily. He’s never looked out for me and then he accuses me of betraying them?
“Eeteuk is Eeteuk,” Zhou Mi said, diplomatic. Eeteuk wasn’t his favorite member. They weren’t that close, all told. But neither did he feel kindly enough towards Han Geng to feed his grudge.
Han Geng made no effort to hide his contempt.
“Weaselly as ever,” he concluded. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Ever thought about leaving, Zhou Mi?”
“What do you mean?”
“Going solo. Doing something on your own. I hear you’ve met a lot of people, made a lot of connections.” Han Geng grinned, and China’s favorite son was back. “And, of course, there’s always me. I know everyone. More importantly, they like me.”
“Are you implying they don’t like me?”
“Let’s be honest: you’re not the ideal boy next door that appeals to the older generation. You might be fashionable, but you’re a little too…” He waved at the scarf. “You know.”
Zhou Mi had come to this conclusion himself a long time ago. He didn’t, however, appreciate it coming from Han Geng. “At least the connections I’ve made are friends. I know they’re willing to help me if I need it. To be perfectly frank, I have no idea why you’re offering, considering that we’ve both agreed that we’re hardly friends.” This odd lunch outing notwithstanding.
“You can call it duty, maybe. An obligation to help out someone in similar circumstances. Mentorship, perhaps.”
“There’s no need to help me if you’re moved by pity, I already told you I’m doing fine-”
“Do you want to do a collab? Be featured on my next album?”
That drew him up short. Han Geng’s eyes were mischievous but he seemed otherwise serious. “We could even do a duet - you could sing, you know, and not just write lyrics or correct pronunciation or whatever it is you do for M. Get your foot in the door in China. Get to know the producers.”
Zhou Mi was saved from answering him when their waitress approached again with a tray bearing their food. Han Geng looked away from him to smile at her, charming, and she was visibly flustered as she set down their respective plates. The scent of fresh-baked bread made Zhou Mi’s mouth water, reminding him that he had eaten very little for breakfast as he’d known he’d be going out for lunch.
They put their conversation on hold as they ate. The clink of silverware against their plates and the hum of other conversations in the background was the only accompaniment to their meal. Zhou Mi’s mind overflowed with thoughts, jumbled and each vying for attention. The entire timeline of his acquaintance with Han Geng washed across his mind in short bursts of memories, from that initial meeting to the awkward times during Super Junior M, to the sex, frantic and dangerous, and the barbs, the endless disagreements, the strange fascination with each other that had pervaded everything, from the beginning. That unexplainable way they were drawn together, meeting up time and time again, despite how much they disagreed with and often disliked each other. Not friends, Han Geng had made clear multiple times. And yet this offer for a collaboration, for some possibility of advancing Zhou Mi’s career…
He wouldn’t put it past Han Geng to be offering mostly out of spite - some sort of twisted delight in seeing SM lose another artist, particularly a foreign one. More proof positive to the world, Han Geng would view it, that SM treated its artists like shit.
Petty. If Zhou Mi viewed it that way, he found the entire thing incredibly distasteful.
On the other hand, if he viewed it in light of his future… Everything Han Geng had said was true. It would go incredibly far in establishing a foundation for Zhou Mi’s career, wherever it went after Super Junior M. And it would, because Super Junior M was not forever. It couldn’t be. Zhou Mi wouldn’t let it be.
“Think about it,” Han Geng said when they parted ways later.
***
Zhou Mi thought about it. Over the next few weeks, it popped into his head with discomfiting regularity. It didn’t help that in between the Super Shows and the fine-tuning of the Super Junior M album, he ended up filming in Beijing. When the offer had come for him to be part of a Chinese drama, he hadn’t hesitated long before accepting. Opportunity. He didn’t turn those down. He didn’t leap at every opportunity, of course; being the worrier he was, he always feared where he might land if he leaped without looking, but his mental calculations tended to weigh heavily in favor of building bridges. Those were solid and safe.
“Of course!” he’d said, delighted. Bridges were good investments.
“Wah, how great!” said Ryeowook. “It’s always good to get experience in different things, too. My musical taught me a lot. I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun.”
“Do you think Siwon would have useful tips?” Zhou Mi had wondered.
“Don’t go to Donghae,” advised Henry.
Kyuhyun had only smirked when he’d heard. “Are you going to have a love story? Are you going to have to kiss a girl on screen?” With the rest of Zhou Mi’s dorm empty, he’d taken over the couch and stretched out along the length of it. Zhou Mi stood above him and slapped his thigh.
“Can you at least pretend to be happy for me?”
“I’m very happy you’ll get to kiss a girl on screen,” Kyuhyun said dutifully, the evil wretch. When he’d finally dropped the smirk, he’d said with surprising sincerity, “It’ll be a good opportunity for you.”
Later, he’d added, “You better call.” And, “Beijing, right? Hankyung’s there.”
Indeed. Zhou Mi hadn’t forgotten. Knowing he was going to be in Beijing, and being in Beijing, hadn’t helped the constant replaying of Han Geng’s offer. Getting a foot in the door, establishing contacts - the things Han Geng had offered stayed forefront his mind even as he was doing the self-same things: meeting directors, actors, actresses; establishing himself as a hard worker, a talent, someone they would be interested in working with again, someone they would support in his own ventures… It was always an ongoing process.
In the cramped dressing rooms behind set one day, while getting direction from a harried-looking producer and editing comments from one of the script-writers, Zhou Mi was distracted by the sound of Han Geng’s name.
One of the lead actresses was chatting with her make-up artist beside him. Her eyes were shut as her stylist drew carefully across them with liquid eyeliner. “He’s such a charmer,” she was saying, and her voice was trembling with laughter even as she held still. “He sent me a weibo message about how much he was looking forward to this drama. He wished us a lot of success.”
It planted a seed of doubt in Zhou Mi’s mind. Since he’d arrived in Beijing two weeks ago, he’d made a conscious effort not to see Han Geng, and hadn’t communicated with him beyond text messages. That changed that night, when Zhou Mi called.
“Did you have something to do with this?”
“What? Your drama?” A laugh rang in Zhou Mi’s ear.
“Tell me.”
“How far do you think I’m willing to go for you? We’re not friends. I don’t owe you anything. I made you my offer; it’s up to you whether or not you’ll accept it. I’m not going to pull strings for you heedlessly.”
The rebuff should have annoyed Zhou Mi but strangely relieved him. Han Geng wasn’t responsible for the drama opportunity. It had been stupid to think so. Zhou Mi was more than aware of his own strengths and the ability to make close friends and keep them was one he prided himself on. He had his own network of people willing to pull strings for him or drop a complimentary word in the right ear - all without Han Geng’s say-so, thank you very much.
They’d all offered to help him before, some more explicitly than others. Calvin Chen and Ken Wu leaped immediately to mind as two of the more recent, and rather more vocal, parties. Taiwan had been…a revelation of sorts and a reminder that he knew how to operate without Super Junior M as his defining factor. He recalled the years before Super Junior M, before SM at all, when he’d been pressing forward in his career as an individual. He knew how to do this, even if there was a bit of relearning in the process.
He thought of Han Geng again, flying solo after - how long had it been? Seven, eight years?
It wasn’t impossible, Zhou Mi mused. This potential future Han Geng was laying out before him like that legendary City of Gold. It was attainable. Of course, he didn’t have to go Han Geng’s route and file a suit, leaving in bitter terms and severing any number of long-standing relationships. It made far more practical sense to preserve good relations, to use his existing circumstances to his benefit. With M, Zhou Mi could reap the benefits of an established fanbase and a well-respected company with a lot of useful connections. With the time he had to himself, when M was on hiatus, he could foray into more individual activities, especially those based in China.
Zhou Mi held back a noise of surprise when someone touched his harm, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Your turn in the chair, Zhou Mi.” The make-up stylist nodded at him and his answering smile was reflexive. He seated himself in front of the brightly-lit mirror and stared vaguely at his reflection. Another day on set. Another scene to film.
Don’t burn bridges was an admonishment he remembered from his university day. Not if you want to succeed in the entertainment industry.
“-so you have to look like you hate him, even if you don’t. Got it?” Today it was the director ranting, frazzled. “Tell me you got it, I refuse to repeat myself. How many times do I have to repeat myself every day, we don’t have that kind of time to waste-!”
“Got it.” The leading lady laid a calming hand on his arm. Her smile was warm. “Don’t worry, director, we’ll do exactly as you said. Right, Zhou Mi?”
“Of course. We’ll make you proud.”
“Good,” snapped the director. “Hurry up. Your turn’s up next and we don’t have time to waste. Get ready.”
“Almost done,” promised the stylist.
The lights were hot when he stepped out under them a few minutes later. The cameras were rolling. As Zhou Mi moved into position, he reflected that it was something he’d been doing all his life, from the blocking on stage as an MC to getting behind a mic stand to sing, to arranging himself according to choreography during Super Shows. Timing was everything. You couldn’t miss the cue.
***
Chen Xin lacks ambition, the instructors wrote in their report. He has so much potential, but he fails to capitalize on possibilities.
Zhou Mi lacks foresight, the instructors said. He is passionate and he is driven, but he can’t always see the big picture. He focuses on what is in front of him and forgets to think of the long-term effects. Be careful of your voice, Zhou Mi. Be careful of your choices. Be sure they are carrying you where you want to go.
Zhou Mi took the criticism to heart.
***
The weather was turning; the cherry and plum trees were already budding and would soon bear a sea of pink-white blossoms on their bare branches. It was one of Zhou Mi’s favorite times of the year. It made him think of the traditional Chinese paintings, flowers and birds stretching across the canvas in delicate brushstrokes, made warm with touches of gentle color. Spring meant the end of winter, the closing of the door to the old year. Spring meant new beginnings.
Early spring also meant the last of the awards season celebrating the previous year. Curled up on the frankly uncomfortable couch in his tiny Beijing apartment, Zhou Mi watched Han Geng lit up with the bright stage lights, grinning widely and waving at the audience. In his other hand he held his award. It was his second of the night.
He was dressed in a neatly tailored suit, one even Zhou Mi approved of. The questionable stylists had not erred here. He looked happy, absolutely thrilled and grateful to be up there receiving this award. He had teared up the first time, voice choked as he thanked his mother and his fans. It’d made a pang shoot through Zhou Mi, watching.
Han Geng looked…like the leader Super Junior M had been lucky to have in its inception. Without his clout, his popularity, carrying them, they wouldn’t have managed to stay afloat. M had been his dream first. M had stopped being enough somewhere along the way. But for those two years they’d been seven, Han Geng at the helm, they had navigated the troubled waters with the unwavering belief that it would all turn out okay in the end. Han Geng had seemed so fervent, and so proud. He’d looked like his dreams had come true again.
Zhou Mi had respected him then, even if he hadn’t liked him. Despite what Han Geng thought, despite their arguments, despite the unusual arrangement they’d fallen into - Zhou Mi had admired him in a way. A way he had perhaps, he thought now ruefully, never let Han Geng know. All the same, it had been there and lingered still: the strength of Han Geng’s convictions and his willingness to make the necessary sacrifices. He might have faltered on occasion, like any human was bound to (and in the extreme circumstances to which Han Geng had been subject, it was amazing he hadn’t lost his way more) but he never let his doubts hold him back long.
He hadn’t seemed to fear the way Zhou Mi tended to. Or perhaps he was just better at conquering those fears.
The camera panned to the audience. It paused on Han Geng’s empty seat and zoomed in on the woman in the next seat. She was wearing a full-length gown in deep bronze, elegantly draped from one shoulder and tucked in at the waist with a tasteful pattern of tiny crystals across the bust. Zhou Mi had approved of her dress earlier as she’d walked down the red carpet on Han Geng’s arm, beaming and radiant. She was clapping now, that same brilliant smile from earlier making a reappearance and eyes shining like she couldn’t be prouder.
“What’re you making that face for?” Han Geng asked, emerging from the tiny kitchen with a fresh bottle of Tsingdao beer in one hand. “Are you still watching that awards show?”
Zhou Mi motioned at the screen.
“Girlfriend?”
“Are you kidding? I don’t have the time to spare for a girlfriend.”
Han Geng sat down on the couch and Zhou Mi gave him a sidelong look. “Haven’t you always talked about wanting to get married? Finding that perfect girl you can take home to your mom?”
“Yeah, well.” A shrug. “I don’t have the time right now. I’ll figure that out later. Work takes priority right now.”
Which explained why he’d taken the night off and invited himself over to Zhou Mi’s apartment, sure.
“You don’t have to date a girl to fuck her,” Zhou Mi said, deliberately crude.
Han Geng’s laugh still had that edge of mockery to it. He tipped the neck of his bottle in Zhou Mi’s direction, as if acknowledging him for that hit. “But I don’t need that when I have you, right?”
“Fuck you.”
“I do. And you like it.”
Tight-lipped, Zhou Mi stared at the TV.
“You can’t deny that, can you?” He dropped a hand to Zhou Mi’s knee, palm warm through the thin wool blend. “Do you care who I fuck, Mi?”
In the unforgiving florescent lighting of the apartment, he looked tired. There were circles under his eyes. Zhou Mi knew the kind of ragged schedule Han Geng ran - heard about it through mutual acquaintances, remembered it from M days - and it was no surprise that he worked himself to the bone. Sacrifices he was willing to bear for his dreams had always been one of the things Zhou Mi had admired, after all. Yet for the lines on his face, the imperfections of his skin free of make-up, he still radiated some form of earnestness. Dependability. This was China’s landlord, their eternal son.
It was so much at odds with what lived inside him, as much bitterness and pettiness as there was grace and generosity. So much twisted enjoyment at playing others to his own tune. He loved his mother, true enough. Loved his fans. Loved as well the way they would defend him blindly and never think him capable of this, leaning forward and catching Zhou Mi’s mouth with his own.
He tasted of the sharp tang of beer, his mouth cold as Zhou Mi’s tongue slipped inside. His hand ran up Zhou Mi’s thigh, thumb running along the inner inseam of his slacks.
The heater in the window was still humming: early spring nights were still cold. Zhou Mi felt himself shiver under Han Geng’s hands for another reason altogether. He swallowed convulsively.
“Do you care who I fuck?” Han Geng murmured again, low and close. His lips skated across Zhou Mi’s jaw to his neck. His breath was hot. “You shouldn’t.”
His hand closed over Zhou Mi’s cock, half-hard and rising between them.
Silently and steadily, he rubbed at Zhou Mi’s erection through his clothes. His eyes were narrowed in concentration as he wrung aborted gasps from Zhou Mi with every firm rub of his thumb, every press of the heel of his palm. The rhythm increased and, with it, Zhou Mi’s pounding pulse. His hands clutched at the sofa beneath him. He knew the rules. No touching allowed. Not when Han Geng was getting him off.
The pressure built low in Zhou Mi’s spine until he had to bite back a groan. He came with a shudder and a hot flush of embarrassment, feeling the spreading warmth soaking into his briefs.
Han Geng sat back and watched him. He was still holding his beer with his free hand.
“Would you fuck a girl for your career?”
Zhou Mi clenched his hands. “No!” He might build bridges and make the most of his connections, but there were lines, goddammit.
Han Geng’s mouth quirked. He took a swig of his beer. “No, you probably wouldn’t fuck her. But you’d hang her on your arm and let the world think what they wanted, wouldn’t you? They’d leap to the wrong conclusion and you would let them, because it would help you. Just think of the scandal if they knew the truth.”
“I’m not you.”
Zhou Mi stood up, legs still trembling. He locked eyes with Han Geng for a long moment, staring with a sort of desperate hatred that he hadn’t felt in ages. So some part of him had once respected Han Geng and maybe still did, unwillingly. But Zhou Mi also hated him.
Turning, he stalked towards the bathroom to clean himself off.
Behind him, Han Geng laughed again. It was an ugly sound. “We’re more alike than you think, Zhou Mi.” Zhou Mi didn’t turn around. “It’s why we’re drawn to each other. Birds of a feather…”
I’ll never be anything like you, Zhou Mi thought furiously. He shut the bathroom door with emphasis.
***
Han Geng auditioned for SM mostly out of desperation. He lived the life of a poor student ready to risk anything to make it big. He had nothing to lose. This was all or nothing, and Han Geng always gave his all.
Zhou Mi auditioned by accident, through a friend. He had already been making inroads on a successful future career in the industry. He thought it was worth putting on hold to see this new opportunity out. Never overlook an opportunity, after all.
Han Geng trained for four years in SM before he could debut. He struggled to learn a new language, one that never felt familiar tripping off his tongue. He never felt at home.
Zhou Mi trained for a year and half before he debuted with Super Junior M. He was welcomed from the first by a dark-eyed boy with a bite of his food. If Korea wasn’t home, he had people there who made him feel like it could be.
Han Geng was the first foreign idol in Korea. He broke all kinds of new ground. He worked to his bones to hold his head up high, maskless and proud. He became the pride of a nation.
Zhou Mi entered an industry populated with foreign idols, a diversity used as a selling point. He faced an overwhelming anti-fan sentiment that chased down his every insecurity and laid it bare. He integrated himself as best he could in response.
Han Geng had enough of being treated like dirt for every ounce of blood and sweat he put forth. He knew he was worth more. He went home, where he’d always known he belonged. He built up a new empire, one that knew his value and respected it.
Zhou Mi worked the system instead, from inside. His name, tiny, went in the contributing lines of every Super Junior M album. He honed his language skills until it earned him an indispensable position in the group. He created his own value.
Han Geng said, “We’re more alike than you think, Zhou Mi.”
They were not, Zhou Mi realized, so different in the end.
***
Frost no longer curled across the window panes in the morning. Spring was in full bloom, quite literally, chilly sunlight washing over a colorful array of green buds and cheerful flowers. By some miracle, no one Zhou Mi knew was sick, though that hadn’t been the case just last week. It was like a collective bug, he reflected, that had gotten Ryeowook, Luna, and Donghae all at once, and had left them at the same time. At least it hadn’t been anyone he’d had to live with. While Henry whined with predictable misery when sick, Jungmo, maybe surprisingly, wasn’t much better. Zhou Mi lived a happier life not having to nurse either of them.
He waited by the door while Henry grabbed his jacket and took a whirlwind detour back into his room for his sunglasses and scrambled back out, socked feet sliding along the wood floor. “Ready!” he said. “Sorry!” He stuffed his feet into his sneakers, hooked them on from the back, and was out the door right behind Zhou Mi.
“Do you want to stop for coffee?” Zhou Mi asked, slipping his sunglasses over his nose as they stepped outside the building.
“Yeah,” said Henry eagerly. “We can go to that Paris Baguette on the corner. It shouldn’t be too crowded, right? I think the before-work rush is over.”
“Should we get something for Sujeong?”
“Maybe.” Henry looked doubtful. “He might’ve already had some though?”
“A second cup wouldn’t go unwelcomed, I think.”
Henry shrugged. “Sure, dude. I don’t really get this politeness stuff. All the rules are so complicated.”
Zhou Mi laughed. “It’s just being nice to people who help you out. It leaves them with a good impression, so they’re more likely to help you again. Building bridges.”
“Sounds complicated,” Henry repeated.
He seemed to conclude it was a convoluted adult thing he wasn’t ready to untangle and Zhou Mi wasn’t particularly up to the task of edifying him, not without caffeine to fortify him, at any rate. They picked up their coffees and an extra for their music producer with minimal fuss and then Henry flagged down a cab for them.
Studio today? Zhou Mi’s phone buzzed with a text from Kyuhyun on the ride.
yes!! :) what about you?
Can’t, unless it’s late. You free around 11?
drinks with Changmin. you want to come? he’d be happy to see you!!
Yeah, like I need to see his ugly face. I’ll call you when I’m done or you can text me where you are.
okay :)
Cheerful, Zhou Mi tucked his phone away. He chuckled when he saw Henry dozing again, head tilted against the window on his side of the car and baseball cap pressed awkwardly into his face. That kid could honestly sleep anywhere. It had to be some sort of life skill. A useful one in this business though.
The building was moderately busy when they arrived and they passed both familiar and unfamiliar faces on their way up to the studio. Henry got the door to 504B and held it open for Zhou Mi, who came in with a coffee in each hand. Sujeong had his back to them but turned upon their entrance.
“Hey, guys.”
“Hi!” Henry grinned. “We got you coffee.”
Zhou Mi extended his left arm in offering.
Sujeong laughed. “Good kids. You know how to treat an old man right.”
“You work so hard for us,” Zhou Mi said when Sujeong had relieved him of the coffee. He turned to set his own cup down on the back table so he could shrug off the bag he’d slung over his shoulder.
Sujeong patted Henry affectionately. “Pull up a chair. It’s good, we’re nearing the end now. You here for those touch-ups? We can probably start with Henry’s back-up track, if you’re ready?” His questioning look was met with a nod, so he continued. “And Zhou Mi, show me that song you have in mind. Adding a track at this late in the stage - doable, but it’ll require some long hours. At least you’ve already picked the title songs. Have you filmed the MV yet?”
“Yeah, just last week, actually. Through the night.”
Henry made a noise of discontent, muffled into his coffee. He could put in the long hours as required, but he still didn’t enjoy them. Unlike Zhou Mi, he wasn’t afraid to complain about them either. Zhou Mi just got snappish. He was still short on sleep, if he were being perfectly honest, but that was pretty much par for the course these days. Sujeong gave them both a sympathetic look.
“At least that’s out of the way. Let’s focus on getting the rest of this album finished and polished up.” While he turned to Henry to discuss the particulars, Zhou Mi rummaged through his bag for his composition notebook. Its corners were well-worn, having seen a lot of use the past few weeks; Zhou Mi had taken to carrying it everywhere with him so he could jot down ideas for lyrics and, tentatively, music. That was new, yeah. He’d been interested in composition for a long time now. After seeing Ryeowook or Henry at work over staved paper, after hearing Jungmo pick out melodies on his guitar, seemingly out of nowhere, Zhou Mi had wondered what it’d be like to create music like that. He thought he’d give it a shot.
He wasn’t a fast learner by any means. His current attempts at the basics were probably on par with his piano skills - far from being the next prodigy. All the same, it left Zhou Mi with a delicious curl of satisfaction in his stomach. He was slowly on his way to achieving another long-held goal.
There was a song floating in his mind too. A love song, of course. Something terribly sad, because those were the most romantic. He laughed a little to himself when he thought of it. It was nothing more than an idea at this point. Zhou Mi glanced down at the open page of the notebook and the mostly empty bars. The music sounded better in his head than written down, but he was convinced he’d get it right one day. The title was already there: 人生无憾. Life without regret. A story about a pair of lovers who were no longer together, who had suffered a painful separation, but who found that, for all the pain, they could never look back and regret their love. Or something silly and romantic like that. He’d thought of it after watching one of the recently airing dramas.
The point, perhaps, wasn’t the content of the song. It was instead the way Zhou Mi heard the song in his head: powerful and soulful. Chinese. A duet. He pictured the male voice in his own register and the female in another’s - Lara, perhaps. She had done such an amazing job with Jay Chou’s Coral Sea, after all.
Brushing the thought away, Zhou Mi flipped through his notebook until he found the pages he was looking for. Potential last track, Sujeong and Zak had suggested to them a few weeks ago, handing over a song Super Junior M’s manager had passed along to them. “Want to do the lyrics, Zhou Mi?” Sujeong had asked, once he’d played it for Zhou Mi’s benefit.
“I think I can manage something,” Zhou Mi had said.
And he had. Henry thought the lyrics were pretty good - or what half he’d understood, at any rate, he’d admitted freely with a boyish smirk. The others wouldn’t even bother asking for translations until it was time to record and they needed some understanding of the emotion behind the lyrics. Sujeong, however, looked pleased by them, reading over the translations Zhou Mi and a manager had cobbled together.
“Nice work, Zhou Mi. We’ll do a demo and see how everything sounds together, make any changes necessary.”
Henry piped in his opinions as they ran through a rough demo. The rest of the morning passed by in a blur. By the time Sujeong thought to order lunch, it was already nearing two.
“I’m so hungry,” Henry whined pitifully, pillowing his head on his arms on the table.
“Food’ll be here in ten minutes.”
“Oh, your phone buzzed a few times while you were recording.”
Zhou Mi checked his messages.
We’re still on for tonight, right?
Changmin. Zhou Mi sent back a cheerful of course!
Ran into Danson Tang the other day. He couldn’t quit talking about you and that time you showed him around Seoul. Anything you need to tell me?
Zhou Mi rolled his eyes. He thought about pointedly ignoring the text, but decided after a few minutes to respond.
I don’t need fuck my way through the business.
The reply came five minutes after the food did. Henry had yet to surface from his kimchi fried rice.
You’re a hundred years too early, Zhou Mi.
Zhou Mi waited until the long day at the studio wrapped up. In the elevator on the way down, he pulled out his phone and looked it, thinking about his reply. When he stepped outside, the sun was dipping below the horizon, the sky highlighted in pinks and oranges, and flickers of lights coming on all over the city.
Zhou Mi thought of the notebook in his bag with its unfinished song. Maybe after he finished that one he’d write a song for himself. A solo. He laughed a little at the thought. It would be a long time before he got to that point, considering the state of his composition skills. But someday…
He thought of Sujeong, who’d bid him goodbye with a hearty clap on the back and a warm, “You worked hard today.” He thought of meeting with Changmin and Kyuhyun later. He thought of Danson, who still spoke so well of him. He thought, too, of Han Geng - the darling of China, the dancing king, the good son and landlord of a billion hearts - and the way his eyes darkened when Zhou Mi knelt between his legs. The way he kissed Zhou Mi and taunted him and obsessed over him and, in a twisted and tangled way, drew him slowly back towards China, inexorably.
Don’t worry, Zhou Mi wrote. I’m coming home.
In his own time. In his own way.
There was another hour and a half before he had to meet Changmin for dinner. Zhou Mi tucked his phone away and started down the street, walking at a steady clip but with no particular destination in mind. He had some time to kill.
All the lines we cast will bring us home
It's a long way but I'm coming home
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