Work Text:
1. Gift (2012)
Kibum has never been good with words. Words are pitiful and embarrassing. Over the years, he has learned to keep his feelings close to his chest, his brutal honesty a shield he hides behind to let no one see what truly resides within him
Eloquence he never struggled with. Sincerity, on the other hand, is a different beast. Whenever the occasion calls for him to express affection towards another person, to – in the worst-case scenario – tell them he cherishes, or even just likes them, something in him shrivels up and his mouth is sealed shut, an inner blockade forbidding him to speak.
But Kibum has other way of showing people that he cares about them. Ways of declaring his affection that come natural to him instead – like gifts. And money.
The problem is just that when it comes to presents, there is one person in particular he does not see eye to eye with. One person Kibum desperately wants to show his appreciation to, but that makes it so hard for him by never voicing his wishes out loud.
Choi Minho.
Choi Minho, who only wants surprise gifts, each of them thoughtful prove of someone devoting time and energy into getting him just what he desires without having to ask. Of someone knowing him inside out. And Kibum-
“I don’t want to waste my money on something you’re not even going to use!” He argues, levelling Minho with a frustrated glare as they enter the jewellery section of the department store. I don’t want to waste my opportunity to get you something you will truly like, he thinks. Unfortunately, he would rather die than let Minho know that.
“But it’s so dull if I have to pick out my own present! Just say you don’t want to give me something for my birthday, if that’s the case.” Pouting, Minho gazes into the display filled with bracelets, necklaces and rings. Cute.
“Plus, all of this stuff is far too fancy for me. I don’t need jewellery.”
“Minho-yah…” Kibum sighs, voice indulgent and teasing as he moves closer into Minho’s space, both of them leaning over the expanse of glinting gems. He turns his head, whispering into Minho’s ear, using the mock-flirtatious tone that he knows raises Minho’s hackles. “It’s not about needing here. It’s about wanting.”
Subtly, Minho shivers, hands tightening around the edges of the glass case. He throws Kibum a dirty look as he scoots away from him a bit, but that does not dampen the triumph Kibum feels at seeing a deep red blush appear on his cheeks.
“But…” Minho states after clearing his throat, never one to give up easily. “You can’t seriously be planning to spend that much money on me, that’s just unnecessary.”
Kibum scoffs, a small tendril of irritation travelling up his chest. Sometimes, he gets so frustrated with Minho and their rocky communication, he wants to go bang his head against the nearest wall. Or Minho’s. It really depends on the situation.
Why won’t you get it?
“But I want to.”
I want to spend my money on you. You are my friend and I cherish you and I want you to have nice things. Locking eyes, Kibum tries to project his thoughts with his gaze, wanting to make his intentions known without having to voice them.
“Why?” It is to no avail. No sudden understanding dawns on Minho’s flushed face, if anything, there is a glint of agitation there too as Kibum rolls his eyes at his question. For a breathless moment, they are stuck in a mute battle of the wills, tension thick between them. Will we…?
With a discontent grunt, Minho tears his eyes away from Kibum, staring down at his hand still clutching the display case, the adorable pout reappearing on his face.
“Well, if you insist.” He concedes, stealing a short look at Kibum that is far too soft for the anger still in his voice. “If you insist on spending that much money on me, I don’t want any of this. I want one of the Arsenal tricots we saw on our way here. The red one.”
Surprised, Kibum cannot keep his face from splitting into a laugh.
“Minho-yah.” He slings his arm around Minho’s shoulders and leads him off, delighted that he will be able to fulfil his wish. “That is horrible. Let Kibummie buy it for you.”
2. Service (2015)
Kibum has never been a morning person. Given the choice, he would not ever get up early, preferring to sleep in and then lounge around between comfortable sheets for a few minutes longer.
And yet, here he is, awake and ready at the crack of dawn, two take-away cups of steaming coffee in his hands as he strides through identical hotel corridors, all because of Minho.
Because Lord help him if he can let Minho pack up his things on his own. He didn’t even have to ask. No, one off-handed remark about how Minho was dreading to fit all of his things back into his suitcase after they wrapped up their MV shooting yesterday and one look into his ridiculous big brown eyes had been enough to plant the idea in Kibum’s head. Surprise…
Somehow, Kibum manages to knock on Minho’s door even with his hands full. A few moments later, he is greeted with the sight of a very sleepy Minho standing in the doorway, eyes still mostly shut, bleached hair a bird’s nest on his head.
“Kibum-ah?” Voice rusty, Minho squints at him, only for his eyes to grow twice their size after one breath.
“Did I oversleep? Shit!”
Giggling, Kibum shushes him, ushering him back inside.
“No, you idiot. I came to bring you coffee.” He scolds and brandishes the take-away cups at Minho before shoving a mess of chargers to the side so that he can set them down onto the desk.
Gripping Minho’s arm lightly, he directs him towards the bathroom, studiously ignoring the way touching Minho’s bare skin feels, still warm from the bedsheets and always softer than expected.
“Take a shower, okay? I’ll be packing up the mess you made of this room, aish…”
Even roughly two minutes after waking up, the smile Minho gives him at that is almost blinding. Almost too much to handle. You’ll see if I’ll be doing something like this again, Kibum thinks grimly while knowing full well that to see Minho’s face light up in this way is the only reason he is standing in his hotel room at quarter to seven in the morning.
Once Minho has disappeared into the bathroom and the pitter-patter of the shower running is creeping through the crack under the door, Kibum starts with his task. He takes one sip of coffee, a bit too hot still – nearly burned my tongue, places Minho’s suitcase onto the bed and gathers his things. A book, some sports magazines, electronics all make their way inside, followed by the contents of Minho’s closet, folded meticulously, until only a simple outfit to fly home in remains.
Lastly, Kibum goes to pick up the shirt Minho had been sleeping in from where he tossed it onto the desk chair. It is a simple white T-Shirt, worn down by age and suddenly, Kibum is struck by the urge to – to hug it against my chest, or press it against my cheek – and it takes a hard shake of his head to regain reason.
When Minho emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, he tells himself it is because of this bout of irrationality that his heart is still hammering in his chest. Because surely, it has nothing to do with the memories of teenage Minho in their dorm, sleepy and clingy in the mornings, smelling of their laundry detergent and clean sweat, that have reared their heads for the first time in a long time since Kibum moved out.
And most of all, it has nothing to do with present-day Minho, sitting down on the bed next to his suitcase, unbothered by the fact that he is not wearing more than a towel wrapped around his waist. It does not surprise Kibum. Minho always had the easy attitude towards nakedness around men of someone whose heterosexuality was never questioned.
What does surprise him however, is Minho grinning brightly and making what can only be described as grabby hands at him until Kibum gives in and walks over, bringing their coffees with him to sit on the nightstand.
“Thank you so much, hyung!” The honorific, seldomly used between them, slips from Minho’s lips as if by accident, pulled out by Kibum’s rare gesture of affection.
Excessive, I know, Kibum thinks.
Don’t get used to it, Kibum wants to say, but only manages a soft yelp when Minho’s strong arms wrap around his middle, pulling him in. Minho’s head comes to rest against Kibum’s sternum, the moisture from Minho’s wet hair quickly seeping through his shirt and cooling his skin, while the rest of his chest flushes, a blush creeping up Kibum’s neck.
With shaking hands, he pats Minho’s back.
“Get dressed, you moron. Or else we will all miss our flight.”
3. Touch (2019)
“Kibum-ah…” Just from the thin tone of Minho’s voice, Kibum can already tell that he is not going to like whatever will come next.
Don’t get teary-eyed on me now. Don’t do this to me. Don’t you dare.
So far, his whole bye-I’m-going-to-the-military tour had gone great. He had managed to say his farewells to almost everyone with his dignity intact, only shedding a few very covert tears when seeing Taeyeon for the last time.
Even the dreaded final meeting with the members had run smoothly. They had a nice, civil dinner at Kibum’s place, Taemin taking the hint and disappearing early without a fuss, acting, for all intents and purposes, as if they would see each other tomorrow at the company building anyway. Minho too, for the longest time, seemed like he would follow Kibum’s often articulated wish to just act normal please, no drama, no declarations, no sad faces as if I was actually going to war. And now –
“Kibum-ah…” Minho’s face is very much sad. Miserable, in fact. “How will I be able to function without you? You are my best friend and we won’t see each other for…”
Flippantly, Kibum interrupts him. “Oh, please. You will have a field day at the Marines.”
Maybe, you will realise that something like this is what actually suits you. And suddenly, idol life will seem like a silly joke to you. Kibum clenches his jaw against this old fear resurfacing, the fear of Minho taking one of his many outs – sports, acting, marriage – and leaving them behind.
Reluctantly, Minho gives a tiny smile at the mention of his chosen path in the military but his posture standing in Kibum’s hallway remains the same, stricken and small since he stopped trying to put on a brave face after Taemin left.
“You’re right, probably. But I’ll miss you. Won’t you miss me?” As always, Minho jumps right over Kibum’s defences with ease, dodging all of his pretences to get to the emotional heart of the manner. Will Kibum miss him? Does he care?
Of course, idiot! Kibum wants to scream, but the words get stuck in his throat and the sterile light of his ceiling lamps is far too bright, far too illuminating to speak any embarrassing truths. If Kibum cries now, Minho would see, there isn’t even the deniability of a dim bar as there was with Taeyeon.
Unable to look into Minho’s pitiful face any longer, breath short with all the things he cannot say, Kibum does the only thing he can think of – pull Minho in for the tightest hug he has ever given him.
And the thing is, like all of them, Kibum is touchy. What had started as something encouraged by the company and made easy by their culture, soon became second nature.
To lean on the members and have them lean on him. To share air-kisses and hugs with them, the let himself be led by hands on his back or carried around in the frenzy of a concert.
But he has never hugged any of them like this. Like he is trying to merge their bodies, so that Minho will finally understand, because Kibum can’t say it, he can’t.
Heart racing, he runs his hands up and down Minho’s shivering back until he has gathered enough courage to slide it up into soft hair and hold on even tighter.
Minho’s breath is shaking and terribly loud in Kibum’s ear, sending a thunderbolt of desire down his spine, together with the terrifying thought of I could kiss him now. I could kiss him and he would let me.
But, come tomorrow, Kibum still has to leave. So he refrains.
4. Time (2021)
The air in the company car is stuffy. Kibum and Nam Euisoo have been at it since six in the morning, driving to an early photo shoot and interview that has lasted well over the time it originally had allocated in Kibum’s itinerary. Now, it is noon and they are on their way to Kibum’s apartment for two precious hours of rest.
Already half asleep, Kibum jolts awake again when his phone vibrates in his hand, lighting up with a text notification from Minho, announcing that he has returned from his overseas schedule.
I’m back!! Missed you <3 <3
Can we meet soon?
When are you free??
With narrowed eyes, Kibum stares at his cell phone screen, horrified by what he knows he is about to answer. The certainty that he will do whatever it takes to see Minho, even just for a few minutes, grows in his chest, making him blush with embarrassment prematurely.
I’m coming over now. He texts back and puts his phone down.
“Hyung? Could you take me to Minho’s please?”
The look that Nam Euisoo gives him through the rear-view mirror can only be described as flabbergasted.
“Kibum.” He says, slowly, clearly thinking that Kibum must have lost his mind or is suffering from delirium due to a lack of sleep.
“You know that you have schedules until midnight, right? Wouldn’t it be better to go home and nap?”
Met with the voice of reason he was expecting, Kibum cringes, feeling his blush deepen. Sure, he knows it is inconvenient and stupid and something he would normally neither do himself nor demand from his managers but he feels like he will combust if he does not see Minho right this instant. With the exhilarating, yet cruel schedule of his solo comeback promotions upon him, he has to make it work today – there will be no way to meet Minho in private for weeks on end. Yeah, that won’t do.
“I know, hyung. I want to go anyway.” Kibum forces out through gritted teeth, jaw clenched against the fluttering in his chest.
“Minho’s it is then.” Thankfully, Euisoo gives in easily enough and focuses back on the road, leaving Kibum to stew in his own mortification at his unprofessional behaviour. But then, he thinks of how he is approximately twenty minutes away from setting his eyes on Minho again and the rush of excitement flooding his system at that realisation is more than enough to eclipse everything else.
Recently, whenever they are apart for longer than a week – for longer than days, hours if Kibum is being honest with himself – he gets eaten on the inside by a need for Minho, by a hunger for just the barest second in his presence. Kibum longs to tell him about his day, about his dogs and to learn about Minho’s in turn, to hear him laugh and whine about his sore muscles from whatever stupid sports thing he roped himself into this time.
How did he manage in the military? Well, he had forbidden himself to think about Minho then. (Especially, to think about the unfortunate burst of feeling on the evening before he left.) Now, however, with both of them having done their duty and back to living in each other’s pockets there is no room for denial anymore.
He loves Minho. Loves him enough to hurry across town, against his better judgement, to offer him all the time he can possibly scrape together before the wave of comeback promotions pulls him under.
Kibum might not be able to tell Minho, he might not ever. But when, after an agonising twenty-minute drive and a horribly slow elevator ride, Minho opens his door and clasps his hand tightly to lead him inside, it does not really matter. If he gets to sit next to Minho on the couch, to drink the tea prepared for him and clutch Minho’s thigh when he says something funny, that will be enough.
5. Affirmation (2022)
Minho has been acting weird. Ever since hair-and-makeup-and-costumes left and the managers have stepped out to catch some air for a moment, he has been oscillating between very quiet or very hyper and both is unsettling Kibum. He’s nervous.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Kibum chances a look at Minho, who is playing around with a brush, pushing the bristles down with the palm of his hand again and again. Every time, the brush makes a soft plasticky creak that will drive Kibum insane if it does not stop this moment.
“Minho!” He barks, making Minho startled so hard he drops the brush. It clatters to the tile floor with even more plasticky noise. “What has gotten into you?”
As if to retaliate, Minho opens his mouth, not considering that he has become highly predictable to Kibum over the years.
(In some ways. In others, not so much.)
Before Minho can speak, Kibum is already there, waving his index finger at him as he bends down to pick up the brush.
“Don’t even try to deny it. I know you’re nervous about something. What is it? Is your mother asking about a daughter-in-law again?”
Trying to appear nonchalant, Kibum leans against the table Minho is sitting at, fixing him with a strict stare from above, unwilling to let Minho know that his mother’s wishes present such a fundamental threat to his heart.
“No…it’s this performance. I just can’t seem to shake my nerves.” It is obvious that Minho finds this hard to admit, his fingers clenching white around the edge of the table. As idols, most of them have the ridiculous notion that they should outgrow the occasional flash of stage fright at some point, regardless of how long their careers march on, proving them wrong.
Relief flushing through his body, Kibum relaxes, setting a hand lightly onto Minho’s shoulder. Anxiety pre show he can deal with. Has been dealing with for years, with all of his members and himself.
“Don’t worry, honey.” He soothes, switching gears away from his earlier, harsher tone. “You will do great.”
At that, Minho looks up at him and the pleading look in his dark eyes makes Kibum’s heart skip a beat, a rush of adrenaline traveling from his head to his heart and down to his belly.
“You think so?”
Kibum balls his fist in his lap, wishing all of this aimless energy and yearning to leave his body, to torment someone else.
“Of course. You practiced so hard. You will do great, as you always do.” Unable to resist the urge, Kibum reaches up from Minho’s shoulder, brushing his wavy fringe to the side a bit. The way his fingers shake throughout the action makes Kibum want to sink into the earth. Thankfully, Minho seems too preoccupied to notice.
“It’s this stupid solo stage.” He breathes a loud sigh. “I’m never as nervous as this when I am with you guys. I want to perform with hyung and Taeminnie again.”
“I know. Me too. But now it’s time to overcome it, okay?” Breaking their eye contact, Kibum hits Minho’s chest playfully. Don’t get all mushy on me now.
“It’ll be fine. The fans love you.”
I love you.
“There’s nothing you could do they wouldn’t like.”
+ 1: Confession (2022)
A week ago, Kibum’s world almost ended. Or it felt like it at least, for the full forty-eight hours Kibum believed, because of Taemin’s love for cryptic text messages and a long line of misunderstandings, that Minho was dating his new golf instructor, Lee Minji.
The second he (wrongly) made the connection, his heart sank to the bottom of his stomach, a single thought anchoring itself in his brain.
I fucked up. I should have told him. God, I’m such an idiot.
Suddenly, all of his noble intentions of not wanting to ruin their friendship, of sheltering Taemin and Jinki from the possible fall-out, of it being better this way reeked of cowardice and avoidance. Foolishly, he had squandered his chance to make his feelings known to Minho and now he would suffer the consequences.
And suffer he did. When the happy news of Minho’s persisting bachelor status finally reached him (this time, in the form of a very stern text message from an exasperated Taeyeon), Kibum had already gone through his entire heart break coping program twice with diminishing returns.
After that, it took him the better part of three days to recover from the emotional whiplash of the whole affair, but when he finally did, he felt like he was seeing clear for the first time in years with regards to his feelings for Minho.
This just would not do. He would not let something like this happen to him again. Better to come clear and accept defeat if necessary.
Sounds easy enough if it wasn’t for the fact that –
He loves Minho. He really does. Now he just has to tell him without choking on the words. And if Kibum is going to do this, it will be an event. It will be tasteful and it will be orchestrated.
Kibum will look stunning in an elegant yet understated outfit. There will be a dinner at Kibum’s favourite Korean restaurant (because Minho still struggles to be comfortable with a Western palate) and then drinks at Kibum’s place, the kids stowed away at the dog-sitter’s for the night. And then, only then, will Kibum make his confession.
Minho, I –
Will you –
As predicted, Minho agrees easily enough, even offering Kibum to come and pick him up. Kibum has to make a conscious effort to keep breathing and try to appear normal as he joins Minho in his car, hands shaking from a mixture of nerves and being entirely overwhelmed by how good Minho looks in his stupid oversized-dress-shirt-and-neutral-coloured-slacks combination he has been wearing all summer.
Somehow, Kibum makes it through the first half of the evening. It is ridiculous, the way he cannot concentrate on anything, neither the elaborate four course meal he ordered in advance, nor the coffee they have afterwards or any of the conversation topics Minho tries to bring up.
He can do nothing but sit there helplessly, bathing in adrenaline and the thrill of having Minho across from him, looking so attentive and pretty as he gazes at Kibum over his food. Absentmindedly, Minho reaches up and tugs an unruly curl behind his ear, the motion sending a wash of tingles all over Kibum’s body as if he has not seen this man nearly every day for the last fourteen years. He feels like a character in a Jane Austen movie, the one Minho and him watched one evening because it had Hugh Grant in it.
Oh God.
For a moment, Kibum regrets opening the flood gates to this madness. Nothing tasteful or orchestrated about crushing this hard on your co-worker. But then he remembers the golf instructor related misery and his resolve strengthens again.
All the way through driving to his home and playing gallant host Kibum holds onto this thought, knowing that he will need the energy to push himself over the cliff and not chicken out on actually voicing his feelings. True, he has gotten better about letting people in over the years, even going so far as to sharing some of his private thoughts in public. But this time, he does not fully trust himself to not get too embarrassed at the last second, preferring to shield his pride now and regret it later.
Not this time. He thinks as he carries their drinks over to where Minho is waiting for him on the couch. This time I will talk.
Hands shaking again, he manages to set the glasses down without spilling some of the alcohol, but just barely. By now, Minho is looking at him with a sceptical expression, the one that means that he knows something is up, but is still trying to figure out what exactly.
“Do you…”, Minho starts, only for Kibum to interrupt him instantly, words pouring out of him before he can think about them.
“I have something to tell you.”
Visibly curious, Minho raises his hands as if to placate him, head titled to one side in a gesture that seems to say I’m listening.
And well – Kibum had a whole speech prepared (a Mister Darcy style speech, only much smoother) but all of that has gone out of the window now. No elaborate words are left in his head and he realises that he truly cannot treat confessing his feelings to Minho like convincing the suits at SM of his latest comeback idea. There are no power points, no talking points. Just the emotions he has to finally get off his chest.
He steels himself with one big gulp from his drink. Sits down across from Minho and takes his hand. And then –
“I love you.” Horribly thin and raspy, Kibum’s voice can scarcely be heard over the white noise coming from the streets outside. In Minho’s eyes, confusion still reigns supreme.
So Kibum makes a second attempt.
“I am in love with you, okay? God, this is horrible …” Resisting the urge to run away and hide like a lovesick teenager at age thirty, Kibum finally watches realisation dawn on Minho’s face.
However, it is not at all in the way that he expected. He was prepared to witness regretful rejection. He was hoping for joyful acceptance. But contrary to all of this, Minho’s brow is furrowing and there is an unhappy tilt to his mouth and a blush high on his cheekbones, betraying frustration and astonishment and maybe even anger.
“Kibum-ah, you must … you – you have to know that I’m in love with you too? That I’ve been in love with you for the last few years and – “
The longer Minho goes on, the more his voice rises in volume and agitation, leaving Kibum to sit there open mouthed, unable to respond with more than a dumb wait, what?
“Of course! Why else do you think I haven’t dated anyone since at least 2018?”
“Well, I – oh God, you can’t be serious! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew!” Minho gives a tiny indignant scream. He squeezes Kibum’s hand in his, almost painful, but there is nothing in the world that would make Kibum want to let go of him now. “I thought you knew and didn’t want me back and that was why you never said anything!”
Giddy, Kibum laughs, overjoyed with the rush of having his feelings returned. He raises Minho’s hand to his lips, Minho’s breath catching on his inhale as Kibum stalls for a moment to prepare himself. Over the years, there have been many ways through which he showed Minho his love for and appreciation of him. But apparently Minho needed Kibum’s feelings spelled out clearly. And finally, Kibum is ready to give him that.
Bright red, Minho smiles as Kibum guides his hand back into his lap, threading their fingers together.
“Oh, honey. You know I’m not good with words. Especially when it comes to something like this. But I have loved you truly, dearly, all this time, even back when I only considered you my best friend. And – I’m sorry I made you wait for so long to hear it from me.”
Across from Kibum, Minho, the sentimental idiot, has tears in his eyes. Kibum could almost muster the presence of mind to make fun of him for that, if it wasn’t for Minho’s watery smile being oh so distracting.
“I – “ Minho starts, but does not get far.
“Just kiss me already …” Kibum purrs, unable to drag his eyes away from Minho’s pink lips, making words once again superfluous between them.