untitled (heechul/hankyung)

[warmboys]

Fandom: Super Junior
Pairing: (see icon)
Rating/Category: PG-13 for language
Word Count: ~1100
Summary: Heechul on a diet, aimless Hanchul dialogue.
A/N: still hammering away at my multiple wips. haven't decided if this will go towards the larger story i keep mentioning cryptically here. this is unfinished, unedited, and tbh i'm not sure where i'm going with it. thoughts?

Heechul starts his diet, and a sense of order befalls the apartment. Shindong throws his dirty underwear into the shared laundry hamper instead of kicking it into a corner of the bathroom (the “invisible” corner, they started dubbing it. One day they enlisted Sungmin’s help from the floor below to kidnap Ddangkkoma and bury him/her in a pile of spandex briefs, taking bets on how long Yesung would come around knocking. Immediately, it turned out.) Leeteuk stops leaving his milk cartons in the wrong garbage bag. Hankyung calls more.

After Heechul has his first fainting spell on set, he gets a collect call from Taiwan and has to hold the phone a foot away from his ear to prevent auditory damage. Which, you know, is serious business when you make a living out of singing on key. When he manages it, that is.

And on the other end? Not exactly decipherable Korean.

“Okay, okay. I get it. But have you seen me recently? I look fine,” he barks back from inside the dressing room, drawing glances from his costars. “And how did you hear about it so fast anyway? I’m still at work.”

There’s a sigh, heavy even through static. “You always look fine. And I hear from my people, okay. News travels fast, especially when you’re involved.”

Heechul grins into the phone, bringing it closer to his ear. “Your people are my people. Stop mothering, it’ll give you wrinkles.”

“I already have wrinkles. They’re not getting any smaller, with you in my life,” Hankyung’s voice crackles wryly, and Heechul turns towards the wall to hide a smile. It’s not that he’s embarrassed. But he’s not supposed to be as happy as he is.

“You-you know I’m paying for this, right? And you’re preventing me from working. Which means less money to pay for these ridiculous long-distance phone calls.”

“What?” Sometimes Hankyung does this thing where he acts like he can’t hear properly. “Anyway I’ll be back by the end of the week, so see you then? Are you coming to the airport?”

“No, do you think I have time-“

“Figured not. Motherfucking Christ, gotta go. But I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Heechul laughs at the cuss. He’s taught him well.

“Yeah. See ya.” They hang up simultaneously, although Heechul always wants to be the one to hang up first. He just can't ever bring himself to do it.

The first thing Hankyung does when he sees him at the airport is drop his bags and stare-long and hard, like they’re in a zoo and Heechul’s a three-legged flamingo. “What--” Heechul begins but the remainder is forgotten when the other man pulls him into a tight hug, knocking the wind out of his lungs.

“Jesus, you’re a skeleton,” comes Hankyung’s voice by his ear as he presses a kiss into Heechul’s neck. He smells like moth balls and old people. China. “Why are you so thin?”

It’s obviously a rhetorical question, because while Hankyung might be foreign, he isn’t stupid, so Heechul ignores it. “Don’t you want to admire my new ribcage?” Heechul gently tugs himself from the embrace, and Hankyung lets go grudgingly.

His mouth opens when he’s fully processed the words. “Just-how much weight did you lose?”

Heechul curves his lips, presses tongue against lower teeth. “Five kilos, give or take.”

“Give or take how many?”

Heechul counts on his fingers. One hand is enough. “Five?”

“You lost ten kilos?” Hankyung is causing a scene. Manager-hyung checks his watch, gestures towards the glass doors where buses are waiting.

“We’ll talk about it in the car.” Heechul grabs one of the carry-ons and pulls. It doesn't budge. “What’s in here? Did you smuggle in a baby panda?”

Hankyung reaches over and ruffles his hair, messily up in a topknot because he didn’t want to deal with greasy bangs. Dragging his ass out of bed had been hard enough, even if it was for his best friend.

“It’s because you’re not eating enough,” Hankyung scolds as he takes back his suitcase-with superhuman ease, Heechul sulks-and they drag the bags out into the cold. “You need energy,” Hankyung repeats, and his words come out in little white puffs.

It turns out the baby panda is actually a stack of books. Self-help books: how to maintain internal peace, how to cook like your mother (the only time “your mom” is used complimentarily, Heechul thinks as Hankyung translates the titles for him one by one). He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor of Hankyung’s bedroom, amidst a mess of washed and unwashed shirts and jeans and promotional clothing from fancy parties he’s only heard bits and pieces of over the phone and then read about online. Donghae sends him translated articles documenting all of their activities, the only exception being the recent one with the hooker. Well, maybe not a hooker.

What was her name? “What was her name?” Heechul asks suddenly, fingering How to Learn Judo in Ten Days with half-hearted interest.

“Whose?” Hankyung turns around to ask. He’s folding up a gray shirt, one that Heechul remembers stealing before and using as his own pajamas. He should’ve asked Hankyung to leave it here, he thinks before processing the question.

“The girl in the little blue dress up to her vag with legs like tree trunks. That was very attractive, no wonder you got so excited.” Heechul snickers.

“Xiao S? Oh God,” Hankyung groans, flopping down on the bed. His feet bounce, and his socks are mismatched, one blue, one white. “Don’t start that. Most humiliating moment of my career so far.”

Heechul stops laughing, because as amusing as he found mini-Hankyung’s sudden appearance on that stage, he was far less amused by the girl’s antics. “Ugh, Chinese women. They frighten me.”

Hankyung kicks at him lightly with the blue sock. “Hey. Don’t insult my future wife.”

“How do you know she’ll be Chinese?” Heechul asks in earnest, eyes wide open now.

“Because,” Hankyung begins, “even you can’t understand me sometimes. I’m hopeless in Korea.”

“You don’t want to do this forever?” This-singing, dancing, being a somebody. They’ve had this conversation before, endless times, but Heechul feels the need to confirm each time. Maybe it’ll be different.

Maybe not. “No,” Hankyung answers, without skipping a beat. He leans forward, touches Heechul’s hair with a small wistful smile. Heechul regrets not washing it this morning. “And you don’t either.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” He shrugs, and it’s not entirely a lie, but the conditional dangles in the air, unspoken. If I weren’t alone. If you.

tbc?

ngl i missed them :3

oh and xposted here for concrit, so if you feel like giving me some but want to do it anonymously, go ahead. or do it anonymously here XD;