pairing/rating: hankyung/heechul, pg13
summary: roadtrip, future!fic, backwards chronological order
A/N: Messing with format and structure, trying to get back into the swing of writing, please bear with me. Also a bit :/ about the ending... about the whole thing T_T
roy orbison singing for lonely—hey that’s me and I want you only
“I know,” says Hankyung.
“We should go,” Heechul says after a while.
“Yes,” Hankyung agrees, “where are we going?”
“You pick,” Heechul murmurs, “—oh wait, you haven’t seen a shooting star yet.”
“Look,” Hankyung says, “that’s one, there,” but when Heechul turns all he sees is himself reflected in Hankyung’s eyes.
you ain’t a beauty but hey you’re alright, and that’s alright, with me
Hankyung pulls the car over into a shoulder rest stop on a particularly barren, ugly stretch of scenery.
“I like straight roads,” Heechul says absently, “they feel timeless. Circular, oddly enough.” He turns to face Hankyung, “that being said, what the fuck, Hankyung. It’s ugly around here.”
“So don’t look around, look up,” Hankyung says, and gets out. When Heechul finally abandons the comfortable upholstery for the chill of the air outside, he finds Hankyung sitting on the trunk, twirling a green plastic stem in his palms.
“A flower for my—well, for my pretty,” he says without looking down, and Heechul clambers up beside him to take the flower and cast it aside.
“Litterer,” Hankyung says, and kisses him. Heechul keeps his eyes open to watch the sky for falling stars.
“I’ve been waiting a long time,” he says.
make crosses from your lovers throw roses in the rain
They stop at a juncture of nowhere and Heechul buys a postcard in the minimart so he can forget the name of the town every time he’s not looking at it anytime he wants. Hankyung is paying when the cashier offers him a tacky plastic daisy, oversized and overpriced.
“A flower for your pretty lady?” he asks, and Hankyung shakes his head politely, signing the sales receipt and pocketing his wallet.
“I’ll take one,” says Heechul, and waits until they’re back in the car before presenting it to Hankyung. “For your pretty lady,” he says flatly, eyes glinting, “she must wonder where you are.”
so you’re scared and you’re thinking that maybe we ain’t that young anymore
Heechul fiddles with the radio until he stumbles upon an English song he recognizes, leans back into his seat and can suddenly feel the echo of damp red felt prickle on his hairline and vest buttons digging into his chest. Hankyung laughs and Heechul wonders if he’s thinking of flying over a sea of foreign yellow lights, dirty skyscrapers scrubbed clean from the rain, milkshakes.
“It tasted awful,” Hankyung mutters, reaching out to crank up the volume, and Heechul supposes it’s something, quite something, they’re still on the same wavelength after all this time, still clicking away in steady sync.
come take my hand, we’re riding out tonight to case the promised land
The car is new, rented, clean, expensive. Imported. Heechul raises a single eyebrow at Hankyung but says nothing, slings his small bag into the back and slides into the passenger seat. “Where are going?” he asks, reaching over to tug test Hankyung’s seatbelt out of habit. It holds, but Hankyung grabs his hand as it retreats and laces their fingers over the gearshift.
“Anywhere,” he says, “you pick.” Heechul opens the glove box and unfolds glossy maps awkwardly with one hand as Hankyung turns over the engine and idles down the road, inch by inch to hear the tire tread squeak on tar. He’s tracing a nail absently over the bold coloured line of a major highway when Hankyung pulls up to a major intersection, sliding to a slow expectant stop.
Heechul lets the maps slide from his lap to the floor. “That way,” he says.
show a little faith there’s magic in the night
Hankyung is sitting on the rail of the wooden deck watching the stars bleach out in his vision when headlights flash around the corner of the street and then slowly brighten as the artificial yellow light fades.
He doesn’t turn at the squeak of the hinges or the click of the latch, but he does smile at the slam of the screen door. “I’ve never seen a shooting star,” he says wistfully, sliding off his perch and turning to face Heechul.
“Come with me,” asks Heechul.
“Yes,” says Hankyung.
if you’re ready to take that long walk, from the front porch to my front seat
Hankyung leaves his door open and the engine running, takes the deck stairs in one step and rattles the cheap metal of the door until Heechul flings the locks back, eyes flashing. “Come with me,” Hankyung says, stepping back until his heels are on air, teetering on the edge of the first step, face dark in the shadows cast by the porch light.
“What about—” Heechul starts, but Hankyung cuts him off.
“Does it matter,” he asks, and his voice is rough, “I’m here, and you’re here. Be here with me.” Heechul pauses.
“That’s the biggest pile of shit I have ever—” He stops as the streetlights come on behind Hankyung, one by one like emergency lighting in crowded aisles.
“Come with me,” Hankyung asks.
“No,” Heechul says.
we got one last chance to make it real, to trade in these wings on some wheels
Hankyung sits in the car for a good fifteen minutes before he gets out, closes the door as quietly as he can and crunches up the artificial gravel walkway to Heechul’s front porch, knocks twice beside the faded grey of the screen door, and listens as someone approaches.
Heechul looks younger than Hankyung expected—he always has—and somehow softer, dressed in faded plain clothes that don’t clash or match or make a statement. He’s drying his hands on a checkered dishtowel, lazily, and his fingernails are unpainted. He stares at Hankyung from behind the screen, startled. Hankyung sticks his hands in his jacket pocket and shuffles awkwardly.
“Hey,” Hankyung says finally, stumbling slightly over the Korean syllables, and Heechul flinches minutely, slinging the towel over one shoulder, concern rising on his face.
“Has something happened?” he asks urgently, starting forward, “Why didn’t you call?” Heechul begins to push the screen door open, and falls short as Hankyung presses his palms flat against it, pinning Heechul inside the house.
“Come with me,” he says, and his mouth is so close to the grating of the door the dirt from it swipes on his lips and sours his tongue.
“I don’t understand,” Heechul says, and Hankyung locks gazes with him, breathes in once and takes his gamble: that Heechul is, at heart and at mind, the same as he was, that they, who they are and what they had, tired and dusty and sad, is still as strong as it was.
“Yes you do,” he says, and Heechul stops pushing against Hankyung’s hands.
“What about,” he asks softly, “I mean, does she know…” he falters, and Hankyung drops a kiss on the screen, steps back with dark grit on his lips like gloss.
“Come with me,” Hankyung asks.
“No,” Heechul says.
and in the lonely cool before dawn
There is a boy standing in a hallway, in a tank top that hangs off him awkwardly and baggy cargo pants, shaggy hair in his face, sweat staining his spine, drinking quietly out of a water bottle.
There is a boy in the same hallway, in jeans and a coloured top, cheaply dyed bangs falling artfully across his eye, holding neon nail polish and pocket change for the vending machine.
“Hi,” says one boy, “my name is Heechul.”
“I am called Hankyung,” says the other, “it’s nice to meet you.”
:/ tell me what you thought, please, concrit I BEG OF YOU. All lyrics taken from Bruce Springsteen's Thunder Road.