Work Text:
My Beloved Kibummie
I need you.
Thursday night, a few hours after Kibum arrived home from the United States — that's when Minho received the text. Kibum didn’t tell him his schedule, but Minho saw his airport picture circulating. Pearl aqua suitcase in tow, the whites of his eyes tinted red from lack of sleep. For someone with such large hands, he really has gotten the sweater-paws down to an art. He looked so small in his oversized coat and hoodie.
Minho felt the overpowering need to find him when he saw that photo, not that he could. He’s busy with his own promotions for TEMPO.
Now, though, now he's home, and has had some time to worry. He wasn’t expecting the text, but when he read it, it set off a complicated mix of relief and dread inside him. Relief, because Kibum isn’t bottling this up, but dread because it must be bad. He was debriefed about the basics, since he’ll be the only one featured on the SHINee accounts now, but he wasn’t told much. He found out the same way everyone else did that Kibum would be taken off his variety shows — from some damn gossip rag.
Minho feels frantic as he pulls some warm clothes on and grabs his keys, rushing out the door in record time. Kibum doesn’t ask for support like this often, and it scares him. Kibum has other friends, ones he sees far more often than Minho, but there’s an undeniable truth between them. It’s an understanding that has stood the test of time: if Kibum calls, Minho will come. Always.
Minho takes the stairs two at a time down to the parking garage of his complex. The elevator would feel too slow, and he feels like he’s vibrating out of his skin the longer he’s apart from Kibum. There’s an itch that won’t abate until Kibum is in his arms, he knows that. He’s experienced it a few times. When Kibum would call him, drunk and alone in some alley in Itaewon, or when he had his heart broken by some asshole. Kibum is strong, but sometimes, he needs someone. Minho knows that better than anyone.
Minho doesn’t bother with the extra buttons to turn on the heat once he’s in his car. It’s only a ten minute drive, but he thinks he can cut it down to seven if he drives fast enough and bypasses some yellow lights. Far too short for the heater to kick in, anyway. He peels out of the garage, and he’s off into the freezing winter night.
He feels his grip on the steering wheel, white-knuckled and slightly clammy. He doesn’t even notice the chill permeating the car, he feels so hot. With anger, with worry, with every negative emotion he tries to keep in check. He has five more minutes to get his shit together, to be strong for Kibum. Kibum is the one suffering. He doesn’t need to see Minho freaking out, too.
It feels like an eternity until he pulls up to where Kibum lives. In reality, he did make it in seven minutes, as he predicted. He practically leaps out of the car the second he parks and turns the ignition off, then runs up to Kibum’s unit.
He doesn’t waste time knocking, just enters Kibum’s door code and bursts inside. And what he sees breaks his damn heart.
Kibum is pacing the main living area, chewing on his lip, pressing on the side of his nose, muttering under his breath so fast Minho barely catches any of it. He’s so in his own head, he doesn’t even notice Minho walk in until Comme Des and Garcons brush past him to run to Minho, whining and pawing at him. They’re not excited the way they usually would be; they know something is wrong with their dad.
When Kibum’s head shoots up, their eyes lock, and in that one second, he feels time freeze.
He isn’t sure who breaks the moment, but he knows they’re running toward each other, and Kibum slams his body into Minho’s while Minho wraps him in his arms so tightly he worries if Kibum can still breathe. Kibum has a death grip on the back of his hoodie as he buries his face into Minho’s neck, and Minho hides his face in Kibum’s hair. Kibum smells so good. He always smells so good.
He hears the choked-off sound of a sob before he feels the tears against his neck. He holds Kibum impossibly tighter, brings one hand to the back of his hair so he can push Kibum more firmly against his skin. He wants to protect Kibum from everything — the world, the public, his own mind. Whatever is hurting him, Minho wants to shield him from it.
He knows he can’t. Life isn’t that kind.
“Minho,” Kibum gasps against his neck, and he feels more tears fall from Kibum’s eyes. Minho strokes Kibum’s back, along the back of his hair and down his neck, trying to soothe him.
“It’s okay, Kibummie. It’ll be okay,” he tries to reassure him. He tries to believe it, himself.
Kibum shakes his head and buries it farther into Minho’s neck, pressing his nose against the fabric of his hoodie. He feels Kibum trying to take deep breaths to calm himself, but they end up choked every time. Minho’s heart breaks a little more when he hears the sound.
“Amazing Saturday, I Live Alone, Gayo Daejeon, SMTown, my Japan tour…” he chokes out, “gone. It’s all gone. And it’s my fault.”
“It’s not,” Minho shakes his head against Kibum’s, presses a kiss to his soft hair. “You couldn’t have known.”
“And SHINee,” he gasps, like he didn’t even hear Minho, so lost in his own head, “we had demos picked out. What…what’s going to happen to SHINee?” Minho feels a fresh wave of tears, warm and soaking through his hoodie now.
“It’s not your fault,” he says again, hoping he gets through to him this time. “Don’t blame yourself.”
“But I—” Kibum tries to pull away, but Minho tightens his grip.
“No. Whatever everyone is saying, whatever SM told you, you did nothing wrong.” Minho takes a deep breath, trying to calm down his anger. It’s a fire he’s barely keeping at bay. He isn’t mad at Kibum; at this point in his life, he doesn’t think he could be genuinely mad at him. Annoyed? Every day. But not angry.
He’s livid, though. It’s unfair that they live in a society where the status quo is to apologize and accept punishment first, and ask questions later. He wants to protect Kibum from that world, if only for a few hours. He wants to carve out a pocket of time where it’s just them, safe and warm in each other’s arms. He wants to stay here until the storm subsides.
He knows he can’t do that. He knows life is unfair, sometimes.
Kibum is shaking in his arms, and his voice is weak when he says, “I’m sorry.”
Minho shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to hear that. Kibum never says things like thank you, and I’m sorry, especially not to him. They’re at the point in their relationship where things like that are rarely necessary, and mean too much when they do say them. It means more than any I love you they’ve said throughout their twenty years of friendship. There are times in his life he’d have given anything to hear Kibum tell him I’m sorry. Right now, he never wants to hear those words from his lips again.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he says, and tries to keep the anger out of his voice. Everyone whose told Kibum he fucked up, that he should have known, every forum comment and blogger who spent the last week beating into Kibum’s head that this is somehow his fault, they’re wrong. He wishes he could yell it from every broadcast station in Korea — that Kim Kibum was the one who was hurt in this. That doctor could have put his life at risk. When Minho first heard the news, that an unlicensed person was giving IVs to Kibum, he knew Kibum couldn’t have known. He’s not reckless with his health like that, and he would never risk SHINee’s reputation for some at-home treatment. He could have developed an embolism, or an infection, or—
Minho takes a breath to stop the anger threatening to choke him. He needs to stay calm for Kibum right now. He can let his anger out tomorrow at the gym. For now, he needs to calm down. He needs to be whatever Kibum needs him to be. He’d do anything for him.
“You’re going to have to work even more,” Kibum whispers. “And in the middle of your promotions…this is affecting your solo promotions.”
Minho sighs against Kibum’s hair, gives him a firm squeeze in his arms, then pulls away to look Kibum in the eyes. He was aware of all of that, but it took a backseat to his worry about Kibum. His heart breaks when he sees Kibum’s puffy eyes and bitten-red lips. His skin is blotchy from crying. He’s just as beautiful as he always is, but it hurts to see Kibum hurting.
He brings his hands to either side of Kibum’s face and strokes his thumbs along his cheeks, wiping away his tears. Something he’s done so many times, in private and public. “Don’t worry about me.”
Kibum looks unsure, like he wants to argue with that, so Minho shuts him up. He leans forward and presses a soft, chaste kiss to Kibum’s heart-shaped lips.
Kibum hesitates, but presses into the comforting warmth between them. It’s innocent and safe, like so many things have grown to be with them. It’s not the first time they’ve done this, and it won’t be the last. It’s not romantic, but it’s not platonic, either. It’s some kind of third thing, some all-encompassing feeling that’s just them. Call it soulmates or whatever, they don’t need to define it. It just feels right.
He’s happy with whatever it is. He loves Kibum, in the most selfless way he never even knew existed until it happened between them. Whatever form that takes: friends, lovers, life partners, he’s happy. Whatever Kibum wants from him, he’ll gadly be that. It doesn’t need to be more complicated than he loves him, and Kibum loves him back.
Kibum pulls away first, and he takes a deep, calming breath. Minho watches his eyelids flutter shut, sees the expansion and contraction of his precious breath being exchanged through his lungs. Kibum nods when he opens his eyes again, and looks into Minho’s own. Minho hates when Kibum cries, but he’s such a pretty crier, regardless. Minho presses a lingering kiss to his forehead.
“Okay,” Kibum says, voice quiet. “It’ll be okay.”
Minho keeps stroking along Kibum’s cheeks. They’re so soft, his skin is perfect. It’s comforting something inside himself, too, having Kibum safe and warm in his arms. He doesn’t want to think about when he has to leave. He wants to stay in this moment until the world is kinder.
“Think of it this way,” he says, trying to lighten the mood, “you’ll have time to watch your American dramas now.”
Kibum’s voice is still choked when he laughs, but his cheeks puff up from beneath Minho’s hands in a smile. “Desperate Housewives is so long.”
Minho hums, “And you’ll get to spend Christmas with your parents for the first time in years.”
Kibum nods. His smile is small, but it’s there. It’s all Minho could ask for right now. “I want to see them. I miss them.”
Minho wraps Kibum back into his arms. He just wants to hold him for a little longer. He needs it as much as Kibum does.
Kibum sighs, and melts into his embrace. His breathing is more even now, and Minho doesn’t feel any more tears dropping against his neck. Kibum is so good at compartmentalizing. He made it all the way through his American tour without breaking, then made the announcement as soon as he got back from his fansign. Minho wonders if this is the first time he’s let himself break down since the news. He knows Kibum didn't cry when he talked with SM about his hiatus, that's unlike him. The conversation was probably professional, clinically detached and logical. Some, it’s best to be out of sight until the public forgets, kind of bullshit, and Kibum accepting it. Because he had to. It’s the way their company handles things, what they’ve always believed is for the best. It isn’t, in Minho’s opinion. If he thought it would help, he would burst into the PR department’s office right now and demand a statement defending Kibum.
That isn’t the world they live in. He doesn’t know if it would help. The public formed their opinion, and Kibum has to suffer the consequences.
Minho tightens his hold on Kibum and breathes through the anger.
Kibum hugs Minho tighter in return, like he knows Minho needs it, too. They’re in this together, no matter what happens.
“It’s only a few months,” Minho murmurs. “Then you’ll be back recording with SHINee for our comeback, and performing for SHINee World Eight.”
Kibum’s nod is hesitant, like he doesn’t completely believe it, but he’s too tired to fight. Minho knows that right now, he wants to be comforted, and he wants to hope. He’s let the logical side of his brain run in circles for hours. That’s just how he is. It’s time for it to take a rest.
“What if SM…”
“We won’t let them keep you out of a comeback,” Minho says, voice firm, “and you wouldn’t back down without a fight.”
Kibum is quiet for a moment, but nods. The motion is slow against Minho’s neck where he’s tucked away, warm and safe for now. Minho would never let anything happen to him. “I didn’t this time, either. I was just so confused, and I know how these things go, so I…” Kibum takes a deep breath, then exhales it along Minho’s skin. “I know an apology and statement were expected. I just didn’t think they’d cancel everything through March…”
Minho runs his hand along Kibum’s back, firm and soothing. Kibum lets his weight fall against Minho’s chest, too tired to hold himself up anymore. “I know,” Minho whispers back, and presses a soft kiss to his temple.
They stay in the entryway, holding each other in silence. They can stay in this moment for a little longer. A moment where it’s just them, sharing air and body heat. Right now, it feels like enough.
“Minho,” Kibum whispers an indeterminable amount of time later, after Minho has pressed countless kisses to his head and massaged his back until his hand is numb, “I’m tired.”
Minho nods, and breaks away from his hold on Kibum. He keeps his hands on Kibum’s arms, applying soft pressure to them. Anything to remind him that he’s here, he’ll always be here, whenever Kibum needs or wants him. “Should I sleep in your room or the guest one?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” he mutters, looking down with a small pout as he takes Minho’s hand and leads him down the hall to his room.
They do their skincare in relative peace. Kibum whines at him about how he can see some fine lines starting to form on Minho’s face, and blames his sub-par skincare routine. Minho laughs and nudges him with his elbow. “Okay, okay,” he says, then adds an extra dollop of Kibum’s expensive moisturizer to his face, barely rubbing it in. Just to be a pest.
Kibum groans, turning toward him to properly pat it into his skin. Kibum’s large, soft hands feel so good on his face. “You’re buying me a new moisturizer.”
“You told me to take better care of my skin!”
“And one night of excessive skincare isn’t going to fix anything,” Kibum bites back, but he’s smiling. It’s small, but it’s genuine, and it’s all Minho could ask for.
When they tuck themselves into bed, they’re on their backs on their designated side of it. Their only point of contact is their hands. Kibum links their fingers together, and holds Minho so tight.
He stays awake, looking at the ceiling, until he hears Kibum’s breath even out and deepen in sleep. His hand’s grip relaxes just slightly. Minho gives it a gentle squeeze.
He stays awake in this small, safe space they’ve created with each other for another five minutes, then shuts his eyes and lets sleep take him.