Rapprochement
Title: The Origin of Men
Pairing: Hanchul
Rating: PG-13
Words: 3822
Summary: Because we are where we are not.
Notes: A lot of this is an homage to Stormy Weather by Carl Hiaason (and basically everything I've ever read/watched ever), but if you haven't read it, it doesn't really matter. If you have, then you'll know. Pictures from the prompts bank at cateris.
This is all, in its entirety, for pregnantcigar.
IN SLEEP by Lissie
There are these pastries, common in Chinese bakeries. Roughly translated, it means "chicken tail bun," because of its narrow shape and no resemblance whatsoever to the better end of a chicken. One of these pastries, currently being liberated from its cellophane wrapper by the assistance of Hankyung's teeth, has to endure the disappointment of not being consumed immediately, because the man holding it has suddenly just stopped all anatomical movement. “What did you say?”
“Guess who’s coming stateside,” Sunle repeats, but there’s no real need to guess.
“Yasser Arafat,” Hankyung says, hopefully.
“He’s dead, mate.”
“Fuck.” Hankyung stares down at his phone, where several drafts of potential Weibo updates are spread across multiple windows. “You think I should mention it?”
“Better not,” advises Sunle. “I mean, you’re not even sure how you feel about it.”
The cable installation truck in front of them lurches forward a couple more feet. Their van, windows streaked with Beijing condensation, follows suit. Two-lane highways in this city should be declared extinct, or at the very least, an unrealistic expectation of human courtesy. Especially right now, when all he wants to do is to get home as quickly as possible, if only just to sleep and fall into a blissful unawareness.
Because contrary to what Sunle might believe, Hankyung is almost certain that the surge of panic rising in the back of his throat is still a pretty strong emotive indicator.
“Hang on, I’ll be in Mongolia,” he realizes suddenly. “I might not even get to see him.”
“Actually,” says Sunle, flipping through the schedule, “you could, conceivably, bump into him on his last day here. Your flights overlap by twenty-two minutes.” He tilts the screen on his phone so Hankyung can see.
Oh, so close. “Fuck,” Hankyung says again.
XXXO by M.I.A.
And then the plane went up.
And then the plane came down.
Lately, airplanes have become kind of a thing. There's no bigger gesture.
He figures it out through a closed captioning typo during a late-night drama; the word was “actual” but all they caught was the end, “chul.” Actual; act, Chul. A message from above. It’s also retaliation against any pending doubts that he’s lost the capacity to control his own social life. Heechul’s still baffled over how the tv producers actually had the guts to look him in the eye and ask, are you two still close?
What the fuck did that have to do with anything? This wasn’t lifestyles of the rich and famous. Sure, Heechul had answered. Only six hundred miles.
And he wasn’t Superman, so that was where the plane had come in.
In hindsight, it might have been an overreaction.
He’s getting good at those too. Take the contract critics - Heechul doesn’t understand them either. First of all, it makes them sound like they’re all idiots. Second, he’d love to see anyone try to ignore the groin grab that is a promise of thirteen years of uninterrupted idol status. A special kind of citizen. Free passes to all the amusement parks!
Hey, if it can happen to Kyuhyun, it can happen to anybody.
One assumption that is correct, however, is that none of them are very good negotiators. Which explains why Hankyung’s way of negotiating was to drop a bombshell at their feet, then spin on his heel and walk away. Singe some eyebrows, shatter some illusions, and not just because he knows ballet.
Haha, thinks Heechul.
But whatever, he’s over it. Now he’s actor Chul. In the middle of the Middle. Heechul stuffs the remaining few pretzels he'd gotten for free on the plane into his mouth, jiggling his knee on top of his carry-on. Oh, there he is. He gives a little wave, then picks up his luggage and heads over to Zhou Mi.
“Hyung.” Considering the look on the other man's face, he probably didn’t even expect him to make it out of Seoul. “How was the flight?”
“It was okay. Shorter than I remember.”
A beat. “And what would you like to do now?”
“Don’t get any ideas, Mimi. I’m here to work.” Shit, he knows that look too. “Okay, fine, I’m not here to work.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Shock and annoy, words Heechul have been taught to live by. He says the first thing that pops into his mind. “Let’s go shopping.”
SOLITUDE IS BLISS by Tame Impala
“For chrissakes,” Hankyung mutters.
It’s July, so it doesn't stop raining. And after the rain, it gets cold. He has a momentarily glimpse of a world consolidation effort, each specialty based on regional weather. There could be ten thousand ice cream factories sitting on top of the Mongolian tundra -- imagine what that would do for tourism -- Italian chefs buried under animal skins, teaching locals and former Silicon Valley CEOs alike how to make gelato. No need for climate control.
A loud battering of rain on his hotel window brings him back.
Nowadays, Hankyung chases a shot of reality with a dog-earred book of Sudoku, because doing fucking math was somehow less complicated than dealing with his life. He ends up scribbling out all these matrices and trying to linear algebra his way into some insight of a solution (in other words, cheat); he didn’t even think he could remember this stuff.
The x didn't formally enter the Chinese language until mathematics, and then it stood for a bewildering article of the unknown variable, something amidst all other known spatial vector components, described and embedded within rational integers, and only solving would yield the magic number, the holy grail, the keystone. Hankyung supposes many a metaphor could now be applied: forever searching, life as one big math problem, x being a greater purpose intended by the cosmos.
As Frederick Sommer said to all aspiring artists, Honor thy father and mother: leave home. Hankyung had no clue where to begin, so when he was eighteen, that's just what he did.
Apparently, it was the wrong call.
Sunle walks by. “What are you doing?”
“Math,” Hankyung answers truthfully.
“Loser,” says Sunle, leaning over his work. "That's a lot of x's."
Yeah, Hankyung thinks. A lot of exes.
Like all really cool people, Zhou Mi is more resilient than he looks.
Still, the fifth time Heechul plonks down a pair of platform heels on the counter -- electric blue patent that puts a glare in his eye -- he has to say something. “Tell me this is part of some master plan.”
Heechul winks at him over his sunglasses. “You seen our setlist yet?”
He hasn't, but Zhou Mi expects he will soon. "There are heels involved?"
"Oh yeah."
Soon after they first met, Zhou Mi had spent a significant amount of his free time giving Heechul piggybank rides. He has to admit, not much has changed. But then again, you'd have to be downright crazy to deny Heechul anything.
There's a unique sense of irony here, Zhou Mi thinks. "Cher as Cleopatra?"
"It's easier than that, Mimi," Heechul holds up a rhinestone-studded bracelet shaped like a cube. "Who's the only girl you've ever noticed?"
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Heechul is in love with Hankyung.
Back when they were still living together and the biggest fights they had involved Hankyung stealing Heechul's shampoo, any associate roommate would quickly became familiar with the sight of Heechul pounding on Hankyung's door, demanding he come out and own up to his hair care product thievery like a man. It takes a little while longer to realize that Heechul doesn't just pound on the door for anybody.
This kind of intimacy is hard to replicate, especially in a post-lawsuit world. But nothing is impossible, and credit should still be given to Heechul for engaging Hankyung in the most extended version of the awkward game that has ever been played.
A hand lands on Hankyung’s knee. What color am I thinking of?
Blue.
No. Guess again.
What are you doing?
Guess.
Christ, Heechul. Green.
No. Aw, and I thought you knew me.
Well you definitely know me, Hankyung would say dryly at this point, Heechul's fingers resting comfortably against his inner thigh. Really it was a contest of bravery, Heechul's hand inching up his leg against his ability to ignore it.
Quite honestly, Hankyung is the world champion of ignoring Heechul.
But one thing they never had to deal with before was real awkwardness. Nowadays, if Heechul wants to get a blood rush to the point of capsizing, all he has to do is pick up the phone.
"So how was LA?"
"Great, it was great. But I'm coming back."
"You're coming back? To Korea?"
"Yeah, of course, what did you expect?"
"I don't know, I just didn't think they'd let you, and not so soon, after all that's happened."
"I think I'm the best judge when it comes to what I should or shouldn't do."
"If you say so. You have any idea where you'll be living? I mean, considering how you're not supposed to be here, and SME will rage at you for all of eternity if they find out."
"No, but I have some time to figure it out."
"Well, you can stay with us. That extra room at our place? It's yours."
"Thanks," Amber says gratefully.
“So how was LA?”
“Shit," says Hankyung, because that was ages ago. "I mean, great. LA was great. LA was running around, bumping into people whose names ended with Torres or Wojcicki or James Duncan. How's Beijing?"
"It's good," answers Heechul. "Beijing is running around, bumping into people whose name is Zhou Mi."
"Oh yeah, you and Zhou Mi. How is he?"
"He's perfect."
"Thought so. Did he take you around the city?"
"Yeah, we went shopping. I'm actually here for work though."
"Right," says Hankyung. "Me too. Except, uh, I'm not--"
"I know," says Heechul. "I heard."
"But, I mean, when are you leaving?"
"Same day you get back."
"Right. Huh."
Then silence.
“God, they should sell this stuff in bottles,” Heechul says finally. “Man, what a trip.”
Hankyung laughs. "I'm sorry," he says. "It must be the jet lag."
On his end, Heechul rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that must be it."
BOY by Ra Ra Riot
The last time Hankyung was in Korea, they gave it their best shot. Heechul was going to pick him up after he signed a few key documents at the lawyer's office to secure his prolonged progression towards artistic freedom. His hands were shaking so badly that it took twenty-five minutes longer than he expected -- they had to get another copy so he could try again -- and Hankyung had walked outside to find Heechul parked at a meter, slathering Persa-gel along his lower jaw.
"I'm breaking out like crazy," he told Hankyung, unnecessarily. Heechul looked terrible. Hankyung wondered if it was the upcoming album release. Unfortunately, there was no longer a good way to bring up the inquisition.
They decided to get coffee. In Hankyung's opinion, the only thing more ridiculous than the two of them getting coffee was the way he fucked up his own signature not less than half an hour before. But you pull what he pulled, and your options narrow significantly. Small talk was also out of the question, so Hankyung settled back in the seat, renewed his familiarity with the ads on the radio.
They went to a Starbucks, ordered their drinks, found an empty table. Heechul clutched his vanilla latte and stared intently at the tabletop. Hankyung felt like an ass.
The worst feeling in the world was having nothing left to say. Or rather, having plenty, but not being able to say it.
It grew so uncomfortable that Hankyung was tempted to start a fight, just so they could interact like normal people again. But before he could give in to that little bit of psychosis, Heechul had drained his cup, was standing up to leave. Since he was the ride, Hankyung had no choice but to follow.
It was jaw-dropping, mind-numbing unease, the way Heechul looked at him like he didn't know him, the way they couldn't talk anymore. Amidst his newfound happiness, this was the one thing that was eating away at its edges. It was infuriating, it was frustrating -- to hell with it, it was fucking depressing.
But it wasn't until Hankyung was on the plane ride home that he realized what he should have done. If you don't have the words, take action. He should have kissed him.
It was the right thing to do.
Zhou Mi arrives on set just as they're wrapping up. He's furious.
"He's in Mongolia!" Everyone turns to look at him, but he doesn't care. It's not like they know what he's saying anyway, since he's speaking in Korean.
Heechul shows no surprise at his outburst. “Don’t sweat it, dongsaeng,” he says absently, pulling off a jacket. “One country off, but I’m used to it.”
"It's not your fault," Zhou Mi says flatly. "He's being a jerk."
"He's not," Heechul says, suddenly curt. "It's not like he decides his schedule--"
They blink at each other.
"Shit," Heechul mutters, then sighs. “Let’s go get a drink.”
HOLES by Mercury Rev
Fifty bucks worth of cocktails in him, Zhou Mi is on the rampage. Even Heechul has a tough time defending in place of an absent friend.
“He is a lover,” he says, then coughs. “Of music-“
“If he was such a lover of music, he’d leave it to other people.”
“Ouch,” Heechul grins.
“Listen, you don’t have to protect him. I am like, personally offended. My fellow countryman, you know?”
“Are we still talking about music, or are we talking about the fact that he fucked you all the way to Qingdao and back? And not in the fun sense.”
Zhou Mi looks impressed he can pronounced Qingdao. “Music, Heechul. Stick with me.”
“Sorry. You were saying?”
“He used to have good taste,” the other man gripes. “But he seems to have abandoned it in place of, you know. The silver tongue of corporate forces. Delusions of grandeur. You’ve heard it before, right? Do what you know. Write, sing, dance what you know. He seems to have forgotten that.”
“Yeah, okay, but if it makes him happy-“
“Is he?” Zhou Mi growls, which is pretty alarming. “Do you know if he’s happy?”
“He looks happy.” He avoids eye contact. “I don’t know.”
“Either way, it’s not even going back to his roots, or whatever he said he wanted to do. The only thing that’s Chinese in his songs is the language they’re written in. He’s trying to sell his experience, but,” Zhou Mi eyes Heechul carefully, “that’s not Chinese either.”
“Look, Mimi,” Heechul says tiredly. “We’re in the business of Asian entertainment. You can’t afford to be so purist about it. I mean, the guy still has bills to pay.”
“He can be, that’s my point. But he doesn’t. And it’s just, it’s just,” Zhou Mi shakes his head. “Poor representation.”
“So?”
“Come on, we’re Chinese,” Zhou Mi breathes harshly through his nostrils. “You know what kind of pressure we’re under?”
JUST A DREAM by Nelly
It's not like he had been expecting the knock on his door at three in the morning, but then again, neither is he surprised. “So what about Mongolia?”
A shrug. “I ditched.”
“Slacker.” Heechul steps aside to let him in. The guy strolls past him with his back held straight, his shoulders set. A man with a plan.
Well, fuck his plan.
“It is seriously cold up there," Hankyung tells him. "In July, can you believe it?”
The rhetorical nature of the question hangs awkwardly in the air. Heechul, thinking he should at least pretend that he could do better than last time, struggles to break it. “Hey now,” he snaps his fingers. “So neither of us came here to work.”
Hankyung smiles. “I can’t say I’m surprised.“
Heechul snorts. “I didn’t come here for you and your impressive orthodontics either, asshole.”
“Then what?”
“Closure,” says Heechul. The best choice on the menu. The most heart-healthy.
“Closure,” Hankyung repeats, slowly. “I -- Heechul. I’m sorry. I don’t know what that means.“
“Are you kidding me?”
“I’m not.”
“Oh my god. Okay, just, think about it this way. Shit, wait, I don’t know. I guess it’s like, I don’t -- I don’t want to be hurt by you anymore.”
Hankyung's mouth falls open. "You don't want to be hurt--"
"Anymore. No more. I mean I'm done. Done with you -- and just. I'm done."
“So," Hankyung stares at him. "You want, like, a flat-rate fee on our relationship? Up until this point, you’ll feel something, and then that’s it? You're through?”
“Yeah," says Heechul. "Something like that.”
“You want numbness, Heechul," Hankyung says, coldly. "It’s not up to me.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Heechul snaps. “That’s so classic you all over again, refusing to take responsibility--"
"Not taking responsibility?" Hankyung says in disbelief. "I'm trying to do something here -- that's not taking responsibility? It's what I want, Heechul -- why can't you be happy for me?"
"Because we've already decided that what you want isn't exactly the best driver for what is essentially my life--"
"--since when was it all about you?"
"--since when was it all about you?"
Hankyung draws a sharp breath. Heechul stomps to the bed, sits down, then stands back up again.
"This is stupid," says Hankyung finally.
"It's not stupid. It's necessary. I mean, if you can't recognize that I need space--"
"Hey, we have plenty of that--"
"Shut up. I mean it, okay? Because I can't, I can't -- I mean, I'm better now, but man. I was fucked up."
"So's this," Hankyung mutters.
"Hurts, doesn't it?"
"Heechul--" Hankyung begins, then groans, grabs his wrist and, very carefully, kisses him.
Years ago, before Hankyung began leaving on a regular basis, they had been drinking. At home, in one of the spare rooms, like the weird recluses they were, they had been drinking, it had been raining, it had been cold. They were sharing a blanket and a 25 oz bottle of soju, backs braced against the wall, a few platonic inches between them.
They had been talking about god knows what, when Heechul had turned to him and said something that nearly startled him out of his borderline drunkenness.
You ever think that without an audience, we aren’t who we think we are? I mean, our whole relationship, as an independent concept, was crafted and stabilized by the reactions of people who we knew would like it.
What I'm trying to say is, said Heechul, do I really feel what I feel towards you? Or do I feel it only because I'm answering to the people who need to, want to see it?
We've had plenty of time behind the camera, said Hankyung. He exhaled deeply. He was vaguely aware of a strange nervousness ramping up in the pit of his stomach.
If I love you, Heechul started to say. He let it hang in the air for a moment, then leaned over, pressed a sloppy kiss to Hankyung's cheek. If I love you, it also means I trust you.
When he pulls back, Heechul is glaring at him. "So what's your point?"
Hankyung lets him go. "The point is, I'm sorry. The point is, I've started something now and you get to finish it. But first you have to hear me out."
“I know you think that this whole thing was about ego, but it's not. And being with you guys all the time -- I couldn't get away from something I wasn't even sure I liked. Being dragged along to do things, you know, all that smiling, but I had other ideas. It felt like I was losing sight of why I left in the first place. I mean, how fucked up is that, that you might know me better than I do, that you might like me better than I like myself?”
“If this is a confidence issue-"
“This isn’t a confidence issue. Or maybe part of it is, but really, it's just. I need to do what I want, for a while, Heechul. I don’t mind being not being a star, I just want to work. On my own terms. I'm still tired, you know? But it's a good tired.”
"You're tired," Heechul repeats, "but it's good."
"Yeah."
"You're crazy."
Hankyung nods. "Who knows. Maybe I am." He slips in his hands in his pockets. "But out of curiosity, let me ask you something. You don't, actually, you know. Still love me?”
Heechul stares at him for the longest time. “God, you're awful," he says finally.
"I'm--"
“I mean, seriously. What’s that saying, it’s by one of your people -- 'Those who desire to be of use in this world soon burden the people with their own insufficiency.' Lao Tzu, right?”
“I have no idea,” Hankyung says faintly.
“This isn’t the movies, Kyungie, this isn’t like in books -- man, I always knew too much reading would be bad for you.”
“But you didn’t come after me.”
“Shut the fuck up, you’re the one who left.” Heechul backs up a little, eyeing him critically. "So, okay. When you woke up, and I was there, and you came home, and I was still there, and when you showered and ate and, like, slowly went insane, I was there -- obviously, it wasn't working for you.”
“No, that's not -- I asked, because. I wanted to tell you, you’re the right person. I lived with you for eight years. You'd think, if I was actually so nomadic and hated it so much, that I would have left way earlier? This whole thing, you were a casualty. But it's not like I was making a hard decision or something. I didn't categorize it in my head like that."
“Then what you’re saying is--“
“It wasn’t even about you. Or it was, but, Heechul," Hankyung looks at him, completely serious. “You’re the right person. You always made it good. That’s it. And I've--” and then he stops talking, because now it's Heechul who closes the distance, tucking his head in the crook of Hankyung's shoulder, hands coming to rest at his waist.
“I’ve missed you,” Hankyung says. His voice is rough.
“Don’t even,” Heechul warns.
They stay like this for a while. It's not the first time they've done this. But eventually, as Heechul's thoughts wander back to the flight he has to catch in three hours, and Hankyung, perhaps sensing the same, begins to shift away, Heechul reels him in once more, his fingernails digging into his sides.
“No matter what happens,” he says, firmly, “we’re still friends.”
Everything Hankyung has ever said about Heechul has been true. It’s one thing to tell lies about yourself, but another thing to lie on behalf of someone else.
“No matter what happens,” Hankyung says into the camera, “we’re still very good friends.”
--
FST in folder form:
Pairing: Hanchul
Rating: PG-13
Words: 3822
Summary: Because we are where we are not.
Notes: A lot of this is an homage to Stormy Weather by Carl Hiaason (and basically everything I've ever read/watched ever), but if you haven't read it, it doesn't really matter. If you have, then you'll know. Pictures from the prompts bank at cateris.
This is all, in its entirety, for pregnantcigar.
IN SLEEP by Lissie
There are these pastries, common in Chinese bakeries. Roughly translated, it means "chicken tail bun," because of its narrow shape and no resemblance whatsoever to the better end of a chicken. One of these pastries, currently being liberated from its cellophane wrapper by the assistance of Hankyung's teeth, has to endure the disappointment of not being consumed immediately, because the man holding it has suddenly just stopped all anatomical movement. “What did you say?”
“Guess who’s coming stateside,” Sunle repeats, but there’s no real need to guess.
“Yasser Arafat,” Hankyung says, hopefully.
“He’s dead, mate.”
“Fuck.” Hankyung stares down at his phone, where several drafts of potential Weibo updates are spread across multiple windows. “You think I should mention it?”
“Better not,” advises Sunle. “I mean, you’re not even sure how you feel about it.”
The cable installation truck in front of them lurches forward a couple more feet. Their van, windows streaked with Beijing condensation, follows suit. Two-lane highways in this city should be declared extinct, or at the very least, an unrealistic expectation of human courtesy. Especially right now, when all he wants to do is to get home as quickly as possible, if only just to sleep and fall into a blissful unawareness.
Because contrary to what Sunle might believe, Hankyung is almost certain that the surge of panic rising in the back of his throat is still a pretty strong emotive indicator.
“Hang on, I’ll be in Mongolia,” he realizes suddenly. “I might not even get to see him.”
“Actually,” says Sunle, flipping through the schedule, “you could, conceivably, bump into him on his last day here. Your flights overlap by twenty-two minutes.” He tilts the screen on his phone so Hankyung can see.
Oh, so close. “Fuck,” Hankyung says again.
XXXO by M.I.A.
And then the plane went up.
And then the plane came down.
Lately, airplanes have become kind of a thing. There's no bigger gesture.
He figures it out through a closed captioning typo during a late-night drama; the word was “actual” but all they caught was the end, “chul.” Actual; act, Chul. A message from above. It’s also retaliation against any pending doubts that he’s lost the capacity to control his own social life. Heechul’s still baffled over how the tv producers actually had the guts to look him in the eye and ask, are you two still close?
What the fuck did that have to do with anything? This wasn’t lifestyles of the rich and famous. Sure, Heechul had answered. Only six hundred miles.
And he wasn’t Superman, so that was where the plane had come in.
In hindsight, it might have been an overreaction.
He’s getting good at those too. Take the contract critics - Heechul doesn’t understand them either. First of all, it makes them sound like they’re all idiots. Second, he’d love to see anyone try to ignore the groin grab that is a promise of thirteen years of uninterrupted idol status. A special kind of citizen. Free passes to all the amusement parks!
Hey, if it can happen to Kyuhyun, it can happen to anybody.
One assumption that is correct, however, is that none of them are very good negotiators. Which explains why Hankyung’s way of negotiating was to drop a bombshell at their feet, then spin on his heel and walk away. Singe some eyebrows, shatter some illusions, and not just because he knows ballet.
Haha, thinks Heechul.
But whatever, he’s over it. Now he’s actor Chul. In the middle of the Middle. Heechul stuffs the remaining few pretzels he'd gotten for free on the plane into his mouth, jiggling his knee on top of his carry-on. Oh, there he is. He gives a little wave, then picks up his luggage and heads over to Zhou Mi.
“Hyung.” Considering the look on the other man's face, he probably didn’t even expect him to make it out of Seoul. “How was the flight?”
“It was okay. Shorter than I remember.”
A beat. “And what would you like to do now?”
“Don’t get any ideas, Mimi. I’m here to work.” Shit, he knows that look too. “Okay, fine, I’m not here to work.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Shock and annoy, words Heechul have been taught to live by. He says the first thing that pops into his mind. “Let’s go shopping.”
SOLITUDE IS BLISS by Tame Impala
“For chrissakes,” Hankyung mutters.
It’s July, so it doesn't stop raining. And after the rain, it gets cold. He has a momentarily glimpse of a world consolidation effort, each specialty based on regional weather. There could be ten thousand ice cream factories sitting on top of the Mongolian tundra -- imagine what that would do for tourism -- Italian chefs buried under animal skins, teaching locals and former Silicon Valley CEOs alike how to make gelato. No need for climate control.
A loud battering of rain on his hotel window brings him back.
Nowadays, Hankyung chases a shot of reality with a dog-earred book of Sudoku, because doing fucking math was somehow less complicated than dealing with his life. He ends up scribbling out all these matrices and trying to linear algebra his way into some insight of a solution (in other words, cheat); he didn’t even think he could remember this stuff.
The x didn't formally enter the Chinese language until mathematics, and then it stood for a bewildering article of the unknown variable, something amidst all other known spatial vector components, described and embedded within rational integers, and only solving would yield the magic number, the holy grail, the keystone. Hankyung supposes many a metaphor could now be applied: forever searching, life as one big math problem, x being a greater purpose intended by the cosmos.
As Frederick Sommer said to all aspiring artists, Honor thy father and mother: leave home. Hankyung had no clue where to begin, so when he was eighteen, that's just what he did.
Apparently, it was the wrong call.
Sunle walks by. “What are you doing?”
“Math,” Hankyung answers truthfully.
“Loser,” says Sunle, leaning over his work. "That's a lot of x's."
Yeah, Hankyung thinks. A lot of exes.
Like all really cool people, Zhou Mi is more resilient than he looks.
Still, the fifth time Heechul plonks down a pair of platform heels on the counter -- electric blue patent that puts a glare in his eye -- he has to say something. “Tell me this is part of some master plan.”
Heechul winks at him over his sunglasses. “You seen our setlist yet?”
He hasn't, but Zhou Mi expects he will soon. "There are heels involved?"
"Oh yeah."
Soon after they first met, Zhou Mi had spent a significant amount of his free time giving Heechul piggybank rides. He has to admit, not much has changed. But then again, you'd have to be downright crazy to deny Heechul anything.
There's a unique sense of irony here, Zhou Mi thinks. "Cher as Cleopatra?"
"It's easier than that, Mimi," Heechul holds up a rhinestone-studded bracelet shaped like a cube. "Who's the only girl you've ever noticed?"
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Heechul is in love with Hankyung.
Back when they were still living together and the biggest fights they had involved Hankyung stealing Heechul's shampoo, any associate roommate would quickly became familiar with the sight of Heechul pounding on Hankyung's door, demanding he come out and own up to his hair care product thievery like a man. It takes a little while longer to realize that Heechul doesn't just pound on the door for anybody.
This kind of intimacy is hard to replicate, especially in a post-lawsuit world. But nothing is impossible, and credit should still be given to Heechul for engaging Hankyung in the most extended version of the awkward game that has ever been played.
A hand lands on Hankyung’s knee. What color am I thinking of?
Blue.
No. Guess again.
What are you doing?
Guess.
Christ, Heechul. Green.
No. Aw, and I thought you knew me.
Well you definitely know me, Hankyung would say dryly at this point, Heechul's fingers resting comfortably against his inner thigh. Really it was a contest of bravery, Heechul's hand inching up his leg against his ability to ignore it.
Quite honestly, Hankyung is the world champion of ignoring Heechul.
But one thing they never had to deal with before was real awkwardness. Nowadays, if Heechul wants to get a blood rush to the point of capsizing, all he has to do is pick up the phone.
"So how was LA?"
"Great, it was great. But I'm coming back."
"You're coming back? To Korea?"
"Yeah, of course, what did you expect?"
"I don't know, I just didn't think they'd let you, and not so soon, after all that's happened."
"I think I'm the best judge when it comes to what I should or shouldn't do."
"If you say so. You have any idea where you'll be living? I mean, considering how you're not supposed to be here, and SME will rage at you for all of eternity if they find out."
"No, but I have some time to figure it out."
"Well, you can stay with us. That extra room at our place? It's yours."
"Thanks," Amber says gratefully.
“So how was LA?”
“Shit," says Hankyung, because that was ages ago. "I mean, great. LA was great. LA was running around, bumping into people whose names ended with Torres or Wojcicki or James Duncan. How's Beijing?"
"It's good," answers Heechul. "Beijing is running around, bumping into people whose name is Zhou Mi."
"Oh yeah, you and Zhou Mi. How is he?"
"He's perfect."
"Thought so. Did he take you around the city?"
"Yeah, we went shopping. I'm actually here for work though."
"Right," says Hankyung. "Me too. Except, uh, I'm not--"
"I know," says Heechul. "I heard."
"But, I mean, when are you leaving?"
"Same day you get back."
"Right. Huh."
Then silence.
“God, they should sell this stuff in bottles,” Heechul says finally. “Man, what a trip.”
Hankyung laughs. "I'm sorry," he says. "It must be the jet lag."
On his end, Heechul rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that must be it."
BOY by Ra Ra Riot
The last time Hankyung was in Korea, they gave it their best shot. Heechul was going to pick him up after he signed a few key documents at the lawyer's office to secure his prolonged progression towards artistic freedom. His hands were shaking so badly that it took twenty-five minutes longer than he expected -- they had to get another copy so he could try again -- and Hankyung had walked outside to find Heechul parked at a meter, slathering Persa-gel along his lower jaw.
"I'm breaking out like crazy," he told Hankyung, unnecessarily. Heechul looked terrible. Hankyung wondered if it was the upcoming album release. Unfortunately, there was no longer a good way to bring up the inquisition.
They decided to get coffee. In Hankyung's opinion, the only thing more ridiculous than the two of them getting coffee was the way he fucked up his own signature not less than half an hour before. But you pull what he pulled, and your options narrow significantly. Small talk was also out of the question, so Hankyung settled back in the seat, renewed his familiarity with the ads on the radio.
They went to a Starbucks, ordered their drinks, found an empty table. Heechul clutched his vanilla latte and stared intently at the tabletop. Hankyung felt like an ass.
The worst feeling in the world was having nothing left to say. Or rather, having plenty, but not being able to say it.
It grew so uncomfortable that Hankyung was tempted to start a fight, just so they could interact like normal people again. But before he could give in to that little bit of psychosis, Heechul had drained his cup, was standing up to leave. Since he was the ride, Hankyung had no choice but to follow.
It was jaw-dropping, mind-numbing unease, the way Heechul looked at him like he didn't know him, the way they couldn't talk anymore. Amidst his newfound happiness, this was the one thing that was eating away at its edges. It was infuriating, it was frustrating -- to hell with it, it was fucking depressing.
But it wasn't until Hankyung was on the plane ride home that he realized what he should have done. If you don't have the words, take action. He should have kissed him.
It was the right thing to do.
Zhou Mi arrives on set just as they're wrapping up. He's furious.
"He's in Mongolia!" Everyone turns to look at him, but he doesn't care. It's not like they know what he's saying anyway, since he's speaking in Korean.
Heechul shows no surprise at his outburst. “Don’t sweat it, dongsaeng,” he says absently, pulling off a jacket. “One country off, but I’m used to it.”
"It's not your fault," Zhou Mi says flatly. "He's being a jerk."
"He's not," Heechul says, suddenly curt. "It's not like he decides his schedule--"
They blink at each other.
"Shit," Heechul mutters, then sighs. “Let’s go get a drink.”
HOLES by Mercury Rev
Fifty bucks worth of cocktails in him, Zhou Mi is on the rampage. Even Heechul has a tough time defending in place of an absent friend.
“He is a lover,” he says, then coughs. “Of music-“
“If he was such a lover of music, he’d leave it to other people.”
“Ouch,” Heechul grins.
“Listen, you don’t have to protect him. I am like, personally offended. My fellow countryman, you know?”
“Are we still talking about music, or are we talking about the fact that he fucked you all the way to Qingdao and back? And not in the fun sense.”
Zhou Mi looks impressed he can pronounced Qingdao. “Music, Heechul. Stick with me.”
“Sorry. You were saying?”
“He used to have good taste,” the other man gripes. “But he seems to have abandoned it in place of, you know. The silver tongue of corporate forces. Delusions of grandeur. You’ve heard it before, right? Do what you know. Write, sing, dance what you know. He seems to have forgotten that.”
“Yeah, okay, but if it makes him happy-“
“Is he?” Zhou Mi growls, which is pretty alarming. “Do you know if he’s happy?”
“He looks happy.” He avoids eye contact. “I don’t know.”
“Either way, it’s not even going back to his roots, or whatever he said he wanted to do. The only thing that’s Chinese in his songs is the language they’re written in. He’s trying to sell his experience, but,” Zhou Mi eyes Heechul carefully, “that’s not Chinese either.”
“Look, Mimi,” Heechul says tiredly. “We’re in the business of Asian entertainment. You can’t afford to be so purist about it. I mean, the guy still has bills to pay.”
“He can be, that’s my point. But he doesn’t. And it’s just, it’s just,” Zhou Mi shakes his head. “Poor representation.”
“So?”
“Come on, we’re Chinese,” Zhou Mi breathes harshly through his nostrils. “You know what kind of pressure we’re under?”
JUST A DREAM by Nelly
It's not like he had been expecting the knock on his door at three in the morning, but then again, neither is he surprised. “So what about Mongolia?”
A shrug. “I ditched.”
“Slacker.” Heechul steps aside to let him in. The guy strolls past him with his back held straight, his shoulders set. A man with a plan.
Well, fuck his plan.
“It is seriously cold up there," Hankyung tells him. "In July, can you believe it?”
The rhetorical nature of the question hangs awkwardly in the air. Heechul, thinking he should at least pretend that he could do better than last time, struggles to break it. “Hey now,” he snaps his fingers. “So neither of us came here to work.”
Hankyung smiles. “I can’t say I’m surprised.“
Heechul snorts. “I didn’t come here for you and your impressive orthodontics either, asshole.”
“Then what?”
“Closure,” says Heechul. The best choice on the menu. The most heart-healthy.
“Closure,” Hankyung repeats, slowly. “I -- Heechul. I’m sorry. I don’t know what that means.“
“Are you kidding me?”
“I’m not.”
“Oh my god. Okay, just, think about it this way. Shit, wait, I don’t know. I guess it’s like, I don’t -- I don’t want to be hurt by you anymore.”
Hankyung's mouth falls open. "You don't want to be hurt--"
"Anymore. No more. I mean I'm done. Done with you -- and just. I'm done."
“So," Hankyung stares at him. "You want, like, a flat-rate fee on our relationship? Up until this point, you’ll feel something, and then that’s it? You're through?”
“Yeah," says Heechul. "Something like that.”
“You want numbness, Heechul," Hankyung says, coldly. "It’s not up to me.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Heechul snaps. “That’s so classic you all over again, refusing to take responsibility--"
"Not taking responsibility?" Hankyung says in disbelief. "I'm trying to do something here -- that's not taking responsibility? It's what I want, Heechul -- why can't you be happy for me?"
"Because we've already decided that what you want isn't exactly the best driver for what is essentially my life--"
"--since when was it all about you?"
"--since when was it all about you?"
Hankyung draws a sharp breath. Heechul stomps to the bed, sits down, then stands back up again.
"This is stupid," says Hankyung finally.
"It's not stupid. It's necessary. I mean, if you can't recognize that I need space--"
"Hey, we have plenty of that--"
"Shut up. I mean it, okay? Because I can't, I can't -- I mean, I'm better now, but man. I was fucked up."
"So's this," Hankyung mutters.
"Hurts, doesn't it?"
"Heechul--" Hankyung begins, then groans, grabs his wrist and, very carefully, kisses him.
Years ago, before Hankyung began leaving on a regular basis, they had been drinking. At home, in one of the spare rooms, like the weird recluses they were, they had been drinking, it had been raining, it had been cold. They were sharing a blanket and a 25 oz bottle of soju, backs braced against the wall, a few platonic inches between them.
They had been talking about god knows what, when Heechul had turned to him and said something that nearly startled him out of his borderline drunkenness.
You ever think that without an audience, we aren’t who we think we are? I mean, our whole relationship, as an independent concept, was crafted and stabilized by the reactions of people who we knew would like it.
What I'm trying to say is, said Heechul, do I really feel what I feel towards you? Or do I feel it only because I'm answering to the people who need to, want to see it?
We've had plenty of time behind the camera, said Hankyung. He exhaled deeply. He was vaguely aware of a strange nervousness ramping up in the pit of his stomach.
If I love you, Heechul started to say. He let it hang in the air for a moment, then leaned over, pressed a sloppy kiss to Hankyung's cheek. If I love you, it also means I trust you.
When he pulls back, Heechul is glaring at him. "So what's your point?"
Hankyung lets him go. "The point is, I'm sorry. The point is, I've started something now and you get to finish it. But first you have to hear me out."
“I know you think that this whole thing was about ego, but it's not. And being with you guys all the time -- I couldn't get away from something I wasn't even sure I liked. Being dragged along to do things, you know, all that smiling, but I had other ideas. It felt like I was losing sight of why I left in the first place. I mean, how fucked up is that, that you might know me better than I do, that you might like me better than I like myself?”
“If this is a confidence issue-"
“This isn’t a confidence issue. Or maybe part of it is, but really, it's just. I need to do what I want, for a while, Heechul. I don’t mind being not being a star, I just want to work. On my own terms. I'm still tired, you know? But it's a good tired.”
"You're tired," Heechul repeats, "but it's good."
"Yeah."
"You're crazy."
Hankyung nods. "Who knows. Maybe I am." He slips in his hands in his pockets. "But out of curiosity, let me ask you something. You don't, actually, you know. Still love me?”
Heechul stares at him for the longest time. “God, you're awful," he says finally.
"I'm--"
“I mean, seriously. What’s that saying, it’s by one of your people -- 'Those who desire to be of use in this world soon burden the people with their own insufficiency.' Lao Tzu, right?”
“I have no idea,” Hankyung says faintly.
“This isn’t the movies, Kyungie, this isn’t like in books -- man, I always knew too much reading would be bad for you.”
“But you didn’t come after me.”
“Shut the fuck up, you’re the one who left.” Heechul backs up a little, eyeing him critically. "So, okay. When you woke up, and I was there, and you came home, and I was still there, and when you showered and ate and, like, slowly went insane, I was there -- obviously, it wasn't working for you.”
“No, that's not -- I asked, because. I wanted to tell you, you’re the right person. I lived with you for eight years. You'd think, if I was actually so nomadic and hated it so much, that I would have left way earlier? This whole thing, you were a casualty. But it's not like I was making a hard decision or something. I didn't categorize it in my head like that."
“Then what you’re saying is--“
“It wasn’t even about you. Or it was, but, Heechul," Hankyung looks at him, completely serious. “You’re the right person. You always made it good. That’s it. And I've--” and then he stops talking, because now it's Heechul who closes the distance, tucking his head in the crook of Hankyung's shoulder, hands coming to rest at his waist.
“I’ve missed you,” Hankyung says. His voice is rough.
“Don’t even,” Heechul warns.
They stay like this for a while. It's not the first time they've done this. But eventually, as Heechul's thoughts wander back to the flight he has to catch in three hours, and Hankyung, perhaps sensing the same, begins to shift away, Heechul reels him in once more, his fingernails digging into his sides.
“No matter what happens,” he says, firmly, “we’re still friends.”
Everything Hankyung has ever said about Heechul has been true. It’s one thing to tell lies about yourself, but another thing to lie on behalf of someone else.
“No matter what happens,” Hankyung says into the camera, “we’re still very good friends.”
--
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