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“Alright that’s a wrap on rehearsals! Get some rest, boys. You’re finally debuting tomorrow.”
The room erupted in cheers but Kibum felt queasy in the pit of his stomach. Jinki hyung, Jonghyun hyung, and even Taeminnie clapped him on the back as they did each other. “Good luck,” they said. “Let’s go to sleep.” Everyone offered well wishes—everyone except one.
Kibum found him quietly tying his shoelaces in the corner of the practice room. They had not spoken properly since the incident in the kitchen when, in his anger, Kibum spat out regretful words to him—in a dialect, no less. Minho had been gracious enough to not talk about it, which meant that the silence was deafening and Kibum didn’t like it.
“Hey,” Kibum said softly. He made to sit beside him but decided against it at the last minute. He cleared his throat instead. Minho looked up.
“What?”
By gods his eyes were huge and deep and from this angle it felt like he could see past Kibum’s defenses. Kibum felt like if Minho stared at him long enough, he would find out and it would ruin everything. They were already 18 after all, of course they knew everything .
“Are you already practicing your mysterious guy concept by not talking?” It was a feeble attempt to repair their connection; although Kibum didn’t really know if there was a connection there in the first place. The air around him felt too thin all of a sudden.
But then Minho broke to a smile—and when Minho smiled, his whole face smiled. The corners of his eyes crinkled and his lips upturned and his teeth showed and his eyes… his eyes sparkled. Kibum felt dizzy just looking at it.
“Is it working?” Minho joked. “I don’t know how having me not speak could help us but I’m determined to do it. Help me up?”
Kibum had no time to react because Minho reached for his hand—his suddenly very sweaty hand—and pulled himself up. Kibum steeled his legs so he wouldn’t topple over but it was no use because now standing toe-to-toe, their bodies were touching and all Kibum could think about was how good Minho smelled even after hours of dancing. It did something to his brain.
“G-good luck tomorrow,” Minho said, stammering.
“Y-yeah. You, too.”
**********
Minho was annoying.
Kibum learned this the hard way. Minho was impossibly upbeat and full of energy and… loud. So loud. Minho’s high-pitch, witchlike laugh grated on Kibum’s ears it was a surprise they hadn’t fallen off yet. And when Kibum made a face—a scowl—every so often, Minho only reciprocated with a smug smile as if it didn’t affect him.
Like Kibum said: annoying .
Jinki hyung argued that they bicker a lot because they were the same age. Technically, though, technically , Kibum was older. Minho should belong to the maknae line alongside Taemin. “They are both children,” Kibum said. “Let them play together and get out of my hair.”
So, as if fate listened, Minho and Taemin soon exchanged a very public, very affectionate koala hug in front of the cameras for some dumb sports variety show Minho depended his life on. The fans cheered. They called them “2Min.”
It was stupid pairing members off and subtly hinting at a romantic connection there—Kibum thought that it was childish (it was) and that it wouldn’t affect him (it did).
“Why do you look so disgusted? We’re just playing video games,” Minho asked loudly one night, speaking above the sound effects of the game. Taemin was trying his best to beat Minho, blissfully ignorant of this mini-argument brewing.
“You’re a child and you’re fucking annoying, Minho. Stay away from me.” Kibum stormed off and slammed his door shut. It was in moments like this that he was grateful he had his own room in the dorm. It was small and it felt cramped with all his dirty clothes and clutter—but in here, he was safe. In here, nothing could touch him.
Except there was a knock on the door. “Kibum-ah,” Minho said softly. “May I come in?”
The thing with Minho was he never really waited for a response. He opened the door right away, searching Kibum’s eyes amid the mess. He found them easily.
“I don’t want to fight again,” Minho started. “I want to be friends so uhm… tomorrow do you want to go, I don’t know, shopping?”
“Minho you don’t have to—“
“I want to take you shopping, Kim Kibum.”
It was embarrassing, the way a blush crept up to Kibum’s cheeks, painting it scarlet. He turned his face away to hide but as he did, he heard Minho chuckle.
“I know you already want a bag or something. Just tell me what it is and let’s get it tomorrow after our schedule, okay?”
Another chuckle then the sound of the door clicking in its latch. Only then did Kibum allow himself to breathe. Fucking Choi Minho and his fucking shopping , Kibum thought.
Annoying.
**********
They were friends, Kibum supposed, and that was why he had to go.
There was now a considerable lack of privacy in his room since Minho had set up camp there after Kibum agreed to help him run lines for a drama. It was Minho’s first lead role and he was pressured to do well even more so than normal.
I am just a friend, I am just a friend, I am just a friend , Kibum chanted in his brain as he soullessly delivered all the other characters’ lines with Minho. Sometimes, Minho would nag him to put more emotion but Kibum would just roll his eyes and proceed as robotic as ever.
He couldn’t risk showing Minho anything—not even under the pretense of a TV character.
Whenever Minho left, he would give Kibum a high five. It hurt. It put Kibum in his place. Kibum found himself looking forward to those high fives like they were buckets of ice-cold water being poured over his head. He needed them to keep sane.
Only one night, Minho didn’t come in his room. He stayed in the living room, reading and re-reading his script. Taemin was there with him and occasionally, the younger one would make Minho laugh and Kibum would sink deeper under his sheets. I am just a friend , Kibum started chanting again.
“Kibum-ah?”
His eyes flew open and he sat up so quickly, his head hurt. Minho had opened Kibum’s door and was standing in the doorway like a ghost. That was not what surprised Kibum, though. It was Minho’s voice: shaky and uncertain. He was crying.
“What’s wrong? Come here.” Kibum threw the sheets off him and patted the bed, signaling Minho to sit beside him. And when he did, Kibum smelled an awful lot of soju on his shirt. “Have you been drinking with Taemin?” he asked.
“Y-yeah. It was soooo stupid. He told me that he… liked me.”
There it was. Kibum suddenly felt lightheaded. He couldn’t speak—but Minho was (funnily) sobbing and breaking down that he couldn’t resist. “What did you tell him?”
Minho shrugged. “He’s very cute but I don’t like him, Bummie. I really don’t…”
“Hmm?” was all that Kibum could say. He felt like his chest was about to burst. In the dark, Minho shook his head and whispered: “I only have eyes for you.”
Kibum was sure his brain had short-circuited at that point. But then Minho giggled. Then Minho chuckled. Then eventually Minho collapsed on the floor holding his tummy as his whole body convulsed with laughter. Kibum felt like he was the punchline of a really bad joke. It made him sick.
“Get the fuck out of my room, Minho,” he snarled. He kicked Minho on the floor and ignored how the latter howled in pain. “Just fucking leave!” Kibum screamed.
Minho sobered up just in time to see the first of Kibum’s tears glistening in the dark—and for a moment Kibum thought he was sorry. He thinks you’re a joke , a voice inside Kibum’s head said—so he slammed the door.
A few weeks later, Kibum had settled in his new apartment. It was cold and he was alone but, against all logic, he really wished Minho would come over even after everything.
**********
Living alone wasn’t so bad.
Kibum got dogs. He grew plants in his garden. He arranged and rearranged his furniture. Nobody barged in his room and nobody nagged at him to clean up. For the first time in a long time, Kibum experienced quiet—and it was good.
“When are you inviting us over?” Jonghyun hyung asked while inside the car. It was after one of the schedules without Minho who was still filming a drama somewhere. Kibum figured that as long as Minho wasn’t there, he should be fine hosting the others. So he asked the driver to drop the four of them at his place.
It was instantly chaotic, of course. Jonghyun hyung played with Comme Des and Garcons. Jinki hyung raided the fridge, looking for something to eat and drink. Taemin gravitated towards the television where the newest playstation was.
The apartment filled with the usual din of the dorm and Kibum felt something catch in his throat. The house felt warm, like a home. He missed this—and along with the longing came the awareness that someone was palpably missing.
“Don’t worry, hyung, I texted him,” Taemin said nonchalantly from his place on the couch, eyes not even leaving the TV.
“Who?” Kibum feigned innocence, causing Taemin to pause the game and roll his eyes at him.
“I’m over it, hyung, really. I’m okay. I’m not the one he likes,” Taemin said. Kibum’s heartbeat quickened.
He wasn’t lying? Kibum got lost in the possibilities for a moment. He and Minho… it would be a noisy home. Minho would nag and Kibum would be at his wits end. Kibum would not arrange the leftovers in the fridge and Minho would complain that he couldn’t find his protein shake amid the mess. But Minho would also lie down on the couch, tempting Kibum with his warm cuddles—and Kibum would roll his eyes before happily settling between his arms anyway.
A smile crept up on Kibum’s face. He and Minho. Wow. He didn’t think it was possible—and all Minho had to do was knock on the door.
Thankfully, it didn’t take long. “Kibum-ah, open up!” Minho called. Kibum didn’t need to be asked twice. He threw the door open and felt his breath hitch at the sight of Minho that greeted him at the doorway.
Under a jacket, Minho wore a soccer uniform. Arsenal, was it? Kibum couldn’t remember. But he could tell Minho just washed his face. He vaguely smelled of aftershave.
“You came,” Kibum said—shyly and unbecoming of him.
“Yah, good thing Jonghyun hyung texted me the address. Taeminnie just told me ‘come to Kibum hyung’s house’ and nothing else,” Minho said. They chuckled. Then Minho cleared his throat.
“Can we go downstairs? Uh. Outside?”
“Sure.”
They sat beside each other on a bench by the little playground that was a staple in every residential complex. Kibum checked the time: 12:05 AM. The streets were deserted. The ink-black sky displayed no stars. It was chilly. Kibum regretted not coming down with a coat.
“It’s getting really cold now, right?” Minho asked as he stared at the sky then at his phone as if waiting for something. “You must be freezing, you get cold easily. Here,” Minho said and moved to remove his jacket.
Kibum’s heart expanded in his chest. “N-no, I’m fine. I’m okay,” he started to protest. He knew that Minho got cold as easily as him. But Minho had already draped the jacket over him and he couldn’t even complain. It was still warm from having clung to Minho’s body. Suddenly, Kibum seemed to forget how to breathe.
“So why are we here exactly?” he managed to ask. Minho just smiled and looked at his phone again, then at the sky. “Any minute now,” he said, beaming at Kibum with the smile that frequently made Kibum weak in the knees. Tonight was no exception.
It was quiet for a minute—but then Minho’s phone blared. An alarm. Kibum’s questioning eyes lingered on the screen but it only showed the time: 12:09.
Minho, on the other hand, had gotten up and stared up at the sky again. His forehead creased when nothing seemed to happen. “What are you doing?” Kibum cried, slightly frantic, when the six-foot tall man of his dreams suddenly jumped on the bench and stuck his tongue out towards the heavens like a child. “It’s snowing, Kibum-ah!” Minho said with glee. “It’s the first snow this winter!”
Then Minho did a very strange thing. He jumped down from the bench and stood toe-to-toe with Kibum, their noses almost touching. “I’ve missed you,” he said. “I’m sorry. I am not very good at confessions. That night in your room… that was stupid of me.”
It must be the cold. It must be the icy flecks of snow landing on his cheek. It must have been something—anything—that caused Kibum to blush. He couldn’t be so painfully obvious, could he?
He could. Of course he could. This was Minho, after all.
“I, uhm, missed you, too,” Kibum replied. Curt and lame. Again unlike him. Minho smiled. He stared pointedly at Kibum’s lips.
“I’m sorry but I think we both know what we want,” Minho barely whispered. Then he leaned in very, very close while Kibum held his breath.
Glorious.
There was no other word for what Kibum felt the exact moment Minho took his lips. It was glorious. All the years of fighting, of denying, of loving disguised as something else—it broke free when Kibum finally wrapped his arms around Minho’s neck, kissing him back. Wanting him back.
They lost count of how long they stood under the snow but when they came back inside the house, Jinki, Jonghyun, and Taemin cheered. “God, finally!” Jonghyun exclaimed. Jinki lightly tapped their shoulders. “We’re really happy for you,” he said, beaming. Even Taemin hugged Kibum tight. “You’re so lucky, hyung,” he said.
Kibum did feel lucky standing in his living room, holding Minho’s hand. He felt strong. He felt invincible.
**********
“We’d like to see you both. Separately. You first, Minho.”
The grim tone of the manager’s voice told Kibum all that he needed to know about the impending meeting.
“They know,” he mouthed just as Minho let go of his hand in the practice room. Everybody had left and the two of them were fooling around harmlessly under the pretense of rehearsals when their manager noona came in to collect them; Minho first.
They had not prepared for this. The past months were crazy and left no room to outline possible scenarios—no matter how likely they were to occur. Kibum knew that even Minho couldn’t possibly believe a relationship between them would last. Minho who was always so affectionate towards their company, who always played by its rules, who never badmouthed it even as a joke. Kibum knew even then that they were over.
The universe gave them three months. It was more than enough.
When the manager noona called Kibum, she was alone and Minho was nowhere in sight. “Sit,” she motioned to the chair and Kibum obeyed, his gaze wandering around the room.
“I hope I’ll have an easier time with you,” she began. “To put it simply, you absolutely must not date your members. This was explained in detail even during your trainee days, Key.”
“Kibum,” Kibum said. “I am not working right now and we are talking about my personal life. My name is Kibum.”
“Fine. Kibum, you cannot date Minho. It is against the rules even if this is technically your personal life,” she said with a finality that left no room for discussion.
He stood up and said the one word he wished he could take back.
“Alright.”
**********
In all his life, Kibum rarely made mistakes—but that night as he saw Minho outside his door, clad in black, cap on, mask so big only his eyes were visible—he knew he screwed up.
“You agreed?!” Minho cried in Kibum’s living room. “You said ‘alright’ and walked away?!”
“Don’t get angry with me,” Kibum said. “It’s not like you didn’t cave.”
“No, Bummie, I didn’t,” Minho nearly snarled. “I fought for you. I said they had no business meddling with us because we will always put Shinee first. Most importantly, I told them you would say the same thing!”
Kibum’s jaw dropped in shock. Nothing was making sense. “You… you risked your career just to be with me? Why the fuck would you do that?!” he demanded.
“Gee, I don’t know, Kim Kibum,” Minho rolled his eyes. “I guess I’m just that much in love with you?!”
Kibum’s throat closed up just as his heart did a double flip. Minho had always told him he loved him but this was the first time he said he was in love with him. How must one respond to that?
The silence stretched on and Kibum would later kick himself for not speaking sooner.
“But I guess I’m the only one, huh? Message received. Goodbye, Mr. Kim Kibum,” Minho said then bolted out the door.
As far as mistakes go, Kibum was sure this was monumental. Irreparable. Final.
**********
Fighting with Minho when they were teenagers was easy. There were trainings to be had, rehearsals to attend, variety shows to disappear into. Being famous was all that mattered—but now that they were, Kibum didn’t know how to navigate the world with Minho mad at him.
He started conversations but Minho would politely shut them down. He would pretend to not understand certain parts of a choreography, only for Minho to say “Taemin knows it better.” He would offer to host everyone in his apartment but Minho always graciously declined.
Yet, Kibum couldn’t even be mad because Minho was not being rude. He was a gentleman, as always. Only now, he was drawing a very clear line between him and Kibum—and that was what hurt: to be put in place with kindness when you knew you could be so much more. Kibum hoped Minho would just lash out and get mad as he often did with others over the smallest of slights—but this time, Minho was level-headed and considerate in his anger. It frightened Kibum.
One night when Kibum had gone to bed (fully clothed because who had the time to freshen up while batshit drunk?), he gave in to his emotions. He dialed Minho’s number.
“Hey, Kibum-ah, is everything okay?”
It was 3 AM. Minho was obviously sleeping. And yet Kibum noted the tone of his voice: caring. Loving. Everything.
“I love you,” Kibum said. He thanked the alcohol for giving him courage to continue. “Love. Present tense.”
The sound of the sheets ruffling told Kibum that Minho was fully awake now and sitting up, probably rubbing his eyes. Probably pissed. Nobody disturbed Minho in his sleep—that had always been the rule. Then Kibum heard him take a deep breath. “Are you drunk?” Minho asked. There was that care again.
“What if I were? It’s still true. I regret giving up, Minho. I hate myself everyday for not telling you sooner. I know it’s late… maybe too late but… please. I… Come over. Just come over and let’s talk.”
Minho sniffed and then coughed at the other end of the line.
“Go to sleep, Kibum-ah. Don’t do this to me.”
“But…”
“It’s too late.”
The sound of the line disconnecting pulled Kibum back to his apartment. Alone. His chest heaved. The ceiling blurred. Minho’s voice echoed in his head, fading like a distant memory. Maybe it was just a bad dream. Maybe it didn’t really happen. Maybe none of it was real.
When Kibum woke up he remembered nothing.
**********
And then just like that the seasons changed. Time flew by and slowly, Kibum and Minho learned to live beside each other without crossing the line. It was difficult at first but when Kibum focused on himself and on his career, he was surprised to realize that getting over MInho wasn’t some gargantuan task. In fact, it came easy once he saw Minho cozying up to someone else…multiple times.
The only unfortunate thing was how a pang of hope would pierce Kibum’s chest every time Minho shared a break-up. Big or small, the pain was the same. The hope was the same. And for a moment, Kibum would remember how he confessed to Minho one drunken night—then the memory would vanish as if it never came.
“We’ll have to prepare for your military enlistments,” the manager noona said one day. It was something they all knew they had to go through and Kibum thought the sooner he dealt with it, the better. He scanned the room to find Minho’s face riddled with worry, looking directly at him.
They hung back after everyone had left. “What branch are you enlisting to? Military band?” Minho asked. Kibum shrugged. “It’s the one that makes the most sense for me. What about you?”
Minho was looking out the window, uncertain of himself. “I’m thinking the marines,” he said. Kibum was not surprised. “Yeah, that sounds like something you would really like.”
It was quiet for a moment; then Minho cleared his throat. “Will you uh… will you visit me?”
The pain in Kibum’s chest returned. Hope hurt. “Uh. I don’t know. Maybe not. I mean, do you really want to spend your day off with me? It’s too precious to waste.”
“If I’m with you, it’s not wasted.”
Before Kibum could answer, Minho wrapped him in his arms from behind. “Don’t look at me. Don’t speak. Just listen,” Minho said. “We will be apart for nearly two years. I’m sure we will meet so many people. I’m certain you’ll make tons of new friends whom you will like more than us....”
“Minho what-“
“Shh. I’m not done. Shut up.”
Kibum sighed, nodding his head so that Minho could continue. “I know things haven’t been easy between us, Bummie,” he said “and I may be selfish to ask this but if you meet someone… and you like them… please tell me.”
“Why will I tell you, Minho?” Kibum asked. His heart was thumping so loud, he was sure Minho could feel it. “We’re not together. You’re not my boyfriend anymore. Why are you holding me like that?”
If someone was setting music to Kibum’s life, that last remark was the exact moment they would cut all sound and drown them both in silence.
Minho’s arms dropped as he stepped away. His eyes were filled with something akin to dread. His lips were trembling. He was angry.
“Look, I’m not the one who messed us up, alright? That was you . I was brave enough to fight for us back then, unlike you . And now, I’m the only one trying to find a way to survive this enlistment together while you throw some shitty remarks you don’t even mean. Or maybe you do. I don’t think I even know you anymore.” Minho took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I have tried so fucking hard to stay away from you, to ignore all that I’m feeling. But you call me in the middle of the night drunk as hell, tell me you love me, then act as if nothing happened the next day. Will you not take responsibility for that?!”
Kibum’s temper flared up at Minho’s outburst. “Hey, you’re the one who said it was too late. That I was too late. What do you expect me to do? Sit around and wait while you fuck the next person who showed interest in you?! I’m not going to do that, Choi Minho. Not even for you.”
The sound of the door slamming shut made Kibum realize that he was shaking in anger. Fuck you, Choi Minho. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
**********
Of all the things Kim Kibum thought he would realize while in military service, he never imagined that Choi Minho’s perfection would be one of them.
Kibum was literally in an ocean of men and more than half of them had expressed interest one way or another. One senior even dared to command that he go out with him on a day off. At first, Kibum was flattered. He indulged exactly four guys before the realization hit him: not a single one of these men compared to Minho. One was too dull. Another had bad manners. There was one who made inappropriate remarks about women and another who only wanted his autograph.
By the time the fifth guy asked him out, he knew he had to decline.
Of course it didn’t help that Minho was bombarding him with messages almost nightly, awakening some strange fire in his belly that wasn’t there before.
Hey. I hope you’re settling in well.
I’m sorry Bummie.
I miss you so much.
Kibum’s pride never allowed him to respond. After their massive fight before enlistment, Kibum swore to both heaven and hell that he wouldn’t let his guard down with Minho again. Still, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t think about him, right? They were far away and they were only allowed one hour of screen time each night. The window was too small to cause harm.
As it turned out, the window for harm was huge—because in the absence of Kibum’s replies, Minho had learned a new texting technique: he had learned to make it dirty.
It started with a harmless update:
It was a tough day today, Bum. Hope yours was better. Anyway, I’m getting in the showers now.
And then it got progressively explicit over the next nights.
Do you know who I thought of before showering? I can’t keep you out of my head, Kibum-ah.
My dinner tasted bad. I miss tasting something else. I don’t mean your cooking.
Fuck these soldiers always asking me to give them ‘favors.’ Can’t even imagine fucking anyone but you.
I’m so hard, Kibum. What are you wearing?
Who the fuck taught him how to do this?! Kibum thought, panicked, especially at the last message. Never mind that he, too, felt… well, hard . He dreaded how unusually tight the military sleepwear would be that night.
In the bathroom and under the shower, Kibum allowed himself to imagine an exhausted Minho (maybe even grimy, with his hair tousled) smiling mischievously as he typed those messages. Kibum imagined Minho’s arms, toned and strong and sturdy. He thought of Minho’s abs, of Minho’s legs, of Minho’s lips against his neck, of Minho’s member growing harder under his own hand…
Kibum swallowed a scream. His shower time was up long ago. Outside, he knew his senior officer would scold him and give him the “celebrities don’t get special treatment” bullshit. He decided he would just have to endure it. Damn Choi Minho making his life difficult even while being so far away.
The next night during his screen time, Kibum finally responded.
I deleted everything. Stop texting me.
He set the phone down, heart in his throat. Surely, Minho would not respond. Or would he? Kibum found himself ricocheting between the two possibilities—and then the hour was up. There were no new messages, not even the ghost of Minho typing a message.
Just what I wanted , Kibum thought. He pulled the covers over his head. Outside, leaves were falling. It was winter again.
**********
Kim Kibum counted down the days. The sayings were true: time moves differently in Korea’s Ministry of National Defense. He felt like he already lived an entirely new life. What was that other thing they said? It takes seven years for all your cells to die out or something—which meant that it would take that long before Kibum could say that he was a new person, a person that Minho had not touched.
It had only been 17 months. Just two months more and circumstances would eventually push him and Minho together again. Kibum sighed. Unless he extended his life as a soldier, there was no escaping it. Somehow, it felt poetic: what was meant for you will always find itself back.
How cheesy , Kibum thought as he started packing his things for the discharge. He allowed himself to chuckle at the irony of it all. Before this life, Kibum wouldn’t even be caught dead playing back sayings and poems in his head; but now, stuffing his belongings in a simple canvas backpack, he found that not only was he thinking of Minho, he was thinking of sending a long-ass apology message filled with these cringey metaphors… and he wasn’t cringing.
Maybe I am a new person after all.
Back in his apartment, Kibum huffed a sigh of relief. His mother managed to keep the place in tiptop shape. His dogs were happy welcoming him back and all his mail was piled neatly on the table. He reached for those first. There were a lot from industry friends who knew he liked this stuff. He smiled. It felt good knowing that he wasn’t forgotten. Taeyeon noona even sent two letters.
Kibum felt himself relax as he read each one. There was one from Hyeri who said the set wasn’t the same without him. There was some from Boom hyung, too, who said they were all waiting for him. His heart swelled. He tore through the letters one by one—until one caught his eye.
To say it was a letter was an overstatement. Strictly speaking, it was about five pages of paper torn from a notepad. Kibum’s notepad, to be exact—the small one he kept by his bedside table. His hands trembled as he unfolded the note. The sender’s handwriting was unmistakeable.
Kibum-ah,
How are you? I hope you’re doing well there. It’s heartbreaking to only know about you through our friends. I miss the times when I can just call you and ask you to hang out. Of course you rarely agreed. It feels so long ago, doesn’t it? It feels that way to me. You… you feel so far away.
I asked your mother if I could crash in here. She gave me a sad smile and a kiss on the cheek. She said she misses you, too. Have you been calling her? I guess you have. You’re the kind of person that people miss even when they’re around you all the time. I regret that I’ve taken all those times for granted.
I messed up, Kibum-ah. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what came over me. You don’t deserve to be disrespected like that. I’m sorry. Truly.
But while I understand that you may not want to speak to me again, I need you to know that everything I said was real. Everything I feel is real, Kibum-ah. There’s only you. I don’t want anyone else.
You will be home before me. You will likely read this before I get discharged. I don’t know what the company plans for you. All I ask is… if you’ve forgiven me… send me a sign. Something only we can know. Then I will know that we’ll be okay.
I love you, Kim Kibum. That will never change.
Choi Minho
Kibum read and re-read Minho’s letter until the words blurred together. He could almost hear Minho’s voice as he read the last line for the hundredth time. He traced the letters with his fingers, savoring the thought that this paper, this ink, was once held by the love of his life.
Minho had always been like this—direct, unwavering, so damn sure about everything. About Kibum. And Minho was still waiting for him. Even after everything. Even after Kibum gave up.
Kibum clutched the letter against his heart, as if not having it close would make it disappear. As if the weight of Minho’s words could physically hold him together.
Minho needed a sign—and Kibum knew just what to do.
**********
“Rolling in five, four, three, two…” The director pointed at Kim Kibum and all of a sudden, his instinct kicked in. He looked at the camera, smiled, and started his post-discharge livestream.
He missed this. He missed the staff, the set, the lights, the sounds. Everything. He was set to meet Jinki hyung and Taemin the next day. And then Minho, too, in about a month. Things felt both familiar and new—and Kibum knew he found home.
He scanned the comments scrolling too quickly up on his screen. A lot were from fans welcoming him back, some were from friends in the industry. They asked him about his time in the military. Then, as expected, a comment about Minho popped up.
Kibum smiled, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Kibum is back! Only Minho left! I hope he’s watching,” he read the comment out loud. And then he giggled, seizing his moment. He crossed his arms and tilted his head.
“Choi Minho, isn’t it time for you to hand in your phone? Hand it in quickly before you get in trouble.”
His tone was mock-serious, the same tone he always used with Minho when scolding him after an argument.
The staff laughed out loud and Kibum couldn’t help but join in. If Minho was watching (and Kibum was pretty sure he was), he’d know exactly what it meant.
After the livestream, Kibum checked his phone. There was a message from Minho.
You’re so annoying. Just wait until I get home.
And then another one:
Love you.
Kibum smiled. His heart felt light. So light that he managed to send a response without hesitation.
Hurry back. I love you, too.