Heechul/Hankyung, hinted Heechul/Donghae
There's this wall that Heechul passes by on the way to Donghae's house, and there's someone who sits at the top.
A/N: for wickedlove13 ♥ because she was being sneaky in her methods to make me want HanChul, so it's her fault that this fic is in existence. And I honestly don't know how Donghae got into this. But he's there. This may quite possibly be the most useless HanChul ever.
There’s this stone wall only a block away from Heechul’s university, and it’s by the park he always cuts through to get to Donghae’s house. Heechul hates walking past it—makes him feel tiny, since it soars above his head, and sometimes he wonders why it’s there.
But he loves walking past it at the same time. Most days, there’s someone sitting up there, someone he’s fascinated with. Heechul wants to know, first of all, how that guy gets up there in the first place.
He tells Donghae about the guy on the wall, on a rainy day when he shakes the drops from his polka dot umbrella, standing in the doorway.
“Was he there today?” the high school kid asks, a hand in a bag of chips. “Hey! Don’t drip on hardwood!”
“Yeah,” Heechul ignores that last statement. “He was.”
“Did he have an umbrella?”
“Raincoat.” It was blue, Heechul goes on in his head.
“Strange dude,” Donghae says, and his tongue flicks out to catch a crumb on his bottom lip.
Heechul hangs up his coat. “He’s cute, though.”
Donghae knows of Heechul’s preferences—it’s never affected their sleepovers, never affected them at all. He feels like he’s known since he was one day old and his parents displayed him proudly to a three-year-old Heechul.
Sometimes Donghae feels like the arm around his waist is trying to be more than a hyung’s happy arm, but it never does very well in its attempts.
Heechul sits down and pats his young friend on the head before tugging him into his hold, resting his cheek against the soft hair. It’s damp; Donghae must’ve walked home from school.
“Should I go for it?”
“No, a melon.”
“Yeah, you should,” Donghae crunches on another chip. “The guy on the wall, and the melon.”
Hankyung climbs up on this wall nearly every day. It’s his wall, but not really, because, well, he’s not the one who built it. This started in his first year of college, about 357 days ago. Other than dancing and random needs to run to school when his alarm clock fails, he uses the wall for exercise. Climbing a wall is no easy task.
It’s even harder in the rain, but by the 71st day, he’d gotten accustomed to it. There’d been a lot of rain in that time span.
On the 357th day, he sees that pretty-faced and clear-skinned thing made of bones and skin and attitude, again. Hankyung calls him Cinderella in his head, despite the fact that he’s pretty sure that this ‘Cinderella’ is a boy.
He’s grown used to this unplanned tradition; it’s the one where he and Cinderella dodge each other’s gazes but they both try to see who can steal the most glances. It’s also the one where he waits for Cinderella to pass by, just to see him.
It’s the day after that Cinderella stops underneath his feet, only quite a ways down. It’s the day after that Cinderella is no longer Cinderella, because he has a real name and Hankyung hadn’t really thought much about that.
Cinderella grins. “That’s my name.”
“Oh,” Hankyung curls his toes so that his shoe won’t fall—the laces have already come undone.
“You have one, too?”
“Han—kyung,” he’s torn between the Korean version and the Chinese version. So he picks the first one. Everyone else calls him that.
“I kind of like you, just so you know,” Heechul says, unabashed.
“But I’m trying to decide between you and a melon.”
Hankyung isn’t sure if there’s some kind of communication problem. His Korean is good, but maybe there’s some kind of idiom he hasn’t learned yet that now he has to deal with. “That’s interesting.”
“See you around.”
It’s when he watches Heechul walk away that Hankyung realizes that he might feel the same way—just take the fruit out of the picture.
Heechul has never seen Donghae laugh any harder when he tells the younger man about his miniature conversation with Hankyung. He hits Donghae on the head and huffs into the kitchen, pulling out a plastic container with their names on the lid. Donghae’s mother seems to cook for Heechul now, too.
“Shut up, or I’m not feeding you,” Heechul angles an elbow and plants his fingers against the side of his hip when he walks back into the living room. Donghae pinches his lips closed, and he looks down at his statistics homework.
He listens to Heechul start up the microwave, and he wonders why the sound is so distant, compared to usual. So he tries to pull himself back into math—but standard deviation could never be as interesting as his Heechul-hyung.
Hankyung invites Heechul to stay longer than just the usual fifteen or fewer seconds, and he almost lets himself look surprised when the pretty head on his shoulders nods.
“Go around, to the other side,” he calls. “It’s higher up over here—there’s a hill.”
Heechul thinks that Hankyung must have all the secrets of the park tucked into the pocket of his jeans, or something. He does what he’s told, despite his tendency too rebel against what people want him to do, and he discovers that Hankyung was right. It’s higher up from this side, and hey the grass is just a bit greener.
“I want to come up,” he says, feeling so fantastically eloquent.
“It’s not easy.”
“Then help me.”
Heechul spends the rest of his afternoon trying to climb up stones, his phone turned silent for once in those 8 years he’s had one. He gives up after only a few tries and Hankyung sits down next to him over the grass. When he glances over at those bright eyes, he suddenly thinks of Donghae. The swell that’d built up in his chest deflates when he looks at his pocket, where his mute phone is.
Shit, he wants to curse out loud, I forgot about Donghae. Fuck. Shit.
He feels himself pick up again, when he sees only one message from his favorite teenager.
I’m at Kyuhyun’s, if you need me.
Received: Fri Apr 7th, 4:46pm
The deflating feeling sticks with him—it’s probably the shortness of the message, the lack of smiley faces, the lack of exclamation points—but maybe it gets better when he looks at Hankyung again. Sure, he’s neglected the one person who’s meant most to him since the day after he was born, but those kinds of shallow wounds would heal quickly. Heechul doesn’t let himself scar.
He shows Hankyung a smile, so maybe the foreigner will believe that everything is fine.
“Hey,” Hankyung opens his mouth, waiting for the rest of the words to come out, “I kind of like you, too.”
“Stop being a sap,” Heechul tries not to let the bitterness towards himself spew out at bright-eyed Hankyung. But it doesn’t have much of an effect anyway.
Heechul watches the corners of Hankyung’s eyes crinkle, and he thinks that maybe this could work out the way he wants. Maybe.
I kind of really like this. But I don't really know if I left it off in a way that I like.