b o r n  i n  8 3 ; 

It’s a rare sight.

Minutes leading up to dinner, Heechul is arranging utensils and plates on a clothed table, setting napkins in the right spaces and empty glasses to match each plate. It’s the first day of July, and Heechul had decided to make use of the fact that the others were busy. Too busy for their leader’s birthday, he scoffs.

Heechul reaches for a remote and jabs a button, gearing the CD player into drive. A timeless classic begins to play, highlighting calmness in the ambience that he had strived to provide. He glances at the clock; just fifteen minutes till Leeteuk is home, or so he thinks. He walks over to a wine chiller, retrieving a cold bottle of Sauvignon blanc, setting it on the table between the two glasses.

“I hope he likes it,” he says to himself as his eyes saunter across the plates of steak, cooked by yours truly. The fifteen minutes that pass feel incredibly long (more like fifteen hours), and for a brief moment, Heechul panics. What if he has other plans? What if he’ll be back late? What if—he creases his forehead, frowning—what if he doesn’t like it? Heechul laughs. Why am I fretting over this like he’s my girlfriend or something? He swipes the gunk out of his eyes. I’m not proposing. What’s the big deal?

But Heechul knows what the big deal is, and he knows that this dinner is as important as, maybe a hyperbole but, proposing to a girlfriend. It’s been fifteen years since Leeteuk was first appointed as the leader of Super Junior, and that means fifteen long years of happiness, anger, merriment, fights all in one. Fifteen years of being the mediator, the loving elder brother, the mother, the father to (originally) twelve cheeky children—fourteen if you count Henry and Zhoumi. That doesn’t even count the years pre-debut that he’d been single parent to the group. If anything, Heechul is grateful that Leeteuk had been appointed as leader, that he’d taken the responsibility instead of him, being just nine days shy of his own birthday. He doesn’t know why it’d taken him fifteen years to finally do something for Leeteuk on his special day, but Heechul decides it’s better late than never.

His inner monologue fleets as soon as the sound of buttons being punched into the front door’s keypad lock echo. Heechul stands up and swallows; he doesn’t exactly know why he’s feeling nervous because he never has—at least not around Leeteuk. The door clicks open and in walks a very worn out Park Jungsu, a name everyone uses when Leeteuk is done being Leeteuk for the day. His face has been wiped clean of make-up and the dark circles under his eyes stand prominent on his soft features. His thin lips curl up, punctuated by a dimple on each side as soon he spots Heechul.

“Teukie hyung,” Heechul calls out affectionately (and a little bit awkwardly—it’s rare of him to show this soft, mellowed version of himself, even to the members).

“Heechul?” Leeteuk says back, inching towards the table. “What’s all of this?”

“Your birth—” Heechul croaks, clearing his throat. “It’s your birthday. Happy birthday, Teukie hyung.”

Leeteuk sets his bag on the floor and glosses his eyes over the set-up, impressed and touched all at once. He breathes in the wafting smell of steak and smiles, exhaling contentedly.

“You didn’t have to go to these lengths to—”

“I didn’t have to,” Heechul intercepts, “but I wanted to. You deserve it.”

Heechul gestures for Leeteuk to take a seat, which he does no questions asked. He pops the bottle of wine open and fills their glasses with it, the smooth sound of liquid touching glass filling the air around them.

“To you,” Heechul says, raising his glass. Leeteuk shakes his head.

“No, to us,” Leeteuk corrects, grinning. “It’s going to be your birthday soon; we’re not that far apart, mind you.”

They laugh as they clink glasses and smile at each other, lovingly and admirably. Heechul has always looked up to Leeteuk for the many reasons he’d thought of before, and Leeteuk, unbeknownst to Heechul, had always looked up to him for his grit and down-to-earth nature, a character he could only wish to have. Bearing the responsibility of being a leader has its pros and cons; one has to talk more, smile more, apologise more and cry more, but that’s exactly what he loves about Heechul—their polar opposite natures intertwine like clockwork, and they balance each other out. He doesn’t say it, but he’s eternally grateful to Heechul, for keeping him grounded, for reprimanding the younger ones whenever they drive him up the wall, for reminding him that he is human first, leader second.

“How was your day?” Heechul asks, grating his knife against his steak. Leeteuk takes a sip of his wine and lowers his glass, sighing. Heechul isn’t sure what the sigh means.

“It’s been eventful,” Leeteuk says at last. “Had back-to-back schedules today. So. Much. Talking. Being the nation’s emcee has its highs and lows, I guess. I’ve been talking so much I feel like my mouth is about to fall off.”

Heechul laughs. Leeteuk has his way with exaggerating things and it always makes Heechul laugh.

“If talking wears you out, we don’t have to.” Heechul offers, smiling. Does he ever stop smiling?

Leeteuk shakes his head. “I’m not going to sit here in silence after all the work you’ve put through for this dinner, and—”

“It wasn’t that much work—”

“It was,” Leeteuk counters, his lips pressed. “How often do we see Kim Heechul risk burning himself in the kitchen for a steak he probably has never cooked before?”

Heechul rolls his eyes. “I’m not that bad in the kitchen, hyung.”

“Saving your skills for a future someone, huh?” Leeteuk jokes, raising a brow. They both know what he’s insinuating at, but they skirt around the topic like flamingos dancing around a pond.

“I should say the same for you,” Heechul says softly. “Hyung, we’re old. It’s almost time.”

Leeteuk gasps. “Excuse me? What do you mean it’s almost time? I’m not letting the Grim Reap—”

“No, hyung! That’s not what I mean!” Heechul frets. “I’m just saying that, y’know, if either of us gets, the m-word, first—I’ll still be here for you. I know you’ll be here for me too.”

Leeteuk sighs again, deeply this time. “I know.”

They sit in quietude, cutting at their steak and sighing contentedly in between bites. Heechul admits that he’s outdone himself.

“Let’s play a game,” Heechul says suddenly. “A trip down memory lane of sorts.”

“Okay. How?”

“We take turns asking each other questions, to jolt each other’s memories.”

“Okay. You start.”

Heechul chews his food with his head rested on his palm, thoughtful. His mind darts in various ways, wondering which question he’d pin first.

“Okay, as a leader, what was your most favourite memory?”

Leeteuk downs half his wine, pensive. A million thoughts race through his mind, but it all pinpoints to one—their first win. “I’ll never forget the look on all of our faces when we got our first award. After all those years of hard work, everything paid off. I’ll never forget the tears we shed, tears of relief, mostly. You?”

“Same, honestly, same.” Heechul fits a piece of beef into his mouth and chews. “I’ll never forget that moment, either. None of us thought we’d ever get this far, let alone still be active fifteen years into the business. It’s crazy.”

“Right? I still wake up wondering if all of this is real,” Leeteuk exaggerates, and again Heechul laughs. “But by the end of the day, when I’m dead tired, it’s more like okay, yeah, all of this is definitely real.”

“I can see how exhausted you are in your eyes.”

“You mean in my eyebags?”

“That too,” Heechul nods. “Your turn.”

Leeteuk dips a chunk of steak in black pepper sauce and thinks aloud. “Hm. Okay. What about..”

There is a momentary pause before Leeteuk speaks again.

“What about your worst memory? What’s your worst memory in the past fifteen years of us knowing each other?”

Heechul downs his wine in one gulp and grins. “I think we both might consider this our worst memory.”

“Oh, wait.”

“Battle of Incheon,” they chorus, laughing.

“I could’ve sworn I’d had good aim trying to sock you in the face.” Heechul deadpans, albeit playfully.

“Poor Kyuhyun,” Leeteuk pouts. “Then again, no one asked him to get in the way of our fight—”

“—which you started,” Heechul adds on. “You started it. I stand corrected.”

Leeteuk rolls his eyes. “Oh c’mon, Heechul; you know it was mutual.”

“If mutual means you starting it then yes, it was mutual.”

Leeteuk leans back in his chair, mock-angry. “What, you wanna start the battle of Incheon part two right here in Gwangjin-gu?”

“What if I do?” Heechul asks.

“Nah,” Leeteuk says finally, “I’m too old and tired for physical fights. I can’t. Can you believe we’re thirty-seven?”

“I’d like not to think of it,” Heechul says sadly. “Age is a social construct.”

“Sure, Heechul, sure.”

“But anyway, do you have any regrets?”

Leeteuk is stumped for a moment. He picks up a napkin and dabs it against his lips, frowning as he thinks. Does he have any regrets?

“No,” Leeteuk replies, dropping the dirtied napkin onto his empty plate. “I don’t have any regrets. I have never, not once, regretted my decision of accepting the role of Super Junior’s leader. I have never regretted any of our highs and lows, our joys and our fights, till this day. They shaped us, and us is unanimous; Super Junior is one. Look at us, still together after all these years.”

“No one thought we’d make it,” Heechul says. “Hell, at one point even I didn’t think we’d make it.”

“Yeah, especially since they’d planned for us to be a rotational group.”

Heechul, too, wipes his mouth and places the napkin on the table. He reaches out to hold Leeteuk’s hand in his, and they sit like that in comfortable silence for a minute, exchanging smiles and raw hearts.

“I’m very thankful for you,” Heechul says, intertwining his fingers with Leeteuk’s. Leeteuk’s cheeks flush red, but you can’t see it under the dim lighting, thank goodness. “I mean it. We are where we are now because of you. I’m sure the other members agree.”

“Heechul,” Leeteuk says out, his voice quaking. He’s on the brink of tears but doesn’t allow it, blinking them back. “You mean as much to me as I do to you, and this goes for all the members.”

“I wish the others were here,” Heechul admits. “It’d be nice to have a family dinner.”

“Family dinner?” Leeteuk repeats.

Heechul loosens his grip on Leeteuk’s hand. “Yeah, family dinner. We are family, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, we really are—”

The front door slams open and in walks the rest of the members, illuminated by the flickering flames on the candles of a cake. They walk towards the table, cake in hand, chorusing to the Korean version of Happy Birthday.

Saengil chukahamnida

Saengil chukahamnida

Saranghaneun Leeteuk-ssi gwa Heechul-ssi

Saengil chukahamnida

Shindong brings the cake forward, waiting for the pair to blow out the candles, which they do simultaneously. The rest of the members cheer. Siwon flips the light switch and the room is bright again, this time brighter with the presence of the rest of Super Junior.

“I thought you guys said you were busy!” Heechul cries out, feeling betrayed.

“We lied,” says Hyukjae. “You should be used to it by now!”

Leeteuk stands up and wraps his arm around Heechul. “Guess you got your birthday wish, Heechul.”

“What wish?”

“You wanted a family dinner, so you got one.”

Heechul smiles subtly. “It’s your birthday, not mine. What’s your wish?”

Leeteuk’s lips stretch from ear to ear, befitting of how he feels inside.

“I wish the same,” he says softly, looking from Heechul to the others, then back to Heechul.

Many nights have passed, but no night has resembled this one. Heechul is glad he’d planned the little surprise for Leeteuk. He counts his lucky stars that he, and Leeteuk, and the other members of course, are part of this big family. He hopes this family sticks, eternally, but somewhere deep down in his heart, he knows they will. Fate has been encased in a little envelope and stamped with a wax seal, Heechul would like to believe.

The best part is Leeteuk, and the rest, believe the same.