Heechul was tired. He was tired of Super Junior; tired of the fake smiles and the cameras following him around day in, day out.

It used to be bearable, back then. He’d barely pay any attention to the people screaming his name every time he left the dorm, and it hadn’t felt so strenuous to just smile, to laugh. Back then he’d had someone to hide behind, someone to throw into the limelight instead of standing there himself, but that someone had left him. Left him to force that sultry smirk and go on with his well-rehearsed Kim Heechul routine as always, alone.

It was what he was paid to do; act, pretend. But when his someone had been there, he hadn’t had to pretend, it had been real. Everything was fun. It was a game. The hectic schedules and the sleepless nights were bearable when he’d had someone to lean back on, to take away the aches and pains with skillful hands and broken Korean.

The kisses were just for show, a joke. The skin-ship, the frivolous touching, was for the cameras, nothing more. Fan service was part of the job, there was nothing to it. Though, maybe he enjoyed it a little too much, seeing him twitch ever-so-slightly as he latched onto Siwon or locked lips with an unsuspecting Sungmin, but it was just fun. There was nothing to it.

He’d known, of course, when Hankyung had left. It was inevitable, and he’d have to be an idiot if he didn’t see the way his best friend’s smiles had grown more forced, how his eyes had grown tired and how his skin had slowly lost its characteristic honey colour. He wasn’t ignorant, but that didn’t mean he had to believe it; had to accept the fact that he was leaving and never coming back. He’d didn’t cry, didn’t even react when he watched the Chinese man leave, because he was adamant he would come home, back to the dorms again. Sometimes being stubborn isn’t enough, though.

He’d locked himself in his room for months, barely eating, barely sleeping, and only using the bathroom when he was sure the members were out on schedules. He was a mess. But he didn’t blame Hankyung for leaving, not one bit. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t find a shred of remorse or bitterness toward him. It drove him crazy, how even then he couldn’t hate him.

It wasn’t Hyukjae who got him to leave his room, he just got tired of those same four walls, and it just happened to be the same day the younger man had plucked up the courage to give him a good talking to. The preparation and release of their fourth album went by in a blur; his mind was elsewhere, on other things.

He was sick of having Hankyung’s name shoved in his face every second of the day, asking if they still talked, whether they were still close. If he counted, which he didn’t, there were more than a hundred texts in his message inbox, all from Hankyung. All unread. He used to text several times a day, but slowly they started to grow less and less as the weeks passed. From one a day to two a month. He never stopped, though, and Heechul never deleted. His drafts were filled with unsent messages; words he was too scared to send.

He’d always been praised for his acting, and it was so much easier to be frivolous and sarcastic than to dwell on things he had too much pride to change. Nine cyworld entries he never posted, and he was starting to wonder why people said he had a lack of self restraint.

When he’d been hit with the LED board, Hankyung had called as soon as he’d heard the news. Heechul hadn’t answered, and his call register slowly started to fill. It was forty missed calls before Hankyung gave up. Around then, Hankyung had moved somewhat to the back of his mind. He was busy with concerts and a hectic schedule, and barely had enough sleep as it was, he didn’t have time to dwell on such things. He spent his nights staring into the blinding glow of his cell phone, fingers hesitating on the call button, reading Hankyung’s name over and over again. He never called.

Hankyung had become a huge success in China in the time he’d been away, and Heechul felt empty. Before, Heechul had been the reason people knew Hankyung existed. He’d been the one to tear that mask off and show him to the world. But now it was Hankyung standing on his own two feet, and Heechul was just a shadow in the background.

He couldn’t remember what had triggered it, but something had clicked, and he’d decided he couldn’t do it anymore. Four suitcases, four taxi’s and an aeroplane later and he was stood outside Hankyung’s apartment; sopping wet from the sudden downpour that had decided to drown him as soon as he stepped out of the taxi. He’d never asked for Hankyung’s address, but a scrunched up note found deep in his bedside drawer, written in perfect Hangul, gave him a hint.

Jungsu had seen him leave. It was only them in the dorm, and Heechul had bet on the leader being asleep at such an early hour of the morning. Heechul had expected him to explode at him, tell him he was selfish, that they’d lost enough members already, but he said nothing, just nodded and smiled and went back into his room. If there was one person who knew how much he needed Hankyung, it was Jungsu.

By some unbelievable feat of unknown strength and sheer determination, he’d managed to drag all his luggage up the three flights of stairs, but upon turning to wrap his knuckles against Hankyung’s door, he froze. He’d left on a whim, and they hadn’t spoken a word to each other in over a year – what was he going to say?

He his heel, already flipping his cell phone open to call another taxi and book a flight back to Korea, but once again he stopped. There was a click, a shuffling of feet and a gasp. Heechul thought his heart was going to break a rib at the rate it was beating.

‘Heechul?’ came that familiar, smooth, wonderful voice he’d been avoiding for so long, breathless and desperate. He turned, slowly, dreading. He’d expected questions, maybe a sharp order to get out. But instead, before he could blink, strong arms were around his waist, pulling him close to a warm chest; completely disregarding his damp clothes and just holding him.

He’d forgotten how Hankyung smelled, how his skin felt. The younger man obviously hadn’t let himself go since he left, still as toned and solid as he remembered him to be, yet he was soft and Heechul relaxed into his warm embrace, sighing as he let his head fall against his shoulder.

‘How did you know I was coming?’ Heechul asked, not caring how cold he was and how Hankyung was starting to shiver from their combined wetness.

‘Jungsu called.’ he replied simply. He should have guessed, and he’d have to thank the older man later on, because if he hadn’t have called, Heechul would have been in a taxi back to the airport by then. ‘And your cats arrived earlier today.’

‘Oh.’ Heechul smirked, of course. He wasn’t going to leave his precious children in Seoul all alone.

Hankyung tightened his grip around Heechul’s waist, nuzzling into his wet hair and he took a breath. ‘I love you, Heechul.’ he whispered against the dark tresses, and Heechul froze.

Because he finally realised why he’d avoided all those texts, the calls, the emails. Each one said the same thing. I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry. He couldn’t reply, how could he? He was an attractive, famous Korean man; he was getting on in years, and he needed to find a woman and settle down, marry and have children. But when he heard Hankyung say those words, something clicked. They sounded so different when he wasn’t reading them in his head. And he realised, when had he ever done what was expected of him?

But he couldn’t get the words to roll off his tongue, no matter how he wished them to. Hankyung didn’t let go, didn’t sigh, didn’t get angry. He just smiled softly into Heechul’s hair and whispered; ‘But I’ll keep you even if you don’t feel the same.’

He wanted to protest, say he did feel the same, and that he should stop being an idiot; but instead, he slumped against Hankyung and gave in. He was tired, he hadn’t slept, and it was four in the morning. The words would come eventually, and Heechul knew that Hankyung would wait, no matter how long it took.