Geng steps off the plane into Incheon airport timidly. The flight over from China had been uneventful, but he’d spent the whole trip completely wracked by nerves. It was all he could do the whole time – and still now – to keep the lid on his emotions and control his mutation. There was too much riding on everything going smoothly for him to lose it now.

He manages immigration and customs with ease, walking through the gates into the departure lobby and searching for any sign with his name on it – there! He finally spots a tall, harried looking blonde man holding a sign with a badly-scribbled Hanja on it that sort of resembles his name. Geng approaches him hesitantly. The man is searching the crowd with an air of hopelessness. Which was fair enough; he doesn’t think that anybody in the company even knows what he looks like. It’s probably hard to spot a single Chinese face in the sea of them flowing out of the doors with him.

He walks right up to the man, stopping in front of him with an awkward annyeonghaseyo (he hopes his pronunciation is at least a little intelligible). The man starts in surprise, taking in his bedraggled appearance.

“Han Geng?” he asks, his accent and tones atrocious. But that’s definitely his name.

“Ne,” he replies, hoping that the man speaks at least a little Chinese; he’s burning through his list of Korean words that he knows alarmingly quickly.

The look of relief that washes over the man’s face would be comical, if Geng wasn’t suddenly assaulted by a barrage of fluid Korean, of which he literally understood not a single word. He listened helplessly, praying that the other man would notice his discomfort, which thankfully he soon did, because his words slowed to a trickle, then stopped.

“Do you speak Korean?” the other man asks, haltingly. Geng almost cries in relief; he knows that one!

“A little,” he replies slowly. The words feel clumsy in his mouth.

“Oh,” the other man appears to be slightly lost with what to do with him. “Oh. Okay.” He takes a deep breath.

“My name is Leeteuk,” he tries again, slowly, and Geng understands him this time. He smiles at Leeteuk.

“I’m Han Geng. But you can call me Hankyung,” his Korean name feels unfamiliar, but it seems to make the other man feel more comfortable. “I can speak a little Korean. Please speak slowly.”

“Okay. Slowly. I can do that,” he tells Geng, smiling gently at his awkward Korean. “Nice to meet you, Hankyung.”

Geng misses his Chinese name already. But he smiles politely, and bows like they taught him when he did his crash course. Leeteuk returns his bow easily.

“Are you ready to go?”

Geng nods, grabbing a tighter hold on his bags.

“Yes, please,” he replies, and then follows Leeteuk out of the airport into a waiting car.

Leeteuk chats to him, patiently speaking only in simple and slow Korean. Geng really appreciates the effort, and tries to talk back, but he’s pretty exhausted by the flight. The conversation dies out smoothly, and Geng proceeds to spend the rest of the drive trying not to nod off.

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point though, because he jolts awake to a hand lightly tapping on his shoulder.

“Hankyung, we’re here,” Leeteuk murmurs, and Geng shakes himself a little and scrambles to get his bearings. Oh, right. Korea.

“Thank you.”

He hauls himself out of the car, collecting his bag from the trunk despite Leeteuk’s insistence that he help. Geng tries to tell him that he’s done enough, but doesn’t know how well he’s got his point across. Leeteuk gives up though, leading him into a building and ushering him into the elevator inside. They ride the elevator up to one of the top floors, before they get off.

Leeteuk leads him to a door, opening the door with a swiping card, and fishing an identical card out of his pocket which he gives to Geng.

He shows Geng to his room, which he explains he’ll be sharing with somebody called “Heechul”.

“You’re the last member to get here,” Leeteuk explains. “So we’ll have a band meeting tomorrow where we’ll go over some stuff. Okay?”

Geng nods his assent, and Leeteuk leaves him to unpack and get himself sorted.

Geng explores his new surroundings, finding half the drawers claimed and full of somebody else’s belongings – presumably this Heechul. There are plants absolutely everywhere as well. He wonders what the deal is with all that. He stores his meagre possessions in the free drawers, and then collapses back on his bed.

He feels exhausted and wrung out. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

And then suddenly, the door to their room flies open with a bang, and Geng yelps in fright before – oh no, not now! – he feels his whole body tingling.

Oh God, here we go.

---

“Heechul, your new roommate just arrived,” Leeteuk calls, poking his head into the living area.

Heechul scowls. He was not exactly relishing the prospect of having to share his living space with some random Chinaman.

“Why do I have to share a room? I’m one of the oldest. And I’m definitely the prettiest. This is totally unfair. This kid probably doesn’t even speak Korean,” Heechul mutters, and the potted plant on the window sill hums at him in sympathy. Heechul stomps his way back to his room, flinging the door open with a dramatic flourish.

He hears a yelp, and he turns in the direction of his roommate’s bed only to see a pineapple sitting on the covers while a small cloud of smoke dissipates around it.

What the?

He walks over to the tropical fruit cautiously.

“Hello?” he calls softly, not wanting to startle the fruit. As he gets closer he hears the pineapple muttering.

“Oh my God, of all the times to lose control of my mutation, it had to be now. This guy is gonna think I’m crazy, holy , I’m so screwed, they’re gonna send me back to China.”

“Hankyung?” Heechul tries, sitting down on the bed next to the pineapple slowly.

“Oh God, he’s talking to me,” the pineapple is freaking out now, “He’s totally crazy, he talks to fruits. Maybe he thinks I’m actually a pineapple. Maybe he just names random pineapples. Wait, why would he call it my name. Does he know about my mutation?”

“I didn’t know about your mutation,” Heechul addresses the pineapple’s last concern. “But I think I can probably guess now.”

The pineapple screams, and Heechul winces, holding his ears.

“Oh my God you are so loud!” he complains.

“You can hear me?” the pineapple practically shrieks, and Heechul winces.

“Yes I can hear you,” Heechul replies, feeling very peeved, “I can talk to plants. It’s what I do. And you, sir, are most definitely a plant right now.”

The pineapple goes silent.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Heechul snipes back at him, frowning at the noisy fruit. “I hope you’re not usually this noisy when you’re in human shape. Wait, you do have a human shape, right? Because I’m not sure this is gonna work out if you’re just a pineapple all the time. I don’t think the fangirls will be down with this whole thing. Hard to a pineapple, you know.”

The pineapple splutters.

“Don’t tell me you’re a prude,” Heechul groans, “Or a . We have enough blushing s around here already, it’s disgusting. I can’t even say the word in the living room without Leeteuk threatening to wash my mouth out with soap. It’s so frustrating. And every time I mention , Ryeowook looks like he’s going to burst into tears. I should be able to talk about whatever I want, whenever I want, you know.”

“Why?”

The pineapple sounds genuinely confused.

“Look at me,” Heechul gestures at himself, “Aren’t I just one of the most beautiful and perfect men you’ve ever seen in your life? My presence on this earth is a gift to mankind. So I should be allowed to have things my own way. You see?”

The pineapple appears to mull this over.

“Well,” it mumbles, “You are really pretty.”

Heechul beams.

“I knew you’d see things my way.”

He scoops the pineapple up and snuggles it against his chest.

“Oh Hankyung, I think we’re going to get along just fine,” he coos.