Chapter Text
A 6am alarm is never a fun way to start a day, but today especially, it brought a wave of dread with it that crashed over Kibum. A new start at a new school that felt anything but ‘fresh’. He had been mentally preparing for the stares, suspicious looks, questions. But the novelty would wear off quickly, he hoped. As long as he could keep a low profile.
Kibum’s mother fussed over him all morning, making sure his uniform was pressed perfectly, his bag packed, that he had his schedule, he knew the route he needed to walk to get to school. The teenager played it off, pretended he was sick of his mother’s nagging and over-the-top care, but he was secretly trying to wait as long as he could to actually start his trip to school.
“Now, I know you’re anxious,” his mother had him gripped by the shoulders as they stood in the entryway, “but just be yourself, yes? You’re a very fun, smart boy. I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends quickly.”
Kibum nodded, trying to fight nervous tears that were threatening to spill, not meeting his mother’s eyes.
“Make a good first impression to your teachers, and just try your best. Okay? Kibum?” his mother tilted her head.
Kibum sighed and looked up, “Yes, eomma. I’ll try hard.”
“I know you will. You’re hardworking by nature,” she gently patted Kibum’s hair, before turning him toward the door. “Now, off you go. Be brave, Kibummie!”
Kibum rolled his eyes, but smiled as he stepped out the door, saying his goodbyes. His mother was right, he had always had a lot of friends at his previous schools, surely this one wouldn’t be any different. There was little to be worried about, really. New teachers, sure, but they would be teaching exactly what he’d been learning at his last school. New people, but he was good at breaking the ice, usually. He had a more extroverted personality, he tended to attract people into his circle. He was kind, and not a prejudiced person. Really, what problems could he encounter that he couldn’t overcome?
Unfortunately, he was quick to find out just what kind of problem.
One that bore the name Choi Minho.
As Kibum stepped onto the grounds of his new school, a group of boys grabbed his attention. Sat under a tree, making large amounts of noise: loud jokes, kicking a soccer ball back and forth, shouting like sports announcers and laughing at top volume. It would’ve been hard not to notice them, though most of the other students seemed to walk past them.
Kibum would’ve too, gladly, if it hadn’t been for the fact he recognised one of them too well. Even from the back of his head, he was unmistakable.
But, surely, he couldn’t be here. What would the chances of that be? He’d said he lived on the other side of Seoul, far enough that their meetings had needed to be organised in advance.
As the boy turned to high-five a friend after he propelled a soccer ball past another teenager into what was apparently their make-shift goal, Kibum’s horrible suspicions were confirmed.
It was him, there was no denying it. Not with that body and those eyes and that laugh. The laugh Kibum had been addicted to. Obsessed with drawing out.
He felt like he needed to sit down. His heart raced and his legs felt off-balance. This was not going to help him in his transition. Having a past connection with another student, a jock. Someone who, Kibum guessed, was likely popular. He knew Minho played soccer, and was good at it, very good. Something he was very proud of. At his previous schools, the sporty kids were always the ones that had swarms of people wanting to be friends with them, date them. And that had been fine, he didn’t care that Minho was that kind of person, because he had never been like that with him. He had been raw, authentic. Unapologetically himself, and Kibum had fallen for that, rapidly. He was fun, made him laugh, would listen to him talk, hold him when he cried. They had spent so much time together over their break that Kibum had almost forgotten what it had been like not to have him around. But then things had changed.
Kibum had been the one to break it off in the end. He hated that. That conversation played over and over in his mind late at night, when there was nothing to distract him from it. His parents had told him they were moving, that he would be transferring schools. At first, he’d thought maybe he and Minho could stay as they were, but with school in the way, and Minho’s mysteriousness about his own family, Kibum had ultimately come to the difficult conclusion.
“Min… I-I think we need to stop,” he’d whispered shakily, as they sat next to eachother on Kibum’s bed in the darkness. Just their hands connected.
“What? Stop?” Minho had sounded so shocked, so hurt. He’d pulled his hand away from Kibum’s and turned to face him. Though Kibum hadn’t looked up to see his face, he could imagine it, too clearly.
“You know how I said I was moving…?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot and… Min, it doesn’t sound like you’re ready for… this. Past the holidays, I don’t think you-”
“What makes you-”
“Min, please, listen.” Tears had welled in Kibum’s eyes. “You won’t tell me about your family. We can’t go anywhere near where you live, I don’t even know what subway stop you get off at to get home. Any time we’re in public you go kind of… weird. Like you’re uncomfortable being close to me. It doesn’t feel… great. And between school and study, I don’t think either of us have the time to juggle… whatever this is, between us.”
Minho had taken time to reply, trying to pick up the pieces of his heart. He’d thought Kibum understood. Knew that he wasn’t ready to have the conversation with his family, with people at school. That this was all completely new to him, and he was just figuring it all out. It still scared him, but being around Kibum made him less fearful.
“I-I don’t know what to say,” Minho had eventually managed.
“It’s okay. I’m really sorry, Min.”
“I’m… I thought it was okay. I thought…” Minho sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I guess. Maybe I’m not ready for this.”
It was crushing, to hear Minho’s voice shake. Kibum had never heard that before. And it was entirely of his making.
“I- Maybe in the future, one day,” Kibum had said, quietly, into the cold air of his room, suddenly feeling claustrophobic.
“Maybe.”
They were silent, neither knowing how this continued, or concluded.
“For what it’s worth, really, this break has been the best one I’ve ever had.”
“Me too,” Minho agreed sadly. “I-”
I wish it didn’t have to end, he wanted to say. But then, it was ending, wasn’t it? Right in this moment, it was crashing, grinding to the finish line, dragging him behind it.
“I guess there’s not much else to say,” Kibum said, with feigned sureness to the finality of it.
Minho pushed himself off the bed, Kibum rolling off the other side.
“I’ll see you out.”
Minho grabbed his backpack, laying near the door. The same spot it had sat in nearly every day for weeks. Kibum’s room now looked bare without it.
As Minho stepped over the threshold of Kibum’s house into the street, he turned one last time.
“It was fun though, wasn’t it?”
Kibum stared at him for a moment. “It was. I… I’m sorry.”
Minho nodded. “Me too. I hope you’re happy at your new school.”
“Thanks.”
An awkward, excruciating silence hung in the air between them, Minho ending it by turning silently and walking away. Kibum watched him for a moment, one last time, before stepping back inside.
His mother had quickly realised Kibum didn’t want to answer questions about why his ‘holiday friend’ wasn’t coming over anymore. His family had also liked him a lot. He was so polite, always offering to help cook and clean dishes. Kibum’s parents never questioned him, could tell what his ‘friendship’ with Kibum truly was. They didn’t ask uncomfortable questions after he left and Kibum stood at the door watching him until he turned the corner at the end of the street. Truly, Kibum was grateful they’d spared him that discomfort.
But no one was here to shield him now.
He quickly turned away from the group and shuffled toward the school building.
Focus, focus on school, he commanded himself. Don’t get caught up. That was the past, what’s important is now.
He managed most of the day without an accidental meeting with Minho. He was almost starting to think he could go the rest of the year without bumping into him, until lunch.
He’d gathered his tray of food and found a quiet table to sit at, starting to pick at the banchan with his chopsticks, when a thunder of noise barrelled through the doors of the cafeteria, led by none other than Minho.
Kibum wanted to crawl under the table.
He tried to ignore the rowdy group, looking out the window. When he accidentally glanced toward the source of the noise, he was sure the universe had it in for him.
Choi Minho was staring straight at him, a mix of many emotions passing over his eyes.
Kibum quickly looked down, suddenly very interested in his rice.