In Pieces
Again, I can't explain. And... I have to actually work to avoid HeeChul. He's like Atobe. Always in my SuJu fics. One day, maybe he'll get his own, too.
Two things happened to Yesung while the members of Super Junior M were in China.
First, he realized he had, at some time, some how, without really noticing, fallen in love with Hankyung. At least he’d noticed at a time when Yesung didn’t have to hide it so much, and it gave him a chance to adjust and to learn how to act normally -
Because if he’d given up M.I.R.A.C.L.E. for You because he wanted to concentrate on his singing, then he certainly didn’t have any time for love. Even if the other person worked so closely with him. Which could be debated, frankly, and he had even less time for a long-distance relationship.
Second, HeeChul (who knew how) found out about it, and confronted him.
Too stunned to deny it, he’d just stared at the older man, who then pulled him into the nearest room (Yesung’s, thankfully), made him sit down, and pumped him for details.
Yesung - who could not resort to the defense that he’d drunk too much - spilled it all. To HeeChul, of all people, but even knowing that his secret wouldn’t stay that way long, it felt better to get it off his chest. And he could hope that the gossip (yes, they gossiped) would die down by the time Hankyung got back. But there was no gossip, and he gave thanks that HeeChul had learned to keep his big mouth shut.
So, imagine his surprise when, three days after the subgroup had returned from China, he walked into the kitchen with a glass for water, and found HeeChul and Hankyung kissing.
His glass fell from suddenly nerveless fingers, shattering on the kitchen floor, and he didn’t notice. He took one, two steps forward - and then Heechul looked over Hankyung’s shoulder. Yesung immediately looked down, saw the glass, and stopped. He knelt down, and began to pick it up.
Everything had gone numb, all of a sudden, and none of the words shouted around him quite pierced the cotton-batting that had wrapped itself around him.
“What are you doing?”
Except those, heavily accented, sharp with worry and something he couldn’t - wouldn’t - identify. But it made his hands clench around the pieces of glass he’d already picked up, and they cut into his palms, his too-small fingers, blood dripping unheeded to the floor.
Someone picked him up, arms wrapped around him from behind, a vice across his chest already tight with pain. He dropped the glass pieces, futilely trying to get whoever to let him go with fingers slick with his own blood. Someone else lifted his legs and they moved until he lay on the couch, still held by that vice across his chest, leaning on… whoever.
He could see people running around but not who, unwilling to focus his eyes on anyone. Something - someone? - tugged on each foot, gently, strangely, and then he felt that same strange tugging on his knee. His hands felt wrapped in cotton, too, and he thought it might be safe to look at that (no faces there, most likely). The white towel was stained red, but looking down had been a mistake, because he knew whose arms held him.
NO! He struggled to get free, but something - someone - clamped down on his legs, too. More shouting sounded around him, words he couldn’t understand, and he struggled harder, biting his bottom lip because screaming the words in his head would only make it worse….
And then white obscured his vision, and something sharp pricked his arm, and he gratefully fell into the beckoning darkness.
Seriously? Don't ask. I don't know.
Two things happened to Yesung while the members of Super Junior M were in China.
First, he realized he had, at some time, some how, without really noticing, fallen in love with Hankyung. At least he’d noticed at a time when Yesung didn’t have to hide it so much, and it gave him a chance to adjust and to learn how to act normally -
Because if he’d given up M.I.R.A.C.L.E. for You because he wanted to concentrate on his singing, then he certainly didn’t have any time for love. Even if the other person worked so closely with him. Which could be debated, frankly, and he had even less time for a long-distance relationship.
Second, HeeChul (who knew how) found out about it, and confronted him.
Too stunned to deny it, he’d just stared at the older man, who then pulled him into the nearest room (Yesung’s, thankfully), made him sit down, and pumped him for details.
Yesung - who could not resort to the defense that he’d drunk too much - spilled it all. To HeeChul, of all people, but even knowing that his secret wouldn’t stay that way long, it felt better to get it off his chest. And he could hope that the gossip (yes, they gossiped) would die down by the time Hankyung got back. But there was no gossip, and he gave thanks that HeeChul had learned to keep his big mouth shut.
So, imagine his surprise when, three days after the subgroup had returned from China, he walked into the kitchen with a glass for water, and found HeeChul and Hankyung kissing.
His glass fell from suddenly nerveless fingers, shattering on the kitchen floor, and he didn’t notice. He took one, two steps forward - and then Heechul looked over Hankyung’s shoulder. Yesung immediately looked down, saw the glass, and stopped. He knelt down, and began to pick it up.
Everything had gone numb, all of a sudden, and none of the words shouted around him quite pierced the cotton-batting that had wrapped itself around him.
“What are you doing?”
Except those, heavily accented, sharp with worry and something he couldn’t - wouldn’t - identify. But it made his hands clench around the pieces of glass he’d already picked up, and they cut into his palms, his too-small fingers, blood dripping unheeded to the floor.
Someone picked him up, arms wrapped around him from behind, a vice across his chest already tight with pain. He dropped the glass pieces, futilely trying to get whoever to let him go with fingers slick with his own blood. Someone else lifted his legs and they moved until he lay on the couch, still held by that vice across his chest, leaning on… whoever.
He could see people running around but not who, unwilling to focus his eyes on anyone. Something - someone? - tugged on each foot, gently, strangely, and then he felt that same strange tugging on his knee. His hands felt wrapped in cotton, too, and he thought it might be safe to look at that (no faces there, most likely). The white towel was stained red, but looking down had been a mistake, because he knew whose arms held him.
NO! He struggled to get free, but something - someone - clamped down on his legs, too. More shouting sounded around him, words he couldn’t understand, and he struggled harder, biting his bottom lip because screaming the words in his head would only make it worse….
And then white obscured his vision, and something sharp pricked his arm, and he gratefully fell into the beckoning darkness.
Seriously? Don't ask. I don't know.