sj the moon never drowns
title: the moon never drowns
pairings: yesung/ryeowook, hankyung/heechul
rating/genre: pg13, crack
summary: yesung tries to get ryeowook's attention, not understanding he already has it.
Yesung was at a schedule when they returned, so he wasn’t able to see Ryeowook until they all met up at the dorms later that day.
“Ryeowook!” he exclaims, kicking the door shut with his heel and shrugging off his jacket. Ryeowook turns, beaming.
“Hyung!” says Ryeowook cheerfully, smiling broadly. Yesung steps forward, dropping his keys into a pocket and extending both arms outwards in anticipation for a hug. He’s missed Ryeowook, his high-pitched giggle, the sharp angles of his face and the flush in his cheeks when he smiles. His palms itch to slide over familiar shoulder blades and his fingers twitch to wrap around slender wrists.
Yesung is startled out of his musings by the fact that that Ryeowook has grown a few inches, his hair feels different and his shoulders are broader. He pulls back, frowning to see a round face with spiky hair, red lips against a paler face.
“Uh,” he says, as Henry gives him an awkward wave, smile painfully shy.
“Hi,” he says in English. Yesung releases him abruptly. Ryeowook’s head pops up behind Henry’s shoulder, one hand around Henry’s waist, the other snaking up to pinch his cheek.
“Isn’t Henli cute, hyung?” he chirps, “He’s staying with me.” Ryeowook beams at the younger boy, who dimples back shyly.
Yesung frowns.
It’s not as if Yesung doesn’t like Henry. It’s nearly impossible not to like Henry, he’s sweet and innocent and awkwardly cute, and he looks good in tank-tops.
“Or maybe,” he slurs on his seventh glass of soju, “that’s exactly why they don’t like him. They’re jealous of the cute.”
“I don’t think so,” says Heechul thoughtfully, swilling his own drink casually, “that theory doesn’t account for all of Sungmin’s fans.”
“Stop encouraging him,” says Hankyung, slumped in his seat.
“You’re right,” Yesung mumbles, head dropping to the table. “Maybe it’s his stupid chubby cheeks.”
“Chipmunks are often considered adorable,” notes Heechul solemnly.
“Now you’re just reaching,” says Hankyung, sliding sideways to rest against Heechul’s arm.
“Ryeowook’s adorable,” says Yesung miserably, muffled against the tabletop. Hankyung sighs into Heechul’s shoulder.
“Now you’ve done it,” he says, reaching out to poke Yesung in the head. Heechul swats at him.
“Shut up, Hankyung, this is finally going to get good. He crashed our private party, we deserve this.” Hankyung rolls his eyes and pats Yesung on the back comfortingly.
“It was nice drinking with you, Yesung,” he says into Yesung’s ear, “I’m going to bed now.” Yesung makes a kind of zombie moan, and Hankyung takes it as a sign of acquiescence. He levers himself to his feet and trails his fingers teasingly across Heechul’s shoulder-blades as he walks past. Heechul spares him a quick glance and a soft smile, eyes hazy from alcohol, before turning predatory eyes on Yesung.
Yesung staggers out of his room, eyes covered, head pounding, and promptly collides with another person.
“Water,” he croaks dramatically, clinging, “drugs.” There’s a familiar clicking of tongue against teeth, and he looks up, squinty-eyed, to find Eeteuk looking down at him, disapproving.
“Late night?” asks Eeteuk, in the kitchen, pressing aspirin and Gatorade into his hands.
“Heechul,” Yesung mumbles darkly, fingers pressed to his temple. Eeteuk nods in understanding before checking his watch and wandering off, muttering. Yesung flops into a chair, yawning.
“Hellooo Yesung,” says Heechul, sauntering into the kitchen and grinning from ear to ear, “and how are you feeling today?” Yesung looks up at him, suspicious.
“What did I tell you?” he asks through gritted teeth, “what did we do? What did you do?” Heechul pouts at him, excluding mock hurt from every pore.”
“I can’t believe you’d forget,” he says, wiping away fake tears. Yesung glares.
“You can’t fool me, Heechul. I remember when Sungmin fell for that, and I am not so naïve.” He turns away, satisfied, and gulps down the Gatorade, trying not to retch. Hankyung ambles out of the hallway, draping himself sleepily over Heechul’s shoulders. Heechul pats him absently on the cheek.
“I was just telling Yesung about our, uh, adventure last night,” Heechul murmurs, leering faintly. Hankyung slides off him and plops in a chair, resting his head on his arms, eyes blearily fixed on Yesung.
“Oh yeah?” he hums, “are you coming again tonight, then?” Heechul, off to the side and out of Hankyung’s view, mouths ‘coming,’ eyes rolled back into his head, hips jerking obscenely.
“I hate you,” hisses Yesung, and storms out. Hankyung blinks. Heechul rises, dumping his dishes in the sink with a clatter.
“Now look what you’ve done,” he clucks, leaving the room, and Hankyung trails after him, confused.
It takes another week of not seeing Ryeowook without Henry for Yesung to be driven to drink again, though he at least retains enough intelligence to not do it with Heechul.
“You know you can’t actually drink,” he says nervously, “Eeteuk would kill us both.” Kangin glares at him, an strange look in his eyes.
“Shut up and chug,” he says, tone oddly longing, “I want to watch.”
Several drinks later, he staggers into Henry’s bed and pokes his lips.
“Hyung?” asks Henry, eyes wide, carefully not moving, tone faintly terrified.
“Even your lips are cute, you utter bastard,” says Yesung, and passes out. He wakes to yet another headache, and Ryeowook’s beaming face.
“I knew you would get along if you just gave him a chance,” he says earnestly. Henry hovers behind him, smiling uncertainly.
Yesung groans.
“I kind of want to punch Henry in the face,” he tells Shindong at dinner, “and say ‘keep your hands off my girl.’”
“Sounds good,” says Shindong distractedly looking longingly at the stove behind Yesung. “I, uh, didn’t eat lunch today, hyung, so if I could just-”
“What should I do?” asks Yesung, setting his own plate aside and clutching at Shindong’s arms, “I demand advice.” He stares at him, unblinking. Shindong groans.
“Don’t-you know how freaky that look is.” Yesung refuses to blink, widening his eyes even further, and flares his nostrils for good measure. Shindong glares.
“Get him food or something. Oh, is that not good advice? Maybe because you are starving me. Just tell him how you feel, okay?”
“His favourite food, that’s brilliant.” Shindong grabs Yesung’s plate, emits a few noncommittal noises and makes his escape, rolling his eyes.
The first time Yesung tries to cook, he goes for something simple: a pickled salad, and it’s a complete disaster. He’s looking at it in dismay, trying to figure out what went wrong, when Ryeowook wanders into the kitchen.
“Cooking, hyung?” he asks, surprised, and reaches out to the bowl. Yesung shrieks, knocking the dish from the counter in a desperate lunging maneuver that makes the dish fly several feet into the air before crashing to the floor. There’s a long pained silence, in which Yesung remains outstretched, frozen in horror, and an unidentifiable chunk of vegetable slides off Ryeowook’s face. Yesung straightens.
“Yup,” he says calmly, “Little potato rokkuko, et cetera et cetera, you know.” He flees before Ryeowook can regain his ability to speak instead of just splutter.
Next he tries pasta, because Ryeowook was watching some English cooking show once, and Henry had mentioned spaghetti was impossible to mess up.
He’s not one-hundred percent sure, but he doesn’t think it’s supposed to be this crunchy. He’s snapping noodles in half with his chopsticks, glum, when Kibum walks by.
“Supposed to cook the noodles first, hyung,” he says absently, passing through the kitchen and out the door, “just buy him something.” Yesung scrapes the plate into the trash, dumps the dirty dishes in the sink and goes to the super market.
He’s sitting cross-legged in Hankyung’s room, carefully tying a pink ribbon around four king-sized chocolate bars, when Hankyung and Heechul stumble in, attached at the lips and hit the bed, scrabbling at each other’s clothing.
“Um,” says Hankyung, trying to pull away, “um, that’s…Yesung.” Heechul mouths at his jaw, hips pushing insistently.
“He doesn’t mind,” he murmurs.
“It’s true,” says Yesung indifferently, trying to remember how his mother had made ribbon curly using a pair of scissors, “I really don’t.”
“Wha-Heechul. No.” Heechul huffs, irritated, but rolls off Hankyung and looks down at Yesung on the floor.
“Give me that,” Heechul says, snatching the scissors and ribbon out of Yesung’s hands, easily twining the ribbon into artfully loose curls. Hankyung pulls a pillow into his lap and clears his throat.
“So now that you’ve managed that, maybe you can go somewh-” Heechul cuts him off.
“Is this for Ryeowook?” he asks suddenly, wicked grin spreading across his face, “Oh my god. You’re totally luring him in with candy.”
“He likes candy,” Yesung protests, “it’s not weird to give the person you like candy.”
“Oh no,” cackles Heechul, “do you want me to help you get use of our van? The tinted windows are a particularly romantic touch.”
“Okay,” snaps Yesung, “what do you think Valentine’s Day is? Besides, Kibum told me to do it.”
“I think it’s really sweet, Yesung,” says Hankyung, now resigned to the fact that not only is there someone in his bedroom for no good reason, but he doesn’t appear to be going anywhere fast. Heechul turns to look at him, eyes flat and dark.
“Or not,” Hankyung adds swiftly, smiling cheerfully at Heechul, who rolls his eyes.
“Do you really think we’re that stupid?” he demands, “Kibum, yeah right.”
“Ryeowook,” says Yesung nervously, stepping in to screen Henry, who squeaks as he walks face first into Yesung’s back.
“Yesung,” Ryeowook says, a smile blooming across his face, “you haven’t been around for awhile…is that for me?” he asks as Yesung thrusts the box into his hands, joy colouring his words. Henry tries to step around Yesung, craning his neck to try and see the present, and Yesung quickly obstructs him.
Ryeowook tears off the paper and opens the card eagerly, “Would you like…some candy, little boy?” he reads aloud, voice going from excited anticipation to complete confusion. Yesung lets out a short half-scream, snatching the card back and cursing Heechul in his head.
To his credit, Ryeowook doesn’t ask questions, just hugs the chocolate to his chest and looks up at Yesung through his lashes, shy starry eyes. “Thanks hyung,” he says softly, the smile lingering at his lips and colouring his tone, and Yesung gathers his courage.
“Ryeowook, maybe we could. I mean, sometime, we could-” he hears Henry shuffle behind him, perhaps trying to give them privacy, perhaps trying not to intrude, but it jerks Yesung out of the moment, and he falters.
“Yesung?” Ryeowook asks, stepping closer, gaze faintly hopeful, “we could…”
“Eat the chocolate,” Yesung blurts, losing his nerve and backing out of the room quickly, nearly running over Henry in his attempt to escape, “together. You know, because I like chocolate and you like chocolate, so.” He smacks into the wall and fumbles around for the doorframe, tripping over his own feet.
“Bye,” he chirps, and flees to his room, where he bangs his head on the closed door repeatedly.
“Okay,” he tells his best friend, “the chocolate was a complete bust. But I have a new plan.” He lifts his secret weapon up and waves it in front of the turtle’s uninterested gaze.
“Hey,” says Eunhyuk, poking his head in, “can I borrow-oh my god. What is that?”
“What?” Yesung asks, puzzled. Eunhyuk points, completely horrified.
“That. In your hand. What is that?” Yesung lifts it, smiling cheerfully.
“I got it for Ryeowook,” he beams, “isn’t it cute?”
“It’s terrifying,” squeaks Eunhyuk, leaving hurriedly, “what is wrong with you?”
Yesung is carefully wrapping the gift in tissue paper when Hankyung walks in, flops on the bed and yelps to find it already occupied.
“Jesus Christ,” he gasps, hand on his heart, “why are you always here?”
“It’s quiet here,” Yesung says absently, smoothing the wrinkles out of the tissue paper, “and I don’t want Ryeowook to see it before I can surprise him.” There’s a knock on the door.
“Hyung?” calls Ryeowook, “is that you, Yesung-hyung? Can I talk to you?” Yesung freezes, strips of tape stuck to all ten fingers.
“Shit,” he hisses, shoving the unwrapped gift at Hankyung, “hold this.” He scrambles to his feet. “Coming,” he calls.
“Oh my god,” says Hankyung, revolted, “what is this?” Yesung shoves him off the bed, ignoring his squawk, and stumbles to the door, shoving himself into the opening to block Ryeowook’s view of the room.
“What are you doing in hyung’s room?” asks Ryeowook, puzzled.
“Oh, you know,” Yehsung says, beginning to gesture with his right hand before realizing he still has pink ribbon wrapped around his fingers. He shoves his hand behind his back, smiling nervously. “peripheral elephantiles, so.” He nods cheerfully. Ryeowook blinks, then shrugs it off.
“Right. Listen, hyung, I was thinking, maybe. I mean, the candy.” He stops, nervous. “Maybe, tomorrow, we could, lunch,” he stutters, looking up at Yesung, questioning. Yesung blinks at him.
“Sounds good,” he says distractedly. “Okay good talk see you later bye.” He shuts the door and clicks the lock, slumping against it.
“No seriously,” says Hankyung, holding the figurine at arm’s length, “what were you thinking?” Yesung snatches it back, glaring.
“Ryeowook likes carnivals,” he says, “he told me himself. Anything else?”
“Nope,” says Hankyung, rising gracefully to his feet, “just gonna go tell Heechul how stupid you just were.”
This time he’s more careful, he plans it out in advance. He lies in wait, carefully keeping watch, until it’s the perfect moment, when Ryeowook and Henry are in the perfect position. He springs from behind the coat rack, shoves Henry into the opened closet, shutting the door and kicking the chair under the knob, then drags Ryeowook off quickly to his room. There’s a muffled shout of surprise from the closet, and Ryeowook puts up a struggle, going quietly only when he sees Eeteuk head towards the closet, looking resigned.
He starts to open his mouth on some variation of what the hell but Yesung stops him with one finger on his mouth.
“Ryeowook,” he says quietly, “Ryeowook. Here’s the thing. I like you. I want to take you to dinner and to lunch and wake up for breakfast, to curl on the couch with you and have the right to mope around when you leave for China. Also, I come bearing gifts.” He shoves the package at the younger boy, eyes fixed behind him.
Ryeowook takes it from him and sets it aside. “Oh Yesung,” he says gently, “I’ve been waiting so long.”
LAME ASS EPILOGUE:
After awhile of being lost in the shy hesitation of Ryeowook’s tongue, the heat of his hands and the long curves of his eyelashes, they wander outside the room, Yesung happily glued to Ryeowook’s side. Henry gives them a cheerful thumbs up, then wilts under Yesung’s eagle eyed glare. Halfway through dinner, Yesung leaps to his feet.
“Wait!” he says, and runs from the room.
“And stay out,” Kangin says. Eeteuk shoots him a disapproving look, and is reaching over to pinch him when Yesung comes back, grinning broadly.
“Here!” he says, “you didn’t open it before.”
“Aww,” says Sungmin, clutching at Kyuhyun, who is blatantly ignoring them all in favour of his DS, “that is so cute!” Ryeowook grins up at them, proud, and rips the wrappings off.
“O-oh.” He says, staring at the glass clown head, garish grin painted in bright colours.
“Oh my,” says Sungmin, tugging insistently at Kyuhyun’s sleeve, “you will want to see this.” Heechul bursts out laughing, leaning heavily on Hankyung, who looks resigned, and Kangin leans over Eeteuk to join him, mocking under their breaths. Eunhyuk has one hand over his eyes, eating blindly, chopsticks flinging food everywhere. The door opens, and Siwon walks in, hanging all over Kibum.
“A nice family dinner,” he says eagerly, “we’ve all miss-” he pauses as they take in the scene before them, eyes drawn to the glass statue. Kibum walks out. Siwon crosses himself. Ryeowook smiles up at Yesung.
“I like it,” he says, and what he means is I love you.
pairings: yesung/ryeowook, hankyung/heechul
rating/genre: pg13, crack
summary: yesung tries to get ryeowook's attention, not understanding he already has it.
Yesung was at a schedule when they returned, so he wasn’t able to see Ryeowook until they all met up at the dorms later that day.
“Ryeowook!” he exclaims, kicking the door shut with his heel and shrugging off his jacket. Ryeowook turns, beaming.
“Hyung!” says Ryeowook cheerfully, smiling broadly. Yesung steps forward, dropping his keys into a pocket and extending both arms outwards in anticipation for a hug. He’s missed Ryeowook, his high-pitched giggle, the sharp angles of his face and the flush in his cheeks when he smiles. His palms itch to slide over familiar shoulder blades and his fingers twitch to wrap around slender wrists.
Yesung is startled out of his musings by the fact that that Ryeowook has grown a few inches, his hair feels different and his shoulders are broader. He pulls back, frowning to see a round face with spiky hair, red lips against a paler face.
“Uh,” he says, as Henry gives him an awkward wave, smile painfully shy.
“Hi,” he says in English. Yesung releases him abruptly. Ryeowook’s head pops up behind Henry’s shoulder, one hand around Henry’s waist, the other snaking up to pinch his cheek.
“Isn’t Henli cute, hyung?” he chirps, “He’s staying with me.” Ryeowook beams at the younger boy, who dimples back shyly.
Yesung frowns.
It’s not as if Yesung doesn’t like Henry. It’s nearly impossible not to like Henry, he’s sweet and innocent and awkwardly cute, and he looks good in tank-tops.
“Or maybe,” he slurs on his seventh glass of soju, “that’s exactly why they don’t like him. They’re jealous of the cute.”
“I don’t think so,” says Heechul thoughtfully, swilling his own drink casually, “that theory doesn’t account for all of Sungmin’s fans.”
“Stop encouraging him,” says Hankyung, slumped in his seat.
“You’re right,” Yesung mumbles, head dropping to the table. “Maybe it’s his stupid chubby cheeks.”
“Chipmunks are often considered adorable,” notes Heechul solemnly.
“Now you’re just reaching,” says Hankyung, sliding sideways to rest against Heechul’s arm.
“Ryeowook’s adorable,” says Yesung miserably, muffled against the tabletop. Hankyung sighs into Heechul’s shoulder.
“Now you’ve done it,” he says, reaching out to poke Yesung in the head. Heechul swats at him.
“Shut up, Hankyung, this is finally going to get good. He crashed our private party, we deserve this.” Hankyung rolls his eyes and pats Yesung on the back comfortingly.
“It was nice drinking with you, Yesung,” he says into Yesung’s ear, “I’m going to bed now.” Yesung makes a kind of zombie moan, and Hankyung takes it as a sign of acquiescence. He levers himself to his feet and trails his fingers teasingly across Heechul’s shoulder-blades as he walks past. Heechul spares him a quick glance and a soft smile, eyes hazy from alcohol, before turning predatory eyes on Yesung.
Yesung staggers out of his room, eyes covered, head pounding, and promptly collides with another person.
“Water,” he croaks dramatically, clinging, “drugs.” There’s a familiar clicking of tongue against teeth, and he looks up, squinty-eyed, to find Eeteuk looking down at him, disapproving.
“Late night?” asks Eeteuk, in the kitchen, pressing aspirin and Gatorade into his hands.
“Heechul,” Yesung mumbles darkly, fingers pressed to his temple. Eeteuk nods in understanding before checking his watch and wandering off, muttering. Yesung flops into a chair, yawning.
“Hellooo Yesung,” says Heechul, sauntering into the kitchen and grinning from ear to ear, “and how are you feeling today?” Yesung looks up at him, suspicious.
“What did I tell you?” he asks through gritted teeth, “what did we do? What did you do?” Heechul pouts at him, excluding mock hurt from every pore.”
“I can’t believe you’d forget,” he says, wiping away fake tears. Yesung glares.
“You can’t fool me, Heechul. I remember when Sungmin fell for that, and I am not so naïve.” He turns away, satisfied, and gulps down the Gatorade, trying not to retch. Hankyung ambles out of the hallway, draping himself sleepily over Heechul’s shoulders. Heechul pats him absently on the cheek.
“I was just telling Yesung about our, uh, adventure last night,” Heechul murmurs, leering faintly. Hankyung slides off him and plops in a chair, resting his head on his arms, eyes blearily fixed on Yesung.
“Oh yeah?” he hums, “are you coming again tonight, then?” Heechul, off to the side and out of Hankyung’s view, mouths ‘coming,’ eyes rolled back into his head, hips jerking obscenely.
“I hate you,” hisses Yesung, and storms out. Hankyung blinks. Heechul rises, dumping his dishes in the sink with a clatter.
“Now look what you’ve done,” he clucks, leaving the room, and Hankyung trails after him, confused.
It takes another week of not seeing Ryeowook without Henry for Yesung to be driven to drink again, though he at least retains enough intelligence to not do it with Heechul.
“You know you can’t actually drink,” he says nervously, “Eeteuk would kill us both.” Kangin glares at him, an strange look in his eyes.
“Shut up and chug,” he says, tone oddly longing, “I want to watch.”
Several drinks later, he staggers into Henry’s bed and pokes his lips.
“Hyung?” asks Henry, eyes wide, carefully not moving, tone faintly terrified.
“Even your lips are cute, you utter bastard,” says Yesung, and passes out. He wakes to yet another headache, and Ryeowook’s beaming face.
“I knew you would get along if you just gave him a chance,” he says earnestly. Henry hovers behind him, smiling uncertainly.
Yesung groans.
“I kind of want to punch Henry in the face,” he tells Shindong at dinner, “and say ‘keep your hands off my girl.’”
“Sounds good,” says Shindong distractedly looking longingly at the stove behind Yesung. “I, uh, didn’t eat lunch today, hyung, so if I could just-”
“What should I do?” asks Yesung, setting his own plate aside and clutching at Shindong’s arms, “I demand advice.” He stares at him, unblinking. Shindong groans.
“Don’t-you know how freaky that look is.” Yesung refuses to blink, widening his eyes even further, and flares his nostrils for good measure. Shindong glares.
“Get him food or something. Oh, is that not good advice? Maybe because you are starving me. Just tell him how you feel, okay?”
“His favourite food, that’s brilliant.” Shindong grabs Yesung’s plate, emits a few noncommittal noises and makes his escape, rolling his eyes.
The first time Yesung tries to cook, he goes for something simple: a pickled salad, and it’s a complete disaster. He’s looking at it in dismay, trying to figure out what went wrong, when Ryeowook wanders into the kitchen.
“Cooking, hyung?” he asks, surprised, and reaches out to the bowl. Yesung shrieks, knocking the dish from the counter in a desperate lunging maneuver that makes the dish fly several feet into the air before crashing to the floor. There’s a long pained silence, in which Yesung remains outstretched, frozen in horror, and an unidentifiable chunk of vegetable slides off Ryeowook’s face. Yesung straightens.
“Yup,” he says calmly, “Little potato rokkuko, et cetera et cetera, you know.” He flees before Ryeowook can regain his ability to speak instead of just splutter.
Next he tries pasta, because Ryeowook was watching some English cooking show once, and Henry had mentioned spaghetti was impossible to mess up.
He’s not one-hundred percent sure, but he doesn’t think it’s supposed to be this crunchy. He’s snapping noodles in half with his chopsticks, glum, when Kibum walks by.
“Supposed to cook the noodles first, hyung,” he says absently, passing through the kitchen and out the door, “just buy him something.” Yesung scrapes the plate into the trash, dumps the dirty dishes in the sink and goes to the super market.
He’s sitting cross-legged in Hankyung’s room, carefully tying a pink ribbon around four king-sized chocolate bars, when Hankyung and Heechul stumble in, attached at the lips and hit the bed, scrabbling at each other’s clothing.
“Um,” says Hankyung, trying to pull away, “um, that’s…Yesung.” Heechul mouths at his jaw, hips pushing insistently.
“He doesn’t mind,” he murmurs.
“It’s true,” says Yesung indifferently, trying to remember how his mother had made ribbon curly using a pair of scissors, “I really don’t.”
“Wha-Heechul. No.” Heechul huffs, irritated, but rolls off Hankyung and looks down at Yesung on the floor.
“Give me that,” Heechul says, snatching the scissors and ribbon out of Yesung’s hands, easily twining the ribbon into artfully loose curls. Hankyung pulls a pillow into his lap and clears his throat.
“So now that you’ve managed that, maybe you can go somewh-” Heechul cuts him off.
“Is this for Ryeowook?” he asks suddenly, wicked grin spreading across his face, “Oh my god. You’re totally luring him in with candy.”
“He likes candy,” Yesung protests, “it’s not weird to give the person you like candy.”
“Oh no,” cackles Heechul, “do you want me to help you get use of our van? The tinted windows are a particularly romantic touch.”
“Okay,” snaps Yesung, “what do you think Valentine’s Day is? Besides, Kibum told me to do it.”
“I think it’s really sweet, Yesung,” says Hankyung, now resigned to the fact that not only is there someone in his bedroom for no good reason, but he doesn’t appear to be going anywhere fast. Heechul turns to look at him, eyes flat and dark.
“Or not,” Hankyung adds swiftly, smiling cheerfully at Heechul, who rolls his eyes.
“Do you really think we’re that stupid?” he demands, “Kibum, yeah right.”
“Ryeowook,” says Yesung nervously, stepping in to screen Henry, who squeaks as he walks face first into Yesung’s back.
“Yesung,” Ryeowook says, a smile blooming across his face, “you haven’t been around for awhile…is that for me?” he asks as Yesung thrusts the box into his hands, joy colouring his words. Henry tries to step around Yesung, craning his neck to try and see the present, and Yesung quickly obstructs him.
Ryeowook tears off the paper and opens the card eagerly, “Would you like…some candy, little boy?” he reads aloud, voice going from excited anticipation to complete confusion. Yesung lets out a short half-scream, snatching the card back and cursing Heechul in his head.
To his credit, Ryeowook doesn’t ask questions, just hugs the chocolate to his chest and looks up at Yesung through his lashes, shy starry eyes. “Thanks hyung,” he says softly, the smile lingering at his lips and colouring his tone, and Yesung gathers his courage.
“Ryeowook, maybe we could. I mean, sometime, we could-” he hears Henry shuffle behind him, perhaps trying to give them privacy, perhaps trying not to intrude, but it jerks Yesung out of the moment, and he falters.
“Yesung?” Ryeowook asks, stepping closer, gaze faintly hopeful, “we could…”
“Eat the chocolate,” Yesung blurts, losing his nerve and backing out of the room quickly, nearly running over Henry in his attempt to escape, “together. You know, because I like chocolate and you like chocolate, so.” He smacks into the wall and fumbles around for the doorframe, tripping over his own feet.
“Bye,” he chirps, and flees to his room, where he bangs his head on the closed door repeatedly.
“Okay,” he tells his best friend, “the chocolate was a complete bust. But I have a new plan.” He lifts his secret weapon up and waves it in front of the turtle’s uninterested gaze.
“Hey,” says Eunhyuk, poking his head in, “can I borrow-oh my god. What is that?”
“What?” Yesung asks, puzzled. Eunhyuk points, completely horrified.
“That. In your hand. What is that?” Yesung lifts it, smiling cheerfully.
“I got it for Ryeowook,” he beams, “isn’t it cute?”
“It’s terrifying,” squeaks Eunhyuk, leaving hurriedly, “what is wrong with you?”
Yesung is carefully wrapping the gift in tissue paper when Hankyung walks in, flops on the bed and yelps to find it already occupied.
“Jesus Christ,” he gasps, hand on his heart, “why are you always here?”
“It’s quiet here,” Yesung says absently, smoothing the wrinkles out of the tissue paper, “and I don’t want Ryeowook to see it before I can surprise him.” There’s a knock on the door.
“Hyung?” calls Ryeowook, “is that you, Yesung-hyung? Can I talk to you?” Yesung freezes, strips of tape stuck to all ten fingers.
“Shit,” he hisses, shoving the unwrapped gift at Hankyung, “hold this.” He scrambles to his feet. “Coming,” he calls.
“Oh my god,” says Hankyung, revolted, “what is this?” Yesung shoves him off the bed, ignoring his squawk, and stumbles to the door, shoving himself into the opening to block Ryeowook’s view of the room.
“What are you doing in hyung’s room?” asks Ryeowook, puzzled.
“Oh, you know,” Yehsung says, beginning to gesture with his right hand before realizing he still has pink ribbon wrapped around his fingers. He shoves his hand behind his back, smiling nervously. “peripheral elephantiles, so.” He nods cheerfully. Ryeowook blinks, then shrugs it off.
“Right. Listen, hyung, I was thinking, maybe. I mean, the candy.” He stops, nervous. “Maybe, tomorrow, we could, lunch,” he stutters, looking up at Yesung, questioning. Yesung blinks at him.
“Sounds good,” he says distractedly. “Okay good talk see you later bye.” He shuts the door and clicks the lock, slumping against it.
“No seriously,” says Hankyung, holding the figurine at arm’s length, “what were you thinking?” Yesung snatches it back, glaring.
“Ryeowook likes carnivals,” he says, “he told me himself. Anything else?”
“Nope,” says Hankyung, rising gracefully to his feet, “just gonna go tell Heechul how stupid you just were.”
This time he’s more careful, he plans it out in advance. He lies in wait, carefully keeping watch, until it’s the perfect moment, when Ryeowook and Henry are in the perfect position. He springs from behind the coat rack, shoves Henry into the opened closet, shutting the door and kicking the chair under the knob, then drags Ryeowook off quickly to his room. There’s a muffled shout of surprise from the closet, and Ryeowook puts up a struggle, going quietly only when he sees Eeteuk head towards the closet, looking resigned.
He starts to open his mouth on some variation of what the hell but Yesung stops him with one finger on his mouth.
“Ryeowook,” he says quietly, “Ryeowook. Here’s the thing. I like you. I want to take you to dinner and to lunch and wake up for breakfast, to curl on the couch with you and have the right to mope around when you leave for China. Also, I come bearing gifts.” He shoves the package at the younger boy, eyes fixed behind him.
Ryeowook takes it from him and sets it aside. “Oh Yesung,” he says gently, “I’ve been waiting so long.”
LAME ASS EPILOGUE:
After awhile of being lost in the shy hesitation of Ryeowook’s tongue, the heat of his hands and the long curves of his eyelashes, they wander outside the room, Yesung happily glued to Ryeowook’s side. Henry gives them a cheerful thumbs up, then wilts under Yesung’s eagle eyed glare. Halfway through dinner, Yesung leaps to his feet.
“Wait!” he says, and runs from the room.
“And stay out,” Kangin says. Eeteuk shoots him a disapproving look, and is reaching over to pinch him when Yesung comes back, grinning broadly.
“Here!” he says, “you didn’t open it before.”
“Aww,” says Sungmin, clutching at Kyuhyun, who is blatantly ignoring them all in favour of his DS, “that is so cute!” Ryeowook grins up at them, proud, and rips the wrappings off.
“O-oh.” He says, staring at the glass clown head, garish grin painted in bright colours.
“Oh my,” says Sungmin, tugging insistently at Kyuhyun’s sleeve, “you will want to see this.” Heechul bursts out laughing, leaning heavily on Hankyung, who looks resigned, and Kangin leans over Eeteuk to join him, mocking under their breaths. Eunhyuk has one hand over his eyes, eating blindly, chopsticks flinging food everywhere. The door opens, and Siwon walks in, hanging all over Kibum.
“A nice family dinner,” he says eagerly, “we’ve all miss-” he pauses as they take in the scene before them, eyes drawn to the glass statue. Kibum walks out. Siwon crosses himself. Ryeowook smiles up at Yesung.
“I like it,” he says, and what he means is I love you.