Pairing: Ultimate!YehWook ; Yehsung/others; Ryeowook/others
A/N: Very overdue. Nearly five months, in fact. Cutting off at approx. 1600 words because 1. the third part needs major surgery and 2. x_x I may have forgotten the ending of the movie (hence, much improv).
A/N 2: Dedicated to thundersquall (and our lovechildren) because she's an overall inspiration to my fanfic writing. :|
Fast-forward another three years. Yehsung was now twenty-eight, well-off and in the middle of a messy divorce that would indubitably cost him more than just a heartache. He was now reduced to the possession of an apartment too large for just him, a too-cold left side of their (his) bed, and midnight re-runs of stupid American sitcoms like Friends that made him scream drunkenly at the television for their lack of veritable portrayals on romantic relationships. He was much less eloquent at those times, of course, with a language colored by the effects of the twenty-year-old Dom Perignon that he had been saving for their anniversary since last March.
They were too different, he’d said, they wanted different things out of life and Yehsung couldn’t give him what he wanted. Ironically, the gym instructor-turned-underwear model named Siwon whom Sungmin had been seeing since February could. Yehsung could offer him large packages of chocolate and presents wrapped in decorative wrapping paper but they would pale compared to the large package wrapped in Calvin Klein that Siwon offered him, apparently. Apparently. That was, at least, the gist of their discussion, the prelude to this ugly thing that they wouldn’t be able to Work Out (the irony of the term) through marriage counseling or sex workshops.
He was only twenty-eight. Since when did twenty-eight-year-olds worry about things like divorce, anyway? Perhaps it was genetic, Yehsung thought. His parents had divorced when he was ten but they were in their forties at the time so, even then it didn’t make sense. Yehsung was pretty convinced that he played the role of a loving and providing husband pretty well, especially to someone who constantly insisted that he changed his lifestyle. He should have seen it coming; the only thing was that Yehsung hadn’t expected to see Mr. Six Pack Choi Siwon coming. Inside Sungmin. On the very bed that Yehsung now sat on with disgust written all over his face and an empty bottle of Dom Perignon in his left hand.
Divorce settlements sure were fucked up.
Fuck that, society itself was fucked up if a successful man like Yehsung was looked over for a dimwit underwear model.
“New mattress,” he muttered to no one and nothing in particular before slumping over into a drunken slumber.
“Ugh, I am so tired of this.” Heechul plopped down onto the chair next to Ryeowook. It was Sunday brunch in the city of Seoul and, like every Sunday, Ryeowook spent it in the company of his two best friends: Heechul, the hopeless neurotic who was currently in an affair with a man who would never leave his wife (no matter how many times Heechul had sworn that he would), and Eeteuk, the happily “married” (Heavens forbid the omission of those quotations!) homosexual with two adopted children and a husband who came home to him at five every evening with the saccharine and headache (and heart-melt, they had to admit) inducing words, “Honey! I’m home.” Two different spectrums with Ryeowook as the medium.
“I told you to start seeing other, single, men,” Eeteuk warned, sipping on his orange juice. “Listen, Kangin knows this great guy—Shindong, I think his name is—who’s not too rough on the eye, makes good money and is a total sweetheart. Why don’t I give you his number and”—
“Is that the one that ate half of my fries last time you set me up with him or the one that wouldn’t stop playing video games on his Game Boy or whatever? Because if it is, it’s an immediate no-go—you know how I get when people touch my food and your certainly know how I feel about people who pay more attention to glowing screens than they do to me.”
“Yes, well,” Eeteuk said shortly, pursing his lips in thought. “Why don’t we hear about Ryeowook and Kibum, then? How are things on the greener side of the meadow?” Having children, Ryeowook decided, had made Eeteuk’s vocabulary a whole lot more… well, he couldn’t think of the precise word but, whatever it was, it was a whole lot more of it.
“Actually,” he started earnestly, “Kibum and I broke up.”
“What? When did that happen?” Heechul asked incredulously. “I thought you were still having kitchen sex last time we touched on the topic!”
Ryeowook sighed in that manner that should have conveyed his complete disinterest in the subject. “Last week,” he continued. “We just decided that it wasn’t right—don’t look at me like that,” he eyed Eeteuk, “I’m totally okay with it.”
Eeteuk gave him a small smile and clutched his hand. “Well, if you say so. But if you ever need anything, Kangin knows this great guy”—
“I’m not really up for the whole dating thing yet.”
“By that, he means that he prefers to have whole meals—I mean, look at the him, Teuk, he’s practically skin and bones! Skinny bitch.” Heechul pulled out a mirror and began examining his own face. “Look at me, every fucking hour I seem to be getting older and older—I really do think that this time he’s going to leave her, though. Last night, he told me that”—
“He won’t,” both Eeteuk and Ryeowook said and unison.
“You know, you guys, fuck you,” Heechul told them and, on cue, his phone vibrated loudly on the table. “Gotta get back to work—I have someone who wants to see me.” They watched his retreating back with a mixture of concern and annoyance written on their faces. Ah, friendship.
One person did exist, after all, that Yehsung could say that he actually enjoyed spending time with, such person would go by the name of Han Geng (dubbed Hankyung for the easier Korean pronunciation) and he would be a Chinese native with specialization in martial arts, cooking and, oddly enough, ballet (as if he wasn’t every other gay man’s wet dream already). He was a great friend and a great person to talk to because Hankyung sometimes didn’t understand him and therefore let him run his mouth as he pleased without complaint. Of course, with time, those moments of language malfunctions had become rarer but that didn’t make Hankyung any less of a good listener.
They truly had a beautiful friendship.
Of course, at the moment, Yehsung could hardly enjoy the beauty of said friendship as a result of the tumultuous effect this whole divorce thing had on his lifestyle.
“I just don’t see what happened,” Yehsung said glumly. “It’s like, one day we’re in Prague on our second honeymoon and the next he’s bent over on our bed—the bed that I bought—with some guy pounding into him from behind. I mean, was I really that bad of a husband?”
Hankyung knitted his eyebrows in worry and placed a hand on Yehsung’s shoulder. “Not at all,” he stated comfortingly. “Though you probably should have seen it coming.”
He really should have. It wouldn’t have changed anything (except perhaps his bed-sheets), but maybe he wouldn’t be feeling as miserable as he did right now had he been less trusting in his marriage. Now he was left groveling in the mess that Sungmin made and in the self-help section at the bookstore. Great. Perfect; in fact, Yehsung though, he should start seeking counseling in more inanimate objects—would a table resolve his seemingly incurable malaise? Maybe he’d become a dog person. Yehsung had never really been fond of animals (except for the turtle that he kept all throughout middle and high school before it ran away, yes ran away, the day before he was off to university), but maybe a dog was all he needed to resolve his loneliness. Maybe. Though probably not; he wasn’t really a dog person.
Ryeowook felt glad, no matter how much he could probably deny it later, that he had a friend like Heechul to spend time with on days like this. Even if the self-help section of a bookstore wasn’t exactly the best place for an outing, but at least they were enjoying themselves and that’s really—as Leeteuk adviced—all that mattered at this point in Ryeowook’s life. Kibum earned the label of Bad Guy and Ryeowook must therefore find someone else, someone better by Christmas because Leeteuk could not possibly allow him to mope around during such a time.
The Guy had recently broken up with Heechul, who had screamed and bitched about it for days until finally coming to terms that he was too fabulous to mope around for some Old Creep (the six-year age difference suddenly became addressed as “cradle-robbing” rather than explained with, “Love doesn’t have an age” or whatever crap Heechul read in magazines). Needless to say, Heechul would be fine.
“If you ask me,” Heechul began despite never having been asked, “the guy needs to remember the days when we used to make out with each other to get other guys. It’s how he met Kangin anyway…” Heechul meandered about bookshelves as if looking for something in particular even though they both knew that he had little interest in self-improvement. “Now he’s becoming an old maid.”
Ryeowook wanted to tell Heechul that he thought otherwise—that Leeteuk was probably better off being tied down by someone who genuinely cared for him even if it meant that he could no longer indulge in the horrid nightmare that was being nearly thirty and still single.
Mid-thought was when he saw him.
Shit, he immediately thought, looking around wildly for a place to hide. Behind a bookshelf? Behind Heechul? Behind a book?
“Hey, Ryeowook what to you think of this idiot, here, writing about”—
“Ryeowook? Kim Ryeowook?”