A Circumnavigation
a circumnavigation
eunhyuk/donghae
r
5120
With your broken compass and my outdated map, we will reach the end of the world and back
a circumnavigation
They are doomed from the start.
Hyukjae gets nauseous during the flight and of course it would happen to him. He’s never gotten car sick or sea sick, and been on more international flights than he can count so the fifteen minutes he spends doubled over and face first into a plastic bag is both ridiculous and an omen. It’s completely unfair, Hyukjae thinks. He’s a good samaritan, a good son and okay, he could call home more often but that’s neither here nor there, and he always, always, eats all his vegetables. None of this seems to matter as he wheezes and huffs, his gut feeling like it is about to implode.
These things only happen to Hyukjae.
Donghae loses his passport at passport control point, fumbles with his carry on and smacks Hyukjae in his still queasy gut in his haste to find it. He smiles at the woman behind the desk, flips out his Korean-French dictionary and proudly states “Bonjour! Pardon, où sont les toilettes? Je ne comprends pas. Pourquoi êtes-vous si laid? Je m’en fou.”
The only reason they don’t get deported straight back to Korea is because the man working in the station next to them speaks Korean and serves as translator to calm the poor woman that she’s not being insulted, they’re just foreigners.
Hyukjae kind of wishes they had gotten deported.
*
“Where are all our fangirls?” Donghae asks, holding onto the railing of the metro and standing on tip toe.
“You’re disappointed we aren’t being mobbed?”
“Well, no. But when you were here, didn’t they stalk you on the metro? You’d think with me being here they’d have tripled.”
“Maybe our French fans don’t like you.”
Donghae laughs cheekily and lightly taps Hyukjae’s cheek. “You’re funny Hyukjae.”
Hyukjae sighs and stares at the flashing scenery beyond the glass. It’s colder here in spring, trees starting to bloom with lacy flowers and Hyukjae thinks about Cherry Blossoms and how they’ll be fluttering in the wind by the time they go back home. Donghae pokes him when they pass the Eiffel Tower and asks if Hyukjae really did climb all the way to the top or if he was just being a cocky bastard. Hyukjae insists that he did until Donghae shoves him back laughing and telling him he’ll believe him just so Hyukjae shuts up. The musicality of the language around them sounds in dissonance to their own chatter. They are loud and boisterous, but so are the other two boys sitting against the far window in their school uniforms, one of them teasing the other as he keeps smacking him in the face with his own tie. Donghae catches Hyukjae looking at them, says, they kind of remind me of us and smiles like the other boy, beautiful ease and a haunting sweetness in the way the sun reflects off his eyelashes. Hyukjae smiles back, not exactly like the first boy, but he knows his eyes light up all the same.
*
They reach the hotel late afternoon and the first thing Hyukjae does is fall flat on the bed, the mattress springs screeching in protest. They’re supposed to call Jungsu or their manager but that can wait, along with standing outside on the balcony and watching the sun set with Donghae’s chin pressed to Hyukjae’s shoulder as Hyukjae shivers in the breeze despite Donghae's arms wrapped around him tightly. Along with ordering room service or venturing out to a cafè to stuff their faces with eclairs and equally sugary pastries and watching black and white French films on the hotel tv acting as each other’s translators and seeing who can come up with the most outrages story line for why the woman with the leopard print shades keeps throwing her drink at the man with the mustache, and all the other things they said they’d do the second they stepped off the plane.
Donghae slips his shoes off and crawls in next to Hyukjae, jostles him so Hyukjae is fitted against his side and resting his head on his chest. Hyukjae mumbles in protest but quiets down with Donghae’s heartbeat thudding in his ear and Donghae running his hand in soothing circles across his abdomen. He doesn’t feel sick anymore but he doesn’t say anything and lets himself be lulled to sleep after ghosting a small kiss on the closest span of skin his lips can reach, drifting off with the sound of two boys laughing and falling cherry blossoms whispering in his ear.
*
Donghae wakes them up before sunrise. They’re both starving so they stumble out of the room still half asleep, Hyukjae eagerly pulling Donghae along and his stomach growling so loudly the woman in the elevator with them subtly inches away from him. Hyukjae doesn’t notice as he peruses his tour guide book trying to find the page with the directions to that fabulous cafè he found the last time he was here. Donghae whines and says he’s so hungry he’ll eat at the first fast food joint they find or Hyukjae’s foot-which proves more than anything how hungry he actually is. Gripping the book, Hyukjae shakes his head stubbornly, because if they are doing Paris they are doing it right and there’s no way they’re not eating classic French cuisine. It’s like going to America and not eating a hotdog. Completely ridiculous.
They find the place after getting lost twice, and sit in a corner table by the window, Donghae sticking his nose to the glass practically as he watches the pedestrians walk by.
“Did you see that girl with that dog? It was bigger than her!” He sits back and reads the menu, mumbling it out loud in what Donghae thinks might sound like French, and beaming up at Hyukjae. “I love Paris.”
Hyukjae grins and says if he loves it so much he shouldn’t offend them by murdering their language. Donghae kicks him under the table and laughs.
The waiter comes and their ordering consist of lots of pointing and gesturing and this time Hyukjae is glad to not be the only idiot flailing and trying to communicate in wretched English. It starts to rain when the food arrives, lattes and some cherry filled pastries. Donghae gets cherry compote all over his shirt, deems it fair to paint Hyukjae’s cheek with some of it and almost knocks over Hyukjae’s coffee when he leans over the table to lick it off.
“Donghae,” Hyukjae warns seriously, wiping his cheek. “Don’t. We’re in public.”
Donghae shrugs. “No one is watching us. Remember? The hords of fangirls don’t like me?” He sighs and carefully wipes the bit Hyukjae missed. His hand lingers and they share a look, maybe a little sad and very much resigned because it doesn’t matter if no one is watching.
They leave the cafè after the rain has stopped with elbows lightly brushing, Donghae’s hands deep in his pockets as he breathes inhales the rain spiked air. He proclaims it smells like sugary spice and poodles and melting cheese and fresh flowers sprinkled with dew and accordions. Hyukjae takes a whiff and all he smells is cigarette smoke and intoxicating perfume.
“You have no imagination whatsoever, Lee Hyukjae,” Donghae tells him solemnly as Hyukjae’s phone starts to ring.
“Shit.” Hyukjae pales when he sees their manager’s number flashing on the screen. He pulls the phone from his ear as the voices start trailing in, Jungsu making himself heard over Seunghwan’s voice and Hyukjae has heard a variety of tones in his voice over the years but he’s never yelled so loudly at him before. Jungsu keeps going on and on about how he thought they were in some ditch in the middle of the city and how he would be demoted from being Super Junior’s leader to backstage groupie, if he’s lucky. Hyukjae listens with guilt brewing in his stomach while Donghae presses his ear to the other side and ohhh’s and ahhh’s at how high Seunghwa’s voice can go.
“Well, this is the last time we’re allowed to travel by ourselves so we better enjoy it.” Hyukjae hangs up and grimaces at the twenty two missed calls his phone announces he has.
“Don’t be so dramatic. They’ll forget it when we give them their awesome souvenirs.”
Hyukjae doesn’t hold his breath when Donghae buys them identical Eiffel Tower keychains and the tackiest caricature replicas of the French Prime Minister Hyukjae has ever seen.
*
Donghae takes pictures of absolutely everything. The cat licking it’s paws outside of the seamstress shop. The girl strumming her guitar in front of a fountain, smiling at Hyukjae when he tosses some coins in her open case. He gets particularly interested in the orange bench they find on the corner of the Dior store. Donghae snaps a couple of pictures of the display window, saying this will definitely buy Zhoumi’s favor and maybe let him hog him a bit during Super Junior M promotions without Kyuhyun trying to mutilate him.
“I thought you said you wanted to see the Eiffel tower and make me climb all the way up?” Hyukjae asks, puzzled.
Donghae bites into the sandwich they bought at a stand near Luxembourg Gardens where he took around forty pictures of all the flowers and fountains and those live statue people who paint themselves grey and you just have to try and make laugh like the men who stand in front of Buckingham Palace in England.
“Nah. That’s what everyone does. We should leave it for last. Throw away convention and be unique tourists,” Donghae sentences wisely, breaking off a piece of his sandwich and giving it to Hyukjae. Hyukjae sticks it in his mouth and gives Donghae a piece of his brioche. “Lets go see that big thing. With the arch.” Donghae gestures with his hands and half his sandwich filling falls out one end which is okay because some pigeons quickly swoop in and start pecking at it and none of it goes to waste.
*
“Now I know why I let you convince me to take this trip,” Hyukjae says as he peers over Donghae’s shoulder at the camera screen.
“Because you are totally whipped and you can’t say no to me?”
“Because I don’t have to ask other people to take my picture. I have my own personal photographer who knows my good side.”
“Right. Your ass.”
“Shut up and take my picture,” Hyukjae commands before smiling and holding up the piece sign, his other hand flat as if he were holding the golden statue behind him in the palm of his hand. Donghae rolls his eyes but snaps the picture.
“You’re such a narcissist,” Donghae says when Hyukjae takes the camera to look at the shot. Hyukjae ignores him as he deletes the ones that make his nose look too big or his forehead too shiny, he barely feels Donghae throw his arm across his shoulders and pry the camera from his grasp. “We need to have at least one with both of us,” he mumbles against Hyukjae’s cheek as he lifts the camera and the flash blinds them for a moment.
Hyukjae doesn’t care that his gums take up half the screen or his jaw juts out almost abnormally. It’s his favorite picture Donghae has taken so far.
*
“This is art?”
“Of course it is,” Hyukjae says like Donghae is stupid. “It’s in the museum.”
Donghae squints at the painting. “But it’s just a map of the world. I have a map just like this in my travel kit that Henry helped me buy. Does that make it art too?”
Hyukjae mutters something under his breath because Donghae is just being smart and honestly, who cares what Europeans think is art and isn’t. Luckily, Donghae gets distracted by a statue of a man jumping over a lion or something so Hyukjae doesn’t have to admit he thinks it’s stupid too.
“We should see Spain next.”
“Hmmm?” Hyukjae looks away from the painting at Donghae who has been staring at him instead.
“Our next trip. We should see Spain. We can tan on the beach and see the bull fights. You’d probably get all red though, but we could go flamenco or salsa dancing and you’d like that and I promise not to grab you too hard where you’re burnt.”
Hyukjae blinks for a moment, then points to the painting. “Is this about the painting?” he gestures to the portrait of a man with a ridiculous hat and a red flag sashaying in front of an angry bull.
“No. Yes. Sort of,” Donghae finishes, vaguely and no longer looking at him.
Silence surrounds them as they walk through the rest of the exhibits, the number of ridiculing comments of the art works decreasing but Hyukjae doesn’t know what to say. They’re always talking about places they want to see, from world landmarks to remote islands they can’t even pronounce, but this is their first actual trip alone outside of their country and Hyukaje hasn’t really been thinking of future endeavors in their quest to be world travelers.
They find a gelato shop two streets away from the museum and Hyukjae gives in, but only because the strawberry cone a little girl with pigtails eats as she exist the shop by her mother’s hands is taunting him.
Donghae stirs his spoon in his mix of pistachio and chocolate, gaze lost out the the window so Hyukjae says,
“I don’t think I’d like bullfighting but learning salsa might be fun. Broaden our dancing repertoires. Eeteuk would like the beaches. I hear there are nudist ones on the southern coast. And you know Spain is famous for their liquors, so convincing Kyuhyun should be easy and-” His words pile up and Hyukaje feels his gelato lodging up in his throat, constricting when Donghae shakes his head telling him to stop. Hyukjae shoves another spoonful in his mouth.
“When I said we, I meant you and me.”
“I know,” Hyukjae admits with a sigh.
“So,” Donghae gestures for him to elaborate, his face surprised that Hyukjae admits it so freely.
Hyukjae bites his lip, tongue frozen like a useless icicle about to break, because he’s not sure why something as simply complicated as taking a trip makes him close up.
Donghae shows him a quick smile, toothless and meant to say it’s okay let’s just drop it, and badgers Hyukjae to let him try some of his gelato, spoon already full of a scoop of his and aiming at Hyukjae’s mouth in exchange. Hyukjae doesn’t say anything as Donghae feeds him. It’s difficult to swallow and it’s not just because of the taste.
*
At first Hyukjae resists when Donghae wants to eat at that Italian restaurant they walked by this morning because they’re supposed to consume only authentic French cuisine while on this trip-never mind they already broke the rule when they ate the gelato. Donghae argues that Europe is one big Union, it’s sort of expected you’ll eat kielbasas while in Greece and vice versa and Hyukjae needs to learn to chill. He’s craving spaghetti and that’s the end of that.
“You can’t laugh at my fantasy. I don’t laugh at your dumb obsession with kissing Jung Juri.”
“That’s not a fantasy, Donghae. It’s a nigthmare.”
“Whatever. Point is, I want us to eat spaghetti with one huge meatball. Only one. And then we’ll meet in the middle of a noodle, but I’ll let you have most of it.”
“We’re never watching Lady and the Tramp ever again.”
Donghae narrows his eyes and Hyukjae shuts up in favor of drumming on his plate with two breadsticks. “When we’ve eaten all the pasta, I’ll nudge the meatball towards you with my nose because I know it’s your favorite and you’d probably hit me if I didn’t.”
“Someone shoot me.”
“And then you’ll lick the marinara sauce off my nose and be so grateful, when we get back to the room you’ll give me a blow job.”
“I’m not licking the marinara sauce off your nose.”
“Is that a yes to the blow job?”
Hyukjae doesn’t answer but that’s only because the waiter arrives with their dinner.
They leave the restaurant with full stomachs and no noses having been licked-though they did pass the meatball back and forth with their forks until Hyukjae had nudged a little too hard and it landed in a nearby diner’s water glass-and the city is completely transformed. Hyukjae doesn’t remember Paris at night with much clarity, too preoccupied with getting lost in a foreign city in darkness, but he takes every detail in now. All the glistening lights on every tree, lampost and building, the city is so bright, Hyukjae wonders how he could have feared getting lost. Donghae says he can’t help it, Hyukjae is a worrywart, but it’s okay because this time he’s here and he will keep Hyukjae safe from any and all shadows lurking in any unlit corners. His hand wraps around Hyukjae’s, loosely but warm and firm, and Hyukjae doesn’t pull away and shuffles closer so their coats conceal their linked hands from view.
It’s after midnight when they reach the room, hot chocolate warming their stomachs and powdered sugar on Hyukjae’s lower lip. Donghae kisses it off, tugging on Hyukjae’s lip lightly and smiling at him in a somehow perfect blend of shit eating grin and adorable adoration. Hyukjae sighs pitifully, definitely not eager hands already on Donghae’s belt as he drops to his knees.
*
They spend the next day people watching. Donghae says he’s gotten the gist of French architecture and food and art, now he wants to understand the people. They ride the metro all over the city and pick random spots to just sit and look, listen and taste, eyes hungry and swallowing more than they can digest. Hyukjae spends most of that time watching Donghae. The way his eyes widen when something catches his attention, or his neck arching to stare at the sky or ceiling made out of intricate paintings or cracked concrete above their heads. Donghae points out things Hyukjae doesn’t even think are worth noticing, wouldn’t have otherwise like the tulip growing from a crack in the sidewalk or the sun reflecting off a pond. Like the fact that spending a whole day in a foreign country just sitting around might be pointless, but it isn’t if you know what to look at, for. Donghae doesn’t just find them, they find him.
Around lunch they get off the metro and sit on a bench in the underground station and try to read the graffiti people have left on the wall. They decipher some English words, but mostly they don’t understand anything except the drawings of dragons and flags and guns symbolizing anarchy and protests against the government. Two names encircled in a heart and Donghae retells the story of two lovers, doomed to keep their love a secret, writings on a wall the only sign out in the world of their love. Hyukjae deciphers names, extremely proud as he announces ‘Pierre’ as one of them. The other starts with a J then an e but Hyukjae can’t make out the rest. When he looks over to smile at Donghae smugly, he is a few feet away making gestures at an older woman who smiles at him. It takes about three minutes, but Donghae comes back grinning and with a marker in his hand.
He finds an empty spot on the wall and presses the cool tip to the wall.
When they’re getting on the train to find lunch and do some shopping, Hyukjae looks over his shoulder and makes out ‘D+H’ confined inside a star on the corner of the ink and dirt splattered wall.
*
“What are you doing?” Hyukjae peeks through one eye when he feels warm breath fanning his cheek.
Donghae, on his stomach and sinking into the mattress as he leans on his elbows, plants a kiss on Hyukjae’s face. “I was willing you awake with my mind. See, you’re awake. Our brain link still works.”
“What you call brain link, I call creepy stalkerish tendencies.”
“I’m only a creepy stalker for you.”
Hyukjae does the one thing that always gets Donghae to be quiet in the morning. He slides a hand in Donghae’s hair and pulls him down, mouths pressing in a quiet kiss. Donghae smiles into it, letting Hyukjae know it’s exactly what he wanted him to do.
“Morning breath,” Hyukjae protests when Donghae tries to deepen it and Donghae mumbles that he doesn’t care, hands cupping Hyukjae’s jaw. “You say that now. Wait ‘till you have your tongue in my mouth and you start gagging down my throat.”
“God, you’re so romantic Hyukjae,” Donghae deadpans, but he lets Hyukjae pull them to the bathroom. They squeeze toothpaste on their mini travel toothbrushes, some of it splattering on the mirror. Donghae spells out their names with it, and Hyukjae pretends to gag at the heart Donghae adds at the end. They almost knock over a vase next to the sink neither knows what purpose it serves when Donghae kisses Hyukjae with toothpaste in his mouth and Donghae laughs while Hyukjae threatens to spit in his face.
Toothbrushes back in Hyukjae’s carrying case, they stumble back into the room with kisses tasting of mint and bits of last night’s cold city air still stuck in their mouths. Hyukjae guides Donghae until his knees hit the bed, hands running beneath Donghae’s t-shirt and relishing in warm skin and Donghae’s tongue gently stroking his. Laughter bubbles from their stomachs as they land on their sides, the tremors sending light tremors all the way to Hyukjae’s stomach. He tugs Donghae’s shirt off, Donghae’s hands already lining out Hyukjae’s naked chest and they move further up the bed so their feet don’t dangle off the edge. They press as close as they can and they kiss for what feels like hours, lips wandering every so often to skin and tracing veins with tongues, and it’s enough to drown themselves in this, in them. Hands touch and grab, fingers gripping and slipping beneath fabric covering hips, and it’s a slow build up of panting breaths and harshly heaving chests. Donghae holds Hyukjae’s hips as Hyukjae’s leg slips between his thighs, clutching in want and heat it leaves them both breathless for a moment.
Prying his mouth away, Donghae’s head hits the pillow with Hyukjae pressing him into the mattress, and how did he get here Hyukjae wonders, so lost in the trembling of Donghae’s mouth as they move together, in the way his stare burns Hyukjae in place, Donghae’s hands not leaving him any other place to be except here.
“Hyukjae,” Donghae groans against his mouth, hands pulling at Hyukjae’s boxers while Hyukjae does the same with Donghae’s. He moans quietly as flesh presses flesh and Donghae kisses him, gently, delicately mocking the way he bucks his hips against Hyukjae’s. Hyukjae kisses back, and this time all he tastes is Donghae and it is everything and nothing he ever imagined kisses and lips and mouths should taste like, the complete antithesis of a boy’s forgotten dream and the epitome of a man’s fantasy he’s too afraid to realize is real, is his.
It’s erratic now, the way their hands crave skin and the press of a mouth or the push of a tongue is no longer enough. Donghae’s hair glides through Hyukjae’s hands like thick water, his nails dig into scalp when Donghae bites into his neck and his hands slowly slip down arching Hyukjae's back.
It’s lazy, their bodies cling and brake apart, legs tangling and feet skimming up thighs that rip chuckles from their throats along with gasping moans. And Hyukjae can’t remember the last time it was like this, having all the time in the world but still being too desperate, urgent from the lack of air and always knowing that in Donghae’s kiss, he’ll be able to breathe.
When they come, it is with Donghae’s fingers bruising his hips and Hyukjae’s lips panting against Donghae’s throat. But it feels like Donghae’s nails claw into his heart instead, Hyukjae’s mouth wanting to pierce Donghae’s skin and fall, crawl inside of Donghae and burry himself somewhere in Donghae’s mouth or maybe his chest, right in the essence where Donghae hides all of his secrets and smiles.
*
“I think you melted my brain.”
Hyukjae snorts. Donghae laughs, stretched out next to him and they are a sweaty sticky mass of melted limbs, pants now reduced to quiet exhales and Donghae’s left leg anchoring Hyukjae’s right to the sheets.
“I’m serious,” Donghae insists turning onto his side. He grabs Hyukjae’s hand and puts it on his head. “Can you feel anything in there?”
All Hyukjae feels is Donghae’s damp hair and the weight of his head pressed to his palm. “I think you’re confused. There’s never been anything in there.”
Donghae turns his head and bites Hyukjae’s hand. Before Hyukjae can shriek and hit him with said hand, Donghae kisses the same spot and lays Hyukjae’s hand on the bed to pillow his cheek.
“Are you just going to stare at me for the rest of the morning?”
“Morning? It’s like two in the afternoon,” Donghae informs him, smiling triumphantly at Hyukjae gaping at the clock on the nightstand.
Hyukjae then starts ranting about how could they waste the day in bed when there is an entire city for them to explore and food to devour. Donghae resorts to the only thing that can cut a Hyukjae rant short. He swallows Hyukjae’s words and savors the small grin Hyukjae leaves imprinted on the roof of his mouth.
*
They eventually do make it out of the bed and to the theater they almost get kicked out of for talking during the play-the usher doesn’t seem to care that Donghae was just translating the dialogue for Hyukjae, mainly because he has no idea what Donghae is explaining in garbled English-but not before they shower and Donghae is the one to sink to his knees this time, lips tracing the water drops painting swirls on Hyukjae’s inner thighs.
*
Who knew that from something as simple as metal and someone’s imagination, there lies the top of the world? Extending for days and centuries, so long it’s impossible to stand here and not feel like the world is at your able fingertips.
Feet planted firmly and arms bracing the banister keeping him from plummeting into concrete, Hyukjae’s eyes soak up the view, his lungs inhale the scent-which still smells of cigarette and heady perfume but with a touch of something else Hyukaje can’t put his tongue on-and he knows he’s been here before, but it feels like the first time.
“I’m impressed. I honestly expected for your hip to give out on the way up here. Though you did cheat by taking the elevator to the third level.”
“The elevator is the only way to get up to the third level.Remind me again, why did I agree to coming on this trip?”
“Easy,” Donghae answers, a smile hanging off his lips as he stares down bellow. “Because you love me.”
Hyukjae almost replies with ‘No, it’s because you’re an insistent little jerk’, but he doesn’t want to. He turns to watch Donghae take in the scenery, see the view through his expression, if it fascinates Donghae as much as it fascinated Hyukjae the first time he saw it up close.
“I wish we could stay longer,” Donghae sighs, his hands dancing along the banister as he leans his body forward, to do what other than give Hyukjae a mild stroke Hyukjae doesn’t know. He stands straight once again and one of his hands finds Hyukjae’s over chipped paint.
“We were lucky enough to get four days,” Hyukjae reminds him, his fingers closing around Donghae’s and it earns him a smile. “Our schedules are packed this week.”
“I know. I know.” Donghae grabs Hyukjae’s sleeve and drags him along the perimeter until they face the other side, the whole while making people move out of their way. Hyukjae is so mortified, he apologizes in Korean. “Did you think about me?”
Hyukjae furrows his brows, this time genuinely confused.
“When you were here before. Did you think about me?” Donghae keeps tracing patterns on the railing, his fingers dancing like they want to create the world’s most beautiful masterpiece at its peak. Hyukjae can’t think of anything more beautiful than anything Donghae’s fingertips pour out and write on his skin, in his heart, sketches he left abandoned in old practice rooms Hyukjae keeps locked up and stitched on the curve of his ribs where no one else can find them.
“Let’s come back here,” Hyukjae answers, the way Donghae’s eyes light up like erupting comets making it a little harder to breathe. “When we have time, we should do Paris right. You and me,” and maybe his voice stupidly catches in his chest as he speaks but Hyukjae doesn’t care because he doesn’t want to think about Donghae while reaching the ends of the Earth and planting his flag sand deep into faraway patches of land. He wants Donghae reading the map for him and misguiding them completely with the compass pointing due north as he leads them south.
*
The taxi drops them off at the airport and Donghae’s face stretches into a grin when they get ambushed with heavily accented Korean and dozens of young French girls holding banners and cd’s. Hyukjae still managers to be surprised while Donghae is pleased because as it turns out, their French fans don’t hate him, they just didn’t know they were here.
On board, Donghae pulls out his map and they huddle close to spot any places they haven’t thought of before. It’s dangerous, Hyukjae thinks, to let themselves indulge in this fantasy. And maybe that's all it will be. A fantasy left behind like a childhood and it'll be two lonely footprints marking sand or someone who isn't Donghae standing next to him, always heading where the compass is pointing and never getting them lost for the hell of it. But for now, up here where the clouds beg for fantasizing, Hyukjae thinks it alright. To make plans to conquer the world with their tour guide books and passports, but somehow, Hyukjae can’t see himself conquering it any other way. Nothing but a map and Donghae's hand gripping his and the coordinates to every place he’s ever wanted to see reflected in deep brown and a thousand city lights to lead the way.
***
***
a/n: I actually wrote this before SM announced they'll be going to Paris, so go figure.
eunhyuk/donghae
r
5120
With your broken compass and my outdated map, we will reach the end of the world and back
a circumnavigation
They are doomed from the start.
Hyukjae gets nauseous during the flight and of course it would happen to him. He’s never gotten car sick or sea sick, and been on more international flights than he can count so the fifteen minutes he spends doubled over and face first into a plastic bag is both ridiculous and an omen. It’s completely unfair, Hyukjae thinks. He’s a good samaritan, a good son and okay, he could call home more often but that’s neither here nor there, and he always, always, eats all his vegetables. None of this seems to matter as he wheezes and huffs, his gut feeling like it is about to implode.
These things only happen to Hyukjae.
Donghae loses his passport at passport control point, fumbles with his carry on and smacks Hyukjae in his still queasy gut in his haste to find it. He smiles at the woman behind the desk, flips out his Korean-French dictionary and proudly states “Bonjour! Pardon, où sont les toilettes? Je ne comprends pas. Pourquoi êtes-vous si laid? Je m’en fou.”
The only reason they don’t get deported straight back to Korea is because the man working in the station next to them speaks Korean and serves as translator to calm the poor woman that she’s not being insulted, they’re just foreigners.
Hyukjae kind of wishes they had gotten deported.
*
“Where are all our fangirls?” Donghae asks, holding onto the railing of the metro and standing on tip toe.
“You’re disappointed we aren’t being mobbed?”
“Well, no. But when you were here, didn’t they stalk you on the metro? You’d think with me being here they’d have tripled.”
“Maybe our French fans don’t like you.”
Donghae laughs cheekily and lightly taps Hyukjae’s cheek. “You’re funny Hyukjae.”
Hyukjae sighs and stares at the flashing scenery beyond the glass. It’s colder here in spring, trees starting to bloom with lacy flowers and Hyukjae thinks about Cherry Blossoms and how they’ll be fluttering in the wind by the time they go back home. Donghae pokes him when they pass the Eiffel Tower and asks if Hyukjae really did climb all the way to the top or if he was just being a cocky bastard. Hyukjae insists that he did until Donghae shoves him back laughing and telling him he’ll believe him just so Hyukjae shuts up. The musicality of the language around them sounds in dissonance to their own chatter. They are loud and boisterous, but so are the other two boys sitting against the far window in their school uniforms, one of them teasing the other as he keeps smacking him in the face with his own tie. Donghae catches Hyukjae looking at them, says, they kind of remind me of us and smiles like the other boy, beautiful ease and a haunting sweetness in the way the sun reflects off his eyelashes. Hyukjae smiles back, not exactly like the first boy, but he knows his eyes light up all the same.
*
They reach the hotel late afternoon and the first thing Hyukjae does is fall flat on the bed, the mattress springs screeching in protest. They’re supposed to call Jungsu or their manager but that can wait, along with standing outside on the balcony and watching the sun set with Donghae’s chin pressed to Hyukjae’s shoulder as Hyukjae shivers in the breeze despite Donghae's arms wrapped around him tightly. Along with ordering room service or venturing out to a cafè to stuff their faces with eclairs and equally sugary pastries and watching black and white French films on the hotel tv acting as each other’s translators and seeing who can come up with the most outrages story line for why the woman with the leopard print shades keeps throwing her drink at the man with the mustache, and all the other things they said they’d do the second they stepped off the plane.
Donghae slips his shoes off and crawls in next to Hyukjae, jostles him so Hyukjae is fitted against his side and resting his head on his chest. Hyukjae mumbles in protest but quiets down with Donghae’s heartbeat thudding in his ear and Donghae running his hand in soothing circles across his abdomen. He doesn’t feel sick anymore but he doesn’t say anything and lets himself be lulled to sleep after ghosting a small kiss on the closest span of skin his lips can reach, drifting off with the sound of two boys laughing and falling cherry blossoms whispering in his ear.
*
Donghae wakes them up before sunrise. They’re both starving so they stumble out of the room still half asleep, Hyukjae eagerly pulling Donghae along and his stomach growling so loudly the woman in the elevator with them subtly inches away from him. Hyukjae doesn’t notice as he peruses his tour guide book trying to find the page with the directions to that fabulous cafè he found the last time he was here. Donghae whines and says he’s so hungry he’ll eat at the first fast food joint they find or Hyukjae’s foot-which proves more than anything how hungry he actually is. Gripping the book, Hyukjae shakes his head stubbornly, because if they are doing Paris they are doing it right and there’s no way they’re not eating classic French cuisine. It’s like going to America and not eating a hotdog. Completely ridiculous.
They find the place after getting lost twice, and sit in a corner table by the window, Donghae sticking his nose to the glass practically as he watches the pedestrians walk by.
“Did you see that girl with that dog? It was bigger than her!” He sits back and reads the menu, mumbling it out loud in what Donghae thinks might sound like French, and beaming up at Hyukjae. “I love Paris.”
Hyukjae grins and says if he loves it so much he shouldn’t offend them by murdering their language. Donghae kicks him under the table and laughs.
The waiter comes and their ordering consist of lots of pointing and gesturing and this time Hyukjae is glad to not be the only idiot flailing and trying to communicate in wretched English. It starts to rain when the food arrives, lattes and some cherry filled pastries. Donghae gets cherry compote all over his shirt, deems it fair to paint Hyukjae’s cheek with some of it and almost knocks over Hyukjae’s coffee when he leans over the table to lick it off.
“Donghae,” Hyukjae warns seriously, wiping his cheek. “Don’t. We’re in public.”
Donghae shrugs. “No one is watching us. Remember? The hords of fangirls don’t like me?” He sighs and carefully wipes the bit Hyukjae missed. His hand lingers and they share a look, maybe a little sad and very much resigned because it doesn’t matter if no one is watching.
They leave the cafè after the rain has stopped with elbows lightly brushing, Donghae’s hands deep in his pockets as he breathes inhales the rain spiked air. He proclaims it smells like sugary spice and poodles and melting cheese and fresh flowers sprinkled with dew and accordions. Hyukjae takes a whiff and all he smells is cigarette smoke and intoxicating perfume.
“You have no imagination whatsoever, Lee Hyukjae,” Donghae tells him solemnly as Hyukjae’s phone starts to ring.
“Shit.” Hyukjae pales when he sees their manager’s number flashing on the screen. He pulls the phone from his ear as the voices start trailing in, Jungsu making himself heard over Seunghwan’s voice and Hyukjae has heard a variety of tones in his voice over the years but he’s never yelled so loudly at him before. Jungsu keeps going on and on about how he thought they were in some ditch in the middle of the city and how he would be demoted from being Super Junior’s leader to backstage groupie, if he’s lucky. Hyukjae listens with guilt brewing in his stomach while Donghae presses his ear to the other side and ohhh’s and ahhh’s at how high Seunghwa’s voice can go.
“Well, this is the last time we’re allowed to travel by ourselves so we better enjoy it.” Hyukjae hangs up and grimaces at the twenty two missed calls his phone announces he has.
“Don’t be so dramatic. They’ll forget it when we give them their awesome souvenirs.”
Hyukjae doesn’t hold his breath when Donghae buys them identical Eiffel Tower keychains and the tackiest caricature replicas of the French Prime Minister Hyukjae has ever seen.
*
Donghae takes pictures of absolutely everything. The cat licking it’s paws outside of the seamstress shop. The girl strumming her guitar in front of a fountain, smiling at Hyukjae when he tosses some coins in her open case. He gets particularly interested in the orange bench they find on the corner of the Dior store. Donghae snaps a couple of pictures of the display window, saying this will definitely buy Zhoumi’s favor and maybe let him hog him a bit during Super Junior M promotions without Kyuhyun trying to mutilate him.
“I thought you said you wanted to see the Eiffel tower and make me climb all the way up?” Hyukjae asks, puzzled.
Donghae bites into the sandwich they bought at a stand near Luxembourg Gardens where he took around forty pictures of all the flowers and fountains and those live statue people who paint themselves grey and you just have to try and make laugh like the men who stand in front of Buckingham Palace in England.
“Nah. That’s what everyone does. We should leave it for last. Throw away convention and be unique tourists,” Donghae sentences wisely, breaking off a piece of his sandwich and giving it to Hyukjae. Hyukjae sticks it in his mouth and gives Donghae a piece of his brioche. “Lets go see that big thing. With the arch.” Donghae gestures with his hands and half his sandwich filling falls out one end which is okay because some pigeons quickly swoop in and start pecking at it and none of it goes to waste.
*
“Now I know why I let you convince me to take this trip,” Hyukjae says as he peers over Donghae’s shoulder at the camera screen.
“Because you are totally whipped and you can’t say no to me?”
“Because I don’t have to ask other people to take my picture. I have my own personal photographer who knows my good side.”
“Right. Your ass.”
“Shut up and take my picture,” Hyukjae commands before smiling and holding up the piece sign, his other hand flat as if he were holding the golden statue behind him in the palm of his hand. Donghae rolls his eyes but snaps the picture.
“You’re such a narcissist,” Donghae says when Hyukjae takes the camera to look at the shot. Hyukjae ignores him as he deletes the ones that make his nose look too big or his forehead too shiny, he barely feels Donghae throw his arm across his shoulders and pry the camera from his grasp. “We need to have at least one with both of us,” he mumbles against Hyukjae’s cheek as he lifts the camera and the flash blinds them for a moment.
Hyukjae doesn’t care that his gums take up half the screen or his jaw juts out almost abnormally. It’s his favorite picture Donghae has taken so far.
*
“This is art?”
“Of course it is,” Hyukjae says like Donghae is stupid. “It’s in the museum.”
Donghae squints at the painting. “But it’s just a map of the world. I have a map just like this in my travel kit that Henry helped me buy. Does that make it art too?”
Hyukjae mutters something under his breath because Donghae is just being smart and honestly, who cares what Europeans think is art and isn’t. Luckily, Donghae gets distracted by a statue of a man jumping over a lion or something so Hyukjae doesn’t have to admit he thinks it’s stupid too.
“We should see Spain next.”
“Hmmm?” Hyukjae looks away from the painting at Donghae who has been staring at him instead.
“Our next trip. We should see Spain. We can tan on the beach and see the bull fights. You’d probably get all red though, but we could go flamenco or salsa dancing and you’d like that and I promise not to grab you too hard where you’re burnt.”
Hyukjae blinks for a moment, then points to the painting. “Is this about the painting?” he gestures to the portrait of a man with a ridiculous hat and a red flag sashaying in front of an angry bull.
“No. Yes. Sort of,” Donghae finishes, vaguely and no longer looking at him.
Silence surrounds them as they walk through the rest of the exhibits, the number of ridiculing comments of the art works decreasing but Hyukjae doesn’t know what to say. They’re always talking about places they want to see, from world landmarks to remote islands they can’t even pronounce, but this is their first actual trip alone outside of their country and Hyukaje hasn’t really been thinking of future endeavors in their quest to be world travelers.
They find a gelato shop two streets away from the museum and Hyukjae gives in, but only because the strawberry cone a little girl with pigtails eats as she exist the shop by her mother’s hands is taunting him.
Donghae stirs his spoon in his mix of pistachio and chocolate, gaze lost out the the window so Hyukjae says,
“I don’t think I’d like bullfighting but learning salsa might be fun. Broaden our dancing repertoires. Eeteuk would like the beaches. I hear there are nudist ones on the southern coast. And you know Spain is famous for their liquors, so convincing Kyuhyun should be easy and-” His words pile up and Hyukaje feels his gelato lodging up in his throat, constricting when Donghae shakes his head telling him to stop. Hyukjae shoves another spoonful in his mouth.
“When I said we, I meant you and me.”
“I know,” Hyukjae admits with a sigh.
“So,” Donghae gestures for him to elaborate, his face surprised that Hyukjae admits it so freely.
Hyukjae bites his lip, tongue frozen like a useless icicle about to break, because he’s not sure why something as simply complicated as taking a trip makes him close up.
Donghae shows him a quick smile, toothless and meant to say it’s okay let’s just drop it, and badgers Hyukjae to let him try some of his gelato, spoon already full of a scoop of his and aiming at Hyukjae’s mouth in exchange. Hyukjae doesn’t say anything as Donghae feeds him. It’s difficult to swallow and it’s not just because of the taste.
*
At first Hyukjae resists when Donghae wants to eat at that Italian restaurant they walked by this morning because they’re supposed to consume only authentic French cuisine while on this trip-never mind they already broke the rule when they ate the gelato. Donghae argues that Europe is one big Union, it’s sort of expected you’ll eat kielbasas while in Greece and vice versa and Hyukjae needs to learn to chill. He’s craving spaghetti and that’s the end of that.
“You can’t laugh at my fantasy. I don’t laugh at your dumb obsession with kissing Jung Juri.”
“That’s not a fantasy, Donghae. It’s a nigthmare.”
“Whatever. Point is, I want us to eat spaghetti with one huge meatball. Only one. And then we’ll meet in the middle of a noodle, but I’ll let you have most of it.”
“We’re never watching Lady and the Tramp ever again.”
Donghae narrows his eyes and Hyukjae shuts up in favor of drumming on his plate with two breadsticks. “When we’ve eaten all the pasta, I’ll nudge the meatball towards you with my nose because I know it’s your favorite and you’d probably hit me if I didn’t.”
“Someone shoot me.”
“And then you’ll lick the marinara sauce off my nose and be so grateful, when we get back to the room you’ll give me a blow job.”
“I’m not licking the marinara sauce off your nose.”
“Is that a yes to the blow job?”
Hyukjae doesn’t answer but that’s only because the waiter arrives with their dinner.
They leave the restaurant with full stomachs and no noses having been licked-though they did pass the meatball back and forth with their forks until Hyukjae had nudged a little too hard and it landed in a nearby diner’s water glass-and the city is completely transformed. Hyukjae doesn’t remember Paris at night with much clarity, too preoccupied with getting lost in a foreign city in darkness, but he takes every detail in now. All the glistening lights on every tree, lampost and building, the city is so bright, Hyukjae wonders how he could have feared getting lost. Donghae says he can’t help it, Hyukjae is a worrywart, but it’s okay because this time he’s here and he will keep Hyukjae safe from any and all shadows lurking in any unlit corners. His hand wraps around Hyukjae’s, loosely but warm and firm, and Hyukjae doesn’t pull away and shuffles closer so their coats conceal their linked hands from view.
It’s after midnight when they reach the room, hot chocolate warming their stomachs and powdered sugar on Hyukjae’s lower lip. Donghae kisses it off, tugging on Hyukjae’s lip lightly and smiling at him in a somehow perfect blend of shit eating grin and adorable adoration. Hyukjae sighs pitifully, definitely not eager hands already on Donghae’s belt as he drops to his knees.
*
They spend the next day people watching. Donghae says he’s gotten the gist of French architecture and food and art, now he wants to understand the people. They ride the metro all over the city and pick random spots to just sit and look, listen and taste, eyes hungry and swallowing more than they can digest. Hyukjae spends most of that time watching Donghae. The way his eyes widen when something catches his attention, or his neck arching to stare at the sky or ceiling made out of intricate paintings or cracked concrete above their heads. Donghae points out things Hyukjae doesn’t even think are worth noticing, wouldn’t have otherwise like the tulip growing from a crack in the sidewalk or the sun reflecting off a pond. Like the fact that spending a whole day in a foreign country just sitting around might be pointless, but it isn’t if you know what to look at, for. Donghae doesn’t just find them, they find him.
Around lunch they get off the metro and sit on a bench in the underground station and try to read the graffiti people have left on the wall. They decipher some English words, but mostly they don’t understand anything except the drawings of dragons and flags and guns symbolizing anarchy and protests against the government. Two names encircled in a heart and Donghae retells the story of two lovers, doomed to keep their love a secret, writings on a wall the only sign out in the world of their love. Hyukjae deciphers names, extremely proud as he announces ‘Pierre’ as one of them. The other starts with a J then an e but Hyukjae can’t make out the rest. When he looks over to smile at Donghae smugly, he is a few feet away making gestures at an older woman who smiles at him. It takes about three minutes, but Donghae comes back grinning and with a marker in his hand.
He finds an empty spot on the wall and presses the cool tip to the wall.
When they’re getting on the train to find lunch and do some shopping, Hyukjae looks over his shoulder and makes out ‘D+H’ confined inside a star on the corner of the ink and dirt splattered wall.
*
“What are you doing?” Hyukjae peeks through one eye when he feels warm breath fanning his cheek.
Donghae, on his stomach and sinking into the mattress as he leans on his elbows, plants a kiss on Hyukjae’s face. “I was willing you awake with my mind. See, you’re awake. Our brain link still works.”
“What you call brain link, I call creepy stalkerish tendencies.”
“I’m only a creepy stalker for you.”
Hyukjae does the one thing that always gets Donghae to be quiet in the morning. He slides a hand in Donghae’s hair and pulls him down, mouths pressing in a quiet kiss. Donghae smiles into it, letting Hyukjae know it’s exactly what he wanted him to do.
“Morning breath,” Hyukjae protests when Donghae tries to deepen it and Donghae mumbles that he doesn’t care, hands cupping Hyukjae’s jaw. “You say that now. Wait ‘till you have your tongue in my mouth and you start gagging down my throat.”
“God, you’re so romantic Hyukjae,” Donghae deadpans, but he lets Hyukjae pull them to the bathroom. They squeeze toothpaste on their mini travel toothbrushes, some of it splattering on the mirror. Donghae spells out their names with it, and Hyukjae pretends to gag at the heart Donghae adds at the end. They almost knock over a vase next to the sink neither knows what purpose it serves when Donghae kisses Hyukjae with toothpaste in his mouth and Donghae laughs while Hyukjae threatens to spit in his face.
Toothbrushes back in Hyukjae’s carrying case, they stumble back into the room with kisses tasting of mint and bits of last night’s cold city air still stuck in their mouths. Hyukjae guides Donghae until his knees hit the bed, hands running beneath Donghae’s t-shirt and relishing in warm skin and Donghae’s tongue gently stroking his. Laughter bubbles from their stomachs as they land on their sides, the tremors sending light tremors all the way to Hyukjae’s stomach. He tugs Donghae’s shirt off, Donghae’s hands already lining out Hyukjae’s naked chest and they move further up the bed so their feet don’t dangle off the edge. They press as close as they can and they kiss for what feels like hours, lips wandering every so often to skin and tracing veins with tongues, and it’s enough to drown themselves in this, in them. Hands touch and grab, fingers gripping and slipping beneath fabric covering hips, and it’s a slow build up of panting breaths and harshly heaving chests. Donghae holds Hyukjae’s hips as Hyukjae’s leg slips between his thighs, clutching in want and heat it leaves them both breathless for a moment.
Prying his mouth away, Donghae’s head hits the pillow with Hyukjae pressing him into the mattress, and how did he get here Hyukjae wonders, so lost in the trembling of Donghae’s mouth as they move together, in the way his stare burns Hyukjae in place, Donghae’s hands not leaving him any other place to be except here.
“Hyukjae,” Donghae groans against his mouth, hands pulling at Hyukjae’s boxers while Hyukjae does the same with Donghae’s. He moans quietly as flesh presses flesh and Donghae kisses him, gently, delicately mocking the way he bucks his hips against Hyukjae’s. Hyukjae kisses back, and this time all he tastes is Donghae and it is everything and nothing he ever imagined kisses and lips and mouths should taste like, the complete antithesis of a boy’s forgotten dream and the epitome of a man’s fantasy he’s too afraid to realize is real, is his.
It’s erratic now, the way their hands crave skin and the press of a mouth or the push of a tongue is no longer enough. Donghae’s hair glides through Hyukjae’s hands like thick water, his nails dig into scalp when Donghae bites into his neck and his hands slowly slip down arching Hyukjae's back.
It’s lazy, their bodies cling and brake apart, legs tangling and feet skimming up thighs that rip chuckles from their throats along with gasping moans. And Hyukjae can’t remember the last time it was like this, having all the time in the world but still being too desperate, urgent from the lack of air and always knowing that in Donghae’s kiss, he’ll be able to breathe.
When they come, it is with Donghae’s fingers bruising his hips and Hyukjae’s lips panting against Donghae’s throat. But it feels like Donghae’s nails claw into his heart instead, Hyukjae’s mouth wanting to pierce Donghae’s skin and fall, crawl inside of Donghae and burry himself somewhere in Donghae’s mouth or maybe his chest, right in the essence where Donghae hides all of his secrets and smiles.
*
“I think you melted my brain.”
Hyukjae snorts. Donghae laughs, stretched out next to him and they are a sweaty sticky mass of melted limbs, pants now reduced to quiet exhales and Donghae’s left leg anchoring Hyukjae’s right to the sheets.
“I’m serious,” Donghae insists turning onto his side. He grabs Hyukjae’s hand and puts it on his head. “Can you feel anything in there?”
All Hyukjae feels is Donghae’s damp hair and the weight of his head pressed to his palm. “I think you’re confused. There’s never been anything in there.”
Donghae turns his head and bites Hyukjae’s hand. Before Hyukjae can shriek and hit him with said hand, Donghae kisses the same spot and lays Hyukjae’s hand on the bed to pillow his cheek.
“Are you just going to stare at me for the rest of the morning?”
“Morning? It’s like two in the afternoon,” Donghae informs him, smiling triumphantly at Hyukjae gaping at the clock on the nightstand.
Hyukjae then starts ranting about how could they waste the day in bed when there is an entire city for them to explore and food to devour. Donghae resorts to the only thing that can cut a Hyukjae rant short. He swallows Hyukjae’s words and savors the small grin Hyukjae leaves imprinted on the roof of his mouth.
*
They eventually do make it out of the bed and to the theater they almost get kicked out of for talking during the play-the usher doesn’t seem to care that Donghae was just translating the dialogue for Hyukjae, mainly because he has no idea what Donghae is explaining in garbled English-but not before they shower and Donghae is the one to sink to his knees this time, lips tracing the water drops painting swirls on Hyukjae’s inner thighs.
*
Who knew that from something as simple as metal and someone’s imagination, there lies the top of the world? Extending for days and centuries, so long it’s impossible to stand here and not feel like the world is at your able fingertips.
Feet planted firmly and arms bracing the banister keeping him from plummeting into concrete, Hyukjae’s eyes soak up the view, his lungs inhale the scent-which still smells of cigarette and heady perfume but with a touch of something else Hyukaje can’t put his tongue on-and he knows he’s been here before, but it feels like the first time.
“I’m impressed. I honestly expected for your hip to give out on the way up here. Though you did cheat by taking the elevator to the third level.”
“The elevator is the only way to get up to the third level.Remind me again, why did I agree to coming on this trip?”
“Easy,” Donghae answers, a smile hanging off his lips as he stares down bellow. “Because you love me.”
Hyukjae almost replies with ‘No, it’s because you’re an insistent little jerk’, but he doesn’t want to. He turns to watch Donghae take in the scenery, see the view through his expression, if it fascinates Donghae as much as it fascinated Hyukjae the first time he saw it up close.
“I wish we could stay longer,” Donghae sighs, his hands dancing along the banister as he leans his body forward, to do what other than give Hyukjae a mild stroke Hyukjae doesn’t know. He stands straight once again and one of his hands finds Hyukjae’s over chipped paint.
“We were lucky enough to get four days,” Hyukjae reminds him, his fingers closing around Donghae’s and it earns him a smile. “Our schedules are packed this week.”
“I know. I know.” Donghae grabs Hyukjae’s sleeve and drags him along the perimeter until they face the other side, the whole while making people move out of their way. Hyukjae is so mortified, he apologizes in Korean. “Did you think about me?”
Hyukjae furrows his brows, this time genuinely confused.
“When you were here before. Did you think about me?” Donghae keeps tracing patterns on the railing, his fingers dancing like they want to create the world’s most beautiful masterpiece at its peak. Hyukjae can’t think of anything more beautiful than anything Donghae’s fingertips pour out and write on his skin, in his heart, sketches he left abandoned in old practice rooms Hyukjae keeps locked up and stitched on the curve of his ribs where no one else can find them.
“Let’s come back here,” Hyukjae answers, the way Donghae’s eyes light up like erupting comets making it a little harder to breathe. “When we have time, we should do Paris right. You and me,” and maybe his voice stupidly catches in his chest as he speaks but Hyukjae doesn’t care because he doesn’t want to think about Donghae while reaching the ends of the Earth and planting his flag sand deep into faraway patches of land. He wants Donghae reading the map for him and misguiding them completely with the compass pointing due north as he leads them south.
*
The taxi drops them off at the airport and Donghae’s face stretches into a grin when they get ambushed with heavily accented Korean and dozens of young French girls holding banners and cd’s. Hyukjae still managers to be surprised while Donghae is pleased because as it turns out, their French fans don’t hate him, they just didn’t know they were here.
On board, Donghae pulls out his map and they huddle close to spot any places they haven’t thought of before. It’s dangerous, Hyukjae thinks, to let themselves indulge in this fantasy. And maybe that's all it will be. A fantasy left behind like a childhood and it'll be two lonely footprints marking sand or someone who isn't Donghae standing next to him, always heading where the compass is pointing and never getting them lost for the hell of it. But for now, up here where the clouds beg for fantasizing, Hyukjae thinks it alright. To make plans to conquer the world with their tour guide books and passports, but somehow, Hyukjae can’t see himself conquering it any other way. Nothing but a map and Donghae's hand gripping his and the coordinates to every place he’s ever wanted to see reflected in deep brown and a thousand city lights to lead the way.
***
***
a/n: I actually wrote this before SM announced they'll be going to Paris, so go figure.