and i never wanna leave
Title: sunday morning rain is falling
Fandom: Super Junior
Rating: pg13
Pairing: sungmin/ryeowook
Summary: Fits into my hanchul bbyverse (just need to know they have a daughter named Mei-ha) and how minwook decides to jump on the bandwagon
A/N: by request and dedicated to remixied, much much MUCH thanks to my little turtle-beta bittersnow
Sungmin likes Sunday mornings because neither of them have schedules on Sunday mornings, by design, so it’s just them and whatever they want to do. When they first moved into the quiet house in the sleepy suburb, Sunday mornings were Ryeowook’s gasps into his mouth as he twitches and bucks under his fingers and sneaking out of the bed to brush his teeth before he wakes Ryeowook with kisses across his hipbones.
Now they’ve settled,a bit, not so much as settled down together as they have settled into each other, and they sleep in and sometimes Sungmin wakes up to the smell of bacon frying and ambles out to the kitchen in pajama pants with bedhead and drinks coffee while Ryeowook cracks eggs with one hand and turns the newspaper pages with the other. Sometimes Ryeowook wakes up and he can hear soft stringed guitar playing in the yard and he slips out from the sliding glass door, light barefoot steps on the stone path to settle in a deck chair and watch Sungmin mumble to himself and scribble lyrics and music on a pad of paper under early morning sunshine.
Sungmin does not like it when his Sunday mornings are interrupted by an electro remix of classical piano going off in his ear.
“Hey,” Hankyung says, and it’s always the same when someone calls from Super Junior, there’s that second where Sungmin’s fingers come up to touch his hair, grown out to its natural colour and styled practically, because just for that second he feels ten years younger with bleached blonde hair cut raggedly across his eyes.
“Hyung,” he says, and smiles despite himself. The lump next to him that is Ryeowook stirs, and tugs the blankets off Sungmin’s legs, rolling further away from the noise. “Are you calling from Heechul-hyung’s phone?”
“Yeah,” Hankyung says, and even now his accent is almost exactly the same as the first time Sungmin met him in the training halls, skinny and nervous. “Sorry to call on your Sundays, but Mei-Ha is going to summer camp and we need an emergency number. Can we put you and Ryeowook down?”
“Uh,” Sungmin says, dragging a hand through his hair and squinting at the bedside clock. He swings out of bed, reaching for a tank top, and yanks the comforter off, dumping it on the floor. “What about Yunho, he’s the godfather.”
“Hey!” Ryeowook protests sleepily, and sits up. He’s wearing one of Sungmin’s shirts, a long sleeved knit soft grey tee that’s two sizes too big even on Sungmin. It slips off one of his shoulders, exposing a wide display of flawless skin. Sungmin lets his eyes travel up the curve of Ryeowook’s shoulder and down his collarbones.
“.... and we know you and Ryeowook aren’t traveling until the fall, so that’s why we decided to give you a call.” Ryeowook blinks at him, and yawns, stretching in a long smooth wave, arching his back until his spine cracks and he sighs.
“Yeah okay,” Sungmin says, and mumbles farewells, tosses his phone onto the nightstand and slides into Ryeowook’s lap.
“Hi,” Ryeowook says, and smiles down at him.
“Hey,” Sungmin says, and slides one of his hands up Ryeowook’s shirt. Ryeowook arches an eyebrow.
“Who was on the phone?” he asks curiously, and allows Sungmin to pull the shirt off him.
“Hankyung,” he mumbles, “paperwork stuff. Says Heechul will be on your radio show next week.”
“Mmhm,” Ryeowook says, and twists around until he’s lying on top of Sungmin and can drag his teeth across the shell of Sungmin’s ear.
Sungmin likes Sunday mornings.
Sungmin is playing TapTap against Sooyoung while they’re waiting for the newest boy band idol hit to finish playing, and his phone vibrates insistently against his leg. He narrows his eyes at Sooyoung, who glares right back, and slams his index finger into the touch screen with a touch more force than strictly necessary. He forgets to check his phone until later.
“Sungmin-hyung!” Ryeowook says angrily into his ear as he digs in his pocket for his car keys, “Why aren’t you answering? Why did a summer camp just call me to confirm we’re Mei-Ha’s emergency contacts? Call me back.”
“Oops,” Sungmin mutters, and turns the engine over as he dials a number from muscle memory.
“I’m at Hankyung and Heechul’s,” Ryeowook informs him after he’s done apologising. “Bring takeout from that Thai place. Mei-Ha says she wants dumplings and ice cream.”
“They don’t serve ice cream,” Sungmin says stupidly, and then his brain catches up. “Wait,” he sputters, “why--”
“See you then!” Ryeowook chirps, and hangs up.
It’s not as bad as Sungmin thought it would be. Mei-Ha is old enough, now, that she can go to the bathroom and change her clothes by herself, though Sungmin levels a glare at her and sends her back to brush her teeth when she was clearly not gone long enough the first time.
“I have friends that work for the police detectives,” he says solemnly, “and they can test your toothbrush and know if you really brushed your teeth.” Mei-Ha’s little eyes go wide, and she scampers back to the bathroom.
“You’re so much better with her than you think you are,” Ryeowook says from where he’s washing up the small plastic bowls they had eaten ice cream out of. Sungmin ambles in and picks up the dishtowel, noting bemusedly it has Hankyung’s cartoon face all over it--a joke of Heechul’s, he assumes.
“It’s different than I thought it was,” he confesses, opening drawers and cupboards to find out where to put away the dried dishes. “I never really thought about playing with children, or just talking to a child.” Ryeowook laughs at him, his high tinkling laugh, and Sungmin flicks water at him from his fingertips in retaliation.
“What did you think?” Ryeowook asks, still grinning. Sungmin pauses. It’s quiet, and only a little light comes in from the outside streetlamp. He can hear the the pipes and Mei-Ha singing a garbled little song to herself from the bathroom, and there are soft sounds coming from the sink and Ryeowook, the splash of water and the clink of utensils and dishware. Ryeowook is shifting on his feet the way he does when he wants to sing.
“Nothing,” he mutters, “I don’t know.”
Ryeowook goes to take the movie he’d brought Mei-Ha back to the rental place and Sungmin piles blankets on top of Mei-Ha and convinces her it’s the way his hometown tucks in children.
“I don’t want to go to bed,” she whispers like it’s a secret. Sungmin casts conspiratorial looks from side to side and then whispers back.
“Do you want to watch television until Ryeowook-oppa comes back?” he asks, and gives her a piggyback ride down the stairs. He finds a few last late night cartoons and they curl up on the couch and watch them until he hears the jingle of keys outside the door. Mei-Ha looks at him, wide eyed and panicky, and he throws a blanket over her head.
“Hey,” Ryeowook greets cheerfully, and heads into the kitchen.
“Run!” Sungmin whisper-yells, and Mei-Ha takes off up the stairs with fairly noticable pounding.
Ryeowook arches a knowing eyebrow at him when he comes back out, and Sungmin turns his nose up at him, switching from spongebob to the news with great dignity.
Somehow it becomes a semiregular thing, heading over to Heechul and Hankyung’s every so often, at first with white styrofoam cartoons and then with paper bags of groceries and Ryeowook stirs bubbling pots and sings ballads, Mei-Ha perched on Sungmin’s feet as he waltzes around the kitchen.
Sungmin finds himself drinking with Hankyung when Ryeowook and Heechul are broadcasting, and then in the even weirder position of laughing about Mei-Ha’s recent sticker phase with Heechul.
He looks at Mei-Ha sleeping curled around Ryeowook and the couch, flushed in the way little kids get, a smear of something that looks suspiciously like glitter stretching from her temple into her hair. Ryeowook’s head is tilted down to look at her, and as Sungmin watches he carefully takes her thumb out of her mouth, smoothing her hair down gently when she mumbles.
You look, he starts to say, and stops.
“Hello?” Sungmin asks, juggling his phone and bowing to the few young faces in the studio, who nod at him. Take five he mouths at them, and they shuffle out the door.
“Hello, Lee Sungmin-sshi?” a voice replies politely, and Sungmin digs through his messenger bag for a bottle of water.
“Hm?” he hums.
“This is the Sung-Ae Hospital,” the voice continues, and Sungmin chokes violently on his mouthful of water. “I have you down as the emergency contact for Kim Meia?”
“Mei-Ha, Sungmin corrects, coughing. “I--yes. Oh my god, what’s wrong?”
“We were unable to reach her parents at this time,” the nurse continues in a monotone, and Sungmin grabs his bag and runs for his car.
Ryeowook comes out of the elevator like he was launched out of it, hurtling down the hallway and heading for the doors marked private before Sungmin grabs him around the waist and nearly hauls him off his feet.
“Sungmin-ah,” Ryeowook says, eyes wide, “they just said she was injured.”
“She broke her arm,” Sungmin says reassuringly, “but--”
“Broken arm,” Ryeowook shrieks, and flails in Sungmin’s arms.
“Kim Ryeowook!” Sungmin barks, and Ryeowook blinks up at him.
“Sorry,” he mutters, and Sungmin lowers him the last inch to the ground. His fingers find Ryeowooks with the ease of long familiarity, and he can feel the deep breath Ryeowook takes reverberate down his arm and into Sungmin.
“I love you,” he whispers, and they walk hand in hand to the little yellow room with the cartoon bears on the walls and a teary eyed little girl sitting on the polyester bed crinkling as she shifts on the white coverpaper.
Mei-Ha is cuddled in Ryeowook’s arms, sniffling every so often and trying to smile her brave little girl smile at Sungmin’s sleight of hand tricks involving a couple of tissues and a coin he had in his pocket, when there’s a bit of a ruckus outside. Sungmin pokes his head out the door and sees Hankyung with his shirt buttoned up the wrong way, with stage makeup still heavy and dark on his face belt hanging unbuckled from his pants. Heechul is looming over the receptionist, his face like thunder, hair tousled artfully.
“Hyung!” Sungmin calls, and waves an arm. Hankyung sees him first, because Heechul is too involved in whatever he’s saying to the poor intern who’s shrinking from him in what looks like actual fear for her life. Hankyung grabs Heechul by the collar and drags him to Sungmin. A doctor coming down the hallway attempts to stop them, and Sungmin thinks the last time he saw Heechul look like that was when Kibum got a call from Changmin about Yunho.
They blow into the room like a hurricane and Ryeowook moves quickly so Hankyung can settle into his place and gather up Mei-Ha in his arms, cooing in Mandarin. Heechul holds her good hand for a moment and kisses her temple, and then leaves, looking shaken. Sungmin follows him.
Heechul is bent double just outside the door, gasping.
“Hyung,” Sungmin says, and hovers, uncertain. After a moment, Heechul straightens. He shakes his head.
“Kids, man,” he says, and puts his hand over his heart. “Jesus Christ, you know? It’s like they pull your heart out and let it run around without you there to protect it.”
They leave Mei-Ha with her well wishes and her parents, and hold hands all the way back to the elevator. Sungmin feels emotionally drained, and tired, and realizes he ran out of a company class he was teaching with virtually no explanation. Ryeowook reaches for the button for the underground parking garage, and then bites his lip in the way he does when he wants to say something difficult.
“Do you ever think about Mei-Ha?” he asks quietly, and Sungmin looks at him like he’s insane.
“I’m pretty sure I just had a minor stroke over Mei-Ha,” he says dryly, and Ryeowook smiles softly.
“I-” he says, and the elevator dings. Ryeowook moves to get out, but Sungmin catches his fingers and tugs him back inside.
“Oh,” Ryeowook says, “oh Sungmin.” Sungmin thinks he’d give a lot to always have Ryeowook say his name just like that, like he’s the most amazing thing in Ryeowook’s world, like he’s the secret to what makes Kim Ryeowook happy, like he’s why Ryeowook’s voice can reach that high clear soaring note. They’re standing in front of a large plexiglass viewing window, and tiny bundles wrapped in pastel pink and baby blue stir gently within.
“I want one,” Ryeowook says suddenly, and his eyes are steady.
“I know,” Sungmin says finally, and turns his head away.
“I want a child.” Ryeowook says again in the car, and his jaw is stubborn.
“Can we talk about this when we get home?” Sungmin asks sharply and Ryeowook’s eyes flash.
“I want a child,” Ryeowook says in their living room, fists clenched, and his voice sounds like finality.
“I don’t know,” Sungmin says, and there’s something twisting in his stomach. He feels nauseous, “I just don’t, I’m not sure--”
“Tell me why,” Ryeowook pleads, “let’s talk, please.”
“I’m not going to adopt a baby just because you want a baby!” Sungmin shouts, and Ryeowook steps back like he’s slapped him across the face.
“That’s not what I want,” Ryeowook whispers, “I want to adopt a baby because you and I want a baby.” Sungmin takes a deep breath.
“Can we talk about this in the morning?” he asks, and Ryeowook stalks past him to the bathroom.
Sungmin wakes on Sunday morning and the stretch of bed next to him is cold. There is no one cooking in their kitchen, no one sitting with his face tilted into the sun in their yard. There is a note on the fridge, held by the magnet Ryeowook made out of a seashell Sungmin gave to him on a beach the day he asked Ryeowook to move in with him.
I’ve gone to stay at Jongwoon’s it says in Ryeowook’s neat script. Saranghae.
Heechul is alone in the condo he and Hankyung share, sprawling on the couch with his glasses and a script.
“Having a kid is hard,” he says simply, digging a stuffed unicorn out from under him, and pours Sungmin four fingers of scotch.
Hankyung comes through the door, a little later, and kisses Heechul hello. Mei-Ha runs into Sungmin’s legs at full speed in greeting then bounces away, shrieking.
“Sungmin is having a crisis,” Heechul says a little too cheerfully, and Hankyung eyeballs him for a moment before shifting his glass a little farther away. Heechul swats at him.
“Having a baby is exhausting,” Hankyung says, pretending to eat a plastic hamburger Mei-Ha brings him on what looks to Sungmin like their wedding china. “You’re more tired than you ever thought possible and everything the books say is a dirty malicious lie.”
“And they cry,” Heechul says, adjusting the tiara Mei-Ha dumps on his head solemnly, “they cry for no reason at all and sometimes nothing you do will ever make them stop.”
“Why did we get one again?” Hankyung asks thoughtfully.
“I don’t know,” Heechul replies, feigning surprise. “Maybe we should return this one?”
“Oppa!” Mei-Ha shrieks indignantly, and Hankyung sweeps her up and lets her sit on the counter to pretend chop her pretend plastic bananas.
"Hey," Sungmin says, "how did she break her arm, anyway?" Hankyung heaves a great sigh and looks pointedly at Heechul, who preens.
"She fell after jumping out of a tree to kick a boy that was mean to her friend," he says with glee. Hankyung rolls his eyes.
"She got in a fight?" Sungmin asks, surprised.
"She won a fight," Heechul corrects, proudly. "My baby."
“It’s not that I don’t want a baby,” Sungmin says to Ryeowook’s voicemail, “I just. I want to be ready, Ryeowook-ah. I don’t want to screw up a child. Please come home.”
He lets himself in and blinks at the smell of kimchi filling the house, sweet and spicy. Ryeowook is humming one of their old songs, spooning rice onto plates, and Sungmin backs him against the refrigerator and kisses him until they run out of breath.
“I’m sorry,” Ryeowook says, “I know I was wrong to just yell.”
“Shut up,” Sungmin says, “oh my god shut up, I thought this was the end of us, Ryeowook.” Ryeowook laughs at him, so Sungmin kisses him again to shut him up, and then again just because.
“We won’t do anything until we’re both ready,” Ryeowook tells him later, tucked against him under the sheets Eeteuk bought them as a hint to get their own place. “I just want you to talk to me.”
Ryeowook wakes up early on Sunday morning because he wants to practice making pancakes for the next time Henry visits and shuffles out to the kitchen, hitting the coffee machine until it hums to life and reaching for the kettle to make his tea.
There’s a bassinet in front of the stove, a pretty, neutral shade of off-white with a dark green ribbon curled around a single slat. Sungmin’s arms slide around his waist.
“I’m still scared,” he whispers, and he has morning breath and his stubble scratches uncomfortably against Ryeowook’s neck, and Ryeowook just can’t find it in himself to care.
A/n: My grasp on the characters is not strong, so I'd be interested to know what you thought of my characterization. I know I made minwook a little too serious but I couldn't find a good place to stick in some banter and it's late ._. Any concrit would be greatly appreciated.
Fandom: Super Junior
Rating: pg13
Pairing: sungmin/ryeowook
Summary: Fits into my hanchul bbyverse (just need to know they have a daughter named Mei-ha) and how minwook decides to jump on the bandwagon
A/N: by request and dedicated to remixied, much much MUCH thanks to my little turtle-beta bittersnow
Sungmin likes Sunday mornings because neither of them have schedules on Sunday mornings, by design, so it’s just them and whatever they want to do. When they first moved into the quiet house in the sleepy suburb, Sunday mornings were Ryeowook’s gasps into his mouth as he twitches and bucks under his fingers and sneaking out of the bed to brush his teeth before he wakes Ryeowook with kisses across his hipbones.
Now they’ve settled,a bit, not so much as settled down together as they have settled into each other, and they sleep in and sometimes Sungmin wakes up to the smell of bacon frying and ambles out to the kitchen in pajama pants with bedhead and drinks coffee while Ryeowook cracks eggs with one hand and turns the newspaper pages with the other. Sometimes Ryeowook wakes up and he can hear soft stringed guitar playing in the yard and he slips out from the sliding glass door, light barefoot steps on the stone path to settle in a deck chair and watch Sungmin mumble to himself and scribble lyrics and music on a pad of paper under early morning sunshine.
Sungmin does not like it when his Sunday mornings are interrupted by an electro remix of classical piano going off in his ear.
“Hey,” Hankyung says, and it’s always the same when someone calls from Super Junior, there’s that second where Sungmin’s fingers come up to touch his hair, grown out to its natural colour and styled practically, because just for that second he feels ten years younger with bleached blonde hair cut raggedly across his eyes.
“Hyung,” he says, and smiles despite himself. The lump next to him that is Ryeowook stirs, and tugs the blankets off Sungmin’s legs, rolling further away from the noise. “Are you calling from Heechul-hyung’s phone?”
“Yeah,” Hankyung says, and even now his accent is almost exactly the same as the first time Sungmin met him in the training halls, skinny and nervous. “Sorry to call on your Sundays, but Mei-Ha is going to summer camp and we need an emergency number. Can we put you and Ryeowook down?”
“Uh,” Sungmin says, dragging a hand through his hair and squinting at the bedside clock. He swings out of bed, reaching for a tank top, and yanks the comforter off, dumping it on the floor. “What about Yunho, he’s the godfather.”
“Hey!” Ryeowook protests sleepily, and sits up. He’s wearing one of Sungmin’s shirts, a long sleeved knit soft grey tee that’s two sizes too big even on Sungmin. It slips off one of his shoulders, exposing a wide display of flawless skin. Sungmin lets his eyes travel up the curve of Ryeowook’s shoulder and down his collarbones.
“.... and we know you and Ryeowook aren’t traveling until the fall, so that’s why we decided to give you a call.” Ryeowook blinks at him, and yawns, stretching in a long smooth wave, arching his back until his spine cracks and he sighs.
“Yeah okay,” Sungmin says, and mumbles farewells, tosses his phone onto the nightstand and slides into Ryeowook’s lap.
“Hi,” Ryeowook says, and smiles down at him.
“Hey,” Sungmin says, and slides one of his hands up Ryeowook’s shirt. Ryeowook arches an eyebrow.
“Who was on the phone?” he asks curiously, and allows Sungmin to pull the shirt off him.
“Hankyung,” he mumbles, “paperwork stuff. Says Heechul will be on your radio show next week.”
“Mmhm,” Ryeowook says, and twists around until he’s lying on top of Sungmin and can drag his teeth across the shell of Sungmin’s ear.
Sungmin likes Sunday mornings.
Sungmin is playing TapTap against Sooyoung while they’re waiting for the newest boy band idol hit to finish playing, and his phone vibrates insistently against his leg. He narrows his eyes at Sooyoung, who glares right back, and slams his index finger into the touch screen with a touch more force than strictly necessary. He forgets to check his phone until later.
“Sungmin-hyung!” Ryeowook says angrily into his ear as he digs in his pocket for his car keys, “Why aren’t you answering? Why did a summer camp just call me to confirm we’re Mei-Ha’s emergency contacts? Call me back.”
“Oops,” Sungmin mutters, and turns the engine over as he dials a number from muscle memory.
“I’m at Hankyung and Heechul’s,” Ryeowook informs him after he’s done apologising. “Bring takeout from that Thai place. Mei-Ha says she wants dumplings and ice cream.”
“They don’t serve ice cream,” Sungmin says stupidly, and then his brain catches up. “Wait,” he sputters, “why--”
“See you then!” Ryeowook chirps, and hangs up.
It’s not as bad as Sungmin thought it would be. Mei-Ha is old enough, now, that she can go to the bathroom and change her clothes by herself, though Sungmin levels a glare at her and sends her back to brush her teeth when she was clearly not gone long enough the first time.
“I have friends that work for the police detectives,” he says solemnly, “and they can test your toothbrush and know if you really brushed your teeth.” Mei-Ha’s little eyes go wide, and she scampers back to the bathroom.
“You’re so much better with her than you think you are,” Ryeowook says from where he’s washing up the small plastic bowls they had eaten ice cream out of. Sungmin ambles in and picks up the dishtowel, noting bemusedly it has Hankyung’s cartoon face all over it--a joke of Heechul’s, he assumes.
“It’s different than I thought it was,” he confesses, opening drawers and cupboards to find out where to put away the dried dishes. “I never really thought about playing with children, or just talking to a child.” Ryeowook laughs at him, his high tinkling laugh, and Sungmin flicks water at him from his fingertips in retaliation.
“What did you think?” Ryeowook asks, still grinning. Sungmin pauses. It’s quiet, and only a little light comes in from the outside streetlamp. He can hear the the pipes and Mei-Ha singing a garbled little song to herself from the bathroom, and there are soft sounds coming from the sink and Ryeowook, the splash of water and the clink of utensils and dishware. Ryeowook is shifting on his feet the way he does when he wants to sing.
“Nothing,” he mutters, “I don’t know.”
Ryeowook goes to take the movie he’d brought Mei-Ha back to the rental place and Sungmin piles blankets on top of Mei-Ha and convinces her it’s the way his hometown tucks in children.
“I don’t want to go to bed,” she whispers like it’s a secret. Sungmin casts conspiratorial looks from side to side and then whispers back.
“Do you want to watch television until Ryeowook-oppa comes back?” he asks, and gives her a piggyback ride down the stairs. He finds a few last late night cartoons and they curl up on the couch and watch them until he hears the jingle of keys outside the door. Mei-Ha looks at him, wide eyed and panicky, and he throws a blanket over her head.
“Hey,” Ryeowook greets cheerfully, and heads into the kitchen.
“Run!” Sungmin whisper-yells, and Mei-Ha takes off up the stairs with fairly noticable pounding.
Ryeowook arches a knowing eyebrow at him when he comes back out, and Sungmin turns his nose up at him, switching from spongebob to the news with great dignity.
Somehow it becomes a semiregular thing, heading over to Heechul and Hankyung’s every so often, at first with white styrofoam cartoons and then with paper bags of groceries and Ryeowook stirs bubbling pots and sings ballads, Mei-Ha perched on Sungmin’s feet as he waltzes around the kitchen.
Sungmin finds himself drinking with Hankyung when Ryeowook and Heechul are broadcasting, and then in the even weirder position of laughing about Mei-Ha’s recent sticker phase with Heechul.
He looks at Mei-Ha sleeping curled around Ryeowook and the couch, flushed in the way little kids get, a smear of something that looks suspiciously like glitter stretching from her temple into her hair. Ryeowook’s head is tilted down to look at her, and as Sungmin watches he carefully takes her thumb out of her mouth, smoothing her hair down gently when she mumbles.
You look, he starts to say, and stops.
“Hello?” Sungmin asks, juggling his phone and bowing to the few young faces in the studio, who nod at him. Take five he mouths at them, and they shuffle out the door.
“Hello, Lee Sungmin-sshi?” a voice replies politely, and Sungmin digs through his messenger bag for a bottle of water.
“Hm?” he hums.
“This is the Sung-Ae Hospital,” the voice continues, and Sungmin chokes violently on his mouthful of water. “I have you down as the emergency contact for Kim Meia?”
“Mei-Ha, Sungmin corrects, coughing. “I--yes. Oh my god, what’s wrong?”
“We were unable to reach her parents at this time,” the nurse continues in a monotone, and Sungmin grabs his bag and runs for his car.
Ryeowook comes out of the elevator like he was launched out of it, hurtling down the hallway and heading for the doors marked private before Sungmin grabs him around the waist and nearly hauls him off his feet.
“Sungmin-ah,” Ryeowook says, eyes wide, “they just said she was injured.”
“She broke her arm,” Sungmin says reassuringly, “but--”
“Broken arm,” Ryeowook shrieks, and flails in Sungmin’s arms.
“Kim Ryeowook!” Sungmin barks, and Ryeowook blinks up at him.
“Sorry,” he mutters, and Sungmin lowers him the last inch to the ground. His fingers find Ryeowooks with the ease of long familiarity, and he can feel the deep breath Ryeowook takes reverberate down his arm and into Sungmin.
“I love you,” he whispers, and they walk hand in hand to the little yellow room with the cartoon bears on the walls and a teary eyed little girl sitting on the polyester bed crinkling as she shifts on the white coverpaper.
Mei-Ha is cuddled in Ryeowook’s arms, sniffling every so often and trying to smile her brave little girl smile at Sungmin’s sleight of hand tricks involving a couple of tissues and a coin he had in his pocket, when there’s a bit of a ruckus outside. Sungmin pokes his head out the door and sees Hankyung with his shirt buttoned up the wrong way, with stage makeup still heavy and dark on his face belt hanging unbuckled from his pants. Heechul is looming over the receptionist, his face like thunder, hair tousled artfully.
“Hyung!” Sungmin calls, and waves an arm. Hankyung sees him first, because Heechul is too involved in whatever he’s saying to the poor intern who’s shrinking from him in what looks like actual fear for her life. Hankyung grabs Heechul by the collar and drags him to Sungmin. A doctor coming down the hallway attempts to stop them, and Sungmin thinks the last time he saw Heechul look like that was when Kibum got a call from Changmin about Yunho.
They blow into the room like a hurricane and Ryeowook moves quickly so Hankyung can settle into his place and gather up Mei-Ha in his arms, cooing in Mandarin. Heechul holds her good hand for a moment and kisses her temple, and then leaves, looking shaken. Sungmin follows him.
Heechul is bent double just outside the door, gasping.
“Hyung,” Sungmin says, and hovers, uncertain. After a moment, Heechul straightens. He shakes his head.
“Kids, man,” he says, and puts his hand over his heart. “Jesus Christ, you know? It’s like they pull your heart out and let it run around without you there to protect it.”
They leave Mei-Ha with her well wishes and her parents, and hold hands all the way back to the elevator. Sungmin feels emotionally drained, and tired, and realizes he ran out of a company class he was teaching with virtually no explanation. Ryeowook reaches for the button for the underground parking garage, and then bites his lip in the way he does when he wants to say something difficult.
“Do you ever think about Mei-Ha?” he asks quietly, and Sungmin looks at him like he’s insane.
“I’m pretty sure I just had a minor stroke over Mei-Ha,” he says dryly, and Ryeowook smiles softly.
“I-” he says, and the elevator dings. Ryeowook moves to get out, but Sungmin catches his fingers and tugs him back inside.
“Oh,” Ryeowook says, “oh Sungmin.” Sungmin thinks he’d give a lot to always have Ryeowook say his name just like that, like he’s the most amazing thing in Ryeowook’s world, like he’s the secret to what makes Kim Ryeowook happy, like he’s why Ryeowook’s voice can reach that high clear soaring note. They’re standing in front of a large plexiglass viewing window, and tiny bundles wrapped in pastel pink and baby blue stir gently within.
“I want one,” Ryeowook says suddenly, and his eyes are steady.
“I know,” Sungmin says finally, and turns his head away.
“I want a child.” Ryeowook says again in the car, and his jaw is stubborn.
“Can we talk about this when we get home?” Sungmin asks sharply and Ryeowook’s eyes flash.
“I want a child,” Ryeowook says in their living room, fists clenched, and his voice sounds like finality.
“I don’t know,” Sungmin says, and there’s something twisting in his stomach. He feels nauseous, “I just don’t, I’m not sure--”
“Tell me why,” Ryeowook pleads, “let’s talk, please.”
“I’m not going to adopt a baby just because you want a baby!” Sungmin shouts, and Ryeowook steps back like he’s slapped him across the face.
“That’s not what I want,” Ryeowook whispers, “I want to adopt a baby because you and I want a baby.” Sungmin takes a deep breath.
“Can we talk about this in the morning?” he asks, and Ryeowook stalks past him to the bathroom.
Sungmin wakes on Sunday morning and the stretch of bed next to him is cold. There is no one cooking in their kitchen, no one sitting with his face tilted into the sun in their yard. There is a note on the fridge, held by the magnet Ryeowook made out of a seashell Sungmin gave to him on a beach the day he asked Ryeowook to move in with him.
I’ve gone to stay at Jongwoon’s it says in Ryeowook’s neat script. Saranghae.
Heechul is alone in the condo he and Hankyung share, sprawling on the couch with his glasses and a script.
“Having a kid is hard,” he says simply, digging a stuffed unicorn out from under him, and pours Sungmin four fingers of scotch.
Hankyung comes through the door, a little later, and kisses Heechul hello. Mei-Ha runs into Sungmin’s legs at full speed in greeting then bounces away, shrieking.
“Sungmin is having a crisis,” Heechul says a little too cheerfully, and Hankyung eyeballs him for a moment before shifting his glass a little farther away. Heechul swats at him.
“Having a baby is exhausting,” Hankyung says, pretending to eat a plastic hamburger Mei-Ha brings him on what looks to Sungmin like their wedding china. “You’re more tired than you ever thought possible and everything the books say is a dirty malicious lie.”
“And they cry,” Heechul says, adjusting the tiara Mei-Ha dumps on his head solemnly, “they cry for no reason at all and sometimes nothing you do will ever make them stop.”
“Why did we get one again?” Hankyung asks thoughtfully.
“I don’t know,” Heechul replies, feigning surprise. “Maybe we should return this one?”
“Oppa!” Mei-Ha shrieks indignantly, and Hankyung sweeps her up and lets her sit on the counter to pretend chop her pretend plastic bananas.
"Hey," Sungmin says, "how did she break her arm, anyway?" Hankyung heaves a great sigh and looks pointedly at Heechul, who preens.
"She fell after jumping out of a tree to kick a boy that was mean to her friend," he says with glee. Hankyung rolls his eyes.
"She got in a fight?" Sungmin asks, surprised.
"She won a fight," Heechul corrects, proudly. "My baby."
“It’s not that I don’t want a baby,” Sungmin says to Ryeowook’s voicemail, “I just. I want to be ready, Ryeowook-ah. I don’t want to screw up a child. Please come home.”
He lets himself in and blinks at the smell of kimchi filling the house, sweet and spicy. Ryeowook is humming one of their old songs, spooning rice onto plates, and Sungmin backs him against the refrigerator and kisses him until they run out of breath.
“I’m sorry,” Ryeowook says, “I know I was wrong to just yell.”
“Shut up,” Sungmin says, “oh my god shut up, I thought this was the end of us, Ryeowook.” Ryeowook laughs at him, so Sungmin kisses him again to shut him up, and then again just because.
“We won’t do anything until we’re both ready,” Ryeowook tells him later, tucked against him under the sheets Eeteuk bought them as a hint to get their own place. “I just want you to talk to me.”
Ryeowook wakes up early on Sunday morning because he wants to practice making pancakes for the next time Henry visits and shuffles out to the kitchen, hitting the coffee machine until it hums to life and reaching for the kettle to make his tea.
There’s a bassinet in front of the stove, a pretty, neutral shade of off-white with a dark green ribbon curled around a single slat. Sungmin’s arms slide around his waist.
“I’m still scared,” he whispers, and he has morning breath and his stubble scratches uncomfortably against Ryeowook’s neck, and Ryeowook just can’t find it in himself to care.
A/n: My grasp on the characters is not strong, so I'd be interested to know what you thought of my characterization. I know I made minwook a little too serious but I couldn't find a good place to stick in some banter and it's late ._. Any concrit would be greatly appreciated.