Work Text:
Kibum was sitting in the front seat of his manager’s car, clutching the Lemaire bag Minho had just gifted him with both hands until his knuckles turned white. Although he loved the seasonal feel that accompanied each promotion cycle, loved letting his creative mind take charge and watch it bolt in every possible direction, loved carrying along as many people as he could— it always left him feeling empty. Which only made sense: he’d screwed every cog that made up the universe he had so meticulously designed in place himself. And throughout that creative process, he had felt it draining the energy out of his body as if it was the fuel on which it operated.
Bad Love activities had just ended and his body was still recovering; his head still throbbing and aching with fatigue; his stomach turning over as a mixture of intangible emotions were crawling around in his gut uncomfortably.
Although the latter had little to do with the end of his promotion cycle per se, and more with the man he had just parted with (appearing on his podcast had certainly been an experience). Intellectually, he knew that. To some degree at least. Some degree buried deep deep down the dark depths of his subconsciousness.
Therefore he was reluctant to attribute his current predicament to the man who was now spamming his kakaotalk and chose to blame it on mere fatigue instead. Yes, that was it: fatigue had been stacking up for a while as his schedule has not provided much room for rest. Who wouldn't feel a little nauseous under such conditions?
Musing all of these thoughts and feelings, he looked down to see the screen of his phone light up.
12:09 am: Had fun today!!! Thanks.
12:09 am: Wait. Shouldn’t you be thanking me?? For the bag? Haha.
Kibum sighed when Minho’s name popped up in his notifications. He clutched the phone in one hand as if inspecting a foreign object and simply kept looking, kept staring until the screen turned black. Unable to move for some reason, he simply sat frozen in place eyeing his own faint features reflected there for a while, hoping it could give him some perspective as to why he was feeling the way he was feeling right now— or what he was feeling exactly in the first place. He'd take anything at this point, really.
Anything except the one and only answer, the one that was abundantly clear yet overlooked by his own willful ignorance. If only he were ready to acknowledge and accept his feelings as they were. But for now, the most he could muster was lamenting his self-provoked sense of disorientation and misery. Let himself wallow in it as he simply kept on inspecting his own reflection.
The obvious answer ultimately rejected by his own mind, all he could do was scratch the surface and notice tired eyes conveying absolutely nothing but that he was exhausted. Exhausted, and annoyed.
And something else.
Something strange. Something he recognized in some vague sense, but was afraid to articulate just yet.
It was canon at this point. That out of all people, Minho was the one who could stir up a whirlwind inside of him much akin to the one threatening to sweep him off his feet any second right now. He was seated and securely held in place by his safety belt, yet he was feeling dangerously unsteady.
After a deep sigh, he locked his phone and put it in his bag. Out of sight, out of mind.
This won’t do. Get it together.
He softly slapped his palms flat against his cheeks at a fast pace, hoping that’d snap him out of it.
It’s just a man for fuck’s sake. Choi Minho, for that matter.
Get a grip.
He tried looking outside and admiring the night view, but realizing quickly that’d probably make him carsick, he closed his eyes and let his head lean against the window. The glass felt cool, trembling as they were traversing the city through the dark. He was grateful he wasn’t the one having to drive, but at the same time he found it hard to stay still, his insides still twisting an aching, emotions squirming around as if trying to burst through his skin, making Kibum wish he could stretch himself open and let them run free.
Then again: his phone vibrated.
And after a while: again.
Kibum sighed as he zipped open his bag and reached in to get his phone.
Fine Choi Minho, you win this battle.
I bet you like that.
Kibum let his eyes rest on the phone screen again, feeling a little defeated as the messages came rolling in one by one.
12:19 am: Kibum?
12: 24 am: You didn’t have to leave in a rush… I asked if you wanted to have a drink with me afterwards?
12:27 am: Was it something I said?
12:28 am: Why were you acting so cold all of a sudden? I don’t understand…
12:28 am: Now you’re ignoring me?
12:29 am: Fine. Be mad at me again for no reason. Whatever.
12:31 am : Let me know if you want to talk about it, okay? Goodnight.
Admittedly, Kibum felt bad for rushing out. He had heard Minho’s request to get a drink afterwards, and he had simply pretended not to hear as he quickly gathered his belongings and rushed out, followed on the heel by a confused Minho. He felt bad for ignoring him, too.
And yet, he who was always so steadfast in his resolve, he who never hesitated to speak his mind, who was always ready to take on whatever resulted from that— all of a sudden could not for the life of him figure out what to say.
“What did I do to make you this upset?” Minho asked. “Just tell me. We’re not kids anymore. Let’s talk this through.”
Kibum could sense the taller one was getting agitated but trying his best to remain calm. He was trying just the same, but much less able to keep his composure. He brought his arms up in exasperation. “I don’t know!”
“Was it because I laughed at you crying about getting your first music show win?”
“No! I don’t know!” The smaller one shook his head, an attempt to disentangle all the words floating around in his brain but just out of reach, none of them close enough to grasp and formulate in complete sentences.
“Then what?” Minho pressed on.
He took a few steps closer. Dangerously close.
Kibum couldn't help but notice that he was moving exceedingly carefully as if approaching a small and fragile animal, scared it would run away if he made too sudden a movement.
It had the exact opposite effect as was probably intended.
Kibum threw his hands up again, walking around the coffee table so it was now positioned in between them— as if it provided a safety barrier for whatever influence Minho’s presence had on him.
“Nothing!” he yelled, surprised at the volume with which the sound escaped his own mouth. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice. Careful to let the following out a little softer, although still clearly strained from the effort it took to keep his composure, he continued: “Just drop it. Leave it, okay?”
That seemed to set Minho off as well. “It’s not nothing! And I won’t!” It took him only three steps to circle around the coffee table, in no moment closing the distance between them again. "Why are you so mad?"
Kibum’s heart was like a motion detector attuned specifically to Minho’s presence, throbbing violently fast with every nearing step. That's why he didn’t even have to think before moving: his legs made the decision for him and he circulated the coffee table as well, away from Minho.
It was almost comical, the way they danced around it. As if they were little kids playing a game of tag me.
Minho placed his hands on his hips and looked at Kibum from across the table, his expression a mixture of exasperation, confusion and worry. “What are you doing? Let’s just talk!”
Kibum cursed internally. This was not the time for Minho to get all competitive. Why couldn’t he just leave him be? Why wouldn't he? Didn’t he notice how utterly distressing this was, how much Kibum did not want to be having this conversation right now— terrified of what might result from it.
“Choi Minho,” he said, clicking his tong against the roof of his mouth. “I swear to God. Drop it.” He spoke very slowly, emphasizing every word in an attempt to make Minho accept them and do as asked.
Which, of course, he didn’t.
Not like Minho to simply drop the topic when it was clearly affecting the other deeply. No, not Minho with his determined spirit, not if he felt that it was important, even if in this particular case he hadn’t the slightest idea what this was all about.
Or so Kibum hoped.
So of course, Minho with his tall legs and athletic built cleared the distance between them again in no time, too quickly for Kibum to process that he was suddenly standing right in front of him, now grabbing his forearm. “No," he said firmly.
Then his warm brown eyes softened, and so did his voice.
“What is it?” He pressed again gently, so gently. He had his gaze steadily fixed on Kibum, inspecting his every feature as if hoping one would magically whisper him the answer.
Meanwhile Kibum’s head was spinning. His surroundings became blurry, the floor seemed to have turned into quicksand and he forgot how to think as a whirlwind of emotions violently circulated his body and was threatening to sweep him off his feet once again.
That was it, yes. Of course, that must’ve been it.
It was the only explanation, the only reason as to why he suddenly completely lost all his defences and let himself blurt out:
“I like you, you dumbass!”
And with that, he freed himself from Minho’s grip in one quick motion. Minho’s arms fell to his sides.
Then everything went very still. It seemed as if all laws of time and space had collapsed in that exact moment. The air felt very loaded.
And Kibum realized it too late: what he was saying, what he had just said— only realized it the moment the words were already escaping his mouth and there was little left for him to do but stand by as it happened, unable to close his lips and swallow them down.
So there they were, out in the open, still lingering in the space between them. Neither of them made a move and neither of them flinched, as if both were staring at the confession laid bare right in front of their eyes, uncertain how to approach it.
Kibum didn’t make any attempts at taking it back, either.
He felt relieved.
He had always preferred to face his emotions head-on, even if it was painful and even if others told him there was no reason for him to feel a certain way, or that he was exaggerating. Why would he care, anyway? They weren’t the ones walking in his shoes.
But now: standing in front of the man who was the target of said feelings— undeniably, it felt different. Vulnerable. Strangely empowering.
Kibum balled his fists. He couldn’t take his words back anymore, and he would not be that guy, the one who blurts out a confession and takes it back cowardly the next. He owed this to himself, to be steadfast in his resolve and true to what he was feeling.
So he stood his ground. Resolutely and defiantly. He was levelling Minho as if daring him—
to do what, exactly?
And poor Minho, who had been just as stubborn one second, seemed to be completely overwhelmed and flustered the next. He was so transparent, the emotions on his face rapidly sweeping across every feature of his face as realization kicked in— from annoyance and exasperation to shock, fading into puzzlement with a tinge of sadness.
And a hint of something foreign, something Kibum couldn't discern.
Minho stumbled backwards as if Kibum had just punched him right in the stomach.
“I…” he managed after a period of time that could’ve been a few minutes or just a few seconds. He cleared his throat. “You…” He reached his hands up, fingers tousling his hair, then dropped them again in one quick motion.
“… me ?” He tilted his head while one of his hands was vaguely sweeping the air between them loosely in a gesture Kibum couldn't decipher.
Kibum closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.
Own it.
He opened his eyes and nodded firmly once, his eyes locking with Minho’s. “You heard me. I do.”
Under different circumstances Kibum might have laughed at the taller one. At the way he looked utterly perplexed. At the faint red blotches slowly blotching his neck and running up to his cheeks. Under different circumstances Kibum might have gotten annoyed— why was Minho the one acting all embarrassed? He wasn’t the one who had just blurted out a confession on a random Wednesday night.
So Kibum sighed. He hadn’t exactly planned on this either, hadn’t even entertained the idea ever before, despite admittedly having fantasized about what being with Minho might look like. Not because he considered it a possibility for the near future, but because the thought intrigued him. It made him wonder: what if?
But he needed more than fantasies to be brave. He needed confirmation.
He took a tentative step towards Minho.
“Listen. I’m not going to take it back.” A shaky breath escaped his lips. Own it, Kibum. “But I also don’t expect you to respond to this in any way. I was not planning on this and I don’t even know why I said it— it just came out and I’m not going to undo it.”
Another step closer. Close enough to touch. He reached out, placing the tips of his fingers on Minho’s lower arm. Minho’s eyes followed the movement. He was breathing unsteadily.
They stood there for a while, just like that. Kibum tried catching the taller one's brown-eyed gaze back with his own eyes, but to no avail.
Why wouldn’t he look at me?
So he swept the fingers that had been touching Minho’s arm up through the air until his thumb was softly pressing on the soft skin right underneath his lips, the taller one's chin new resting on Kibum’s index finger.
With a soft press of his fingertips, Kibum guided Minho’s tiny face back up so they were locking eyes again.
He shuffled even closer.
“If it makes you uncomfortable, then I apologize for that. Truly.” He bit his tongue, once again gathering his courage for what felt like the millionth time that evening. “But I will not apologize for feeling a certain way and for voicing those feelings. Got it?”
Minho nodded. Kibum was a little puzzled at how quietly he obeyed, without any protest.
He looked at Minho tentatively for a little longer, then cleared his throat and turned around abruptly to start gathering his stuff— his phone, a mask, a light jacket.
And the Lemaire bag, of course.
“Okay well,” he said as way of announcing that he was leaving. "See you later." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a little disappointed at Minho's unresponsiveness. Sure, he had told him literally a minute ago that he didn't need him to respond. But a little smile wouldn't hurt.
Kibum turned around on his heels and was struggling to elbow the door open, when all of a sudden—
All of a sudden strong fingers gripped his slim wrists and twirled him around. He was so taken by surprise that he dropped all of his belongings right on the floor with a loud thud.
“You like me?” Minho said, so softly it came out almost a whisper. Deer eyes were looking at Kibum intently, devoting full attention to the object of his gaze with an intensity only Minho could.
Kibum swallowed, trying to ignore the bolts of electricity Minho’s touch sent through his body. He nodded.
Minho’s hands came up to cup Kibum’s face, thumbs slowly stroking his temples. “ Like like me?” A mixture of wonder and something else, something soft and tender — something Kibum has never noticed there before — glazed Minho’s eyes.
Kibum nodded, again.
The taller one dropped his hands and took a step towards Kibum, so close he had no choice but to take a step back as to not lose his balance. He was now standing with his back right against the front door. Cold air brushed against his skin as the palms of the pair of warm hands that had been touching his skin came up to settle flat on the door on each side of Kibum’s head, caging him in between toned arms.
There was a quick pause. A short moment where they looked at each other inquiringly. Where Minho’s gaze seemed to ask something and Kibum instantly understood.
He blinked with a soft nod in approval.
And then Kibum felt Minho’s breath on his lips, and then his lips on his. They were plump and a little chapped, but still smooth from the lip balm he frequently applied. The kiss was inquiring at first. Soft and sweet. Intimate. And Kibum felt himself fall into it all too easily, so easily he had to grab onto Minho’s shirt with both of his fists to steady himself.
Finally having gotten a taste of what it’s like, he quickly found himself craving more, more more more, and Minho must have been sharing that exact same sentiment as his body moved in closer and his tongue licked against Kibum’s lips requesting entrance. Kibum obliged gladly. A dizzy sensation filled his head when their tongues intertwined. It was addictive; so enthralling it made him start tugging at Minho’s shirt eagerly, beckoning him closer until they were practically propped against each other.
And all the while, Minho kept his hands neatly in place, still caging Kibum in.
It drove Kibum a little insane.
He licked Minho’s lips open with a tender urgency, explored his mouth as if there was something important hidden there, something of vital importance, something he was sure he would die without, and he re-angled his head to deepen the kiss.
Minho sighed into it, and their tongues danced around each other in a maddeningly entrancing rhythm. The kiss knocked Kibum breathless. But he couldn’t stand the thought of breaking apart for just a second. So he held onto Minho more steadily, fell into him even deeper, and then— Minho sighed against his mouth, a soft moan.
The sound shot through Kibum’s gut, set him ablaze. It encouraged him to be brave and go further just so he could earn another one of those lovely moans, discover what other sounds he could get out of him, how else he could make him react.
So he managed to break off the kiss. The tips of his fingers slid over Minho's torso until they were cupping the nape of his neck. He pressed his lips softly in the nook right below his jawline, where he nibbled down and licked softly. He made sure to make it tender, needed to ensure Minho that he was being serious, that he wasn’t just playing around.
Minho’s breath halted under the sensation at first, then came out uneven in soft little sighs. Kibum adored the sound.
“Is this okay?” Kibum asked in a whisper, his breath tickling Minho’s skin. Minho nodded.
So Kibum went down a little further, pressed his mouth softly against his neck once more, lips, tongue and teeth drawing out another soft moan.
He bent his head back a little so he could look up at Minho’s big brown eyes again. As he had hoped, he there saw reflected exactly what he was feeling himself too. A want, a need. A desperate need engraved with so much more— need not just for this moment but for many more like this; and slight disbelief that yes indeed, this was really truly happening. And affection. A warm, profound affection. The kind that was reassuring and unassuming, open to embrace Kibum fully, just as he was. It made him feel even braver. He felt like he could climb mountains.
So with a catlike grin, Kibum guided Minho’s hands, which had all this time been resting steadily against the door, to the curve of his lower back. He tiptoed a little, until his lips brushed against Minho’s ear as he whispered:
“You can touch me if you want, honey.”