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“Kibum-ah, there’s glitter all over the sink. Again.”
Minho stares down at the bathroom sink, lips pursed into an annoyed moue. Kibum’s head pops around the open bathroom door a moment later. He has a wig cap on and most of his makeup done. He’s shirtless, only wearing a lumpy, skin-colored pair of leggings that Minho figures are meant to give him fake hips. He looks, frankly, ridiculous.
“Honey, it’s just glitter. It’s not gonna kill you.”
“I know,” Minho sighs, reaching for his toothbrush. “I’m just saying it wouldn’t kill you to wipe down the sink when you’re done.”
“You don’t know that,” Kibum replies, and Minho meets his eyes in the mirror. He glares at Kibum’s reflection for a few seconds until Kibum gives up. He breaks the staring contest first so he can roll his eyes and throw his hands up in the air. Dramatic.
“I’ll clean it when I get home from the club! Are you happy?”
Minho spits toothpaste in the sink. “No,” he replies, mostly just to tease Kibum. “Why can’t you clean it now?”
“Aish!” Kibum reaches into the bathroom so he can smack Minho’s arm, then darts away before Minho can retaliate. He calls from the hallway, “I’m running late enough as it is, why do you think I’m getting ready at home? I’ll do it later.”
Minho finishes his business in the bathroom, then walks down the short hallway to the bedroom. Kibum is digging through the more outlandish side of his closet, all sequins and glitter and fur. Minho leans against the door and watches him for a moment.
“What do you want?” Kibum asks eventually, snatching a very short blue dress from its hanger and tossing it onto the bed. “Can you hand me my tits?”
Minho looks over on top of the dresser to see what Kibum is pointing at. There’s a silicone vest there, flesh-toned with a pair of uncomfortably realistic breasts attached. Minho eyes it warily, but picks it up by one strap and hands it over to Kibum.
“I just wanted to say thank you again. For letting me stay here,” Minho says, looking down at the carpet while Kibum puts the vest on. It feels inappropriate for him to watch Kibum get dressed in drag, somehow. “I know we’ve always butted heads in close quarters, so it means a lot.”
Kibum sighs. Minho glances up, catches a glimpse of silicone nipple, and looks away again. Kibum must catch this motion, because it makes him laugh.
“You don’t have to look away, they’re not real,” Kibum says. “And it’s fine. You know I don’t care. I never liked O Soyeon, anyway.”
Minho frowns. “We ended things on a fine note. I told you it wasn’t—“
“Wasn’t her fault, yeah, yeah. You grew apart, or whatever. I still never liked her.” Minho watches as Kibum steps into the dress and pulls it up over his well-padded hips. Kibum pulls his arms through the sleeves, and as his silicone breasts settle into the front of it, Minho’s mouth goes a little dry. The reaction isn’t a recent development, honestly, but it’s been getting a lot harder to ignore since Minho moved into Kibum’s apartment last month.
“Zip me,” Kibum demands, turning his back to Minho. Minho reaches out to zip the dress without question, careful not to catch Kibum’s skin or the chest piece in the zipper. His fingertips brush against the back of Kibum’s neck as he pulls back, and Minho notices goose flesh erupting in their wake.
“You should come see me tonight,” Kibum says. He’s adjusting his fake breasts now, and Minho has to remind himself again that it’d probably be weirder if he refused to look at Kibum entirely. He trains his gaze on Kibum’s legs instead, but that’s an equally terrible idea, because he has killer calves. “You’ve still never seen me perform. I’m starting to think you’re homophobic.”
“What?” Minho looks up, frowning. “I’m not homophobic! You know I work early.”
Kibum snorts. “Then prove it! You’re not busy tomorrow morning, right?”
Minho crosses his arms and thinks about it. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Kibum perform — it’s just that he’s afraid whatever he’s been feeling for Kibum lately will get worse if he sees him perform. Still, he’s never been good at denying Kibum anything he wants. In spite of the way Kibum is feigning indifference, Minho can tell that he really wants him to go.
“Let me get dressed,” Minho sighs, and Kibum looks up sharply from the blonde wig in his hands.
“Really?” he asks. Minho can’t read the expression on his face. Excitement? Surely not nerves?
Minho can’t help it; he smiles. “Yeah, yeah. It won’t kill me to push back my morning run, and I know you put a lot of work into your performances. I should go and support you.”
Kibum turns away just a little too slow to hide his own smile. “Yes, you should,” he says haughtily. “The best way to prove you’re a good ally is with big tips, by the way.”
Minho doesn’t tell Kibum that he’s starting to think he might be a little more than just an ally.
—
Kibum makes Minho drive his car to the club. To Minho’s untrained eye, he looks perfectly stage-ready, but Kibum insists that he needs to put some finishing touches on his makeup. Minho can’t stop sneaking glances at him when they come to red lights. He’s just grateful Kibum is too distracted to notice.
The blue dress he’s wearing seems oddly familiar to Minho, but he can’t quite put his finger on where he’s seen it before. Eventually, as they’re finally pulling up outside the club Kibum is performing in tonight, Minho asks: “What’s that outfit from? Star Trek, or something?”
Kibum gives him a flat, unimpressed look. He adjust the little hat clipped to his wig.
“It’s Britney, bitch,” she says in the falsetto she reserve for her Key persona. Cackling at her own joke, she swings her legs out of the car.
Minho stares after her for a moment, confused, then scrambles to get out of the car. Before he can follow Key — who’s already halfway to the door — she turns and calls out to him across the road.
“Can you be a doll and grab my suitcase from the back? Thanks, honey.”
Minho sighs and pulls the purple suitcase, heavy with costume changes and makeup, from his backseat. In lieu of rolling it, he carries it in his arms across the street so he can jog to catch up with Key. A security officer greets her by name as they head up the stairs, and he’s not the only one. Once Key opens the door to the club and steps inside, all of the staff and half of the customers inside seem to recognize her. Minho hadn’t realized she had such an impact on the local drag community, but he probably should have figured. Kibum has that kind of strong effect on most people in his life.
“Key-yah, how do you walk so quickly in those shoes?” Minho wonders, almost shouting so Key can hear him over the music. He’s still behind her, trying very hard to pay attention to his surroundings instead of the dangerously short hem of Key’s skirt. The club is tiny, like most places in Seoul, and packed to the brim. “And where am I taking this?”
“We’re almost there, relax. Why are you carrying it like a crazy person, anyway?”
Minho had honestly forgotten that he could just roll it, but now the room is too crowded for him to put it down. He exhales sharply, annoyed, and changes the subject. “Is Taeminnie here tonight?”
“Stop trying to talk in the middle of a club!” Key cries, and Minho scowls at her back the rest of the way to the staff door. There, Key finally turns to face him. Minho stares dumbly at her for a few seconds. Under the lights of the club, and with her wig glued properly in its place, her garish makeup is less ridiculous and a lot more stunning. Key leans down and toward him.
“Hello? Minho-yah, anybody home?” she says loudly, shaking Minho out of the brief reverie he’d fallen into. He stumbles back a step, setting the suitcase between them like some kind of barrier.
“You’re being so weird,” Key says. “Listen, I meant to ask — do you mind helping me out with my act a little?”
“What does that… Entail?” Minho asks carefully. He doesn’t know a lot about drag, but based on the stories he’s heard, there’s a wide range of things she might be asking him right now. If it doesn’t involve a gallon jug of lubricant, Minho might be game.
“Just interact with me for a minute during the performance,” Key says, waving a hand. Her press-on nails glitter in the light, catching Minho’s attention. “It’s not a big deal. I might sit on your lap.”
At Minho’s alarmed expression, Key laughs, throwing her head back and laughing in the slightly obnoxious, unrestrained way he’s secretly always loved. Kibum’s not lacking in confidence, really, but there’s something about being in drag that makes Key take that general air of confidence and turn it up to a thousand. It’s fascinating to see.
“Um, yeah,” Minho says finally, still too distracted to think any harder about what he’s agreeing to. “Whatever you need, I guess.”
Key grins. Minho thinks she looks a little bit like a shark. “I’ll see you in a little bit, Minho-yah, I still have a few things to do. Ducky will be out before me. Sit close to the stage, okay?”
She reaches out that pretty hand to pat Minho on the cheek, then reaches down for the handle of her suitcase. Key disappears backstage, leaving Minho confused and a little horny.
He needs a drink.
—
The thing is, Minho doesn’t find every drag queen as attractive as he finds Key.
Taemin — or Ducky, as she’s called on stage — has a classic, sexy burlesque appeal to her drag, something quite different from Key’s love for sci-fi and pop culture concepts. For tonight’s first song, she’s lipsyncing to Hwasa’s Maria. Minho catcalls and throws money onto the stage while Ducky swings her hips and shakes her thoroughly-padded ass, and she’s objectively gorgeous, sure, but — Minho doesn’t feel any kind of way about it. Not the way he feels around Key.
There are two more queens after her that Minho recognizes, by name, from stories he’s been told. It’s fun to put names to the gossip, and both are talented performers. He keeps up the energy, applauding loudly and whistling and tipping, and he gets so caught up in the moment that he almost forgets the main reason he’s there.
“Put your hands together for our next queen, who will unlock your hearts with her big mouth and even bigger… Personality…“ the emcee’s introduction for the fourth performance begins. Minho knows immediately who’s coming, and he straightens in his seat. He barely hears the rest of the introduction, adrenaline shooting through him as he remembers Key’s parting request. What exactly is she going to do?
“… Put your hands together for the almighty Key!”
Regardless of his inexplicable nerves, Minho claps and shouts louder than anyone else. The opening notes to Toxic play, and Key steps out from behind the curtain looking much larger than life.
Minho stares at her in wide-eyed wonder. She dances in heels like a professional — which, Minho supposes, she is. The hard work and art of her job as a performer somehow hasn’t ever clicked for him until now. She doesn’t miss a beat or stumble over a single word as she lipsyncs to the song, doesn’t slip or stumble in her crazy-high heels, doesn’t get tangled up in her wig or dress. And beneath all of that, Minho still sees his best friend. She’s never just Kibum or Key — she’s both of them at the same time, confident and talented and sexy.
Key catches his eye and smirks right as Minho is having this entirely inopportune revelation. She points at him, mouths do you feel me now?
— And steps down off of the stage. Right in front of him.
Minho sits back in his chair, eyes wide as he stares up at her. Key straddles his lap as the chorus kicks in, and the crowd around them goes wild with laughter and catcalls. She doesn’t drop eye contact with him the whole time, not even as she leans in so, so close, their lips almost touching. She moves her hips in an obscene grind, and Minho’s face feels like it’s on fire. Minho grabs her waist on instinct, and Kibum grins at him, equal parts amused and dangerous.
Key is off his lap and back on stage in what feels simultaneously like an instant and a century. Minho tries to follow the motions of what he knows he should be doing — he throws thousand-won bills onto the stage, he cheers and claps — but the entire time, he’s still thinking about how it felt to have Key in his lap.
—
Key’s isn’t the last performance of the night, not by a long shot. Minho stays the entire three hours she’s there, watching performance after performance by a dozen different drag queens and a handful of kings. Minho enjoys all of them, of course, but the songs Key performs are by far his favorite. She performs Abracadabra by Brown Eyed Girls dressed as a cute witch, then a bizarre club remix of the Teletubbies theme in an uncomfortably sexy Tinky-Winky costume.
Key’s final performance of the night, Rania’s Dr. Feel Good, comes very close to getting Minho hard in the middle of the goddamn club. She’s wearing a white latex nurse’s dress, tiny and skin-tight, with thigh-high boots and fishnet stockings. It’s meant to be funny, probably, with exaggerated gyrating and ass-shaking, but that doesn’t seem to matter to Minho’s dick. Key bends over right in front of him at one point, sliding her hands slowly up her legs as she straightens again, and Minho can see the tiny red shorts she’s wearing underneath the latex dress. She throws him a wink over her shoulder as she tosses her hair and walks back to the other side of the stage.
Minho doesn’t know how he’s ever going to look her in the eyes again.
“Oppa!” A familiar voice, albeit in falsetto, squeals somewhere behind Minho right as Key’s song is ending. The voice rips his attention away from Key’s finale, but it’s probably for the best. Warm, skinny arms wrap around Minho’s neck, and he laughs as Lee Taemin smacks a kiss to the side of his head.
“Little Ducky, when did you get so talented?” Minho asks her, reaching up to pat her arm. She’s still in the outfit she’d worn during her final performance, rhinestone-studded and elegant. “Haven’t you only been doing this for a few months?”
Ducky giggles, sliding into the empty seat beside Minho. “Thank you, oppa. A lot of it is thanks to all the unnies helping me.” She waves toward the stage that Key has just vacated. “I just wanted to say hi before you leave. Did you have fun?”
“I did. I think I spent my entire paycheck on tips, though,” Minho says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She smells like sweat and expensive, fruity perfume. “I wish I’d come to a performance sooner. It was a lot of fun.”
Ducky smiles. “Well, now you have to come back again soon.” She pauses, and then asks, “Did unnie warn you about the lap dance?”
Minho suddenly suspects that this was the main reason she approached him. “Kind of? He, uh — she asked if I would be okay with being a part of it. I don’t know why I said yes.” He laughs, trying not to sound flustered. Judging by the expression on Ducky’s face, he’s not very successful.
“You seemed to enjoy it,” she says, eyebrows raised suggestively. Though she often has her head in the clouds, occasionally Taemin is far too perceptive for Minho’s liking. “Did you?”
“I—“ Minho exhales slowly, looking away. “That’s a big question.”
Ducky shrugs, crossing her legs at the knee. Minho can’t help but wince, which Ducky catches. She laughs. “It doesn’t hurt, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“But where does it… Go?” Minho asks haltingly, and Ducky launches into an explanation of tucking, which successfully distracts her from any Kibum-related inquiries.
They chat for another few minutes before another pair of familiar arms drape around Minho’s neck from behind. Synthetic blonde hair tickles Minho’s cheek; the softly musky, floral fragrance of Key’s current favorite perfume envelopes him.
“I’m so tired,” Key whines directly in Minho’s ear. Only years of practice stop him from flinching away at the volume. “Minho-yah, will you give me a foot massage when we get home?”
“I—“ Minho glances to Ducky, who looks amused. “Maybe.”
“I forgot you were living together again,” Ducky says. “How’s that going?”
“Horrible. He keeps complaining about the glitter,” Key sighs, letting go of Minho and standing up straight. He turns his head to look at her and finds himself making eye contact with her tits, which are barely contained by the dress from her final act.
“No, it’s going fine!” Minho protests. “We aren’t fighting or anything.”
“Yet,” Key says ominously, and for some fucking reason, she starts running her fingers through Minho’s hair. Minho can feel the scratch of her press-on nails against his scalp, and it’s all he can do not to close his eyes and lean into it. He’s grateful for the club’s dim lighting; his face must be bright red. “We talk about things now instead of shouting. Or throwing hands. Who’d have thought?”
Who’d have thought, indeed.
—
The car is so quiet after being in the club for hours that Minho’s ears ring. Key is resting her head against the window, still in full drag (when Minho had asked why she didn’t at least remove the wig, she’d gasped and said that she would never allow herself to be seen bald in public). Minho keeps glancing towards her, eyes tracing over the hem of her skirt and her pale thighs. Now that he’s let himself really think about her that way, he can’t think about anything else.
“You know I’m not a woman, right?” Kibum says when they’re just a few minutes from his apartment. He’s still dressed like Key, but he’s dropped her falsetto, her exaggerated mannerisms. Minho glances up to meet Kibum’s eyes only briefly before returning them to the road.
“What do you mean? Of course I know that,” Minho says, hands tightening on the steering wheel ever-so-slightly. “Kibum-ah, I’ve hardly even seen you in drag.”
Minho hears the creak of Kibum’s latex dress and the seat beneath him as he shifts in his seat. “Yeah,” Kibum says after a beat too long. “Forget it. I’m just tired.”
Minho looks at him again, but only for a second. The car goes uncomfortably quiet for a minute, and then Kibum reaches over to turn on the radio.
—
Any lingering doubts as to how deep Minho’s attraction goes vanish when Kibum comes out of the shower an hour later.
“I’m starving. Is there still leftover tteokbokki from last night?” Kibum asks, still patting some skincare product or another into his face. Minho’s gaze catches on his bare, glistening chest, and as Kibum steps closer to him, he catches a whiff of the coconut body lotion he favors. Minho tries to pull his eyes away, but they linger just a moment too long. Kibum stills a foot from the couch, surprise evident on his face.
“Ah, yeah. I left it for you,” Minho says several seconds too late, feeling distinctly caught out.
Kibum puts his hands on his hips. He’s wearing his silk pajama bottoms, the ones that Minho knows he doesn’t wear underwear beneath. “Okay, what’s gotten into you?”
“What do you mean?” Minho deflects, because he’s not ready to address this yet. He’s not ready, might never be ready, to risk ruining his relationship with his best friend.
Kibum hesitates, something he is not often wont to do. Minho can see when he makes his decision. He steels himself, closes the distance between them, and pushes Minho’s shoulders. Minho lets himself be pushed against the back of the sofa and stares at Kibum as he settles himself in Minho’s lap. Just like that. Just like in the club before, his hands fall to Kibum’s waist without a second thought; Kibum’s hands stay on his shoulders.
“I’m not a woman,” Kibum says, voice tight with some emotion that Minho struggles to place. “I’m not a woman, and if that’s what you want me to be, I need you to tell me now.”
“No, Kibum,” Minho says quickly; this much, he’s sure of. “That’s not—“
“Then tell me why you keep looking at me like that,” Kibum demands. Always so demanding, his Kibum, even in a situation like this. He sounds angry, desperate, and a little scared.
Minho struggles to find the right words. Usually, he has no problem expressing himself, especially not to Kibum. But Kibum is, for all his bravado, a very sensitive person. Minho wants to tread carefully, wants to say this the right way. “I’ve been thinking about you for a while now,” he says finally. “You’re so beautiful. All the time, not just in drag.”
Kibum’s eyes widen marginally. Minho can feel a slight tremor in his hands, now. “If you’re not sure, Minho… I’ve been an experiment before, but I can’t do that again. Not with you.“
“Kibummie,” Minho says gently, reaching up to cup Kibum’s cheek. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I know who you are. Better than most.”
“But —“
“Hang on. Let me talk for a minute, okay?” Minho smiles. Kibum sniffs and looks somewhere just over Minho’s head, but waves a hand in a ‘go on’ gesture. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. About you, but also about the possibility of me being into men. This isn’t just because of the drag, okay? I mean, seeing you be intentionally sexy obviously was… It helped things along.”
Kibum’s lips quirk up into one of his little, fox-like smiles. “I’ve never seen you look at anybody like that,” he says. “I thought I was imagining it at first, but you kept looking at me all night the same way.”
Minho feels his face warm, but he keeps going, determined. “You’re gorgeous in drag, Kibummie, but it’s not because you look like a woman. You look like you. Just — different.”
“This is a really roundabout way of telling me you think I’m hot,” Kibum says, but there’s a note of vulnerability in his tone that Minho can detect after all the time they’ve known each other.
“I do think you’re hot,” Minho says very earnestly, and Kibum smacks his chest, ducking his head to hide his face against Minho’s hair. “All the time. No matter what you’re wearing.”
“You can’t just say that,” he complains, and Minho laughs, wrapping his arms around Kibum’s waist.
“Two hours ago you were shaking your ass in my face, now suddenly you’re shy?” Minho teases. Kibum smacks him again, but then his arms snake around Minho’s neck to return the loose embrace.
“I’m not shy. I’m just — coping.” Kibum exhales in a sharp little huff. “This is a lot of new information to take in. I always took your heterosexuality as a universal constant.”
Minho hums. “I never gave it a lot of thought,” he admits. “I do like women. I’ve loved women. But I mean, there have been other men I found attractive. I’ve just never acted on it.”
Kibum pulls back a little and squints at him. “There aren’t other men now, are there?”
“No!” Minho says, offended. “It’s only you. I think it’s been only you for a while. I just didn’t notice before now.” A pause, and uncertainty flashes across Minho’s face. “I haven’t even asked. Do you…”
“God, Minho, of course,” Kibum says, avoiding his eyes. “For a lot longer, I bet.”
Minho frowns. “I’m sorry I never noticed.”
“Oh, please,” Kibum sniffs. “I worked very hard to make sure you never did. Stop looking at me with those big, sad eyes.”
They’ll have to have a deeper discussion about it eventually, but Kibum doesn’t seem keen on it right now. As stunning as he always is, he looks exhausted. It’s been a long night. Minho smooths his thumbs across Kibum’s cheeks. “Can I kiss you?”
Instead of answering, Kibum leans in and presses their lips together without hesitation. Minho moves his hands, curling one around the back of Kibum’s neck while the other slides into his damp hair. He tilts his head, parting his lips, and Kibum’s tongue teases against his own.
Minho is the first to break away, placing another small peck against the corner of Kibum’s mouth as he does. “Do you still want that massage?” he asks, taking in the pretty pink blush that’s settled high in Kibum’s cheeks.
“Only if you stop looking at me like that,” Kibum says, shoving Minho’s face away with a palm against his cheek and squirming out of his lap. Minho laughs, letting himself be shoved, and watches Kibum cross the room to grab something.
“I can’t help it. I like you,” Minho says. “You’re beautiful. So handsome.”
“I’ll kill you,” Kibum says, tossing a bottle of expensive-looking lotion at Minho. He sits down on the couch, leaning back against the arm and placing his feet in Minho’s lap. Minho squeezes a little into his hands, rubbing it between them for a few moments to warm it. He takes one of Kibum’s feet into both hands and starts to massage lotion into his skin. Kibum sighs, pleased, and closes his eyes. It’s quiet for a while, both of them sleepy and, Minho presumes, processing.
“I’m serious about this, you know. I want to take you out,” Minho says as he moves onto the other foot.
Kibum cracks an eye open and looks at him. “You really are, aren’t you?” he says, an edge of bewilderment to his voice. “I should have made you come to one of my shows sooner.”
Minho laughs, digging his thumb into the arch of Kibum’s foot. Kibum melts under his touch. “I don’t know if I would have been ready for that. I think a lot had to happen for me to get here,” Minho admits.
“So stupid,” Kibum mutters, voice soft and affectionate even as he’s insulting him.
“Only for you,” Minho says, flashing Kibum a big cheesy grin as he switches to the other foot. It evokes exactly the reaction Minho anticipates: eye roll, noise of disgust, gentle kick to Minho’s thigh. Their back-and-forth is just as easy and comforting as ever, even after confessing long-withheld feelings.
“I’m gonna eat those leftovers. And then — do you want to sleep in my room tonight?”
Minho nods, letting Kibum pull his feet out of his lap. Kibum crawls back to Minho’s side of the couch and kneels beside him, faces inches apart. Minho turns his head, leans in, and kisses him softly on the mouth.
“This is real?” Kibum asks. He looks embarrassed afterward, like he didn’t really mean to ask, but Minho doesn’t mind. He never minds.
“I promise it is,” Minho says. “And it will still be real in the morning. And the next day, and the next.”