Sway 4/4

[warmboys]

Title: Sway
Pairing: Han Geng/Amber, Heechul/Eunhyuk, Heechul/Hankyung
Rating: R
Summary: Collisions, and the vehicles that carry them there.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4



I BELIEVE THAT WE ARE LUCKY, WE ARE GOLDEN, WE HAVE STOLEN

Amber’s in the bathroom. For someone who looks haphazardly put together every morning she always takes painfully long in the bathroom. It’s worrying sometimes. Once they sent Fei Fei after her and apparently she was all, “What?” Just washing her hands. Chillin’.

Henry would go check, but he’s not exactly welcome there. Although there was that one time a girl went down on him in the ladies’ room, but that was back in college. They were playing Lady Gaga out of a jukebox, like old meets new, and the girl-busty, brunette, sorority chick with an Asian fetish that he figured he’d exploit while he was wasted because he’d never have the guts to sober-pulled him into the bathroom and pinned him against the wall while he sipped Bud Lite off her tongue. The next morning he woke up on someone else’s living room floor, naked. Of course. That’s how it happens in movies, too. Someone’s always naked. Then he bought two Red Bulls and went to study econometrics in the library.

He wonders if Amber’s naked right now. Maybe she’s doing the boss there. But no, Han Geng’s spinning in his big cushy swivel chair in the office.

The phone’s ringing off the hook today. Meng Jia looks pissed, because she’s got her own work to do. Contracts and shit. “You answer,” she tells Henry when he points out that someone’s dialing in again.

“But-” he says, but the phone’s already pressed against his ear. “Hello?”

“Herro?” It’s a dude.

“Hello?” Henry says again, because he can’t remember the set phrases Amber’s got memorized.

“Herro, uh,” some confusing stuff he can’t catch, “rooking for hang on?”

“Um,” Henry says, sweating already. The little things still get to him. “Can you speak in English?”

There’s a pause on the other end before the guy breaks out into, “Yeah, man! I love China! Alright! Okay?”

“Haha,” Henry says, just as something gets flicked into his eye. Water. Amber’s back.

She doesn’t look happy. “Gimme that.”

She takes the phone without waiting, so what was the point in asking for it anyway?

“Hi! You have reached HG Entertainment’s Hotline. My name is Amber Liu; how may I-” She stops, confusion creasing her forehead.

“The dude speaks gibberish,” Henry explains but then, miraculously, Amber starts doing it, too. Amber knows how to speak gibberish.

This is probably why they hired her.

“Blahblahblah Hankyung? Blahblahblah-oh you’re-”

The last part is in English so Henry catches it. It’s this thing they both do when they’re flustered about something. Bits and phrases come out in their mother tongue. “Oh shit” or “oops.” Stupid things like that.

Henry laughs when he hears it, and he looks over at Amber to see if she’s embarrassed, but she isn’t laughing. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she’d just been informed of a death in the family or something. Her face is that intense.

He doesn’t really know what’s going on, but he thinks it might be a good time to return to his desk.

- - -

Amber writes the post-it in painstakingly clear hand. The pen is digging against the bump on her middle finger just under her nail. Six o’clock appointment on Thursday. And then the three characters that have been engraved in her mind since that night.

She’d tried to surprise him. “Hey! Your old friend is in town,” she’d shouted kind of excitedly. Threw the paper at him, even. “He’s apparently a bigshot writer now.”

“Hm?” Han Geng briefly tore his eyes from the television to look at her. “Oh, him? We’re not really friends anymore.”

“Oh-kay,” she said. “You’re seriously not going to try and contact him? I thought you were bffs back then.”

Han Geng pulled her onto the couch beside him. She snuggled against his shoulder, smelling in the scent of after-work sweat and, just him. She liked it. Likes. She likes it a lot.

“Amber,” he said seriously. “No one says bffs anymore.”

She threw one of the pillows at him, and he ducked.

The next morning, though. She was feeling good until she saw yesterday’s paper under a traveller’s guide on the coffee table. It was still open to the page it’d been on when she threw it at him.

There was something like a smudge on the headline. She leaned in to look, eyes still foggy. But there it was, odd. “Jin Xi Che” circled carefully in pencil, and then erased.

Meeting with your old bff. Wear something nice, and don’t be late. Think of the airfare from Korea.

She slaps the post-it on his desk while he’s gone for the afternoon meeting. Her hand stings from the wood for moments afterwards.

- - -

So they’re still at that restaurant, and the waiter is taking forever with their food, just like he took forever to seat them. Service is sucky here, as always, so Krystal’s glad she’s only here for spring break. In reality, she’s only here to see one person.

About that person. Amber looks the same but not. More grownup? She’s accessorizing. Are those bangles around her wrist? But that’s not it either. Krystal’s trying to figure out what’s different, and all the while Amber’s going on about that new dude in her life, and that’s when she remembers.

Back when she was in junior high, and Amber was entering high school, Amber suddenly turned cool. She went through this phase where she’d watch anything and everything American, really passé shows from the nineties, like she was possessed. Like her spirit could be found inside the monitor, spinning in little bytes in an avi file. Like it could be torrented and distributed online for free across miles and miles of wires.

And God, her music.

“I hate this song,” Krystal said when Amber sang along to that one Limp Bizkit single for the four thousandth time.

“Oh, go back to your Korean shit,” Amber said, bopping her head angrily.

That pissed Krystal off, because she didn’t like having those two words in the same sentence. “So now everything Korean is shit? Bitch.”

Krystal never cursed before. Cursing was for boys who played too much Pokémon on the school bus.

“What? That’s not what I said-” Amber started, but Krystal pushed her hand aside.

“Go back to your own country then. No one likes you here anyway.”

She wasn’t one to get emotional, but this was Amber. As if dealing with her insufferable sister, currently “studying abroad” (traipsing/sleeping her way through) Europe with her newly dyed “chocolate brown” hair, wasn’t enough. She didn’t need her best friend to get on her case, too.

Being thirteen was fucking hard. Again, the expletive was Amber’s fault.

“Krystal,” Amber said, touching her shoulder, and instantly she already wanted to forgive her. “I’m sorry.”

When Krystal was ten, Jessica was the one who told her to just be quiet and eventually you’ll get what you want. But then Jess kissed the boy next door first, and Krystal was the one left in the dust when they rode off on his scooter together to get popsicles from the grocery down the street. As if it was even that far.

Still, Krystal stayed quiet.

Amber’s fingers pressed lightly on the bone, and then they fell away. Krystal turned to look at her.

“I guess I’m just kind of homesick,” Amber admitted. “Trying to catch up on all the shit I missed while I was here.”

“Fred Durst is fucking ancient,” Krystal had said.

“Well,” Krystal says now, tapping her plate. “You’ve always had a thing for older men.”

- - -

Jungsu’s on his cig break, even though he hasn’t touched tobacco since the army days. Even then, they hadn’t been allowed to smoke; he’d just bum them off the sergeants who liked him. There were a lot of those. He was good at making friends.

Speaking of. “Hey, what time is it in Beijing right now?”

Youngwoon flicks some ash on the ground. He’s the one who smokes. “Hell if I know.”

“Don’t get your suit dirty,” Jungsu reminds him.

“Hey, who got you this job in the first place?” Youngwoon growls all friendly-like. His teeth are adorable when he grins like that.

“I’m grateful everyday, sunbaenim,” Jungsu grins. No, Leeteuk. That’s his new name.

They’re quite the pair, Leeteuk and Kangin. The consensus for most pervy older women seems to be that two hosts are better than one. Leeteuk is awfully good with pervy older women, though. He could’ve done it alone, but the customers like their bickering. They make them drink more, then do funny girlish things together. The tables are always full, littered with wine bottles.

Youngwoon drops the cigarette and grinds it under his boot. Flashy leather with jangles and complicated lacing. His hair’s something unspeakable right now, straight out of a Japanese cartoon. He looks fucking fantastic.

“Break over, Teukie.” Youngwoon slaps a hand over his back. Jungsu watches a plane leave a white trail across the sky before following him back into the bar.

- - -

It takes twenty steps and turning around a corner for his legs to give in. Forty for him to stop and realize he needs a wall to lean against. He tumbles against the window of a women’s clothing store. Someone screams from the inside. His head hits the glass too soon. His heart pulses in his ears before he lets himself fall.

- - -

“When are you planning on going home?” he asks, arm still hooked in Hankyung’s.

“I don’t know,” Hankyung says, and then smiles belatedly. “Not right now.”

“You sure? ‘Cause no one wants you to stay.”

“Oh, in that case-”

“Bye!”

“Hey, can I take your artsy-fartsy Galliano tee with me?”

“Buy your own. . . . No, on second thought, take it.”

“Why the change of heart?”

Heechul plants a juicy kiss on his cheek. “Gives you a reason to come back.”

- - -

Victoria’s trying her best not to yell. It takes every ounce of strength in her to hold back-and she’s strong enough, contrary to popular belief-but she does it because it’s Amber. Because Amber’s delicate, even if she doesn’t realize it herself.

“Chase after him,” she says, and it’s as much of a command as she can manage. “I know you want to. If you don’t, I swear I will. I’ll-” she whips out her cellphone, but Amber thrashes her arm out and yells, “No.”

“Why?” Victoria pleads. She doesn’t understand. “He’s a, a good guy. Do you know how rare that is? Don’t let this slip.” Like I did.

“Vic,” Amber says suddenly, places a hand on her arm. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Amber knows. She’s always known.

“This isn’t about me,” Victoria says.

“I know,” Amber says quietly. She taps her fingers once, twice against the table. “I just don’t want something that isn’t mine, you know?”

- - -

“Come with me,” Heechul says. “I’ll get so bored by myself.”

“I’ll take pictures of Baengshin and Heebum and send them to you,” Hyukjae turns around to dangle soapy hands in front of his face.

“C’mooon.” Heechul wraps his arms around him, tickling his navel.

But Hyukjae will bear it. “Who’s going to take care of them? Who’s going to water the plants? What if someone breaks into this place? What if-” Heechul interrupts him at this point, which is all the better because he was running out of scenarios.

“My mom can take care of them. The plants can die. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. There’s nothing in here worth stealing. Stop coming up with excuses.”

Heechul is beginning to sound cross. This is good.

“I hate China. After Donghae went he wouldn’t stop talking about it for a month. He’d go up to random people on the street he thought were Chinese and start conversations with them. Sometimes they were Korean, Japanese, he didn’t care. I was so embarrassed. I swore never to walk down the street with him again.”

“You’ve never even been there, how can you hate it?”

“Watch me,” Hyukjae grins.

Heechul releases his arms. “Whatever.”

“I’m not going. You’re going on your own. Enjoy your trip, hyung!” He calls after Heechul’s retreating figure. The bedroom door slams, but Hyukjae knows he isn’t really angry.

There is a knot in his throat after he speaks. Heechul leaves in a month. If he looks at it positively, it’s a test of sorts. Will he come back? Am I worth coming back for? Like Heechul said, if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. The knot, though, it tells him other things. Like, this is the last month; treasure it well.

And you’re going to miss him a whole ridiculous lot.

And be good;

Let him go.

- - -

When he comes to, Hankyung is breathing hard, arms limp over his knees. One hand pulls behind to rub at his back. “Why do you walk so fast,” he pants, laughing.

“I was running away from you,” Heechul says. He’s still leaning against the glass window, but a bump is forming where his head hit.

This doesn’t make sense.

“I’m old now. I can’t catch up to you like before,” Hankyung says, taking a seat beside him on the sidewalk. “Just so you know, these jeans were four thousand yuan.”

“You know, I’m pretty sure I’ll always be older,” Heechul says. “And when did you ever have to catch up to me?”

“Always,” Hankyung says.

“You gotta be kidding me. So that’s why you set sail for home without telling me? Without a note, an email? Even a fucking Post-It, I would’ve taken that. Because you had to win for once, right?” Heechul laughs. “That’s it, isn’t it? I can’t believe I wondered for three years-”

“That’s not it.”

Heechul knows it’s all over if he looks, so he doesn’t. So he keeps going.

“You know, at first I thought you’d come back. I told myself I’d never say this when-if I saw you, because I know how pathetic this sounds, but Hankyung. I waited. I thought, oh, maybe-” his voice breaks, and he wipes snot away with the sleeve of his blazer.

“Heechul,” Hankyung begins quietly. “I never-”

“But you did. And that’s why we’re here.”

“Don’t cry.”

“You think I want to?” That just makes it worse. “I hate looking this stupid, in front of you of all people.”

Hankyung touches his hand. It feels the same as always. It’s funny, how the body remembers instinctively what the mind tries and tries to forget.

“I’m sorry,” Hankyung says. “But I waited, too.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not. Does this look like a lying face to you? Look at me.”

Hankyung’s changed. The lines by his eyes run deeper now. Heechul wonders what’s happened, what his life has been like, what he’s been eating, how he goes through his everyday.

“You aren’t the only one who hurt.”

- - -

“I didn’t plan it. And I know you didn’t, either. We just happened, one day. I was looking at you, and I felt it. We collided, and it felt right. Don’t snort. Hear me out first.

“You were wearing the pink sweater, you know that one. I thought before, I’d die first and you’d come visit my grave in it. I didn’t picture you in black or white, just that sweater. I know how stupid this sounds now, but that was my favorite thing of yours.

“Taking it off was another favorite thing.

“I shouldn’t have said that.

“You were watching something on TV, a game show, and you laughed with your mouth open, and you held my hand on the sofa without thinking, like it came intuitively to you by now. I drifted in and out of sleep-it’d been a busy day at the restaurant, my feet felt like lead, I hadn’t danced for a week. You pressed my hand during the funny bits, and I could count your teeth from where I was sitting. I kissed you and unbuttoned the first button on your sweater, and then we made love.

“When I came to, I realized I was having a panic attack. To this day I’m not sure what it was. I woke up and it was like, you were sleeping next to me, facing the other way. I wanted to reach over and stroke your hair, but I stopped myself. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. The immensity of the situation-what we were doing-it all weighed down on me suddenly.

“I was in Korea.

“I was working at a shit restaurant.

“I wasn’t really dancing anymore.

“I was in bed with a man.

“I mean, I loved you.

“But there were things, you know? I guess not. I didn’t-I should’ve-ah, well.

“It was reassessing. When my breathing returned to normal, that’s what I started doing. Reassessing. The future. Where I was headed. Where we were, too.

“Because, you know, that was home territory for you. Always will be. Just like this is for me. Don’t you feel a little uncomfortable here? Like this will never be it. Like you can try and try but people will always cock their head at your accent, always laugh at you behind your back if they’re kind. If not, then. That’s not an excuse. I’m just saying. Remembering, too.

“I’ve thought about it a lot. At first I didn’t think at all. But I’ve thought about it since reading that article in the paper-you coming, Heechul coming, it all came back in pounding waves and I tried to hold them off, barricade them away, but, you know, it’s not easy when it’s-you.

“The next morning, after you left for work, I went through my closet and took things randomly off the shelves. I don’t know what I packed. I remember thinking, I had to leave. Because if I didn’t then, I wouldn’t. A part of me knew that. Because I would get stuck, and I’d be happy for it, but I’d be miserable later. I would be bitter, and I didn’t want you to see me like that.

“That’s an excuse, too.

“I wasn’t thinking anything. I had to leave.

“I kept my cell phone. It wasn’t a model that worked in China, but I kept it on. To tell the time, and just.

“I don’t think I was that hard to find, Heechul.”

- - -

“You were scared,” Heechul says finally.

“Yeah,” Hankyung says.

“You thought I didn’t care enough. You thought I wouldn’t come after you.”

“But I waited.”

“I didn’t come after you,” Heechul says.

“I stopped waiting after a while. A couple of months.”

“You left. You were scared. It wasn’t because-because I wasn’t worth it.”

“You are always worth it.”

Heechul takes a moment to let the words sink in. He pulls Hankyung toward him but stops before they touch. He wants, needs to keep the distance. They brush noses, accidentally. They shouldn’t be doing this on the street.

“Look at me, Hankyung,” he says.

Hankyung looks.

Heechul hopes he’s able to see what he should.

“I’m here now,” Heechul says.

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