Work Text:
Bursts of light whisked by the car, blinding only for a second before the world faded back to grey. Two spots of red guided the path ahead like a lighthouse, their steady beacon winding through the midnight sea. Normally a tune would fill the cold air in the front seat, a soft ballad or a peppy beat to nod along to, but today nothing played except the crunch of concrete under the tires.
Was it that last meeting that had drained every ounce of his energy? Or maybe the stilted conversation with the new intern, too many pauses and too little in common for a moment of blissful shallow bonding. Perhaps it was just the toll of a long week coming to an even longer end.
Minho’s mind was full of static as his eyes focused on nothing but the white lines ahead.
He turned the wheel to take his exit and the black hole of the highway faded into domestic trees and flickering traffic lights. It had rained earlier that day, drops running down the blurry city spotlights on the window next to his desk. There were still splashes of puddles all around, each one reflecting back his headlight’s beam.
He pressed thick fingers into the crease right below his eyebrow, trying to chase away the ache that had settled into front of his head. His other hand loosely gripped the steering wheel as he waited for the world to glow green. There was a time in his life when every stop made him impatient, foot flexing on the gas pedal and chest pushed out to watch the light intently. Now all he could do was keep his eyes from sliding shut.
Silence was pleasant in its own way. Even his gentle breath could be heard in the echo of an empty street. It was a beauty that made him ache, it's chilly embrace serene. As he pushed down and the world moved once more, new raindrops began plunking down to rest on his front window. He wiggled his stiff fingers, trying to bring feeling back to their tips.
He had looked at the weather yesterday and they said it would only be partly cloudy, but today must have wanted to rain anyway. He was meant to be home by 7 tonight. But the papers had stacked higher than before, the lines in his inbox were longer than he remembered, and unexpected questions at the end of his presentation had arisen. Life was never quite what one predicted.
From the corner of his eye he could see red lines that read 11 something, but he didn’t want to turn his head to know what it said. He passed a convenience store with a poster of a drama from 15 years ago that still said ‘coming soon’, and he knew he was only a few turns away. His grip grew stronger as he blinked his eyes open wider. Large maple trees lined the sight a head, breaking up the ash buildings on either side.
A familiar street finally greeted his tired body. He shifted to the right on instinct, slipping into a narrow driveway. Under the cover of concrete the rain was left behind, leaving only the soft hum of the engine. With a twist of his wrist that too was gone. For a moment he just took in a breath, letting it go long and slow. Then he grabbed onto the handle and shoved the door open, blindly grabbing his bag behind him and locking the car with an audible click.
His footsteps sunk heavy on each step of the stairs, his sworn promise to himself that he would never use the elevator feeling paper thin. Even the hallway felt long, white doors blurring into streaks as he trudged on. He almost flinched from the icy handle of the door but with gritted teeth he held on. He slid in the key with a practiced struggle and turned the lock to finally let himself inside.
Immediately a blast of warm air hit him, a welcome good enough to make him sigh. The living room lights were off but he could still see a dim glow from the open kitchen door. He slipped damp leather off his feet and flicked the lock back behind him. The patter of his socks against the hardwood was so soft he almost didn't make a sound.
The light above the stove was just enough to make out a lump on the kitchen table. A silver bowl with a layer of plastic wrap and a piece of paper on top, it’s writing sloppy with ink bleeding through the back. The crease between his eyebrows softened, his fingers quietly grasping the note to hold it against the light.
“ Late again, what more can I expect~ tsk tsk. I even made jjamppong! The noodles will be bloated, but you better still eat each bite like it was your last Choi Minho-sii.”
Minho’s lips crept up inevitably, the warm glow beside him nestling into his dark eyes. He placed the paper down and opened the cupboard above the sink. His hand automatically reached for a plain white bowl in the lower left corner, distinct from the colorfully painted set right beside it.
He poured half a bowl of soup and set it in the microwave, a quiet hum filling the room as he focused his eyes on the timer. They had bought this appliance just a few weeks ago, something about it matching their “Mid-Century Nouveau ” decor. Minho didn’t know what Nouveou meant, but he wasn’t stupid enough to ask and receive an eye roll.
At 2 seconds till he pressed stop, opening the door to a delightful scent of ocean and sharp pepper. He took in a deep whiff and let himself enjoy the rich aroma for a moment before sitting down to eat. He slurped up noodles as quickly as he could, hunger adding extra luxury to each bite.
As the bottom of his bowl became visible the rest of the pot grew tempting, his eyes lingering over the rest of the dark red broth. But alas he was no longer 20 with a stomach of steel, able and willing to fill up at any time of night. No taste would be worth the ache he would face in the morning, so he pushed the sloshing bowl to the back of the fridge.
Carefully he trod down to the end of the hallway and flicked on the light switch in the bathroom, squinting against the harsh white glare. Half blind he flung open the cabinet door and grabbed at a dark blue toothbrush. It lay nestled in between a matching purple pair and a Disney princess themed set Taemin had bought as a joke but now uses whenever he stays the night.
He debated whether to skip washing his face just this once, but he knew he would never hear the end of it tomorrow. With half open eyes he set out his products, some of which he couldn’t even pronounce the tile. But he had been instructed on what was step one two and three, and that was enough to get him through.
He spit out the rest of the white foam in his mouth and pumped out his cleanser to scrub the last of the day off his skin. The splash of cold water was less than pleasant but it did bring him a little more to the present. He toweled off the last of the moisture and glanced up, catching his own movement in the mirror.
Deep eyes inspected themselves, searching for something on their surface. The crease near his eyelids had deepened in the past few years, especially when he grinned. At first the lines had alarmed him. Time was cutting into him, marking its passage on his skin. But that was the best gift and strongest curse of life, it never stopped turning.
His face only showed what he already knew. He wasn’t the hot headed boy of his youth anymore. Some days he missed the endless energy of his twenties- the way he could push and then push some more just to prove he could. Other days he looked back at his petty ways and foolish worries with a father’s gaze. Oh child, you should have known it would all be alright.
The last cream he rubbed into his face smelled faintly of roses, and he always smiled at the nostalgic scent. His mother was a woman who loved the classics and her perfume was no different. He sets the tubs and jars back into place, each one nestled in a spot only their own. There was something distinct about being in a space where one knew where every piece belonged.
The world went dark once more as he left the slight squeak of the door behind him. He kept his footsteps more careful than ever as he entered a new room, sliding out the dresser drawer with mindful hands. Unbuttoning a dress shirt was like second nature now and he slid out of his slacks with just as much practiced skill.
It felt like a transformation of sorts. As he was freed of the stiff confines of fabric, a particular tension was washed away. His light pyjama bottoms and plain t-shirt feel like a second skin in comparison, especially with the balmy air blasting from the heater next to him.
The rain picked up outside, pouring against the large window above the bed in blasts, but it’s force only brought him a strange peace. His feet moved slowly in the dark room, his toes eventually sinking into the fluffy surface of a rug. As he made his way to the edge of the bed he rubbed his dry eyes one more time, sleep already tightening its hold.
Despite the heat in the room his body still felt a deep chill, pieces of him not completely thawed. He slid the blankets back as gently as he could before placing his knee on the bed, aware of the lump already huddled under their cover. Careful but not quite good enough, as evidenced by the tired voice that crackled out before he could fully settle down.
“You’re finally back then?”
Even drowsy and a fair bit grumpy, the sound of his voice made Minho’s eyes begin to crescent. Minho was a little surprised to hear it, mostly because he thought he might be ignored in an act of childish revenge.
“Mm. I’m finally home.”
Kibum snorted but his arm came up to wrap around Minho’s neck all the same, dragging him deeper into the heat of the bed. Minho was reminded of a confession from years ago when Kibum begrudgingly admitted that he never slept well without Minho by his side, a little selfish delight running through his spine at the knowledge that it was still true.
“Aigoo, your hands are still so cold! How could you come to bed this late just to torture me with your frigid paws.”
Minho just chuckled and fit his broad palms snug against Kibum's lower back. Ignoring the high pitched whines, he pulled until Kibum was firmly in his hold, their bodies fitting together with a satisfying pressure. Kibum’s body was the perfect size to wrap around, just small enough to be enclosed under his arm with ease.
The warmth sent sparks to his core and his grin grew so wide he was sure the lines around his eyes cut across his whole cheek. He buried his smile into the crest of Kibum’s head, taking in the sweet smell of his cherry conditioner.
Kibum’s sigh was loud, his breath brushing right past Minho’s ear.
“What should I do with you, Choi Minho. Late enough to miss the dinner I made you, and now trying to smother me like I’m a stuffed toy.”
Minho’s lips formed a natural pout and he pulled away just enough to press his forehead against Kibum’s own. He could feel the tickle of Kibum’s mussed up hair against his cheeks and it was almost enough to get him smiling again.
“I meant to get out at 7 like I promised! I had even packed up my stuff to leave, it's just…”
“Let me guess, it’s just that literally any person needed help, and superhero Mr. Martyr Minho had to come to the rescue hmm.”
Minho felt a light flush on his face and he just pursed his lips together for a moment.
“Well… Mark was having a real hard first week. You know how difficult starting a job can be, especially at a huge law firm. If he didn’t get his first case briefing done by today they would have kicked him out no question!”
Kibum clucked his tongue even as his face snuggled deeper into the crook of Minho’s neck. Minho could just make out the deep well of his eyes peering up through long eyelashes, his normal fierce glare polished smooth by the quiet of the night.
“Well if the stories you’ve told me are true, at least this Mark sounds like a good boy. Even if he keeps my husband hostage until midnight.”
Minho couldn’t help the fondness that eclipsed his face whenever Kibum referred to him endearingly, rare as though it was when exasperation was his husband’s default tone.
“He is a good boy, honestly a better one then I thought possible. Much sweeter than Taemin was at his age, that’s for sure.”
“Oh please, Comme des is sweeter than Taemin was at his age.”
That got a real burst of laughter out of Minho, his whole body shaking with amusement.
“Oh gosh, remind me not to say anything too funny this late again! You’ve always had a laugh like a freight train.”
In a petty move, Minho laughed a little extra at that.
“Bless Jinki for putting up with all of us brats. At least he had Jonghyun, though I’m not sure how much of a help that was.”
“Hardly any. All Jonghyun did was prevent anything from actually being set on fire and flirt with Jinki despite him being an oblivious wall.”
Minho hummed, old times flashing through his mind. All of them running around each summer trying to find the cheapest ice cream store, screaming until they lost their voice at video games with 8-bit characters, listening to music like they were the greatest critics of the century.
It had been too long since they had come together once more, time slipping past like the sun beyond the horizon each day. Suddenly he craved to hear their combined voices again, the harmony of their overlapping arguments and staccatos of laughter.
“We need to invite them all over soon, busy or not.”
He felt Kibum’s smile against his collarbone and he could picture its impish curl.
“We do. It’s about time I pull out the ‘I practically raised you’ guilt trip card and get Taemin to finally take a break. When did that kid become so obsessed with work?”
“He’s always been passionate, it’s just before his main motivation was annoying us whenever he could. Now he has a real goal to strive towards.”
It was bittersweet at times, watching someone grow up. On one hand Minho was always excited to see how Taemin would blossom next, each spring launching new branches and buds finally came to fruition. But it was like he was observing from the ground, looking up as his little sapling reached for the sky above.
“I suppose he has always had a lot of drive. Still he shouldn’t forget his roots, or he will lift clean out of the ground! I’ll make sure he’s here next weekend- count on it.”
It amazed Minho that for how different they are, sometimes he and Kibum thought in the exact same way.
“That would be nice. Speaking of kids, how were your students today? Did Najoon actually get her project in for the runway next week?”
Minho didn’t have to see Kibum to know he had just rolled his eyes straight to the back of his head. Minho could feel a little added tension settle into Kibum's body and he was almost sorry he asked.
“Ugh don’t even get me started on that. Not only did Najoon leave it up to the last minute but Homin, who I can normally count on, was also almost late! I had to get the director herself on the phone and ensure that the moving men could stay past 5 to pick up the dresses and-”
Minho really had to wonder, was this ‘not even started’?
“Anyway they got it, yes, but at what cost to my mental stability? Do you know what stress does to one’s skin? I had half a mind to drop them both from the class right then and there.”
Minho just nodded along, smirking a little at Kibum’s big talk when they both knew he’d chew off his own arm to help his favorite students succeed.
“But you didn’t huh?”
“Well, they did both buy me a pretty cake and fold into a full deep bow to beg for forgiveness, so I found it in my heart to let it go.”
Minho’s shoulder’s shook and he tangled their legs together even more.
“Well I’m glad it all worked out in the end.”
Silence greeted them once again, the aches and pains of the day fading in the quiet lull of darkness. Here tucked away from the world, not knowing where he started and Kibum ended, all his worries seemed a lot smaller. The papers waiting on his desk, the friends he hasn’t called in too long, the weight of the world if he so chose to shoulder it.
He could do it in the morning, with the rising sun it would be a new day. There was time-- even if it would never be his for sure. For now he let his muscles relax into the mattress, his jaw loosening and eyelids sinking low, mind fading from thoughts to blurs of color and sound.
Before sleep could have him, he brushed his hand up his husband’s body until it cupped his jaw, pressing softly until he could easily connect their lips. The kiss was as gentle as the night, the pressure light and their movement relaxed. Kibum tasted like sweet mint, his chapstick giving a slight glide to his full lips.
Minho could feel the warmth even as they pulled away, a slow fire in his stomach spreading heat across his skin. Outside the wind and water still whipped across the sky, but Minho felt sheltered from the storm. Even as his eyes fully closed, the corners of his mouth curled in a tranquil smile.
“Goodnight dear.”
“Goodnight love. I’m glad to be home.”