Work Text:
Kibum never really liked December.
The winds were too chilly; the air lifeless. Snow was beautiful for a moment, before it melted into cold, slushy messes that stained the streets.
And there was the other thing.
A loss that returned every year without fail, sitting just as heavily in his chest now as it had seven years ago.
Which made December just…. unbearably colder.
He still posted on social media — snow-covered balcony, Christmas decorations, his dogs tumbling over each other on the floor. He kept up with his schedules, recorded shows, performed at year-end concerts. Smiled when he was supposed to, sang and danced like nothing was wrong.
But deep down, he dreaded December like the plague.
Now, seated alone on the sofa, the Han River stretched beneath a sky of dull grey. The water was still. So was he.
He’d never imagined he’d be caught in something like this. The news had broken in the middle of his first – and now possibly, only - US tour.
Overwhelmed and already running on fumes, Kibum had done what he could do: compartmentalized. He focused on delivering perfect concerts. He powered himself through sheer will, made the audience laugh with jokes, danced his best, and conveyed his heartfelt gratitude.
But behind the smile and the banter, the thoughts lingered. Like shadows lurking like dark, invading him when he was alone.
Nothing awaited him once the tour was over.
His flawless porcelain skin that was his pride – was now his poisoned chalice. He’d have to hide his face if he ever ventured in public. Whispers and stares would follow him wherever he would go.
Worst of all, his ‘crime’ had also smeared his mother’s reputation, one she had earned through nothing but hard work and dedication.
Once the curtains of his US tour had closed, the thoughts closed in like a vice.
His manager and half a dozen agency officials had left his home some twenty or thirty minutes ago. Kibum hadn’t really listened to anything they had said, mostly staring blankly at the moving mouths, nodding and humming every now and then.
The decision wasn’t really his. It never was. A hiatus. No variety shows. No endorsements. No concerts, at least for the next quarter.
It was nothing like what he had imagined just days earlier.
But, as he figured, there really wasn’t any other better solution. This was the path he had chosen – a double-edged sword that exposed vulnerability in the same breath as it garnered fame in the society he was a part of. It was, and had always been a high-stakes game; a single leaf fluttering in the wrong direction had the power to knock down the greatest of towers, fumed on reaction rather than context.
It was ironic and moronic at the same time, and just…sad.
Exhaustion settled deep into his bones as Kibum turned back to the window, watching the river darken with the evening.
Letting the numbness run its course.
Kibum had been so lost in the void that he did not register the beeping on the front door, nor the excited yaps of his dogs, nor the pitter patter of familiar footsteps that crossed the threshold.
What alerted Kibum to Minho’s presence was scent.
Earthy, like freshly-cut-grass on a warm spring morning. Recognizable to Kibum even beneath the sharp spice of Ralph Lauren.
Kibum closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath, taking in wisps of Minho’s familiar scent, feeling gradually grounded. When he opened them, Minho was standing beside him.
Though they had evolved over the years together, but because of his fragile state, Kibum found himself clinging to their childish teenage memories - when Minho would yell at him for being a nuisance. He half-expected Minho to tut, or look at him with disdain.
But Minho’s features conveyed no hint of apprehension. No scowl, no hoarse breathing of contempt.
Instead, he looked at Kibum with a certain…warmth.
They acknowledged each other silently, staring at each other for what Kibum thought must have been ages, or perhaps a few seconds.
“Kibum-ah,” Minho gently nudged Kibum. “Let’s eat.”
Minho knew his way around Kibum’s home like the back of his hand. While Kibum quietly fumbled with the take-out bags, Minho swiftly filled the dogs’ bowls with sweet potato cakes and other treats, corralling them to their respective baby seats for a family-like dinner.
Kibum paused for a second once he opened the take-out boxes. Minho had brought his favorite comfort food – sundae gukbap and stuffed squid and other side dishes from their favorite restaurant.
As Kibum settled into his seat, Minho swiftly pulled out plates, bowls, and utensils from the cabinets, and fetched Kibum’s portable burner. Then he rummaged through Kibum’s wine cabinet, fetching his most expensive wine bottle and pouring it into stemless glasses.
Normally, Kibum would complain – the fine wine was only for special occasions. Tonight, he didn’t have the energy.
The smell of the soup rekindled Kibum’s hunger, and his stomach grumbled. Sitting across from him, Minho giggled quietly, stealing quick glances at Kibum.
Once the gukbap simmered, Minho served Kibum first. One spoonful in, and Kibum sighed and lolled his head back, finding life restored in his body.
“I’ve been craving this,” Kibum admitted, reaching for more before finishing his first serving.
“Hmm,” Minho smiled, serving him generous portions of stuffed squid. “Eat up.”
“What’s with all this?” Kibum asked, though he knew.
“Just wanted to spend time with you,” Minho replied. Kibum quietly stared at Minho, reading the unspoken words in his friend’s casual attitude.
“Want to go out?” Minho asked, eyes browed at Kibum. “After?”
“It’s fucking cold outside,” Kibum quietly reminded him. “And we both had alcohol. Neither of us should drive.”
Minho seemed to ponder for a second. “Movie?”
“Don’t you have any late-night runs for your YouTube channel?” Kibum asked, mustering a faint smile. Which faded away the next second as he realized something else. He had – not really – agreed to a shoot for Minho’s channel a few weeks from now. That wasn’t going to happen now.
“Got the next two days off,” came the response, and Kibum instantly knew it was by design.
“Okay, cool,” Kibum nodded. “What do you want to watch?” He got up to pull the TV stand closer.
“Oh - no,” Minho interrupted mid-chew. “Not on your tiny TV. I got something. “
He quickly stood up and sprinted lightly to the threshold, returning a moment later with a box and canister, placing them on the table.
Kibum’s curiosity piqued. “What’s this?” He pulled the canister by the strap and examined it.
“It’s a screen stand,” Minho replied. “My housewarming gift to you.”
“Oh,” Kibum exclaimed.
“And this-“ Minho opened the box, “is a projector.”
Kibum’s jaw dropped. “Wha- wow!“
“Since you sold your large TV, I figured you could use a portable projector and screen,” Minho smiled. “You can set it up in your room or here or upstairs…”
Kibum got up, placed the canister on the table and hurried over to where Minho stood. He picked up the box, his eyes wide with a hint of excitement and he turned it over and read the label.
After a few seconds, Kibum gasped loudly. “This is a really high-end model! It must’ve costed a small fortune!”
“More than your Lemaire croissant bag,” Minho chuckled.
The dinner table had never been cleared so fast.
Kibum rushed through boxing leftovers into the fridge and disposing of packaging and waste. Minho helped load the dishwasher and then nearly scratched off the fresh coat of varnish on Kibum’s dining table as he vigorously scrubbed it with kitchen towels and cleaning liquid.
They carried the projector and screen to Kibum’s bedroom. Kibum played coordinator, reading off the instructions for the screen frame while handing Minho the right screws and brackets. All the while trying to keep Comme Des and Garcons at bay from putting any screws or nuts in their tiny, curious mouths.
It took less than ten minutes for the frame to be completed, and once the screen was locked in place, they hoisted the frame upright. Kibum balked at the sheer size of the screen, that completely covered the wall facing his bed.
“I think the size can be adjusted,” Minho scratched his head, reading Kibum’s mind.
“I hope so,” Kibum mumbled.
Setting up the projector was comparatively easy, and once it was perched on the headrest of Kibum’s bed, Kibum walked his dogs back to their beds. When he returned, Minho was already in bed, snuggling under the comforter. Kibum joined him.
“Thriller or Rom-com?” Minho asked Kibum as he logged into Amazon Prime.
“Feel good,” Kibum replied as he clicked on The Wild Robot.
When the end credits rolled, Minho glanced at Kibum, who had fallen sleep. Minho smiled to himself, pulling the comforter up to Kibum’s chin and brushing a gentle hand over Kibum’s hair.
Kibum had woken up later than usual the next morning. He panicked for a brief second – until he remembered.
No schedules. No obligations. Today, or tomorrow - or any day in the foreseeable future.
The grim numbness crept back in. He had no idea of what to do to fill the day. For a long second, Kibum considered just lying in bed.
And he did just that, browsing his phone, unwittingly reading the latest articles about him.
Turning his phone away, Kibum buried his face in his pillow.
His quiet was interrupted when Comme Des waddled into the room, whining at Kibum and wagging his tail. At once Kibum realized that his plan to lay in bed all day was a no-go. He had to feed his kids. He had to water his plants.
Kibum shifted sideways and petted his dog. “Give me a minute, son,” he cooed at the brown mini poodle. “Appa needs to wash up first.”
Washed up and feeling slightly better, Kibum picked up his dog, and made his way to the kitchen, wondering when Minho had left. The large screen they had constructed last night had been neatly packed into the canister and placed by the door. Bless Choi Minho for cleaning up after himself.
As Kibum entered the threshold, though, he was in for a mild surprise. It wasn’t the fact that the dogs’ bowls were already filled (Kibum stared a Comme Des for a second, wondering why Comme Des had feigned being hungry earlier when clearly his bowl had only been half-finished).
What surprised Kibum was that Minho was still there.
In fact, he was in the living room, having temporarily rearranged Kibum’s furniture to allow space for Kibum’s large yoga mat. Not only that - Minho had rummaged through Kibum’s closet and changed into an oversized T-shirt - with an obscenely deep neck - and a pair of shorts.
He was in the middle of doing this weird contorted stretch – a thing Kibum figured he had picked up from his day out with that basketball team. And judging by the scattered drops of sweat on the mat, and the entire living area feeling way too warm and humid for Kibum’s comfort, he must’ve been working out for quite a while.
“Good morning,” Minho greeted the startled hamster, his voice slightly strained from the exercise.
“Morning,” Kibum mumbled as he let Comme Des down. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Stretching,” Minho replied. “You should join.”
Kibum shook like a rabbit and walked toward the kitchen. “No way.”
“It’ll help open up your joints,” Minho chirped.
“Looks like yours are about to dislocate,” Kibum rolled his eyes as he folded the door that housed his coffee machine. “Just make sure to wipe off the sweat once you’re done. Coffee?”
“Uh,” Minho grunted in the midst of yet another contorted twist, “Sure.”
As it turned out, Kibum’s plans for a quiet morning were about to be disturbed tenfold.
Just as he had finished making coffee, the front door beeped. Taemin and Jinki appeared with bags of breakfast. They each made faces at the sight of Minho, before turning to Kibum and beaming as they approached the kitchen.
“What are you guys doing here?” Kibum asked.
“We thought we could have breakfast together,” Jinki smiled at him.
Jinki helped Kibum fetch plates and cutleries while Taemin unveiled box upon box of breakfast treats on the dining table. Varieties of croissants, donuts, sandwiches and juices overflew across the dark wood, enough to feed an army. They even brought treats for Kibum’s dogs, who were beyond ecstatic.
Kibum balked at the sheer amount of food, complaining about the calories. Only to be shushed by Taemin.
“I’ve earned the right to stuff myself,” the maknae cheekily told him as he stuffed a morsel of chocolate covered donut before Kibum could set his plate. “Besides, it’s almost the year-end. It’s our time to live guilt-free.”
“Today’s my cheat day,” Jinki beamed as he took a spot at the head of the table. “I don’t give a shit about calories.”
“Minho-ya,” Kibum called the tallest member who was in the midst of yet another awkward stretch. “Sit with us.”
“You guys start,” Minho grunted, clearly not in love with his workout but powering through for the benefits. “I’ll join as soon as my sets are over.”
“Please make sure to shower first, hyung,” Taemin peered at Minho while scrunching his nose, earning a glare in response.
The three men began breakfast, chattering about nothing in particular, carefully avoiding the main topic.
“Ah!” Taemin suddenly exclaimed. “I should’ve brought Kkoong and Ddaeng to have that fight with Comme Des and Garcons.”
“So you wouldn’t have to deal with whatever mess would be created in my home, isn’t that right?” Kibum chuckled. Taemin grinned.
Kibum appreciated his member’s efforts. They were his safe space, open to him no matter what. But even though they were here to cheer him up, Kibum didn’t want to smile too much. Or laugh too loud. He didn’t deserve to be happy. Not after what he caused.
The one thing that the three did give unanimous disgruntled stares at was Minho doing his stretches.
“Watching him is making me lose my appetite,” Jinki grumbled.
“Hyung, seriously,” Taemin chided playfully. “You can’t let go of your workouts for one morning?”
“My body is stiff as it is, Minnie,” Minho grunted as he set himself up for a plank. The hem of his T-shirt hung low on the yoga mat, creating a big gaping space between the fabric and his toned abs. “I need to keep up my workout or I’ll lose my muscles and flexibility.”
“I thought you said you had two days off,” Kibum reminded him.
“There are no days off,” Minho panted, “when it comes to my workou-yah! Yah! Yaaah!“
In a split second, Garcons, who been staring at Minho with great interest, sprang forth and dug his way into the space between Minho’s abs and the T-shirt, snuggling inside, his tiny head peeking out from the neck, smiling.
The trio at the table burst out laughing.
“Garcons!” Minho couldn’t help but giggle uncomfortably. “You’re not supposed to do that!”
Minho tried to budge the little poodle out, but Garcons had evidently found his place, refusing to move an inch, instead wiggling happily in place, his fur tickling Minho. “Garcons! Stop!”
When Garcons adamantly refused, Minho, unable to hold his position, reluctantly stood up, holding the dog inside his T-shirt. His involuntary flinches from the commotion drew more laughter from the table. The dog turned its little head and began licking Minho’s face – an act that Kibum instantly recognized as grooming.
The thought apparently also crossed Minho’s mind, for he whipped his head at Kibum, clearly shocked. “He thinks I’m a dog too!”
At that, another round of raucous laughter exploded at the table. Kibum cackled the loudest, his skinny body shaking uncontrollably.
A moment later though, the laughter in his throat became distorted. Kibum remembered the reason for his bandmates’ appearance in his home.
The waves of shame and despair overtook him. Kibum couldn’t hold them off any longer. He lowered his head and broke down, crying, his fragile frame shaking. Jinki was beside him in an instant, his hand gliding over Kibum’s shoulders in a gentle hug.
For what felt like an eternity to Kibum, he cried quietly in Jinki’s arms, letting out all his pent-up sadness and frustration.
“I’m sorry,” Kibum whimpered.
“Bammie,” Jinki soothed. “It’s not your fault.”
Taemin joined them. “You couldn’t have known that that doctor had lied about her degree. That’s not for you to verify.”
“But I’m the one taking the fall for it,” Kibum choked. “And it’s costing us all. Even my eomma… I’ve messed up everything…”
“These tabloids and internet trolls are just spewing nonsense to gain views at your expense, hyung,” Taemin griped. “Just because eomoni was a nurse, you’re expected to know if a doctor’s credentials are legit?” He huffed. “If I had it my way, I’d burn them to ashes.”
“Bammie,” Jinki spoke gently, “this is not your fault. This is not even the worst of our individual blunders. Remember my club disaster? That was my fault, even if it wasn’t intentional. I had to take a hiatus, but I came back. You will too…”
Kibum choked some more, his breath hoarse between sobs. “I don’t know how to fix this…”
“This is not the end, hyung,” Taemin rubbed Kibum’s arm. “This is just a stone in your path. You’re going to overcome it. I promise.”
Jinki and Taemin let Kibum cry some more, and eventually, Kibum’s sobs died down into sniffles, at the expense of a whole box of tissues. He felt lighter after letting out his pent-up sorrow.
And then realized that Minho hadn’t spoken a word through all this. A part of him immediately went into snarky mode, annoyed that Minho hadn’t hugged him or given him words of encouragement.
But as Kibum turned around and located Minho standing a few feet away, his skin and T-shirt drenched in sweat and his lips pursed.
Maybe Minho had read his mind, or perhaps because he knew him so well, he had his response ready. “I wanted to hug you too, but you hate it when I sweat.”
“And stink,” Temin scrunched his nose. “I’ve been breathing through my sleeve all this while.”
“I have to shower anyway,” Kibum replied as he stood up and walked toward Minho. Trying to ignore the damp wetness of Minho’s body, Kibum hugged him, turning his head to face away from the man. “I’ll keep my head this way so I don’t have to smell you that much.”
Minho’s chest shook as a chuckle escaped him. “Okay.”
Kibum closed his eyes as Minho’s hands glided around him, covering him in a slightly tight, protective hug. Though a tiny part of Kibum was disgusted by the fact that his sleeping shirt and half his face was now covered with Minho’s sweat, the bigger part was grateful.
The impromptu dinner the previous night, the surprise breakfast with his bandmates – this was all Minho’s doing.
He knew that Kibum was hurting. He knew what Kibum needed but would never openly ask for.
Kibum shifted his head buried his face in the crook of Minho’s neck, tightening his hold and drawing in a deep breath. He didn’t care about the sweat; it only intensified Minho’s scent. It felt more like home to Kibum than any place else.
No words were needed between them; Kibum already knew what Minho had been conveying since last night.
He was going to be just fine.