Super Junior {Hankyung/Heechul ; Timeless (2/5)}
Title: Timeless (2/5)
Fandom: Super Junior (AU, !future)
Pairing: Hankyung/Heechul
Word count: 3,597
Rating: R
Summary: Heechul has just had the worst day ever, in the world. Honestly, he doesn't think that it could possibly get worse than this. That, however, is something that he'll come to regret articulating when he ends up a long way from home, in a world where life is a fight for survival.
A/N: I wrote the first 5000-ish words in present tense and changing tenses is something which just tires me out, it's so damn boring. I'm like, falling asleep at my laptop, lmfao. Should sleep more and stop writing endless fics, yes. um. Happy Birthday Donghae? Whatever, he's a total Hanchul shipper.
Timeless (2/5)
He woke up to see a man holding a knife leaning over him.
He shrieked and then coughed, his throat too dry for that. The man jumped away from him like he was the one who had just been given a shock, although Heechul didn't think he had any right to be surprised, it wasn't like Heechul was the one with a knife in his hand. He coughed again, dryness scratching. The man looked at him warily. His black hair, just slightly too long, hung in a jagged cut across brown eyes, long at the back and pulled back with a tie, framing a face which would be handsome if he looked like he ate more than once a month. Heechul didn't recognise him from the group before, but he was taking no chances. He surged upright, not sure where he was but certain he had to get away, and two hands fastened around his shoulders and pushed him back down. He would have struggled against that, but the sudden swoop upright made his sight fuzz over, almost fainting again.
Something was pressed to his mouth, and after an initial flinching away, he looked down to see a flask, the kind that gin or a similar spirit was usually put in. The stranger made a noise of encouragement, motioning with his hands, but Heechul kept his mouth closed. The flask was taken away and tipped up against another mouth, and the man took a drink, then spilt a little over Heechul's hand. Everything seemed to point to it being water, so when the flask was again put to his lips, he opened his mouth and let a little of the liquid in.
It was water, cool and clean. He drank eagerly, quickly finishing the flask, every drop. The man smiled when he saw that, and handed him another. He drank this one slower, even feeling capable of lifting his hands and supporting it by himself. As he drank, he became more aware of the pain in his back. It was a dull ache which was getting stronger with every minute, but he gritted his teeth against it, and looked around his surroundings. The sun was off his face; he felt almost cool. He appeared to be in some sort of underground room, and then he noticed a flight of stairs over in the corner: this was once a basement.
"Who are you?" he asked, when the second empty flask was taken from his hands. The man stared back at him blankly. "Where am I? How did you find me?"
The man said something to him in the same form of Mandarin that the people who had attacked him spoke. Heechul didn't understand a word of it. He shook his head, and the man looked annoyed and said something else. Heechul shook his head again. The man seemed to realise that he wasn't answering what he had said, whatever it was, in the negative, and was instead trying to let him know that he hadn't understood. He nodded in a resigned way, and turned away.
"Great," said Heechul. "I'm in the middle of fuck only knows with a person who doesn't even speak Korean. What the hell is going on here?"
A dish was suddenly pushed into his hands. A murky stew almost spilt over onto his hands before he caught hold of himself, quickly recovering. The man laughed a little at the surprised look on his face and then mimed that he should eat. Heechul resented being laughed at but he was too hungry to refuse the food, unappealing as it looked. The man had a bowl of his own, which he raised to his mouth. No utensils, then. Heechul scrunched his nose up as he raised his own dish, telling himself that it was just like eating at a fast food restaurant, and it would probably taste much nicer than anything he could get from those places.
It did taste much nicer. He was suprised at that. It was spicy, tasting mostly of gravy. There was some sort of meat in it, dried and tough, but he ate it anyway and didn't dare ask what it was; not that he'd understand anyway. Once he'd finished, it was replaced by another bowl without words. As he finished that one, slower than the first, he lay back on his make-shift bed. Eating had brought him some of his old strength, but the food had made him tired, and the pain in his back was eating away at him. Before he fell asleep again, his empty dish was gently removed, something muttered in Mandarin as fingers touched his own.
This time when he woke up, he was on his front and there were hands on his bare back. The panic was immediate and consuming; he couldn't see his assailant or what he was doing, but when he yelled out and struggled to get away, hands pressed down on him and forced him back down. Oh god, he thought. Oh god oh god oh god oh god--
Fingers brushed against the knob at the top of his spine before settling against his shoulders, thumbs now rubbing against the bumb in his skin. Heechul's panic subsided, comforted despite himself. A voice said something, that weird form of Mandarin, and he recognised it as the voice of the man from earlier. Slowly, very slowly, as if fearful of scaring Heechul like earlier, the man's hands travelled back down to where they had been on his back.
Heechul stayed still. He didn't know what the man was doing, only that his fingers were cool against his skin. Unable to see, he relied instead on his sense of touch. These were not soft hands; not like the hands of Hwanghi, who rubbed lotion into his hands every night to stop them from showing any sign of his profession. The skin was hard and calloused. They were large hands, too, he realised, as the man splayed one against his back for a moment or two. This, he realised soon after, was to stop him from moving, as there was a sudden sharp sting, then simple blinding pain. Fingers, rubbing something into his wound. It was quick, but not quick enough for Heechul's liking; he shrieked and then the area went numb.
It was an odd sensation, like some form of anaesthetic had just been injected straight into the wound. Fingers brushed at his neck again, brushing his hair away; it must have been filthy, sweaty, disgusting. It took a couple of minutes but eventually Heechul calmed down, his heart no longer racing. The fingers left and then there was the singularly peliculiar sensation of force being applied to numbed skin, and he was helped onto his back, helped immediately into a sitting position. The man said something, motioned to his back. Heechul reached around, felt guaze. Bandages, then, though where this man had managed to find them, he had no idea.
The man said something, and then looked at Heechul expectantly. Heechul stared at him blankly, so he said it again and pointed at himself. His name, perhaps? A third time. Heechul tried to imitate the sounds. "Hankyung?" he said hesitantly. The man shook his head and said the sounds a fourth time. "Hankyung," said Heechul firmly, nodding his head.
The man quirked his lips, clearly deciding to let him have his own way. He pointed at Heechul, who said, "Heechul." Then he repeated it, slower. "Heechul."
"Heechul," said Hankyung. He butchered the pronunciation, so that it sounded a lot more like Heechul's Chinese name, but Heechul was already beginning to think that he was not in Korea anymore, so he just nodded his head. Hankyung pointed to his own back and said something. Heechul couldn't help thinking that this would be much easier with Siwon here; Heechul knew very little Mandarin anyway, never minded this accented version. He took one class in college, and then gave up.
He nodded his head to whatever Hankyung had just said anyway, and thought that that must have been the right thing to do as Hankyung smiled, and then turned and began packing his stuff up. There was a dirty tub of some sort of green paste which Hankyung wrapped carefully in a piece of cloth before he packed it into a ragged rucksack. Heechul turned away from it, hoping to the god that he had never had need of before that that wasn't the stuff that had just been rubbed into his back. If he died of blood poisoning in the night, then he knew what to blame -- and who to blame.
Now that he was properly awake and his back didn't hurt any longer, he was able to take a good look at Hankyung. He was dressed in a tank top and a pair of what look like cargo pants, in a dark red colour. Camoflague in a red environment. His skin was dark brown, no doubt born from wandering in that sun. Heechul dreaded to think what his own skin must look like. He was always been so careful in the sun, tans never looked good on him. He felt burnt, so he must be, probably shiny pink. Not attractive. Hankyung, when he stood and hoisted the backpack onto his shoulders, may have been slim, but there was muscle mass underneath. Well, he must have been decently strong, if he'd carried Heechul down to this basement from above ground.
Hankyung turned towards him and held out both hands. Heechul hesitated and then took them and was pulled solidly to his feet. Although his joints and muscles screamed out in protest, his back stayed silent and painless. He'd simply been lying down for too long after walking for too long, so he stumbled and fell into Hankyung, who caught him around the tops of his arms and pushed him back up and held him upright while he regained himself. Heechul was torn between annoyance at himself for falling and showing this insuffrable amount of weakness, and being grateful at Hankyung for not doing what most people would have done and catching him about the waist. He wasn't a girl.
Still, he was thankful for the hand on his arm keeping him upright, and he was thankful for the help he recieved when they climbed the stairs, although he would never admit it out-loud. He found it difficult enough even with the help, every bone in his body refusing to work like they should do. By the top of the stairs, he had to stop for a moment or two. Hankyung was patient, just waiting for him. Then he took Heechul's arm again and lead him out of the building -- up on this level, there was no roof and only three crumbling rooms.
The sun was towards the west. It was after midday, but probably only just. He must have been down in that cellar for more than a day, at least, but he had no way of knowing how long exactly. He couldn't ask Hankyung. One day was enough. Back home, they must be getting worried now. They must have issued a missing persons statement. Maybe they appealed on the news. Maybe Siwon, maybe his family, maybe even Hwanghi --
Except he wasn't too sure that was what would be happening. This wasn't just a case of waking up somewhere different. This wasn't Korea, and this didn't even seem like China. No one in China spoke like that. No place in China even looked like this, this endless wasteland of red dust. If it did, you think he'd have heard of such a place. You'd think there'd be people around, at any rate -- he amended that. There were people around. Strange people, who took pleasure in his pain, and Hankyung, who was someone that he didn't know or understand.
No, this surely wasn't China. This wasn't anywhere that he knew of. There wasn't anywhere like this in his world. For a brief, mad moment, he thought, "Red, dust, oh god, I'm on Mars," and then he shook his head and dismissed that. This was still Earth. It was somewhere on Earth. It was just --
What if it wasn't his time?
The thought seemed so crazy that he stumbled and this time Hankyung, walking next to him, did catch him about the waist and hauled him upright with very little grace. His arm pressed against the bandages on Heechul's back, and whatever was rubbed there was beginning to fade. Pain shot through him and he hissed. Hankyung made a stricken noise and let go, hands brushing over Heechul's face and shoulders. Heechul threw him off with an annoyed shake of his head. That seemed too intimate for his liking. It was different when Hankyung was tending to him; out here, like this, it seemed to speak of something different. He didn't even know what Hankyung wanted with him, and the constant touching -- well, Heechul kind of thought it could be nothing good.
"Fine," he said. "Okay." And he strode off as best he could to demonstrate to Hankyung that he was fine, completely fine, and didn't need his help or his comfort, or his anything else. Hankyung caught up easily, taking hold of his arm again, and pulling him back, all the while talking in an angry tone. Heechul shook his head and shrugged. Hankyung actually shook him, both hands on his shoulders, yelling at him.
Heechul put both hands on his chest and pushed him away. He knew that Hankyung could easily have withstood that, but he stepped back anyway, allowing Heechul some space. Then he bent down and from a pocket, pulled out a dagger. It didn't look half as sharp as the ones the other people had been carrying, but still, it was sharp enough. Heechul shied away, wondered how far he'd get before Hankyung was on him.
The dagger was raised. Heechul prepared to run; he might not get far, but he wasn't just going to stand there and take it, god damn it. Then Hankyung turned his back, mimed fighting against an invisible foe while pushing Heechul back. His message seemed simple enough; he was there to protect.
Then he took Heechul's arm, and that message was simple enough: stay close.
This time, Heechul did as he was told. The sunlight had glinted off the dagger when it was unsheathed, and he'd remembered bloodthirsty eyes and manic smiles and if Hankyung could protect him from those people, people who terrified him like nothing else did, then he was going to stick with Hankyung.
They walked until the sun was close to setting. Heechul had no idea where they were going, or even why Hankyung had adopted him, in a way, but to begin with, walking with someone was pleasant. Company was company, no matter if it was in the form of a man who he couldn't understand. After a while, however, he began to see Hankyung's prescence as a curse. If he'd been alone, he could have admitted that he was too tired, too hot, to go on. He'd have been able to stop against the half wall of a building and catch his breath. Now, however, his pride stopped him. He was unwilling to show yet more weakness in front of Hankyung. He kept walking, through the blistering sun and oppresive heat, kept going, kept putting one foot in front of the other, kept up with Hankyung's pace, until he sat down, quite suddenly, on the floor, legs simply giving way.
The look on Hankyung's face was undoubtably terror. It was all very well and good to think that Heechul was dead and be worried by that, but Hankyung seemed overly scared at the prospect. Perhaps it was because he'd tried so hard to keep Heechul alive in the first place. He swooped down on Heechul, hands touching his face like earlier, sweeping at his hair to feel against his forehead. Heechul was a little stunned by his swift removal to the ground, so he allowed this with nothing but a weak swat at his hands. Then Hankyung rocked back on the balls of his feet to fumble around in his pack. He pulled out a flask, shook it by his ear, checking how much was left, and passed it to Heechul. Heechul sipped at it.
Then a hat was forced on his head, a floppy canvas one, red, the kind that he would never be caught dead in back home. He blinked at Hankyung from above the flask and below the rim of the hat, and watched as the corners of Hankyung's eyes wrinkled up as he laughed at him silently. Heechul pushed the flask hard into Hankyung's chest, making him go "Oof," and stood up, skin flushed. It hadn't escaped him that that was a very nice smile.
This time, Hankyung went slower, and stopped every so often to let Heechul rest, saying nothing. There was no air of pity around him, no air of being impatient to move on. It was matter of fact, the way he stopped, as if just accepting that Heechul needed rest that he didn't need. He waited until Heechul felt ready to begin again, and then took his arm and lead him further.
The sun was remarkably low in the sky when they finally set up camp, so to speak. Heechul had no idea where they are heading -- if they were heading for anywhere. There didn't seem to be anywhere to head. He'd begun to see now. Other than the decrepit buildings, there was nothing. Looking out to the horizon, there were no trees. No animals. No birds. Nothing. Nothing other than a vast expanse of what seemed like a metropolis. That was the only thing that makes Heechul doubt that he was in a desert.
Hankyung left him in the shadow of a wall as he went looking for somewhere to sleep. He had perfected the art of moving silently and so almost terrified Heechul out of his wits when he took his arm suddenly from behind. Again, those fingers touching the back of his neck. It was, he realised, supposed to speak of comfort, not intimacy, but Heechul couldn't help but shiver. Comfort was, in itself, an intimate gesture.
Hankyung lead him down to another basement. It would be pitch black down there but for the few candles that Hankyung had lit. Heechul wondered where he got them, what he used to light them. Who was this man, this man of a great many resources, in a world of stone and sand? Then he thought about the candles and had a mad moment of thinking Hankyung was trying to seduce him. The sun must be getting to him.
There were a couple of blankets spread out on the ground, Heechul's makeshift bed from earlier made real again. It was laid down in between some boxes, no doubt holding the belongings of some family that had once lived there. He was distracted by thoughts of them, of who they might have been. What had happened to make them leave? He bent down and pulled at the wooden lid. It crumbled beneath his fingers. Underneath were books, preserved only through the coolness of the cellar, plastic toys, and a doll. It stared up at him through button eyes, and he swallowed and stood back up, turning away from it.
Hankyung busied himself with getting something from his backpack, a something which he handed to Heechul. It was like a ship biscuit, hard and dry, but edible, just about. Heechul nibbled at it as Hankyung did something else, and then ate a bit faster as Hankyung made rushing noises. The reason for this hurry became apparent as a minute later, just as he finished, the heat dropped completely from the air. Underneath the ground, where it was cooller anyway, it was positively freezing. Hankyung quickly blew out all but one candle, and pulled him down onto the bed.
Heechul couldn't even begin to protest; one minute he was standing, the next he was lying on the blankets, face pressed to Hankyung's chest. This was far, far too much. The fingers which kept touching his face and neck were one thing, but to be this close, Hankyung's arms around his waist? It was madness, he couldn't do this. He didn't even know Hankyung, didn't even really know his proper name. He could be anyone, do anything. Was this what Hankyung had wanted from him all along? What Hankyung was doing was --
Keeping warm, he realised, as Hankyung flipped two other blankets over them and settled them, tucking the edges under their bodies to stop any heat escaping that way. Within a minute or so, Heechul was beginning to warm up. The coverings were over his face and Hankyung's face was buried in his hair. No doubt when he was alone, he'd sleep curled in, blankets over every inch of him. Now, he seemed happy enough to let Heechul have that.
Hankyung seemed to fall asleep quickly, but then, no doubt, he was used to these sorts of surroundings. Heechul lay awake for a very long time, his mind too full of thoughts and questions to be able to relax, none of them coherent enough for him to actually think about answering. In the end, he settled down, tired after the day of walking and uncertainty, tried hard not to think about where he was -- in the arms of some guy in the middle of some godforsaken desert, even if they were, you know, kind of nice arms -- and finally worked out how sleep functioned.
Fandom: Super Junior (AU, !future)
Pairing: Hankyung/Heechul
Word count: 3,597
Rating: R
Summary: Heechul has just had the worst day ever, in the world. Honestly, he doesn't think that it could possibly get worse than this. That, however, is something that he'll come to regret articulating when he ends up a long way from home, in a world where life is a fight for survival.
A/N: I wrote the first 5000-ish words in present tense and changing tenses is something which just tires me out, it's so damn boring. I'm like, falling asleep at my laptop, lmfao. Should sleep more and stop writing endless fics, yes. um. Happy Birthday Donghae? Whatever, he's a total Hanchul shipper.
Timeless (2/5)
He woke up to see a man holding a knife leaning over him.
He shrieked and then coughed, his throat too dry for that. The man jumped away from him like he was the one who had just been given a shock, although Heechul didn't think he had any right to be surprised, it wasn't like Heechul was the one with a knife in his hand. He coughed again, dryness scratching. The man looked at him warily. His black hair, just slightly too long, hung in a jagged cut across brown eyes, long at the back and pulled back with a tie, framing a face which would be handsome if he looked like he ate more than once a month. Heechul didn't recognise him from the group before, but he was taking no chances. He surged upright, not sure where he was but certain he had to get away, and two hands fastened around his shoulders and pushed him back down. He would have struggled against that, but the sudden swoop upright made his sight fuzz over, almost fainting again.
Something was pressed to his mouth, and after an initial flinching away, he looked down to see a flask, the kind that gin or a similar spirit was usually put in. The stranger made a noise of encouragement, motioning with his hands, but Heechul kept his mouth closed. The flask was taken away and tipped up against another mouth, and the man took a drink, then spilt a little over Heechul's hand. Everything seemed to point to it being water, so when the flask was again put to his lips, he opened his mouth and let a little of the liquid in.
It was water, cool and clean. He drank eagerly, quickly finishing the flask, every drop. The man smiled when he saw that, and handed him another. He drank this one slower, even feeling capable of lifting his hands and supporting it by himself. As he drank, he became more aware of the pain in his back. It was a dull ache which was getting stronger with every minute, but he gritted his teeth against it, and looked around his surroundings. The sun was off his face; he felt almost cool. He appeared to be in some sort of underground room, and then he noticed a flight of stairs over in the corner: this was once a basement.
"Who are you?" he asked, when the second empty flask was taken from his hands. The man stared back at him blankly. "Where am I? How did you find me?"
The man said something to him in the same form of Mandarin that the people who had attacked him spoke. Heechul didn't understand a word of it. He shook his head, and the man looked annoyed and said something else. Heechul shook his head again. The man seemed to realise that he wasn't answering what he had said, whatever it was, in the negative, and was instead trying to let him know that he hadn't understood. He nodded in a resigned way, and turned away.
"Great," said Heechul. "I'm in the middle of fuck only knows with a person who doesn't even speak Korean. What the hell is going on here?"
A dish was suddenly pushed into his hands. A murky stew almost spilt over onto his hands before he caught hold of himself, quickly recovering. The man laughed a little at the surprised look on his face and then mimed that he should eat. Heechul resented being laughed at but he was too hungry to refuse the food, unappealing as it looked. The man had a bowl of his own, which he raised to his mouth. No utensils, then. Heechul scrunched his nose up as he raised his own dish, telling himself that it was just like eating at a fast food restaurant, and it would probably taste much nicer than anything he could get from those places.
It did taste much nicer. He was suprised at that. It was spicy, tasting mostly of gravy. There was some sort of meat in it, dried and tough, but he ate it anyway and didn't dare ask what it was; not that he'd understand anyway. Once he'd finished, it was replaced by another bowl without words. As he finished that one, slower than the first, he lay back on his make-shift bed. Eating had brought him some of his old strength, but the food had made him tired, and the pain in his back was eating away at him. Before he fell asleep again, his empty dish was gently removed, something muttered in Mandarin as fingers touched his own.
This time when he woke up, he was on his front and there were hands on his bare back. The panic was immediate and consuming; he couldn't see his assailant or what he was doing, but when he yelled out and struggled to get away, hands pressed down on him and forced him back down. Oh god, he thought. Oh god oh god oh god oh god--
Fingers brushed against the knob at the top of his spine before settling against his shoulders, thumbs now rubbing against the bumb in his skin. Heechul's panic subsided, comforted despite himself. A voice said something, that weird form of Mandarin, and he recognised it as the voice of the man from earlier. Slowly, very slowly, as if fearful of scaring Heechul like earlier, the man's hands travelled back down to where they had been on his back.
Heechul stayed still. He didn't know what the man was doing, only that his fingers were cool against his skin. Unable to see, he relied instead on his sense of touch. These were not soft hands; not like the hands of Hwanghi, who rubbed lotion into his hands every night to stop them from showing any sign of his profession. The skin was hard and calloused. They were large hands, too, he realised, as the man splayed one against his back for a moment or two. This, he realised soon after, was to stop him from moving, as there was a sudden sharp sting, then simple blinding pain. Fingers, rubbing something into his wound. It was quick, but not quick enough for Heechul's liking; he shrieked and then the area went numb.
It was an odd sensation, like some form of anaesthetic had just been injected straight into the wound. Fingers brushed at his neck again, brushing his hair away; it must have been filthy, sweaty, disgusting. It took a couple of minutes but eventually Heechul calmed down, his heart no longer racing. The fingers left and then there was the singularly peliculiar sensation of force being applied to numbed skin, and he was helped onto his back, helped immediately into a sitting position. The man said something, motioned to his back. Heechul reached around, felt guaze. Bandages, then, though where this man had managed to find them, he had no idea.
The man said something, and then looked at Heechul expectantly. Heechul stared at him blankly, so he said it again and pointed at himself. His name, perhaps? A third time. Heechul tried to imitate the sounds. "Hankyung?" he said hesitantly. The man shook his head and said the sounds a fourth time. "Hankyung," said Heechul firmly, nodding his head.
The man quirked his lips, clearly deciding to let him have his own way. He pointed at Heechul, who said, "Heechul." Then he repeated it, slower. "Heechul."
"Heechul," said Hankyung. He butchered the pronunciation, so that it sounded a lot more like Heechul's Chinese name, but Heechul was already beginning to think that he was not in Korea anymore, so he just nodded his head. Hankyung pointed to his own back and said something. Heechul couldn't help thinking that this would be much easier with Siwon here; Heechul knew very little Mandarin anyway, never minded this accented version. He took one class in college, and then gave up.
He nodded his head to whatever Hankyung had just said anyway, and thought that that must have been the right thing to do as Hankyung smiled, and then turned and began packing his stuff up. There was a dirty tub of some sort of green paste which Hankyung wrapped carefully in a piece of cloth before he packed it into a ragged rucksack. Heechul turned away from it, hoping to the god that he had never had need of before that that wasn't the stuff that had just been rubbed into his back. If he died of blood poisoning in the night, then he knew what to blame -- and who to blame.
Now that he was properly awake and his back didn't hurt any longer, he was able to take a good look at Hankyung. He was dressed in a tank top and a pair of what look like cargo pants, in a dark red colour. Camoflague in a red environment. His skin was dark brown, no doubt born from wandering in that sun. Heechul dreaded to think what his own skin must look like. He was always been so careful in the sun, tans never looked good on him. He felt burnt, so he must be, probably shiny pink. Not attractive. Hankyung, when he stood and hoisted the backpack onto his shoulders, may have been slim, but there was muscle mass underneath. Well, he must have been decently strong, if he'd carried Heechul down to this basement from above ground.
Hankyung turned towards him and held out both hands. Heechul hesitated and then took them and was pulled solidly to his feet. Although his joints and muscles screamed out in protest, his back stayed silent and painless. He'd simply been lying down for too long after walking for too long, so he stumbled and fell into Hankyung, who caught him around the tops of his arms and pushed him back up and held him upright while he regained himself. Heechul was torn between annoyance at himself for falling and showing this insuffrable amount of weakness, and being grateful at Hankyung for not doing what most people would have done and catching him about the waist. He wasn't a girl.
Still, he was thankful for the hand on his arm keeping him upright, and he was thankful for the help he recieved when they climbed the stairs, although he would never admit it out-loud. He found it difficult enough even with the help, every bone in his body refusing to work like they should do. By the top of the stairs, he had to stop for a moment or two. Hankyung was patient, just waiting for him. Then he took Heechul's arm again and lead him out of the building -- up on this level, there was no roof and only three crumbling rooms.
The sun was towards the west. It was after midday, but probably only just. He must have been down in that cellar for more than a day, at least, but he had no way of knowing how long exactly. He couldn't ask Hankyung. One day was enough. Back home, they must be getting worried now. They must have issued a missing persons statement. Maybe they appealed on the news. Maybe Siwon, maybe his family, maybe even Hwanghi --
Except he wasn't too sure that was what would be happening. This wasn't just a case of waking up somewhere different. This wasn't Korea, and this didn't even seem like China. No one in China spoke like that. No place in China even looked like this, this endless wasteland of red dust. If it did, you think he'd have heard of such a place. You'd think there'd be people around, at any rate -- he amended that. There were people around. Strange people, who took pleasure in his pain, and Hankyung, who was someone that he didn't know or understand.
No, this surely wasn't China. This wasn't anywhere that he knew of. There wasn't anywhere like this in his world. For a brief, mad moment, he thought, "Red, dust, oh god, I'm on Mars," and then he shook his head and dismissed that. This was still Earth. It was somewhere on Earth. It was just --
What if it wasn't his time?
The thought seemed so crazy that he stumbled and this time Hankyung, walking next to him, did catch him about the waist and hauled him upright with very little grace. His arm pressed against the bandages on Heechul's back, and whatever was rubbed there was beginning to fade. Pain shot through him and he hissed. Hankyung made a stricken noise and let go, hands brushing over Heechul's face and shoulders. Heechul threw him off with an annoyed shake of his head. That seemed too intimate for his liking. It was different when Hankyung was tending to him; out here, like this, it seemed to speak of something different. He didn't even know what Hankyung wanted with him, and the constant touching -- well, Heechul kind of thought it could be nothing good.
"Fine," he said. "Okay." And he strode off as best he could to demonstrate to Hankyung that he was fine, completely fine, and didn't need his help or his comfort, or his anything else. Hankyung caught up easily, taking hold of his arm again, and pulling him back, all the while talking in an angry tone. Heechul shook his head and shrugged. Hankyung actually shook him, both hands on his shoulders, yelling at him.
Heechul put both hands on his chest and pushed him away. He knew that Hankyung could easily have withstood that, but he stepped back anyway, allowing Heechul some space. Then he bent down and from a pocket, pulled out a dagger. It didn't look half as sharp as the ones the other people had been carrying, but still, it was sharp enough. Heechul shied away, wondered how far he'd get before Hankyung was on him.
The dagger was raised. Heechul prepared to run; he might not get far, but he wasn't just going to stand there and take it, god damn it. Then Hankyung turned his back, mimed fighting against an invisible foe while pushing Heechul back. His message seemed simple enough; he was there to protect.
Then he took Heechul's arm, and that message was simple enough: stay close.
This time, Heechul did as he was told. The sunlight had glinted off the dagger when it was unsheathed, and he'd remembered bloodthirsty eyes and manic smiles and if Hankyung could protect him from those people, people who terrified him like nothing else did, then he was going to stick with Hankyung.
They walked until the sun was close to setting. Heechul had no idea where they were going, or even why Hankyung had adopted him, in a way, but to begin with, walking with someone was pleasant. Company was company, no matter if it was in the form of a man who he couldn't understand. After a while, however, he began to see Hankyung's prescence as a curse. If he'd been alone, he could have admitted that he was too tired, too hot, to go on. He'd have been able to stop against the half wall of a building and catch his breath. Now, however, his pride stopped him. He was unwilling to show yet more weakness in front of Hankyung. He kept walking, through the blistering sun and oppresive heat, kept going, kept putting one foot in front of the other, kept up with Hankyung's pace, until he sat down, quite suddenly, on the floor, legs simply giving way.
The look on Hankyung's face was undoubtably terror. It was all very well and good to think that Heechul was dead and be worried by that, but Hankyung seemed overly scared at the prospect. Perhaps it was because he'd tried so hard to keep Heechul alive in the first place. He swooped down on Heechul, hands touching his face like earlier, sweeping at his hair to feel against his forehead. Heechul was a little stunned by his swift removal to the ground, so he allowed this with nothing but a weak swat at his hands. Then Hankyung rocked back on the balls of his feet to fumble around in his pack. He pulled out a flask, shook it by his ear, checking how much was left, and passed it to Heechul. Heechul sipped at it.
Then a hat was forced on his head, a floppy canvas one, red, the kind that he would never be caught dead in back home. He blinked at Hankyung from above the flask and below the rim of the hat, and watched as the corners of Hankyung's eyes wrinkled up as he laughed at him silently. Heechul pushed the flask hard into Hankyung's chest, making him go "Oof," and stood up, skin flushed. It hadn't escaped him that that was a very nice smile.
This time, Hankyung went slower, and stopped every so often to let Heechul rest, saying nothing. There was no air of pity around him, no air of being impatient to move on. It was matter of fact, the way he stopped, as if just accepting that Heechul needed rest that he didn't need. He waited until Heechul felt ready to begin again, and then took his arm and lead him further.
The sun was remarkably low in the sky when they finally set up camp, so to speak. Heechul had no idea where they are heading -- if they were heading for anywhere. There didn't seem to be anywhere to head. He'd begun to see now. Other than the decrepit buildings, there was nothing. Looking out to the horizon, there were no trees. No animals. No birds. Nothing. Nothing other than a vast expanse of what seemed like a metropolis. That was the only thing that makes Heechul doubt that he was in a desert.
Hankyung left him in the shadow of a wall as he went looking for somewhere to sleep. He had perfected the art of moving silently and so almost terrified Heechul out of his wits when he took his arm suddenly from behind. Again, those fingers touching the back of his neck. It was, he realised, supposed to speak of comfort, not intimacy, but Heechul couldn't help but shiver. Comfort was, in itself, an intimate gesture.
Hankyung lead him down to another basement. It would be pitch black down there but for the few candles that Hankyung had lit. Heechul wondered where he got them, what he used to light them. Who was this man, this man of a great many resources, in a world of stone and sand? Then he thought about the candles and had a mad moment of thinking Hankyung was trying to seduce him. The sun must be getting to him.
There were a couple of blankets spread out on the ground, Heechul's makeshift bed from earlier made real again. It was laid down in between some boxes, no doubt holding the belongings of some family that had once lived there. He was distracted by thoughts of them, of who they might have been. What had happened to make them leave? He bent down and pulled at the wooden lid. It crumbled beneath his fingers. Underneath were books, preserved only through the coolness of the cellar, plastic toys, and a doll. It stared up at him through button eyes, and he swallowed and stood back up, turning away from it.
Hankyung busied himself with getting something from his backpack, a something which he handed to Heechul. It was like a ship biscuit, hard and dry, but edible, just about. Heechul nibbled at it as Hankyung did something else, and then ate a bit faster as Hankyung made rushing noises. The reason for this hurry became apparent as a minute later, just as he finished, the heat dropped completely from the air. Underneath the ground, where it was cooller anyway, it was positively freezing. Hankyung quickly blew out all but one candle, and pulled him down onto the bed.
Heechul couldn't even begin to protest; one minute he was standing, the next he was lying on the blankets, face pressed to Hankyung's chest. This was far, far too much. The fingers which kept touching his face and neck were one thing, but to be this close, Hankyung's arms around his waist? It was madness, he couldn't do this. He didn't even know Hankyung, didn't even really know his proper name. He could be anyone, do anything. Was this what Hankyung had wanted from him all along? What Hankyung was doing was --
Keeping warm, he realised, as Hankyung flipped two other blankets over them and settled them, tucking the edges under their bodies to stop any heat escaping that way. Within a minute or so, Heechul was beginning to warm up. The coverings were over his face and Hankyung's face was buried in his hair. No doubt when he was alone, he'd sleep curled in, blankets over every inch of him. Now, he seemed happy enough to let Heechul have that.
Hankyung seemed to fall asleep quickly, but then, no doubt, he was used to these sorts of surroundings. Heechul lay awake for a very long time, his mind too full of thoughts and questions to be able to relax, none of them coherent enough for him to actually think about answering. In the end, he settled down, tired after the day of walking and uncertainty, tried hard not to think about where he was -- in the arms of some guy in the middle of some godforsaken desert, even if they were, you know, kind of nice arms -- and finally worked out how sleep functioned.