sj we will keep the skeptics humming
Title: we'll keep the skeptics humming
Pairing/Rating: hankyung/heechul, pg13
Summary: set in remixied's Qmi AU, the backstory to her established Hanchul. Student!AU, sort of. A get together fic, featuring fail!geng :)
A/N: :/ i hate my writing nowadays, feel free to concrit :(
shitshitshitshitshit Hankyung thinks glumly, in time with each splash his shoes make, slapping against the wet pavement, raindrops driving against his hands, his face, his legs. stupid, why, I hate my life, why he whines internally, hopping from foot to foot, socks and shoes squelching as he waits to be buzzed in.
“Please,” he mumbles, “oh, please oh please, oh-oh oh, fuck me.” He shrugs his jacket off from over his head and settles it against his back, shaking drops of water from his bangs and makes his move as an old lady leaves the building with her dog, darting into the lobby of the building and staring in dismay at the stairs, spiraling upwards with no elevator in sight. He digs into a pocket and retrieves a pink slip, feeling the nearly uncontrollable urge to cry as water drips off the edges, stained blue with ink.
“Hyung,” Siwon protests, laughing, “hyung, come on.”
“Noooo,” Heechul whines, attached to his arm, “don’t you love me, Siwonnie?”
“I have to meet Sungmin at Kyuhyun’s,” Siwon says, dimpling, “something about helping to fix the stove. You can have my portion of the take home.”
“It’s been hours,” Heechul moans, falling back onto the couch dramatically, “it’s never coming and I’m going to starve, to starve and die, and alone because you’ve left me for Minsung.”
“Sungmin,” Siwon corrects absently, pulling on his jacket and fishing out his umbrella. He leans over and kisses Heechul on the temple. “Later, Heenim. I’ll call you when I get there so you know I made it.”
“I don’t care,” Heechul reminds him, and then rolls face first into a pillow and cries dramatically. Still smiling, Siwon slings his scarf around his neck and opens the front door.
“Lock the door after me,” he tells Heechul, waiting until he kicks his legs in response before leaving. He trots down the hall, checking his watch and buttoning his coat, and pauses as he steps into a puddle, tilting his head up to check the ceiling for cracks in the roof. Shrugging, he continues, only to nearly trip over a figure sitting on the stairs, cradling a fragrant plastic bag.
“Excuse me,” he says politely, “is that for 15C?” The man stumbles to his feet, turning so fast his coat throws up a spray of water that hits Siwon across the face and chest.
“Maybe?” he offers. He takes a single hopeful step towards Hankyung and his shoe makes a wet wringing noise, oozing into a puddle at least a foot wide. Siwon takes a step back.
“It’s this one,” he says, gesturing towards Heechul’s door, and nods congenially before setting off down the stairs, as Heechul lets out another wail and the delivery boy looks around desperately for another 15C.
Hankyung looks down at himself and sighs miserably, before raising his hand to knock. His fingers are brown with sauce and the white of the food cartons are translucent from rain and grease. Resigned, he listens as there’s the sound of walking and the clicks as the locks are thrown back. The door is flung open to reveal a young man in skinny jeans and an oversized sweater, glowering out at him.
“You’re late,” he snaps, and then blinks as he takes in Hankyung’s state. He takes a step back and closes the door slightly. “Oh my god.” Hankyung tries not to take it personally.
“Um,” he says, and tries to hand the bag over the threshold. Waterlogged, it tips, and they both stare in horror as a small flood of brown water flows from the many rips in the bag and onto the floor. “That’ll come to ten twenty-five, please,” Hankyung says feebly. The bottom of a carton gives out and five pale dumplings land on Hankyung’s shoe.
“Jesus Christ,” Heechul says.
“Tell me you have a real job,” Heechul says, systematically unfolding Hankyung’s neat napkin rectangles and casually making origami shapes out of them. “Because you really do suck at this one.”
“Stop it,” Hankyung laughs, swatting at his hands. Heechul shifts slightly on the order up counter he’s leaning on until he’s out of reach. “I’m trying to work here,” Hankyung complains.
“Mm,” Heechul says, tossing a sailor’s hat onto the counter before darting forward and snatching another one, cackling. Hankyung tilts his head down and smiles at Heechul from under his eyelashes, enjoying the way Heechul’s tongue curls out from his teeth in response.
“Do you go to university?” Heechul asks lightly, making neat precise creases for his newest creation.
“Why so many questions?” Hankyung asks, and looks up from wrapping disposable wooden chopsticks to see Heechul’s long fingers, polished nails glinting as he smoothes a swan’s graceful neck, effortless. A menagerie of creations are scattered on the counter space beside him.
“Just curious,” Heechul says, “we never really talk about ourselves.” His tone is light and easy but he’s looking at Hankyung from the corner of his eyes and his fingertips twist a paper napkin until it tears. Hankyung opens his mouth and closes it again, unsure.
“I’m in school to be a veterinarian,” Heechul says abruptly. “I’m old for my year because I had to work up the money first. I’m minoring in English and I have a cat.” He starts another crane, careful and deliberate, tries not to look nervous and unsure.
“I’m a dancer,” Hankyung says, “go out to dinner with me.”
“Hey sweet thang,” Heechul says in a terrifying sort of drawl, and Hankyung smiles at him anyway, flips the magazine closed against the bookmark of his thumb.
“When do you get off?” he asks, and glances around the waiting room quickly before turning back to Heechul. “Looks like you’re pretty close to being done.”
“Mm,” Heechul says, and is looking down and to the side. Gathering his courage, Hankyung tugs on Heechul’s hand, relieved when Heechul slides willingly into his lap and trails his fingers through Hankyung’s hair, grown out a bit too long.
“What’s up?” Hankyung asks, and slides a palm around Heechul’s hip, slips the tips of two fingers in his back pocket, wiggling in under the scrubs.
“Nothing,” Heechul murmurs, and leans back into Hankyung. Hankyung can see the white collar of his tshirt under the bright floral scrubs, and the paper edges tickle his skin. Hankyung is hyperaware of one of his thumbs dipping low under Heechul’s jeans in the hollow of his hip and the other sticking to the glossy magazine paper, damp with nervous sweat, of a single eyelash just below Heechul’s cheekbone, the way he can see the indent of Heechul’s teeth in his lip and the freckle below his ear and he tastes like cheap mint mouthwash and dark coffee.
“You, you, Heechul what is wrong with you, you stupid-you can’t just do that!” Hankyung says, voice rising as he gets angrier. Heechul blinks up at him from the rough green sheets of his hospital bed, bleary. Hankyung pushes him back down when he struggles to rise, hands gently despite his angry words.
“You have to take care of yourself,” he snaps, pacing. “You have to sleep enough, eat enough, and stay home when you are ill. Heechul blinks some more, disoriented, and reaches out to him, shivering slightly. Hankyung immediately moves to take Heechul’s hand, other arm moving to tuck the sheets more tightly against him, and is stopped as a hand grabs the back of his shirt. A man is standing there, looking unsure and protective.
“Hi?” he offers, and whispers furiously to Heechul out of the corner of his mouth, “who is this guy?”
“Who’re you?” the man says pointedly, and casts a look at Heechul, worried.
“Hankyung knows kungfu,” Heechul whispers and giggles. Hankyung tries to look supportive and non-threatening.
“I heard raised voices,” the man says, and starts to glare. Heechul waves a hand imperiously.
“Leave off, Siwon,” he mumbles, “s’just Hankyung. He’s mine.” Siwon blinks and takes a closer look at Hankyung.
“Oh!” he says abruptly, “oh, Hankyung. I’m so sorry.” He drops Hankyung to the ground and fusses with his shirt collar, pats his back awkwardly and turns reproachfully to Heechul. “If you’d ever let me meet him instead of just gushing all the time,” he scolds good naturedly, and moves to take Heechul’s hand, brushing his bangs back and checking his temperature with the back of his palm. Heechul bites at him.
“Bring me pudding,” he demands, and Siwon trots off dutifully. Hankyung comes over and takes the hand Siwon was holding, trying not to look jealous. Heechul smiles up at him, eyes hazy, and goes back to sleep. Hankyung hooks a chair from behind him with a leg and settles in.
“You’re mine too, you know,” he whispers, brushing kisses across Heechul’s knuckles. Then he groans and leans his head against the aluminum bedrail. “Someday I’ll be brave enough to say it to your face,” he promises.
Hankyung always thought Heechul’s anger would rage against him in torrents of flying porcelain and harsh words ground out from gritted teeth. He’s seen it, seen Heechul hurl anything and everything he can get his hands on while swearing and shouting until he curls up and falls asleep, exhausted and drained.
But when they fight for the first time Heechul lashes out once, attacking with poison tongue lightning fast before pulling back into himself, turning away and holding himself so still Hankyung thinks he’d break at the touch, brittle shards of crystalline china.
Hankyung swings into their tiny kitchen, more of a small entryway into their bedroom then its own space, when Heechul roars out, making Hankyung squeak and flail as he tries to dodge. Heechul slams by him without missing a beat and starts to throw pots and pans around, crashing into cupboards and scattering utensils.
Hankyung steps up behind him and wraps both hands around his waist, trapping his arms against him. “Leggo Hankyung,” Heechul whines, “I’m trying to throw a tantrum.” Hankyung kisses the space under his ear and along his jawline.
“How come you never throw tantrums when you’re angry with me?” Hankyung asks, shuffling backwards until Heechul has nothing within reach to destroy. Heechul’s shoulder roll against him, sullen.
“Dunno,” he says petulantly, “you’re just different, don’t be stupid.” Hankyung can’t quite help the stupid smile that spreads over his face, and he distracts Heechul by lifting him far enough off the ground that he begins to kick his legs and struggle to escape.
“I love you,” he says abruptly, into the nape of Heechul’s neck. Heechul freezes mid-kick, jaw around Hankyung’s forearm where he’d been biting at Hankyung to release him.
“W-what?” he asks around a mouthful of Hankyung’s shirt.
“Love you,” says Hankyung, and his heart is thumping in his temples and his fingertips. “Huh,” he adds, voice cracking as he tries to speak lightly, “I always thought that’d come out in bed.” He laughs nervously for two seconds too long and then stares at the ceiling, silent.
“Hankyung,” Heechul says gently, and presses two fingers into Hankyung’s palm. His eyes are the softest Hankyung’s ever seen them, a soft brown that he’s only ever seen when his body arches against Hankyung’s, when he gasps and shudders and watches Hankyung with fuzzy eyes as he comes undone.
“Hankyung, I-” Hankyung, who’d been shifting his weight nervously, leans too far forward and topples, arms windmilling as he knocks four coffee mugs off the counter and bangs his head twice on the stove, silver stars bursting in his vision. When he regains himself he’s sprawled on the cool tile, Heechul cradling his jaw, thumbs brushing soothingly.
Heechul’s soft chuckle is an exhale against Hankyung’s cheek and his whisper is nearly inaudible into the shell of Hankyung’s ear, and Hankyung smiles so wide it makes his head hurt, twists their hands together and winces into their kiss.
Pairing/Rating: hankyung/heechul, pg13
Summary: set in remixied's Qmi AU, the backstory to her established Hanchul. Student!AU, sort of. A get together fic, featuring fail!geng :)
A/N: :/ i hate my writing nowadays, feel free to concrit :(
shitshitshitshitshit Hankyung thinks glumly, in time with each splash his shoes make, slapping against the wet pavement, raindrops driving against his hands, his face, his legs. stupid, why, I hate my life, why he whines internally, hopping from foot to foot, socks and shoes squelching as he waits to be buzzed in.
“Please,” he mumbles, “oh, please oh please, oh-oh oh, fuck me.” He shrugs his jacket off from over his head and settles it against his back, shaking drops of water from his bangs and makes his move as an old lady leaves the building with her dog, darting into the lobby of the building and staring in dismay at the stairs, spiraling upwards with no elevator in sight. He digs into a pocket and retrieves a pink slip, feeling the nearly uncontrollable urge to cry as water drips off the edges, stained blue with ink.
“Hyung,” Siwon protests, laughing, “hyung, come on.”
“Noooo,” Heechul whines, attached to his arm, “don’t you love me, Siwonnie?”
“I have to meet Sungmin at Kyuhyun’s,” Siwon says, dimpling, “something about helping to fix the stove. You can have my portion of the take home.”
“It’s been hours,” Heechul moans, falling back onto the couch dramatically, “it’s never coming and I’m going to starve, to starve and die, and alone because you’ve left me for Minsung.”
“Sungmin,” Siwon corrects absently, pulling on his jacket and fishing out his umbrella. He leans over and kisses Heechul on the temple. “Later, Heenim. I’ll call you when I get there so you know I made it.”
“I don’t care,” Heechul reminds him, and then rolls face first into a pillow and cries dramatically. Still smiling, Siwon slings his scarf around his neck and opens the front door.
“Lock the door after me,” he tells Heechul, waiting until he kicks his legs in response before leaving. He trots down the hall, checking his watch and buttoning his coat, and pauses as he steps into a puddle, tilting his head up to check the ceiling for cracks in the roof. Shrugging, he continues, only to nearly trip over a figure sitting on the stairs, cradling a fragrant plastic bag.
“Excuse me,” he says politely, “is that for 15C?” The man stumbles to his feet, turning so fast his coat throws up a spray of water that hits Siwon across the face and chest.
“Maybe?” he offers. He takes a single hopeful step towards Hankyung and his shoe makes a wet wringing noise, oozing into a puddle at least a foot wide. Siwon takes a step back.
“It’s this one,” he says, gesturing towards Heechul’s door, and nods congenially before setting off down the stairs, as Heechul lets out another wail and the delivery boy looks around desperately for another 15C.
Hankyung looks down at himself and sighs miserably, before raising his hand to knock. His fingers are brown with sauce and the white of the food cartons are translucent from rain and grease. Resigned, he listens as there’s the sound of walking and the clicks as the locks are thrown back. The door is flung open to reveal a young man in skinny jeans and an oversized sweater, glowering out at him.
“You’re late,” he snaps, and then blinks as he takes in Hankyung’s state. He takes a step back and closes the door slightly. “Oh my god.” Hankyung tries not to take it personally.
“Um,” he says, and tries to hand the bag over the threshold. Waterlogged, it tips, and they both stare in horror as a small flood of brown water flows from the many rips in the bag and onto the floor. “That’ll come to ten twenty-five, please,” Hankyung says feebly. The bottom of a carton gives out and five pale dumplings land on Hankyung’s shoe.
“Jesus Christ,” Heechul says.
“Tell me you have a real job,” Heechul says, systematically unfolding Hankyung’s neat napkin rectangles and casually making origami shapes out of them. “Because you really do suck at this one.”
“Stop it,” Hankyung laughs, swatting at his hands. Heechul shifts slightly on the order up counter he’s leaning on until he’s out of reach. “I’m trying to work here,” Hankyung complains.
“Mm,” Heechul says, tossing a sailor’s hat onto the counter before darting forward and snatching another one, cackling. Hankyung tilts his head down and smiles at Heechul from under his eyelashes, enjoying the way Heechul’s tongue curls out from his teeth in response.
“Do you go to university?” Heechul asks lightly, making neat precise creases for his newest creation.
“Why so many questions?” Hankyung asks, and looks up from wrapping disposable wooden chopsticks to see Heechul’s long fingers, polished nails glinting as he smoothes a swan’s graceful neck, effortless. A menagerie of creations are scattered on the counter space beside him.
“Just curious,” Heechul says, “we never really talk about ourselves.” His tone is light and easy but he’s looking at Hankyung from the corner of his eyes and his fingertips twist a paper napkin until it tears. Hankyung opens his mouth and closes it again, unsure.
“I’m in school to be a veterinarian,” Heechul says abruptly. “I’m old for my year because I had to work up the money first. I’m minoring in English and I have a cat.” He starts another crane, careful and deliberate, tries not to look nervous and unsure.
“I’m a dancer,” Hankyung says, “go out to dinner with me.”
“Hey sweet thang,” Heechul says in a terrifying sort of drawl, and Hankyung smiles at him anyway, flips the magazine closed against the bookmark of his thumb.
“When do you get off?” he asks, and glances around the waiting room quickly before turning back to Heechul. “Looks like you’re pretty close to being done.”
“Mm,” Heechul says, and is looking down and to the side. Gathering his courage, Hankyung tugs on Heechul’s hand, relieved when Heechul slides willingly into his lap and trails his fingers through Hankyung’s hair, grown out a bit too long.
“What’s up?” Hankyung asks, and slides a palm around Heechul’s hip, slips the tips of two fingers in his back pocket, wiggling in under the scrubs.
“Nothing,” Heechul murmurs, and leans back into Hankyung. Hankyung can see the white collar of his tshirt under the bright floral scrubs, and the paper edges tickle his skin. Hankyung is hyperaware of one of his thumbs dipping low under Heechul’s jeans in the hollow of his hip and the other sticking to the glossy magazine paper, damp with nervous sweat, of a single eyelash just below Heechul’s cheekbone, the way he can see the indent of Heechul’s teeth in his lip and the freckle below his ear and he tastes like cheap mint mouthwash and dark coffee.
“You, you, Heechul what is wrong with you, you stupid-you can’t just do that!” Hankyung says, voice rising as he gets angrier. Heechul blinks up at him from the rough green sheets of his hospital bed, bleary. Hankyung pushes him back down when he struggles to rise, hands gently despite his angry words.
“You have to take care of yourself,” he snaps, pacing. “You have to sleep enough, eat enough, and stay home when you are ill. Heechul blinks some more, disoriented, and reaches out to him, shivering slightly. Hankyung immediately moves to take Heechul’s hand, other arm moving to tuck the sheets more tightly against him, and is stopped as a hand grabs the back of his shirt. A man is standing there, looking unsure and protective.
“Hi?” he offers, and whispers furiously to Heechul out of the corner of his mouth, “who is this guy?”
“Who’re you?” the man says pointedly, and casts a look at Heechul, worried.
“Hankyung knows kungfu,” Heechul whispers and giggles. Hankyung tries to look supportive and non-threatening.
“I heard raised voices,” the man says, and starts to glare. Heechul waves a hand imperiously.
“Leave off, Siwon,” he mumbles, “s’just Hankyung. He’s mine.” Siwon blinks and takes a closer look at Hankyung.
“Oh!” he says abruptly, “oh, Hankyung. I’m so sorry.” He drops Hankyung to the ground and fusses with his shirt collar, pats his back awkwardly and turns reproachfully to Heechul. “If you’d ever let me meet him instead of just gushing all the time,” he scolds good naturedly, and moves to take Heechul’s hand, brushing his bangs back and checking his temperature with the back of his palm. Heechul bites at him.
“Bring me pudding,” he demands, and Siwon trots off dutifully. Hankyung comes over and takes the hand Siwon was holding, trying not to look jealous. Heechul smiles up at him, eyes hazy, and goes back to sleep. Hankyung hooks a chair from behind him with a leg and settles in.
“You’re mine too, you know,” he whispers, brushing kisses across Heechul’s knuckles. Then he groans and leans his head against the aluminum bedrail. “Someday I’ll be brave enough to say it to your face,” he promises.
Hankyung always thought Heechul’s anger would rage against him in torrents of flying porcelain and harsh words ground out from gritted teeth. He’s seen it, seen Heechul hurl anything and everything he can get his hands on while swearing and shouting until he curls up and falls asleep, exhausted and drained.
But when they fight for the first time Heechul lashes out once, attacking with poison tongue lightning fast before pulling back into himself, turning away and holding himself so still Hankyung thinks he’d break at the touch, brittle shards of crystalline china.
Hankyung swings into their tiny kitchen, more of a small entryway into their bedroom then its own space, when Heechul roars out, making Hankyung squeak and flail as he tries to dodge. Heechul slams by him without missing a beat and starts to throw pots and pans around, crashing into cupboards and scattering utensils.
Hankyung steps up behind him and wraps both hands around his waist, trapping his arms against him. “Leggo Hankyung,” Heechul whines, “I’m trying to throw a tantrum.” Hankyung kisses the space under his ear and along his jawline.
“How come you never throw tantrums when you’re angry with me?” Hankyung asks, shuffling backwards until Heechul has nothing within reach to destroy. Heechul’s shoulder roll against him, sullen.
“Dunno,” he says petulantly, “you’re just different, don’t be stupid.” Hankyung can’t quite help the stupid smile that spreads over his face, and he distracts Heechul by lifting him far enough off the ground that he begins to kick his legs and struggle to escape.
“I love you,” he says abruptly, into the nape of Heechul’s neck. Heechul freezes mid-kick, jaw around Hankyung’s forearm where he’d been biting at Hankyung to release him.
“W-what?” he asks around a mouthful of Hankyung’s shirt.
“Love you,” says Hankyung, and his heart is thumping in his temples and his fingertips. “Huh,” he adds, voice cracking as he tries to speak lightly, “I always thought that’d come out in bed.” He laughs nervously for two seconds too long and then stares at the ceiling, silent.
“Hankyung,” Heechul says gently, and presses two fingers into Hankyung’s palm. His eyes are the softest Hankyung’s ever seen them, a soft brown that he’s only ever seen when his body arches against Hankyung’s, when he gasps and shudders and watches Hankyung with fuzzy eyes as he comes undone.
“Hankyung, I-” Hankyung, who’d been shifting his weight nervously, leans too far forward and topples, arms windmilling as he knocks four coffee mugs off the counter and bangs his head twice on the stove, silver stars bursting in his vision. When he regains himself he’s sprawled on the cool tile, Heechul cradling his jaw, thumbs brushing soothingly.
Heechul’s soft chuckle is an exhale against Hankyung’s cheek and his whisper is nearly inaudible into the shell of Hankyung’s ear, and Hankyung smiles so wide it makes his head hurt, twists their hands together and winces into their kiss.