Chapter Text
"Sometimes I let myself pretend, just for a few minutes, that you really are mine.
I know it’ll never be like that.
But I want it more than anything in the world."
Key sighs and saves the note, tossing his phone onto the bed next to him and rubbing his eyes.
It had been another one of those days where he was horribly, awfully, wonderfully distracting. He couldn’t look away from him all day. All his tall dorkiness and dark hair and stupid jokes; the way he laughed, the way he looked when he danced, even if he was only in a hoodie. All of it was intoxicating.
Most days, Key didn’t struggle anymore. He’d come to terms with his feelings long ago, and vowed not to allow them to impact his work and his friendships, but some days, it was frustratingly difficult, all because he was just there. He didn’t need to do anything special or be wearing something particularly jaw-dropping, he was just entrancing.
They were brothers. Key would never jeopardise their friendship, their work, everything they’d spent years, over a decade now, developing. He couldn’t live with himself if he lost that. He couldn’t lose him out of his life.
God, when they were younger it was the hardest thing in the world. Especially when they lived together; Key still wasn’t sure how he survived that. Minho had no issues walking around shirtless or jumping another member for a hug randomly; he must have nearly caused Kibum to go into cardiac arrest on several occasions. When he thought back to that time, he cringed at how terrible he had been at just trying to act normal around him. They’d have fights that weren’t really fights, fuelled by hormones and stress. They’d have awkward conversations like the teenagers they were. Key had turned into a giggly schoolgirl at the slightest bit of affection from Minho. God.
Thankfully, years of suppressing his feelings had come in handy now. Now, he just appreciated the time spent together, as friends. He knew he was lucky to have the love Minho so willingly handed to him and the other members, even if it would only ever be platonic. He’d take it. But sometimes he was reminded of just how much he wanted him all to himself. He did get jealous when Minho talked about crushes and dates. He had to bite his tongue a few times when filming variety shows. He’d had to learn to separate fantasy from reality.
He was proud of the fact that he’d never even come close to an accidental admission or a confrontation from Minho or any of the members about his true feelings. Not once in the 14 or more years they’d known eachother had anyone ever suspected that Key was into the tall, athletic rapper. Key had never accidentally let something slip whilst drunk; it appeared that even deliriously alcohol-fueled, his brain knew better.
He’d considered it, of course. He’d thought about telling him many, many times. He’d made up situations in his head where it turned out perfect, an admission coming in return from Minho and everything working out just as Key dreamed. He’d equally thought of as many scenarios where Minho hated him afterwards, they couldn’t even look at eachother, breaking Key’s heart and breaking apart SHINee. He couldn’t do that.
Though they’d never explicitly discussed it, Key knew that his members were aware he wasn’t fully straight. In reality, he was exactly 0% into women. He knew he should just come out and tell them he was gay, it wouldn’t be a big deal to them, he had just sort of… never gotten around to it.
And then there was the fact he was terrified of the question ‘how did you know?’. The truth was, he knew because of Minho. He’d always suspected he had been into guys, all through high school it had become a nagging thought at the back of his mind, but when he’d met Minho, it had catapulted to the front of his head and he’d thought about it, and him, constantly.
Any interaction back then was enough to make his heart rate rise and his palms get clammy. Now, his heart was relatively controlled, except for when Minho was in a particularly cuddly mood or was being all cute and sentimental. On those days, he couldn’t help the leaps in his chest.
As much as he knew Minho was just about the straightest guy he had ever met; he’d managed to convince himself on multiple occasions that there was some tiny, tiny chance that Minho was interested. When he held a hug for just that little bit longer. When he put his hand on Kibum’s leg as the chatted. When he succeeded at some stupid game on a reality show and ran toward Key first to celebrate. When they were headed home late at night in the van, Minho sleepy and leaning on Key’s shoulder. Moments like that made his certainty lapse temporarily.
Years ago, to get his thoughts out of his head and help to come to terms with his reality, Key had started writing into the notes on his phone. Little things that popped into his head. He never really looked at them again, they would make his heart swell too much. It almost felt like venting his feelings out to someone, except he’d never done that. Not to anyone. He’d never taken the risk. He felt stupid for it sometimes; he was a grown adult now, so was Minho, surely they could have had an honest conversation. Surely by now Key should have worked up the courage to tell someone about it. But he hadn’t. It all stayed contained within his head and within his phone. That was why he panicked if the boys were playing around stealing eachothers’ phones and taking silly selfies; he was terrified of one of them somehow accidentally opening his notes app and seeing everything. It was his deepest secret, and just about the only thing they didn’t know about him.
The worst thing was the dreams. God, the dreams. They weren’t necessarily that kind of dream. He had dreams about just domestic life. Like they used to have back at the dorm, only less horrific since they were no longer teenagers with no idea of how to look after themselves. He dreamt of waking up to the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen and seeing Minho on the couch watching some football match. He dreamt of messy-haired, dopey Minho in the mornings, sunrise light beams dancing on his face. He dreamt of dusk dog walks, one dog each, happily, contentedly walking through the park, talking about their days. Those were the dreams that hurt. It hurt because even if they had those moments, which they had over the years, it wasn’t how Key wanted it to be. He wanted that underlying, ever-present admiration, appreciation and love. And he wanted it more than anything.