Bus Stop - Hanchul (Suju)
Title: Bus Stop
Pairing: Hanchul
Rating: PG
Summary: Upon first looking at him, he notes that he was handome.
For shamber9, since she requested it. Happy (very, very early) birthday! (:
The first time he sees him, it’s at a bus stop.
The time is eight fifty-two pm, eight minutes to nine, and he wants to do is get home, make himself something quick to eat, and sleep. He’s tired, and all his thoughts are focused on the bed at home, slightly cool, and just waiting to be warmed up by his body heat. The bed is unmade, as it always is, since he has no patience to make it every morning, and one pillow lays on the floor, from when it fell as he was sleeping the previous night and he just didn’t feel like picking it up.
He’s waiting for the bus to come, waiting, waiting, and why isn’t it coming? Did he miss the last bus, already? How much longer for it to arrive?
It’s cold-absolutely freezing, and he unconsciously pulls his jacket tighter against his skin, curling his fingers in the hem of his sweater’s sleeves, and crouching, attempting to get warmer, at least by just a little bit. It won’t be much longer now until he’s home, not much longer until he’s snug under the covers and basking in the warmth his bed has to offer.
Dimly, he notes a man walking over to stand by his side, presumably waiting for the bus, as well.
Is that it, coming? How much longer will he have to wait? Is the bus almost here?
But the bus is late-is it always this late?-and he stays there, at the bus stop, waiting impatiently for it to arrive. He hears a low chuckle to his right, and glances towards the man he had paid no attention to before. Foreigner, his mind says, and his eyes stare at the man for a bit too long.
He isn’t aware of the man taking off his gloves until they’re pressed against his hands, the cool exterior of leather pushing against his skin. After a moment’s hesitation, he finally grasps the gloves, still staring at the man before him, still in awe.
Beautiful. Gorgeous. Striking. Handso-
“Please, use them,” the man says, in broken Korean, offering a small smile. He nods back, and then, the bus arrives.
The time is nine forty-six when he’s back in his own apartment, taking off his jacket and hastily placing it on the chair. Something falls out of the pocket, and he realizes the moment he sees it, that he has forgotten to return the man’s gloves. Carefully, he picks them up, and after a second’s look, the end of his mouth gives a quirk, and he puts the gloves down.
They’re just a regular pair of gloves, of course they are, why should he have thought otherwise? They’re black, warm, and don’t have any special qualities besides the fact that just moments before, they kept his hands from freezing. But yet, they’re his gloves, and that makes them special on their own.
As he’s getting into bed, his body finally beneath the sheets and his head finally on the pillow, he doesn’t feel as content as he thought he would, his mind still on the man that he met that night.
He doesn’t see the man again, not in a day, nor a week, never again. Some days, he keeps an eye out for the man. He looks for black hair, a narrow chin, and Chinese features. He strains his hearing in case he ever catches a dim sound his soft spoken voice, always in awkward Korean. When he realizes what he is doing, he stops instantly, focusing his mind on something else. Because really, since when has he cared?
Yet other days he finds himself waiting late at night at the same bus stop, a part of him hoping that he’ll run into him again. He never does, however, and eventually he loses all his stubborn and childish hope.
Perhaps it’s better this way. He’s never been the type to dream and hope, always determined to not show his weak side. But just to see him one more time-
In due time, Kim Heechul forgets about the man entirely.
---
A/N: My first story for Super Junior, and my first story on livejournal. Ahh. I don't know how to feel about this, haha.
Pairing: Hanchul
Rating: PG
Summary: Upon first looking at him, he notes that he was handome.
For shamber9, since she requested it. Happy (very, very early) birthday! (:
The first time he sees him, it’s at a bus stop.
The time is eight fifty-two pm, eight minutes to nine, and he wants to do is get home, make himself something quick to eat, and sleep. He’s tired, and all his thoughts are focused on the bed at home, slightly cool, and just waiting to be warmed up by his body heat. The bed is unmade, as it always is, since he has no patience to make it every morning, and one pillow lays on the floor, from when it fell as he was sleeping the previous night and he just didn’t feel like picking it up.
He’s waiting for the bus to come, waiting, waiting, and why isn’t it coming? Did he miss the last bus, already? How much longer for it to arrive?
It’s cold-absolutely freezing, and he unconsciously pulls his jacket tighter against his skin, curling his fingers in the hem of his sweater’s sleeves, and crouching, attempting to get warmer, at least by just a little bit. It won’t be much longer now until he’s home, not much longer until he’s snug under the covers and basking in the warmth his bed has to offer.
Dimly, he notes a man walking over to stand by his side, presumably waiting for the bus, as well.
Is that it, coming? How much longer will he have to wait? Is the bus almost here?
But the bus is late-is it always this late?-and he stays there, at the bus stop, waiting impatiently for it to arrive. He hears a low chuckle to his right, and glances towards the man he had paid no attention to before. Foreigner, his mind says, and his eyes stare at the man for a bit too long.
He isn’t aware of the man taking off his gloves until they’re pressed against his hands, the cool exterior of leather pushing against his skin. After a moment’s hesitation, he finally grasps the gloves, still staring at the man before him, still in awe.
Beautiful. Gorgeous. Striking. Handso-
“Please, use them,” the man says, in broken Korean, offering a small smile. He nods back, and then, the bus arrives.
The time is nine forty-six when he’s back in his own apartment, taking off his jacket and hastily placing it on the chair. Something falls out of the pocket, and he realizes the moment he sees it, that he has forgotten to return the man’s gloves. Carefully, he picks them up, and after a second’s look, the end of his mouth gives a quirk, and he puts the gloves down.
They’re just a regular pair of gloves, of course they are, why should he have thought otherwise? They’re black, warm, and don’t have any special qualities besides the fact that just moments before, they kept his hands from freezing. But yet, they’re his gloves, and that makes them special on their own.
As he’s getting into bed, his body finally beneath the sheets and his head finally on the pillow, he doesn’t feel as content as he thought he would, his mind still on the man that he met that night.
He doesn’t see the man again, not in a day, nor a week, never again. Some days, he keeps an eye out for the man. He looks for black hair, a narrow chin, and Chinese features. He strains his hearing in case he ever catches a dim sound his soft spoken voice, always in awkward Korean. When he realizes what he is doing, he stops instantly, focusing his mind on something else. Because really, since when has he cared?
Yet other days he finds himself waiting late at night at the same bus stop, a part of him hoping that he’ll run into him again. He never does, however, and eventually he loses all his stubborn and childish hope.
Perhaps it’s better this way. He’s never been the type to dream and hope, always determined to not show his weak side. But just to see him one more time-
In due time, Kim Heechul forgets about the man entirely.
---
A/N: My first story for Super Junior, and my first story on livejournal. Ahh. I don't know how to feel about this, haha.