Then Build It Again (Kyuhyun/Sungmin, Kyuhyun/Zhou Mi)

[warmboys]

Fandom: Super Junior
Pairing: Kyuhyun/Sungmin, Kyuhyun/Zhou Mi
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1560
Summary: Kyuhyun is under reconstruction.



Then Build It Again

Monday mornings are the worst, Kyuhyun thinks, willing with every mental fiber to push himself out of bed. Weekend jetlag. He knews he shouldn’t have said yes to Sunday Board Game Night, but Sungmin had been so excited, and Sungmin excited gives him this unsettling tingle in his stomach, like this is what he’s good for, this is the least he can do-but SBGNs only end with spilled wine and “Eunhae couple” sleeping over. Donghae is the worst at Scrabble, but he beats them at Charades every time. “It’s the only thing his hands and legs are good for,” Kyuhyun remembers Eunhyuk explaining-and remembering proves to be a mistake, because he is now remembering a pounding headache into existence.

He finds the Advil in the medicine cabinet, these days neatly organized, pills filtered into little plastic drawers, unlike two years ago. He takes one while watching the woman on TV report about a new fashion trend-sack suits for men. The new sack suit does away with darts and shoulder construction, but its shorter length and two buttons keep it current… Huh. Didn’t they try to make it happen back in 2010? He thinks idly, chewing on the piece of toast Sungmin left for him accidentally-on-purpose on a plate. Accidentally accompanied by a sunny-side egg.

They’re cohabiting pressure-free. They’re taking it slow. It’s not a big deal until one of them acts like it. Kyuhyun’s good at this game. He invented this game.

A pang of guilt hits him without warning. He freezes. The woman’s moved on to ladies wear. Cone bras are making a comeback this fall… It hurts. He washes it down with the last of the coffee. Tries not to think.

Outside it’s raining. He reaches for the briefcase, considers which umbrella to take. Sungmin took the Burberry, so he’s left with the broken convenience store plastic transparent one versus the one from Disneyland two years ago that works fine. He doesn’t even know where the Disneyland one is. It’s got a huge picture of Daffy Duck on it, his beak covering a third of the shade. It hadn’t been his idea. He takes the broken one. Only one of the ribs is bent.

He’s about to put on the rain boots when he hears,

“You should take a coat. It’ll get cold late afternoon.”

He freezes.

There is no one there. Not a shadow on the tile.

His favorite black sweater is draped over the chair.

“Who--?”

The room is still but for the buzz of the fridge. Kids in the park across the street.

No one answers.

He spends the ten-minute walk to the subway station trying to convince himself he didn’t hear anything; he is sane. He is fine. It has taken him-a while, but now he is fine. It was just a slip of the mind, the medicine in the drawers, the umbrella, that was all. They must have reminded him.

He puts on the black sweater. It’s full-blast AC in this section of the train. He leans back, not reading the paper for once, and trains his eyes on the advertisement scrolling overhead. “Learn a new language today! Fully certified instructors…” A bright-eyed boy gives him a thumbs-up, his face a grid of high-resolution pixels.

Distraction isn’t working. He bites on his lip and closes his eyes.

It was Zhou Mi.

He hasn’t called Heechul in months, so he can’t blame him for sounding partly surprised and mostly annoyed. “Are you superstitious, hyung?” He presses.

“I’m in the middle of an important interview, Kyuhyun. Give me a reason to keep talking to you.”

“I’m sorry but-Zhou Mi spoke to me this morning.”

There’s silence on the other end. He can visualize Heechul composing himself, grasping for something that makes sense. Heechul was one of the few who liked Zhou Mi a lot. He trusts Heechul.

But. “Kyuhyun,” he says, and that’s when Kyuhyun knows. It’s not what he wants to hear.

“Forget it.”

“No, don’t hang up-“

Ten minutes later he’s still sitting outside the office with his head in his hands. Heechul had sounded like he was sorry. Pity is worse than disbelief.

Zhou Mi went painlessly. That’s how he likes to remember it. His face was mostly unrecognizable after the accident, but Kyuhyun slept by his bedside for days. He stopped breathing of his own accord. Almost as if he knew; he didn’t want to be a burden.

Heechul cried the most at the funeral. White lilies matched his silk tie. Leeteuk had to give a speech; Leeteuk didn’t even know him. Kyuhyun sat near the parents but didn’t dare look. His tears were discreet. He kept his hands on his lap, folded together over an initialed handkerchief.

For a long time, months, he proceeded as usual. He came home and made mindless conversation with an empty apartment. He talked about work, because Zhou Mi liked hearing about mundane tasks. He’d once made him smile with a how-to guide on using the office shredder. Zhou Mi was easy to please, kept on being that way. Kyuhyun would wash the dishes, go to sleep with his arms around a pillow, and wake up to the same smiling, unbattered face. They made breakfast together, kissed under the sunshine.

Heechul was the one who brought a stop to it all, who took him to his therapist but not before sitting him down and begging, “Kyuhyun, you can’t do this.”

And it wasn’t like he was really crazy, so he listened.

“It’d just. Been easier. To pretend like nothing-“ He couldn’t continue.

“I know,” Heechul had said, cradling him in his thin arms, awkwardly maternal. Kyuhyun’s head knocked against bone, and then he closed his eyes and slept.

The next time it happens, it’s been a month. Sungmin is in the shower. Kyuhyun’s relaxing on the couch with a travel guide. He’s reading up on New Zealand. “You should come visit,” Donghae wrote in a postcard. “Hyukjae and I are having a blast.” One week and they act like they own the place. The irreverence warms his heart. He tucks the postcard under a stack of magazines to think about, maybe surprise Sungmin.

“I hear it’s gorgeous down there,” Zhou Mi says, breath warm on his ear.

“Oh yeah? Me too,” Kyuhyun says.

“You should go.”

“I want to.”

He turns, and there is no one there. Sungmin pads out of the bathroom in pajama bottoms and a towel over his bare shoulders. “Did you say something?” He asks, filling up a glass of water.

“No.” Kyuhyun puts the book away and turns on the TV.

Sungmin came later, although Sungmin had always been there. Sungmin was wearing a plaid shirt with an unfortunate fringe when he showed up at Kyuhyun’s doorstep. The door opened before he could ring the bell. “I thought you needed company,” he said around an uncertain smile. The line was rehearsed, just not well. For that alone Kyuhyun let him in.

He brought a board game. Connect 4. “Something to distract from the glow of the computer,” he said. Kyuhyun didn’t ask how he knew. His eyes had been sore for weeks already.

They opened a bottle of something cheap, and when Kyuhyun got sufficiently red-faced, he began singing Lim Chang Jung like in the old days, when they shared a room. Even inebriated he had perfect pitch. Sungmin stayed the night, and then the next. Kyuhyun had thought, this is okay. Maybe it’s supposed to happen this way.

First it was a chair, then two, then the cupboards, the new laundry basket, the fact that there was always a carton of milk, not empty, in the fridge. A year later Kyuhyun was looking for his least favorite tie, the one he wore begrudgingly to mandatory company parties, and Sungmin had peeled it from an undiscerning corner of his closet, dangled it in front of him in a way that demanded love.

He was no longer startled by these things. In all fairness, he’d been given enough warning. But Sungmin still called them roommates, even though the apartment he gave up had been much roomier and more fit for a bachelor.

Kyuhyun snatched the tie from him with a scowl he didn’t mean. He saved the impending smile for when Sungmin turned his back.

The third time, coming home from work. He’s riding his bike today; he needs the exercise. He’s gained twenty pounds since his singing and dancing days. Sitting in front of a monitor every day isn’t exactly conducive to good health. He treasures his health.

Another rainy day, and he’s got the hood of his raincoat pulled tight over his head. Rain is getting in his eyes, making it hard to see. He never learned to hold an umbrella and ride at the same time. The handlebars are slippery under his gloves.

Just before cruising through the green light he can’t help thinking, If I make a wrong turn. If I let go right now

when he feels a pair of arms clutch him from behind.

“Don’t.”

Long, gangly. Familiar, not warm. They can’t be warm. But his eyes are fogging up, and his voice is unsteady when he whispers,

“You’re suffocating me.”

He thinks he hears a laugh, clear as bells.

New Zealand is pretty beautiful.