pairing: henry-centric. implied kyury.
summary: it was all the same.
warning: it's a drabble. grammar errors.
The air was the same as he had remembered it before. The airport crowded with the bustle of a fast paced city. The sounds of high heels, angry business men, impatient children, and annoyed stewardesses; he felt as though he had never left.
His sister was only one inch taller, his brother's hair hidden under a ball cap, and his father's smile as his mother cried upon seeing him. She was the first to get to him, kissing him on the cheek as though he had been gone for years, decades, even centuries. His sister's laughter was music and her soft voice that welcomed him home. When he looked again, his father was gone as were his bags. A fast paced life for a fast paced city.
His laughter did not cease as his brother began to tell jokes he had heard in his absence. There were a few scolds for his mother for the vulgarity of a few, but eventually she gave in, laughing along with the group. The car ride was short, too short it seemed before he was back at his childhood home. Green paneling, trimmed grass, flowers planted delicately, precisely along the steps leading to the door. A beautiful array of blues, yellows and soft pinks.
His sister skipped ahead once inside the house, dragging him by the wrist. In the back of his mind, he panicked, his shoes were on, but he realized that this was not his home, this was his. He smiled at the banner over the dining room, "Welcome Home" in rainbow letters. A cake placed delicately under a cake pan, soft pinks on the vanilla icing that covered what he hoped to be a chocolate batter.
In the evening the family had congregated in the den. His mother and father on the love seat, hand in hand. His brother lounged in what they called the "quilt chair", sitting so his feet hung over the arm of the chair. His sister and himself on the floor at his parents' feet, eyes glued to the glow of the television screen. Their hands fought over the popcorn in the plastic blue bowl as his brother groaned at their immaturity, didn't you turn twenty years ago?
And it seemed the same as he pulled his light orange covers up to his chin and stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. He would return to his apartment in the middle of the city tomorrow to his mother's dismay. He could hear his sister ending her phone calls, his brother singing in the shower, and his mother fretting over last minute things, like putting away leftovers and making sure the cat was fed.
Eventually, everything was quiet. Dead and silent, he thought. So silent he could hear the screech of tires in the cities. He could hear the sound of ocean waves hitting the sand miles away. His eyes began to flutter shut. He could hear the sound of a man barely years his elder, singing his heart out on a stage that was truly meant for him. His fingers wrapped tightly around the microphone just like they were on his heartstrings. He could feel the sun shining across the ocean on a new way of life.
Everything was the same as he had left it when he had embarked on his dream, left his family, and traveled miles away to a country where he spoke only a few words. Everything was the same as he had left it down to the Captain America figurine on his nightstand. Everything was the same, but he had changed. His heart beat faster as a warmth washed over him. He was missed, and missing. The man stepped out of the recording studio miles away, where he had first sung in a foreign tongue. Now where should I walk? I miss the sound of your footsteps..
He was able to sleep soundly through the night. Blue lava lamp as a nightlight, Captain America watching over him, the sound of his father's snoring down the hall; he would be back in late autumn, back in the recording studio, back where he could place his own hands over the man miles away. Soon, so soon.
a/n: Late Autumn, Yoon Jong Shin and Kyuhyun.