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Kibum didn’t like phone calls; they were long, overwhelming, and created unnecessary anxiety. They came with bad news, work, emergencies, whatever, they weren’t exciting. Talking into a metal box sounded pathetic enough, not to mention spamming each other with all the emotionless words and icons Minho loved.
What Kibum does like though, is having company while doing chores, or maybe cackling at Minho’s jokes at the same time because chores are simply just boring.
“Remember to drink water okay?” Minho’s voice was as sweet as always, coming out of the little speakers on his phone.
Kibum made an acknowledged noise, he was busy organising his dishes, getting them out of the dishwasher.
“You said you like gardenias right? I’ll bring them next time I come over, along with that little plushy you’re obsessed with,” unnecessary sweetness was sent through Minho’s voice, sounding almost bubbly.
“Aw, I appreciate that, it’s surprising how you remember those things despite your age,” Kibum teased, attempting to shake the buzzing feeling off of his chest; now he couldn’t find Minho’s favourite fork in the dishwasher.
“Ya! You’re only three months older than me! Shut up and accept my love,” Minho protested, but it didn’t make any of his words less goofy, or lovely.
Kibum let out a light giggle, hand trying to reach for the stuck fork at the corner of the dishwasher.
“That sounds way cuter than your teasing,” Minho softly said, as Kibum touched the edge of the fork.
“What was cute?” Kibum replied, a little whiny due to the struggle.
“Your laugh. It sounds so much better than words you use to bully me,” he chuckled lightly.
It sounded so lovely, that Kibum’s heart flipped like what his crush would do to it when he had one.
Love makes people stupid, he remembered. All of the time watching people fall into that miserable swirl of affection, slowly becoming another person, a better, more confident, stupidly optimistic person.
It would only get you hurt if you only thought about the good side of everything.
Love lights you up and showers you with joy, but it can also drown you in endless heartbreaks; Kibum would much rather stay in the dark and watch from aside.
“So cute.”
Just a simple flick and the direction he was sailing changed. He was drifting. Drifting back dangerously close to the swirl that would eat him alive, all because of those meaningless little words.
Kibum frowned, if Minho didn’t mean to drown with him, he should stop creating those beautiful misunderstandings.
“Minho,” he opened his mouth, a little judgmental, “..Are you flirting with me?”
“Jagiya, are you drunk?” Minho laughed, seeming amused by Kibum’s sudden and unexpected comment.
Kibum fluttered again at the pet name, which worsened his anger.
“Do you do this to everyone?” Kibum kept his tone flat, ignoring the laughter.
“Do what exactly?” Minho quieted down, a little confused.
“Weird little compliments, pet names, y’know.” Kibum replied, he finally managed to grab the fork.
“Well, only to people I like? Why are you calling that weird though? I’m just saying you’re cute!” Minho’s confusion deepened, frustration slightly rising to the surface.
Kibum stood up, slamming the dishwasher door shut a little too hard.
“How many people do you like Minho? These comments make my heart flutter, even when I’m not even interested in you,” he sounded angrier than he really was, the volume too loud that he caught Comme Des’s attention.
“Should I stop being nice to you then?” Not to Kibum’s relief though, Minho somehow sounded hurt.
“No..” he sighed, “You should be more careful. Less oblivious when you’re being ‘nice’ to everyone. People are going to fall in love with you easily, and you’re going to end up breaking their hearts,” he gestured, putting down the fork.
“They’re not. Being nice to everyone is just how I behave and everyone knows that. Even you know that.”
“I felt special,” Kibum muttered, “I know you’re nice to everyone, but I still think you cared more about me.”
Just me. Not even Jinki Hyung or Taemin. He thought about the amount of love he gets. What if-
He shuts that down. He knows he doesn’t love him, at least, not anymore.
“I’m pretty sure there are at least a few people out there who feel the same,” now his chores were finished. He can pay his full attention to the phone sitting on the kitchen island.
Minho was silent, and Kibum waited.
“But you are special.”
“Minho I literally just told you don’t make people feel special when you don’t plan to date them.” Kibum snapped, glaring at Minho through his words.
“Okay,” he sounded a little hurt, and it made Kibum slightly annoyed.
“I just don’t want you to be the playboy kind of person y’know? You don’t like fucking around with people,” Kibum’s tone softened, running out of energy to fight; he decided to be sincere.
“You’re right, I don’t. I’m not an asshole.”
“Thank you, I’m sorry for being rude, I’m just worried,” Kibum let out a sigh of relief, then a little sorrow, “It’s getting late, have some rest okay? Love you.”
Surprisingly though, Minho didn’t reply instantly.
“Bum-ah, you need to-” He cut himself off, “It’s fine, love you too, good night,”
The call ended abruptly, without them lingering the call like they always do.
Kibum stared down at his phone, gripping the fork tightly.
-
One of the things Kibum liked about Minho was his honesty, it was what Kibum found comfort in their friendship. When he was happy, his words would smile, his heart would smile, and every little wrinkle on his face would smile too. When he was sad, his eyes would frown, his silhouette would frown, and all of the atoms around him would frown too.
None of the hiding and pretending he was okay. None of the guessing and assuming; just comfortable, pure emotions that came from his heart.
Wear your heart on your sleeve, they say. But Minho has his heart beating heavily on his sleeve.
Well, that just made the fact that Minho was being rude to him all day even worse.
“What the hell is wrong with you,” Kibum grumbled as Minho walked past him without a greeting, not even a single glance.
Minho was giving him attitude all week. Annoyed glances, excluding him when he brought everyone coffee, and refusing to talk with him. Frustrated and annoyed, the problem that Kibum hated the most, was that there wasn’t a reason why he was mad that he could think of.
The only close argument they had recently was the call two days ago, which, in Kibum’s opinion, obviously resulted in Minho agreeing with him. There was no reason Minho should feel mad when he got persuaded, unless…
“Unless my ass,” he hissed. The only ‘unless’ that made sense was that he became his 17 years old self again, and that was not possible.
Kibum hated guessing people’s emotions. It was like untying a knot while blindfolded because he couldn’t read minds. That was frustrating when he was desperately trying to find out why, all of a sudden, they had lost their ways to communicate again; he pushed down the rush of annoyance as he heard footsteps approaching him. Don’t take it out on the others.
“Why was he acting like that?” Jinki caught up with him, mumbling, visibly unpleased.
“Do I look like I know?” Kibum replied, voice dead and tired.
“Uhm. Did you guys fight?” Jinki asked, sending him an unimpressed glance.
“No..” Kibum grumbled “But the closest we came to that was a debate a few days ago, and I thought he agreed with me,” he shook his head, walking faster towards the practice room they should be in.
“Debate about what?” The tone in Jinki's voice slowly softened down to curiosity and concern.
“About how he shouldn’t be playing with people’s hearts,” he sighed.
“Huh?” Jinki frowned.
“He’s being too nice to everyone. Seriously. Flowers, cards, random compliments, unnecessary sweet talking. Isn’t that literally just flirting?” he gritted his teeth.
“You might be overreacting, Kibum, you know him. That's how he shows affection, is it not?” Jinki tilted his head slightly.
“You don’t think he’s doing too much? It honestly feels like we’re his girlfriends or something,” Kibum whined as he opened the door to the empty practice room.
“Not really.. So you fought with him about being too nice to us?” Jinki followed, setting his belongings down.
“No. I’m just trying to convince him that his actions will create a lot of unnecessary crushes.” Kibum sighed, turning to look at his reflection in the mirror.
“He agreed with you?” Moving closer to the mirror, Jinki sat down and stretched his arms.
“I mean, he said I’m right.” Kibum did a last outfit check of himself in the mirror before he sat down beside Jinki.
“That’s weird.”
“See? I don't get why he’s mad at me,” Kibum said, joining Jinki with the stretching.
“Did you say anything? How’d the argument even start?” He asked thoughtfully.
“I told him I felt special. And if I'm feeling special, imagine how everyone else does.” he rolled his eyes to emphasise, but Jinki was too lost in his thoughts to notice.
“Well I feel pretty normal.” he looked into Kibum’s eyes, stretching an awkward silence in the room.
Scratch what he said earlier, Kibum actually hates people being honest about how they feel.
“Maybe you are special,” he said, casually, and turned back to stretching like he didn’t just imply something very wrong.
-
“I’m not.”
-
Kibum was one of the beautiful flowers that bloomed successfully in Minho’s life. And he was special, different, shining a much different colour than the others.
Minho had poured himself into taking care of this flower in his garden since it was first planted. It was fragile to the point that Minho thought it wasn’t going to make it multiple times. In fact, it was so hard to take care of, that he once even wanted to stamp on it, just to end everything.
But he was not the person to give up, no matter how many times the flower withered away. Maybe it was the way he danced, maybe it was the way he smiled, or the way he cared. And before he realised it, it had grown into a robust and overbearing vine, taking up way too much space in his garden.
-
“Stop ignoring me without any goddamn reason! I thought we’d gone over that already!” Kibum yelled, his words echoing loudly throughout the company hallway.
Minho stopped, turning back to face Kibum.
“I don’t know why you’re pissed. But you’re hurting our friendship,” ‘You hurt me’ being implied. Minho knew because he could read Kibum; and Kibum knew that as well. The Kibum who was staring at him, glaring straight through.
He thought he would realise something after he cut off all the nutrients to the flower, he thought Kibum knew, but he didn’t. And he meant it when he told him to stop the overly nice moves. The ignoring had only made things worse.
Minho felt like shattering into pieces at the spot with shame. He had ripped out some of the flower’s roots, from where they were planted deep inside his heart.
“You ignore me for two years without a reason and brush it off like nothing, and I have to be nice to you all the time,” he barked. There was a part of him that might never heal, he would never be able to let go, without knowing why Kibum suddenly pushed him away.
“I didn’t ‘brush it off like nothing’. I apologised. I cared about us and I wanted to make up. Plus, I didn’t ignore your whole existence, you were being an ass. It’s been two weeks, cut it out,” Kibum hissed back logically, clearly hurt by the memories.
The empty parts ached, swollen, hurting even more when the flower grew back into him.
“Explain. Apologise. Or we will just end up hurting each other again,” Kibum gritted, turning away on his heels.
Sometimes, Minho curses himself for caring.
-
Apologising was hard. Asking for forgiveness, peeling open your pride, showing your guilt and sorrow. After years and years of practising, Minho still stays awake regretting his actions, thinking of an appropriate way to apologise.
All the frustrated confused frowns and retreated hands only made Minho realise that Kibum had never even thought of the possibility that he was interested in him.
He could have just brought a bag or something if he wanted to apologise, that was what Kibum would’ve liked. But that option was too easy, and Minho felt like he wasn’t showing enough effort.
“Add 150 grams of butter to the dough. 150 grams? That's way too much, I’m only adding 100.”
He knew he looked ridiculous, flour was everywhere, definitely on his face, or even in his hair. He was too busy to bother though, he was alone anyways.
He used to bring cookies to school on his birthdays for everybody, just to watch his classmates give him the biggest thank you, and the happiest face when they all took a bite. Pride and joy would bloom in him, so bright he thought he might turn into an explosive light bulb. Well, that was until everyone went on a diet and he got scolded by the company; he hasn’t baked in years, but he can always just pick it up again, right?
He sighed at the sight of burned cookies.
That’s fine, he’ll try again, and perhaps not change the amount of butter this time.
-
“Oh, hi there. Finally remembered my existence?” Kibum opened the door with a high raised brow, leaning on the door frame, unpleased by his presence.
“Yep,” Minho nodded, not opening his eyes.
“What are those?” Kibum scrunched his eyes behind the breathtaking white flowers. A suspicious oily paper bag called out, telling him that there was something edible; likely unhealthy.
“Gardenias, and something I made,” he straightened his arms, handing both items to Kibum.
“Save that for later,” he brushed away at the flowers, taking the paper bag in his hands. “Are they drugs?”
“..Butter Cookies,” Minho sounded a little nervous, hugging the flowers back to himself as Kibum opened the paper bag.
The scent of cookies greeted him softly as he flicked it open with his fingers.
It started with a sweet, sugary smell, followed by a buttery, welcoming scent that warmed him up from the insides; just like Minho did. Minho who would wipe his tears away, laugh with him, and Minho who sees him as so important that Kibum believes he owns a part of his heart.
“M’kay,” he nodded, snipped a cookie between his fingers and took a nib. It’s a little dry without tea or coffee.
“Can I come in?” Minho asked. Kibum was feeling kind enough to nod.
The floor of the kitchen felt a bit cooler under his bare feet, as he stirred sugar into his cup of Earl Grey. On purpose, he did not fix a cup for Minho.
“So, I want to talk,” Minho settled himself on his couch just as Kibum fixed himself a cup of tea.
“About what?” he replied, keeping his tone calm enough to consider as sarcasm.
“I want to apologise,” Minho mumbled, looking to the side. Hearing that already smoothed down Kibum’s irritated heart a little. Stupid pride.
“Okay.” Kibum walked to his couch, taking the cookie he bit on for his tea.
“I’m- sorry that I treated you like shit - I shouldn't have done all that childish behaviour - I will never- ever- do it again.” He let it all out in a breath, fidgeting nervously with his fingers.
“I can tell you’re sorry on my own. I want an explanation,” Kibum said, acting unimpressed as he took another sip of his tea.
“Well, uhm,” the other man stuttered uncharacteristically, “I’m just- upset when you think you’re not special compared to the others to me. And I got really upset when you started to give me the cold shoulder too, even though it was completely my fault,” he pouted.
“And how am I special?” his heart tensed in a way he hated, squeezing inside his chest until he couldn’t breathe; he let out a sigh, pretending to remain calm.
“Um.. because I’ve known you for more than 15 years?” Minho threw him a curious look.
In his eyes, Kibum could see some uncertainty that he didn’t understand but knew that he was hiding his true answer under his kind words; it made his heart drop into his stomach.
“How does that make me special?”
“How does that not make you special, Kibummie. You are dear to me, please don't ever doubt it,” Minho seemed surprised, he put his finger just slightly above his knees, a gesture showing his sincere feelings.
“Don’t touch me,” he hissed, slapping his hand away. The last thing he wanted now was Minho’s physical contact affecting his logical thinking.
“I’m sorry,” he took his hand back, “Will you forgive me then?”
“Sit there and don't talk whilst I regret my entire life,” he crossed his legs and laid back on the sofa.
It can’t be true, Kibum couldn’t be special to Minho. With all the hugs and gifts and kind words, Kibum was treated just as any other person he knew; from his supervisor during trainee's days, all the way to his neighbour’s newborn. Minho said it himself. This was just how he behaved around people.
The cookies smelt too much like him, he clenched his mug tight, savouring the taste of the soft texture on his tongue. It’s a smell that he would miss once he ate all of them.
-
A while ago, a desperate, lonely young Kibum fell in love with Minho’s shirt. Because he smelt so good, he started finding himself missing the scent. Minho doesn’t wear cologne often, his body naturally gives a sweet, gentle scent; every laugh, every nap, every hug. As long as he was close enough, the comforting smell would surround him.
With the buttery smell of him present, sometimes Kibum let himself pretend.
The fabric in his hands turned into a solid warm body, softly snoring in his arms.
“Good night baby,” he left a gentle kiss on the cheek by his side, as the latter unintentionally nuzzled towards Kibum.
Kibum let out a timid giggle as he buried himself deeper into his scent.
As guilty and embarrassed as he was, he’d hug it to sleep every night.
Until some asshole decided that waking him up by walking into his room unannounced was a good idea.
“Kibum?” A tiny voice approached, careful and uncertain, the voice that could only belong to one certain person, still holding his blanket high in the air.
“Shut the fuck up,” Kibum refused to turn around and face the person, he stared at his wall, grasping at the shirt.
“Um.. is that?” Kibum shivered with cold and Minho’s burning glance, shifting a little so he could hide the shirt with his body.
“No, it’s not. Get out,” he demanded, words clenching through his teeth.
“Uh,” the other boy slowly lowered his blanket and made a noise that sounded too much like the beginning of another conversation, after he made sure Kibum was physically comfortable.
“I said get out!” With enough anger to encourage him, he sat up in his bed and gave his best, furious glare. He messes up his blankets, facing directly towards the seemingly concerned boy.
“..Okay,” he said, almost unnoticeable.
The door clicked close quietly as if he was trying to erase his own existence.
Shame burned Kibum as he shuddered, clutching tight onto his pillow; warm, salty liquids dragging on his face. He sobbed, trying so hard to hold back, but failed with another wave of emotions.
That was the end of Kibum’s embarrassing hopeful crush on Choi Minho.
If there was a chance of losing, he’d rather not try at all.
-
Being overly sweet must be one of Minho’s natural habits, because even though Kibum had avoided and hid away from him, he remembered, making him talk again was Minho’s top priority. He remembered how hard Minho tried to approach him back then, all the coffees and treats, just like how sincere he was now.
Kibum slowly led his head onto Minho, not speaking a word. Minho’s scent wouldn’t change, over the years, on all occasions, he always smelt as comforting as he was.
“Will you forgive me now?” he asked, carefully like Kibum was fragile.
“..Maybe,” he shifted his head, hiding his eyes behind the warm crook of his neck.
Minho smelt like cologne, burnt flour and dish soup, nothing close to his butter cookies. But even so, his heart was still racing.
-
‘Why did you disappear? What have I done wrong? I thought we were good?’ Kibum threw his phone away on the couch after checking the new notifications on his phone; Instagram, TikTok, and endless questions from Minho. The poor boy.
Kibum didn’t like playing games that he barely had chances of winning, in a situation like this, he made sure he was extra cautious when making choices, to make sure his decision wouldn’t lead to their relationship's self-destruction.
“You’re special,” Minho beamed in his memory, like he meant it; and he felt it.
He still felt nauseous about Minho, like how you feel about your ex-lovers when they shoot you with a gentle smile after you’ve broken up; or how you feel when you’re standing too close to your long-time crush during high school. It was suffocating. Squeezing his heart as if it wanted something from him.
Like how he couldn’t walk out without picking out an outfit, Kibum couldn’t face Minho without clarifying his own feelings. He couldn’t risk his life jumping around Minho like back in his teenage days.
It should hurt, and it did. But Kibum couldn’t help but glance at his phone every five minutes or so and he felt guilty about it. But then, the moment he saw Minho put his jacket around other people on reality shows, he didn’t feel so special anymore.
Kibum needed to stay away. Otherwise, all other decisions would wither away, and the only one remaining would be to pour out his fragile, naked heart.
-
“Kibum,” and the next time he opened his door for another person, Minho was standing there, panting aggressively. He probably ran here, so stupid.
Kibum held the door open but didn’t reply, stubbornly blocking Minho’s way to come in.
“Why did you run away?” Minho pleaded, leaning on the door frame.
“I can’t tell you,” Kibum shook his head, covering his face with one palm.
“Are you testing how important you are to me? Or are you just fucking with me.” He scrunched up his face, twisting his features into an unpleased expression.
“Neither,” he turned and walked back in, giving his dogs a few gentle pats whilst Minho naturally welcomed himself in.
“Kibum, you need to tell me what’s going on,” he put on his serious voice, the one he used when he was desperately trying to win a sports competition.
“Nothing’s going on,” he hummed, casually stretching while ignoring the other man’s complaint.
“Okay that’s bullshit and you know it,” Minho sighed, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“Nope. I’m fine, we’re all good,” he said nonchalantly, followed by the action of hopping around the living room, turning the television off, and giving more pats to his dogs.
“We are not ‘all good’! You fucking disappeared after you said you’d forgive me! How do you expect me to react?” An outburst was always not appreciated, he declared, gently pushing Kibum’s shoulder.
“I don’t want to talk about it! I was figuring things out, okay?” Kibum yelled back straight to his face.
“We need to talk about it. You can not just leave me hanging here whenever you want,” Minho, Minho sounded disappointed, and Kibum should have felt guilty when the words reached him, instead of this burning pile of anger in his stomach.
“Just shut up!”
“I’m not going to shut up until you tell me!”
“What do you even want me to say?” Kibum cried out frustratedly, he felt like he was trying to get his hands out of a intertwining big knot of yarn, with the action of cutting open forbidden.
“Why do you keep pushing me away?!”
“Because you’re annoying,” he bit back immediately. Kibum had to admit that this was a muscle reflection, a habit to shut Minho up, a way to hide from spilling the truth.
“That’s not why,” Minho does not take his blunt lie, which was only a fraction true.
“It is when I say so,” he persisted harshly, desperate to end the conversation.
“Can you stop being so difficult for once? Listen. I want to change, I want to make up, just tell me what I can do,” he took a step forward, lowering his gaze to Kibum’s hands. Sensing his want of physical contact, Kibum took a step back.
“There isn’t anything you can do,” he looked away as he mumbled, holding his hand to himself.
“There must be something,” pleading, Minho sounded way too certain.
“What are we even fighting about? This- this isn’t important,” he shook his head, confused about where the conversation was going.
“It is important because you won't fucking talk to me!” Minho yelled back, stubbornly taking another step forward.
“Because you’re not giving me space to think clearly!” Kibum took a step back as well, maintaining the space between them.
“I’ve given you plenty!”
“It’s not enough!”
“How much do you want then?!”
Garçons must’ve been sick of this too, because all Minho did was take steps forward, trying to reach Kibum until he tripped over Garçons, colliding Kibum into his couch behind him instead. Time always slows when you fall, then you blink and you're on the couch.
Their hearts were still beating hard because of the fall.
Minho was on top of him, crushing him into his couch. He was heavy, heavy on his chest; just like his feelings, sometimes suffocating, but always made him feel secure.
He felt it, Minho softened down onto him, shifting his arms into a hug.
And Kibum lost all of his desire to fight.
“Fuck everything,” it was Minho who whispered first, voice raspy and tight.
“I just want to hug you,” the arms on his shoulders tightened a little, and he felt Minho burying himself into his neck. Kibum let himself relax into his touch, and finally started to listen.
“I’m sorry if I'm crushing you, but I really really just want to hug you,” something warm tickled down his nape, he felt the person in his arms shiver, and let out a long sigh.
“It hurts so much, Kibum,” his breaths were getting unstable and harsh like he was holding back, and Kibum realised; he was holding back his tears.
“I tried.. the wrong way and the right way, Why can’t you just look at me once?” the fingers gripping his shoulders began hurting a little, but Kibum didn't mind.
“I want to hold your hands, to smell like your bed sheets, I want you to smile at me, to stay; I just want to be yours,” it’s like something snapped, and suddenly he could feel his endless craving again. Wetness spread all over his cheeks when Minho’s emotional dam collapsed, drowning him with the love that he craved, for months, for years.
“..I want you too,” he softly sobbed, a little river forming on his face, sliding into Minho’s hair.
Kibum wrapped his arms around his chest, hugging him tight, tightly to himself; the familiar scent rushed to embrace him as he buried himself deeper and deeper.
The tighter he hugged Minho, the tighter he was being held.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed into his hair, “for running away and everything else.”
“I ran because,” he took a deep breath, ”I can’t face you without my heart bursting with joy, Minho, love makes people stupid.”
"I’m stupid too,” Minho nodded, smiling, “we are stupid.”
Finally, in his suffocating tight arms, Kibum realised; he could clearly, truly, felt Minho’s heart beating against his chest.
“I love you,” Minho lifted his head just enough to look him in the eyes and left a soft peck on his nose. His eyes were a little red, glistening slightly as a small grin climbed up.
“Love you too,” he felt light, gently putting the weighted rock on his heart down; he smiled, dimples digging into his cheeks in the way Minho dug into his heart.
Minho’s grin brightened, “You smiled,” he said softly, “You smiled at me.”
Kibum nodded, shyly, his smile deepening more as Minho returned his happiness with a bigger smile.
He really could not stop smiling, a light and hearty chuckle slipped out, and they started giggling like teenage girls, laughing like true friends; until Kibum couldn’t take it more and pulled them into a kiss.
Softness is one of the things Kibum loved the most about Minho, he melted into the kiss impossibly quickly, softly, caring, showing their weaknesses and gently touching each other. His lips were so soft against his, that a wave of craving rushed up again, making him dive into the kiss more aggressively. It felt too much like a fever dream, so Kibum reached out to grab the back of Minho’s head, deepening the kiss, feeling more.
They were both panting when they finally parted, sharing breaths while staring back into one another’s eyes, with love. Minho leaned down to capture a few other quick pecks on his lips, fingers creasing the sensitive skin behind his ears.
“It tickles,” Kibum chuckles, facing away from his fingers.
“It’s cute, love to hear you laugh,” and he came close again, kissing the back of his ears himself.
“Okay you big baby. I love you too,” Kibum nibbled his ear shell with his fingers, mumbling blissfully.