You Make My Heart Go 'Presto' [1/2]
Title: You Make My Heart Go ‘Presto’
Author: Jongriette [Ineedataempon]
Pairing: TaeKey
Word Count: ~12k
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Violin boy has a backpack full of dreams, and Kibum’s sort of in love with him. Sort of.
[A/N: Presto is a music term for 'a quick tempo'.]
--
Kibum meets him on a positively ordinary day.
It wasn’t like he was eye-catching or anything. He just so happened to be there, in front of the fountain, the one with the statue of a whale that always reminded Kibum of the moon, bright and looming and white. The boy was sitting on the ledge with his legs crossed and a violin case on his side, his eyes squinting to see under the sunlight. Kibum sees him but doesn’t actually notice him- it was just another person in this world full of strangers, and his brain doesn’t even process the fact that the other was looking at his direction.
Well. Maybe he did notice it a bit. The staring, that is.
Kibum merely brushes it off as a quick-admiration look- he had given plenty of those in the past. There would be the brief head-to-toe inspection, followed by a zoom in on the face and careful deduction of marks according to fashion sense. He was practically a veteran in judging people based on first impressions, and he didn’t exactly lack those people themselves.
That still doesn’t quite explain why he stands up a bit straighter and flicks his bangs back in a hopefully graceful way. Violin boy has a smile tugging at his lips and all of a sudden Kibum feels like something was squeezing his stomach in a rather gross way.
He trips over someone’s foot while running away.
--
A few days had gone by when they meet again.
He had all but pushed the thought of the boy to the back his head when he sees him perched on the stone ledge again, this time with a loose-leaf filled with ink marks and a backpack leaning comfortably into his side. He didn’t even look up this time, his auburn-red bangs falling like a curtain to frame his face, making it pretty much impossible to see his expression. He could see a single black earring glinting underneath the sun, and Kibum sort of wants to go and tug at his ear.
He settles for going to the grocery store at the opposite side and flipping through trashy magazines.
At the corner of his peripheral vision, he could just barely make out the outline of his fire-red hair, the rest of his body covered by the thousands of pedestrians walking around during the day. Kibum curses the people that actually leave their house- he was pretty much an agoraphobic in the making. There was nothing better to do than to curl up on the couch with a blanket covering his legs and scooping out ice cream straight from the bucket.
Not like Kibum would ever do something like that.
But if he could do anything in the world, he would pick just that.
Besides which, Kibum’s busy trying to look… busy by occasionally turning the page and ignoring the way the workers glared at his direction. He doesn’t know what he’s doing- hell, he didn’t even like reading magazines- but he didn’t want to be near violin boy, not yet.
The magazine falls to the floor once he sees the red-head get up and hoist his backpack over his shoulders, donning on a pair of sunglasses and walking away.
“Hey! Pay up!” The worker hollers, but Kibum had already exited, looking around this way and that to see if he could find the other. He’s greeted by the sight of people walking, talking, breathing in a huge hub, but the other had already left, vanished into thin air.
Kibum wonders why he wanted to see him.
--
Sometimes he thinks about him. It would trickle in like paint through cracks, dying his mind full of unanswered questions and little interpretations based on what he had seen.
The moments when he thinks of him usually come at random intervals. He could be thinking about bagels and his brain would traitorously direct the thought to the red-head, the way his earring sparkled under the sunlight and how his eyes were round, slanted a bit towards the end but very pretty. Occasionally he doubts the fact that he had actually seen the other, pondering about whether or not he had hallucinated the previous two times.
But then he thinks back to the other’s brief smile and something tingly goes down Kibum’s veins.
--
It wasn’t anything magical. It was quick and short and strange and sort of orchestrated by Kibum, but they still met once more, and he didn’t ask for anything else besides that.
Kibum had his ‘buds in his ears and his music on mute, sitting beside the spot where violin boy usually nestles on. He wasn’t really expecting anything to happen.
(Okay, no, that was a lie. He didn’t just walk to the fountain so that he could admire the scenery. He went there to see him.)
Seconds tick by.
Minutes pass away.
Kibum feels gross and sticky under the sun, and he tugs at his collar, wishing he had worn a t-shirt instead. It was a humid day, the air clinging on to him like a second layer, and he could barely breathe. He wants to leave.
His body stays put instead.
He feels someone sit down beside him, and he swivels his head, seeing the tell-tale shimmer of red hair and the backpack slung on his shoulder. He feels his heart beat- thump, thump- and he can’t help but let out a silly grin. His time spent had not been wasted.
They sit like that for a while, Kibum with his earbuds in and not listening to any music, violin boy writing down things in deep concentration. He sometimes sneaks a look over to see what the other was doing, but all he could see was scribbles and crossed-out dots, the writing impossible to read. During the night Kibum had already practiced what he was going to say to him, but no words came out- his throat had died out on him.
He was still planning out what to say when the other slaps the notebook close and shoves it into his backpack, not even sparing Kibum a single glance. His pride is wounded but he still sits there, pretending to be listening to music and not caring that a random boy had just totally brushed him off.
He forgets about his nonexistent music when he sees a piece of paper flutter down onto his lap, one that was filled with black markings and discarded sentences. It was creased and looked like it belonged in a museum when all of a sudden he realizes that this was the exact same piece of paper in violin boy’s notebook.
He had never ran this fast to catch up to someone.
--
Kibum loses a bit of his fantasy when he meets him face-to-face.
“Did you take this?” The boy says, sounding suspicious. He’s stunning up close, with his parted pink lips and pale skin, his eyes ringed with thick eyelashes. His voice, however, tells otherwise, accusing Kibum of a crime he hadn’t done.
“No.” Kibum says defensively, holding the paper in his hands in a rather indignant way. “You dropped this. I came to give it back.”
“Oh.” His features immediately mellow out and he’s all smiles, looking absolutely charming. “Well, then. Thank you. I’m in a rush, I have to go.” He practically yanks the paper out of his hand and walks off, his stride large and quick, making him disappear in a flash. Kibum doesn’t know if he’s dreaming or not when he sees blood trickling out from his index finger, a small paper cut that definitely wasn’t there before.
Violin boy had left him with a cut in his finger and a mark on his heart.
--
A band-aid was slapped on over the cut, and that was the only remainder of what had happened. Kibum forgets about the boy and he moves on with his life, save for the moments when he sees his finger again. Then he would be looped into a tiny film featuring the red-head and him.
At times he plays a little game called ‘who is he?’ Every now and then he thinks up of new theories about where he came from, what he’s doing, what he likes to eat.
He settles for the fact that he may be a fairy.
--
The next time they meet would be a permanent one.
It was always crowded around that area to begin with, but when Kibum tries to meander through the hordes of people he would always get pushed back, sending him into a pretty terrible mood. He nurses the idea of screaming and pushing the people away to just start moving already when he hears the long, smooth sounds of the violin, the chords drawling out in the air like thick honey. He stops moving.
He stops blinking when he sees the person that was playing on it.
The boy’s eyes are closed and he has a carefree smile on his face. His slender hand on the bow and the other supporting the glossy wooden instrument, his notes are tender and soft, sounding peaceful and serene.
For every string he puts his fingers to, Kibum feels his own heartstrings getting played on, pluck, pluck, pluck. People start to disperse, some drifting off like crumbs off of a scone, but Kibum just stands there, rooted in his spot like a plant. He could feel the mutterings of the crowd, wanting him to move away, but he just stubbornly stays put.
When the last note is played, Kibum claps the hardest out of the few remaining people.
--
“Your name?” Violin boy looks up at Kibum, who had on a semi-forced smile on his face. “You play really well.” He adds in. The boy continues on cleaning his violin for a few seconds, making Kibum wonder if he shouldn’t have come.
“Taemin.” His voice is barely audible, but a whisper of a smile was on his face. “Thank you very much. I’m glad you liked my playing.”
“I’m Kibum.” Kibum adds, even though the other didn’t ask for his name. “Kim Kibum. Nice to meet you.”
“Oh. Um.” Taemin blinks once, and he has this really dazed look on his face. “Same here.”
Kibum wills for the conversation to go on longer, but Taemin was already busy packing up, his bright blue backpack squished into his chest. He likes the fact that it contrasted directly against his hair- it made him look like a walking primary-colored mess.
“Will you come back?” Kibum asks, and Taemin looks up, his eyes wide with surprise. There was no way in hell that he would let him slip away. Kibum’s luck had always been kind of shifty to begin with.
“Maybe.”
Maybe. It wasn’t definite, but it was still an answer, and Kibum was just going to trust in coincidences.
“I’m holding that against you.” Kibum says. The boy smiles widely, revealing his shiny white teeth, and he feels something bubble up inside of him.
“Okay.”
--
When they see each other, it’s infrequent and random, and it was usually Kibum that found Taemin first, not the other way around. They met maybe once a week, twice if they were lucky, and it may seem pretty often but judging by the fact that Kibum usually hung around there after school it was quite little. They don’t say much- there’s the awkward exchange of hello’s and how are you’s and Kibum would dabble a bit in talking about his day. Taemin nods and listens and tends to stay silent, which was a bit unnerving but Kibum could live with that.
When he plays the instrument he’s like a completely different person.
With his back straight and his eyes set in concentration, he really does seem like a fairy, an ethereal one that’s caught in his own bubble. He doesn’t seem to notice the crowd or the occasional drop of money into his violin case- he’s completely immersed in the music, the notes that wash over the crowd like a silken blanket. Kibum’s not excepted from that- he curls his legs into his chest, watching him as he finishes off his notes with precision. Sometimes his fingers slip and play a wrong note but he quickly recovers, smoothing over the errors like nothing had happened.
He always does a bow after he’s done and says a quick word of thanks before scooping up all the money and putting it into his wallet, throwing it back into his backpack. Kibum claps and smiles proudly, and after a moment of hesitation, Taemin smiles back.
“You want coffee?” Taemin asks, fanning the new five dollar bill he had earned in front of his face to pretend to cool himself down. “I can get you a small size.”
It was the first time Taemin offered anything.
Kibum readily agrees.
--
Taemin’s one year younger than him, first year in University, and their schools are only a few blocks apart. He has music as a major and a dance minor and his mom didn’t quite like that, but Taemin could be ‘quite the stubborn asshole’, as he had classily quoted himself, when he wanted to be. He briefly mentions that he doesn’t have a dad. (Before Kibum could ask anything about him, he had abruptly changed the topic.) He likes banana milk, wrapping paper and potato peelers.
All of this Kibum had discovered within the first five minutes of them sitting down in a café.
“You talk a lot.” Kibum comments, right when Taemin was animatedly talking about something stupid that had happened between him and his buddy, Minho. Taemin abruptly stops talking and peels off a bit of his croissant, his face slightly pink from embarrassment.
“Sorry.” Taemin says, voice small and quiet. “I can stop if you want.”
“Keep going.” Kibum takes a sip from his iced coffee (his medium sized ice coffee, he thinks to himself smugly). “I like it when you talk.”
He had never seen someone brighten up so much because of something that he had said.
“That’s good.” Taemin bites his croissant in an almost animalistic way, and Kibum doesn’t quite know what to do besides stare at him. His eating habits were kind of strange. “I guess we didn’t speak that much outside?”
“Nope.” That was an understatement. It was mostly Kibum talking to himself while Taemin just so happened to be there. “You pretty much just stayed silent.”
“Well, you know, I had no idea who you were.” Taemin says defensively, his lips formed into a pout. “You just randomly came over and sat beside me every time I came. It was kind of scary, to be honest.”
Scary. Kibum had been called many things in his life, ranging from hot as fuck to weird jackass, but never had he been called scary. Kibum does not know how to take this information.
“But you’re really nice, so I’m talking now, see?” Taemin pokes Kibum’s arm with the end of his croissant, an easy smile on his face. Kibum feels warm and fuzzy and all he could do was look down and drink his coffee, hoping that it would cool his insides.
It did, temporarily. After a few seconds he could feel himself glowing from the comfortable feeling.
--
It wasn’t like they became best buddies over night. They still met about once a week. But instead of Kibum rambling on and on, Taemin would chat excitedly about his day as well, and they would butt into each other’s conversations very often, making the other pissed off and trying to finish their story first. It was kind of amusing, the way they would lapse into mini-fights, but in the end they both just laughed it off.
Kibum likes being in the spotlight, but when Taemin begins to play on his violin, he commands everyone’s attention to him, his notes having a rather magnetic effect on the audience. There was something beautiful about the simple chords, the way his head was tilted and how his eyes were half-lidded, eyelashes casting shadows over his high cheekbones. During these moments, Kibum contents himself on being part of the crowd, eyes closed and just listening to the sound enveloping the atmosphere.
His songs are short and brief and Kibum wishes that he could just play on forever.
He doesn’t say it, though. He claps so hard his hands are red and stinging, and he smiles as wide as possible, making his cheeks hurt and his eyes disappear into slits. Taemin always looks flushed and giddy as he bounds over, his pockets full of coins and his violin carefully wiped and cleaned before he gently places it into the case. He treats his violin like it was the most precious thing to him, and he envies how glossy and pristine the condition it was in, looking like it was well-cared for.
“How long have you been playing the violin?” Kibum asks. Taemin’s startled out of his reverie and he looks at him, hands mid-wipe on the violin.
“Ever since I was little?” He ends the sentence with a question mark, as though he didn’t know the answer himself. “It’s been quite some time. I didn’t like it at first.”
“Really?” Kibum doesn’t quite believe it, because if he didn’t like something, he would drop it immediately and not just deal with it. He was one to plow through with his decisions and do what he liked. “Then why did you continue on?”
“It grew on me.” Taemin has a wistful smile on his face, looking like he was here but his mind was floating faraway, not anywhere near reality. “Now I can’t part with it.”
Kibum had never in his life wanted to be a violin so badly before.
--
His classes had taken up a much larger chunk in his time than usual, and so he finds himself walking towards the whale fountain at 8 pm instead of 5, pretty certain that Taemin had left already. He didn’t have his number, so he was left with blindly wandering around, half-heartedly hoping that the other was there.
He sees a few people walking on the streets, texting on their cell phones or window-shopping around the square. Kibum should be going home- in fact, all he wanted to do was take a shower and maybe watch re-runs of shitty dramas- but his feet lead him forward, walking with no definite destination in mind.
When he reaches the fountain, however, he sees Taemin sitting there, squinting underneath the soft light of the streetlights to write on his notebook.
“You.” Taemin looks up, an irritated expression on his face, but once he sees that it’s Kibum it all but melts away, a satisfied smile on his face. “Were you waiting for me?”
“Kind of. Yeah.” Taemin admits, closing the notebook and putting it into his backpack. “You’re late. I can’t believe you.” He adopts a scolding tone, one that’s usually reserved for mothers yelling at their sons.
“I’m sorry.” Kibum’s still a bit shocked at seeing the younger wait there for three hours for Kibum, of all people. His stomach flip-flops and he opens his mouth to apologize even more, but Taemin ignores him and motions for him to come over.
“Well, sit down beside me. Something really funny happened today and…”
Kibum’s arm brushes against Taemin’s as he plops down, and he doesn’t even think about going back to his warm house.
--
Sometimes. Just a bit. Kibum thinks about how elegant Taemin looks while playing the violin, or how he laughs by covering up his smile with his hand, his eyes morphing into happy-looking slits and cheekbones puffing out like a chipmunk with acorns in his mouth. He unconsciously brings banana milk to drink during class. He goes online to search for pretty violin pieces for Taemin to play for him. He begins to wear more red for his clothes.
While his professor droned on and on about destructive forces and words of wisdom, Kibum looks out the window and daydreams, wondering what Taemin was doing at the moment. He contemplates on bringing a bag of chips for him to snack on when the professor directs a question to him and he only answers with a rather smooth ‘huh’?
When he’s kicked out from the class, Kibum’s still thinking, pondering, wondering.
He’s not really in love with him. But maybe he was feeling something akin to that.
--
It’s a few weeks later, after their awkwardness had all but slipped away and replaced with pure, simple glee that Kibum invites Taemin over to his apartment, the younger looking up at the tall building with awe.
“This building is huge.” Taemin breathes, eyes wide open with excitement. Kibum feels a bit proud for some odd reason, even though it wasn’t like he had designed the building himself. “I like it.”
“Glad it’s to your fancy.” Kibum says, smirking. He jabs the button to go up- twelfth floor, he tells Taemin- and they stand in silence, jazzy elevator music playing in the background. There’s something that he wants to say, something that’s right on the tip of his tongue, but his mind just couldn’t wrap itself around it, unsure of what it was. He leans back onto the wall, and they’re only a few inches apart. He could see the other’s reflection in the chrome surface of the elevator, distorting his pretty features and making his hair a lighter shade of red.
The door pings open and they walk out, Kibum shaking his keys in a carefree manner, Taemin trailing behind him while looking around curiously. They reach his apartment door and Kibum suddenly remembers he had forgotten to do laundry.
“Don’t expect too much.” He warns Taemin. He nods his head obediently and Kibum wants to reach over and hug him.
He turns the doorknob instead and invites him in.
He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the starry-eyed look that Taemin was giving off at the moment, hurriedly taking off his shoes and running around in his apartment. Kibum watches him, grinning wryly as the boy plops down onto his couch and stretches out, resembling a cat.
There’s something endearing about how the boy looks to be completely full of bliss just because he was lying down on the couch, his arms and legs dangling off and back pressed against all the pillows. He goes into his fridge, fishes out a carton of milk and tosses it to Taemin, who just barely catches it.
“Thank you.” Taemin says sincerely, and opens up the carton, twisting the lid off and drinking it in a really unattractive way. Kibum doesn’t comment on it but tucks it back for future reference, in case it ever came up again. He was pretty sure it would come up pretty often. “I like your apartment. It’s much better than mine.” His voice had a fleeting undertone to it, and Kibum wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it passed by just as quickly as it had come.
“You can come over anytime you want.” Kibum finds himself saying. Taemin has on an appreciative look but he doesn’t speak, just resumes lying down and closing his eyes. “Seriously.”
“Okay.” Taemin has this stupid grin on his face that Kibum wants to wipe away, but all he does is walk over there and sidle beside him, motioning for him to take his feet off from the couch. Taemin complies rather unwillingly, but when they’re sitting side-by-side, leaning into each other’s bodies, Taemin has a mellow expression on his face.
There’s something to say about how Kibum has no idea about Taemin’s sexuality when his hand wraps around the other’s, fingers woven through the cracks and feeling the soft skin underneath his own. Taemin doesn’t object- in fact, he snuggles even closer, if that was possible- and Kibum feels like taking a leap of faith.
“Hey, Taemin-“ His words are snatched away when he sees the other’s head perched on his shoulder, the brilliant red locks framing his face and covering up most of his eyes. He wonders if the other was napping when Taemin cracks open one eye and looks at him through the corners.
“Kibum.” Taemin’s voice sounds sleepy and almost dream-like, his name broken into two distinct syllables. “You won’t ever leave me, right?”
“Leave you?” Kibum almost lets out a laugh, but holds it in after a moment’s hesitation. “Why would I do that?”
“Good.” Taemin says. “Good.”
It feels surreal when Taemin leans in closer to him, pressing against his stomach in a rather painful way and kneeing his thighs, trying to settle down on his lap in a more comfortable position for the both of them.
He forgets about the ache after he tastes Taemin’s lips against his.
--
It’s about five dates and two heated make-out sessions later that Kibum notices Taemin’s backpack.
Sure, he’s seen it before- the simple, strappy bright blue backpack that’s always strung around his shoulders, hitting his back every time he walked. But he’s never actually noticed it. It was just there, always with the boy, like a duck following its mom. Whenever Kibum closed his eyes and pictured Taemin, there would be three distinct features- his hair, his violin, and his backpack.
Kibum has loads of bags. He doesn’t like to stay the same or settle with only one. If he could, he’d have a different bag for every single day of the year, one that would match his moods and coordinate with his outfits. He’s flighty and spontaneous, not liking to have the same schedule or attire as the day before. Taemin would have that stupid backpack no matter what he wore, be it a blue blouse or his black t-shirt. If he left his violin behind, the backpack would be swaying in the wind, molding into the small of his back and have its existence known by its bright-as-fuck color.
“What’s up with the backpack?” He asks, cutting Taemin off. Taemin’s in the middle of talking about how a soccer ball hit his face one time when Kibum rips his cookie in half, offering the bigger piece to him. Taemin takes it with a pout on his face.
“What about the backpack?” He says, crumbs tumbling out of his mouth in a rather disgusting way. Kibum had told him time and time again to eat with his mouth closed, but obviously Taemin forgot about it.
“You always have it with you. Why?” He swallows his cookie and looks at him expectantly, who all of a sudden has a demure and almost shy look on his face.
“Um.” Taemin blinks and pulls his backpack onto his lap, looking at it while biting his lips with worry. “The backpack isn’t really important. It’s what’s inside.”
“What’s inside?” Kibum persists. Taemin clutches the backpack even tighter before he visibly deflates, sighing and opening up the bag.
There’s only one item in the backpack, and it was the tattered black notebook, the one that had the papers falling out of the edges and millions of scribbles across the yellowed pages. “They’re music sheets.” Taemin explains, fingers caressing it ever so gently before passing it to Kibum. “I wrote it myself.”
“You?” Kibum’s rather impressed, because although he had taken piano for a few years, he had never actually attempted to create his own music. His mother usually forced upon him music books from classical composers, not blank pieces of paper for him to let his imagination run wild. “You write music?”
“It’s really bad though.” He admits. “I have no skill in composing. I can only play music.”
Kibum flips through a few pages and reads some of the bars, inwardly wincing at the way the sounds clashed and how it sounded messy and harsh, unlike his smooth, controlled playing. They were vivid and modern however, something that Kibum would like to dance to, and he can picture a crazy professor from somewhere deeming it a work of genius.
“It’s very unique.” Kibum comments, handing the notebook back. Taemin puts it back into his backpack, zipping it up and putting it on his lap. “Why didn’t you just tell me beforehand? I thought it was some big, mysterious secret, like a chamber or a trap door.”
There’s a serene smile on Taemin’s lips, and he looks at Kibum, staring into his eyes. “It’s not a secret. It’s my hopes. My future.”
And just like that, Kibum gets it.
Oh.
Taemin’s backpack is full of dreams.
--
The magic wears off much too quickly for Kibum’s liking. He finds himself picking on the other’s small faults often, poking and prodding at carelessly uttered words and brash actions. When Taemin’s trying to get Kibum out of his stormy mood one day by tickling him, Kibum snaps at him, his voice all edges.
“Can you stop it?” Kibum seethes, making Taemin startled. “I’m in a bad mood right now.”
“Evidently.” Taemin mutters underneath his breath, and Kibum almost doesn’t catch it. Almost being the key word.
“What?” Kibum sounds sharp, his words crisp and clear. “Can you just stop talking for a second?”
“Alright, your highness. I’ll shut up now.” Taemin has a really unattractive scowl on his face, his large eyes narrowed into slits, and Kibum feels like slapping him.
“Why are you like this?” Kibum says, exasperated. “You’re usually not this annoying.”
“Sorry if I’m not up to your standards.” Taemin’s voice is biting and ice-cold, a stark contrast to his usual soft tones. “I’m not perfect, you know.”
“Wha- I never said you were.”
“So I’m full of faults?”
“No! Quit twisting my words around!” Kibum walks a few steps quicker and whirls around, their eyes locked in a staring contest. He sees himself reflected in Taemin’s chocolate orbs, and he’s seething, hands gripped into fists at the sides.
“Kibum.” Taemin sounds tired, his posture relaxing from its previous stiffened pose. “Kibum. Really. I’m not perfect. Stop putting me up on a pedestal.”
“I- what?” Kibum blinks. He doesn’t know how the conversation directs to the topic of perfection, doesn’t know why Taemin suddenly looks defeated, but before he could ask anymore, Taemin whirls around, his hair swishing in the wind.
“I’m going to leave. Go home and take a nap, and come back when you’re calm.” Taemin says, walking away.
The only thing bright about the situation was Taemin’s blue backpack, seemingly mocking at a confused Kibum.
--
He has a notepad full of things he hates about Lee Taemin. Like the way he eats as though he’s not going to have a meal in the next ten years- he just shoves the food down his throat. And how he tunes out occasionally and catapults back to reality with a bunch of misheard words and makes up a brand new sentence that doesn’t even make any sense. And how he formulates his own opinions without a second thought, not listening to the whole story before judging someone.
But right next to the list is an even bigger list of things he loves about him. How he laughs by covering his mouth with the back of his hand- that was cute. Or how he knows exactly what Kibum wanted before he even said it. And the fact that when Kibum was angry, he would just back off and let him calm down, not go and argue with him.
Kibum remembers his first impression of Taemin- silent, quiet, withdrawn. A fairy, perched in the middle of the crowd, sitting in front of a whale fountain.
But he wasn’t a fairy.
He was Lee Taemin. The boy that sometimes doesn’t listen when Kibum’s rambling, the boy that can’t find his cell phone even when it’s right in his hands, the boy that was flawless because of his little faults.
He was Kibum’s. His.
His phone has no missed calls or new text messages. It’s oddly empty, and he scrolls through his contacts list, trying to locate Taemin’s number.
Kibum doesn’t know what to do after he sent the thirty-fourth text message that Taemin doesn’t reply to.
--
Kibum waits, day after day, at the stupid whale fountain with stupid people milling about and waiting for a stupid red-head named Taemin. He gets there from as early as four pm until seven. One time he waited until midnight.
No one appeared besides a lone stray cat.
His inbox is still empty- damn brat- and he’s slightly afraid of what was going to happen. He had the vague feeling that this would be a bad set-up for a film when he feels someone’s shadow over his, temporarily shading him from the sun. He looks up, taking off his sunglasses to see clearer, and he sees the faintest flick of red hair.
Taemin.
“Hi.” Taemin says rather awkwardly, staying far away from Kibum. “How’s it going.”
“How’s it going.” Kibum repeats rather listlessly, and Taemin shuffles a bit, adjusting the weight in his leg. “How do you think it’s going?! I’ve been waiting here for you, every day, for like, what, two weeks? I spent two weeks of my afternoons just sitting here like an idiot, in front of a whale fountain while doing absolutely nothing, and the first thing you say is how’s it GOING?!” He shouts the last word out loud, and a few passersby swivel their heads to their direction, wondering what was going on.
“Look, I’m sorry.” Taemin begins. “I’ve been really occupied-“
“So you don’t even leave a fucking text message?”
“I dropped my phone into the pond.”
“How precious.” Kibum says sarcastically, shoving his iPod into his bag. “That is just fucking awesome.”
“You can think of it as payback from when you left me waiting for hours.” Taemin sounds like he’s joking but there’s a weird tone to his words, like he’s trying to stifle down a sob. “Are you mad at me?” Kibum’s about to snort and laugh in front of his face when he sees Taemin cowering down, looking like a puppy about to get beaten up. Something squeezes Kibum’s heart and he melts like a marshmallow in the fire, sighing and shoving his iPod into his bag.
“No. No, I’m not.” And Kibum realizes that he wasn’t mad at him. It wasn’t Taemin’s fault. It never was to begin with. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry for not meeting up with you earlier.” Taemin has his hand outstretched, and Kibum takes it, squeezing it gently and leaning into the warm grip. He hadn’t noticed it before, but his body misses it- the hand holding, the frequent hugs, the heated kisses. Taemin’s looking at him with a mischievous look in his eyes and Kibum doesn’t know what’s going on when all of a sudden Taemin grabs him behind his neck and pulls him in and he tastes like milk and candy and mmm.
All he knows is that he kind of likes where this was leading.
Next
Author: Jongriette [Ineedataempon]
Pairing: TaeKey
Word Count: ~12k
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Violin boy has a backpack full of dreams, and Kibum’s sort of in love with him. Sort of.
[A/N: Presto is a music term for 'a quick tempo'.]
--
Kibum meets him on a positively ordinary day.
It wasn’t like he was eye-catching or anything. He just so happened to be there, in front of the fountain, the one with the statue of a whale that always reminded Kibum of the moon, bright and looming and white. The boy was sitting on the ledge with his legs crossed and a violin case on his side, his eyes squinting to see under the sunlight. Kibum sees him but doesn’t actually notice him- it was just another person in this world full of strangers, and his brain doesn’t even process the fact that the other was looking at his direction.
Well. Maybe he did notice it a bit. The staring, that is.
Kibum merely brushes it off as a quick-admiration look- he had given plenty of those in the past. There would be the brief head-to-toe inspection, followed by a zoom in on the face and careful deduction of marks according to fashion sense. He was practically a veteran in judging people based on first impressions, and he didn’t exactly lack those people themselves.
That still doesn’t quite explain why he stands up a bit straighter and flicks his bangs back in a hopefully graceful way. Violin boy has a smile tugging at his lips and all of a sudden Kibum feels like something was squeezing his stomach in a rather gross way.
He trips over someone’s foot while running away.
--
A few days had gone by when they meet again.
He had all but pushed the thought of the boy to the back his head when he sees him perched on the stone ledge again, this time with a loose-leaf filled with ink marks and a backpack leaning comfortably into his side. He didn’t even look up this time, his auburn-red bangs falling like a curtain to frame his face, making it pretty much impossible to see his expression. He could see a single black earring glinting underneath the sun, and Kibum sort of wants to go and tug at his ear.
He settles for going to the grocery store at the opposite side and flipping through trashy magazines.
At the corner of his peripheral vision, he could just barely make out the outline of his fire-red hair, the rest of his body covered by the thousands of pedestrians walking around during the day. Kibum curses the people that actually leave their house- he was pretty much an agoraphobic in the making. There was nothing better to do than to curl up on the couch with a blanket covering his legs and scooping out ice cream straight from the bucket.
Not like Kibum would ever do something like that.
But if he could do anything in the world, he would pick just that.
Besides which, Kibum’s busy trying to look… busy by occasionally turning the page and ignoring the way the workers glared at his direction. He doesn’t know what he’s doing- hell, he didn’t even like reading magazines- but he didn’t want to be near violin boy, not yet.
The magazine falls to the floor once he sees the red-head get up and hoist his backpack over his shoulders, donning on a pair of sunglasses and walking away.
“Hey! Pay up!” The worker hollers, but Kibum had already exited, looking around this way and that to see if he could find the other. He’s greeted by the sight of people walking, talking, breathing in a huge hub, but the other had already left, vanished into thin air.
Kibum wonders why he wanted to see him.
--
Sometimes he thinks about him. It would trickle in like paint through cracks, dying his mind full of unanswered questions and little interpretations based on what he had seen.
The moments when he thinks of him usually come at random intervals. He could be thinking about bagels and his brain would traitorously direct the thought to the red-head, the way his earring sparkled under the sunlight and how his eyes were round, slanted a bit towards the end but very pretty. Occasionally he doubts the fact that he had actually seen the other, pondering about whether or not he had hallucinated the previous two times.
But then he thinks back to the other’s brief smile and something tingly goes down Kibum’s veins.
--
It wasn’t anything magical. It was quick and short and strange and sort of orchestrated by Kibum, but they still met once more, and he didn’t ask for anything else besides that.
Kibum had his ‘buds in his ears and his music on mute, sitting beside the spot where violin boy usually nestles on. He wasn’t really expecting anything to happen.
(Okay, no, that was a lie. He didn’t just walk to the fountain so that he could admire the scenery. He went there to see him.)
Seconds tick by.
Minutes pass away.
Kibum feels gross and sticky under the sun, and he tugs at his collar, wishing he had worn a t-shirt instead. It was a humid day, the air clinging on to him like a second layer, and he could barely breathe. He wants to leave.
His body stays put instead.
He feels someone sit down beside him, and he swivels his head, seeing the tell-tale shimmer of red hair and the backpack slung on his shoulder. He feels his heart beat- thump, thump- and he can’t help but let out a silly grin. His time spent had not been wasted.
They sit like that for a while, Kibum with his earbuds in and not listening to any music, violin boy writing down things in deep concentration. He sometimes sneaks a look over to see what the other was doing, but all he could see was scribbles and crossed-out dots, the writing impossible to read. During the night Kibum had already practiced what he was going to say to him, but no words came out- his throat had died out on him.
He was still planning out what to say when the other slaps the notebook close and shoves it into his backpack, not even sparing Kibum a single glance. His pride is wounded but he still sits there, pretending to be listening to music and not caring that a random boy had just totally brushed him off.
He forgets about his nonexistent music when he sees a piece of paper flutter down onto his lap, one that was filled with black markings and discarded sentences. It was creased and looked like it belonged in a museum when all of a sudden he realizes that this was the exact same piece of paper in violin boy’s notebook.
He had never ran this fast to catch up to someone.
--
Kibum loses a bit of his fantasy when he meets him face-to-face.
“Did you take this?” The boy says, sounding suspicious. He’s stunning up close, with his parted pink lips and pale skin, his eyes ringed with thick eyelashes. His voice, however, tells otherwise, accusing Kibum of a crime he hadn’t done.
“No.” Kibum says defensively, holding the paper in his hands in a rather indignant way. “You dropped this. I came to give it back.”
“Oh.” His features immediately mellow out and he’s all smiles, looking absolutely charming. “Well, then. Thank you. I’m in a rush, I have to go.” He practically yanks the paper out of his hand and walks off, his stride large and quick, making him disappear in a flash. Kibum doesn’t know if he’s dreaming or not when he sees blood trickling out from his index finger, a small paper cut that definitely wasn’t there before.
Violin boy had left him with a cut in his finger and a mark on his heart.
--
A band-aid was slapped on over the cut, and that was the only remainder of what had happened. Kibum forgets about the boy and he moves on with his life, save for the moments when he sees his finger again. Then he would be looped into a tiny film featuring the red-head and him.
At times he plays a little game called ‘who is he?’ Every now and then he thinks up of new theories about where he came from, what he’s doing, what he likes to eat.
He settles for the fact that he may be a fairy.
--
The next time they meet would be a permanent one.
It was always crowded around that area to begin with, but when Kibum tries to meander through the hordes of people he would always get pushed back, sending him into a pretty terrible mood. He nurses the idea of screaming and pushing the people away to just start moving already when he hears the long, smooth sounds of the violin, the chords drawling out in the air like thick honey. He stops moving.
He stops blinking when he sees the person that was playing on it.
The boy’s eyes are closed and he has a carefree smile on his face. His slender hand on the bow and the other supporting the glossy wooden instrument, his notes are tender and soft, sounding peaceful and serene.
For every string he puts his fingers to, Kibum feels his own heartstrings getting played on, pluck, pluck, pluck. People start to disperse, some drifting off like crumbs off of a scone, but Kibum just stands there, rooted in his spot like a plant. He could feel the mutterings of the crowd, wanting him to move away, but he just stubbornly stays put.
When the last note is played, Kibum claps the hardest out of the few remaining people.
--
“Your name?” Violin boy looks up at Kibum, who had on a semi-forced smile on his face. “You play really well.” He adds in. The boy continues on cleaning his violin for a few seconds, making Kibum wonder if he shouldn’t have come.
“Taemin.” His voice is barely audible, but a whisper of a smile was on his face. “Thank you very much. I’m glad you liked my playing.”
“I’m Kibum.” Kibum adds, even though the other didn’t ask for his name. “Kim Kibum. Nice to meet you.”
“Oh. Um.” Taemin blinks once, and he has this really dazed look on his face. “Same here.”
Kibum wills for the conversation to go on longer, but Taemin was already busy packing up, his bright blue backpack squished into his chest. He likes the fact that it contrasted directly against his hair- it made him look like a walking primary-colored mess.
“Will you come back?” Kibum asks, and Taemin looks up, his eyes wide with surprise. There was no way in hell that he would let him slip away. Kibum’s luck had always been kind of shifty to begin with.
“Maybe.”
Maybe. It wasn’t definite, but it was still an answer, and Kibum was just going to trust in coincidences.
“I’m holding that against you.” Kibum says. The boy smiles widely, revealing his shiny white teeth, and he feels something bubble up inside of him.
“Okay.”
--
When they see each other, it’s infrequent and random, and it was usually Kibum that found Taemin first, not the other way around. They met maybe once a week, twice if they were lucky, and it may seem pretty often but judging by the fact that Kibum usually hung around there after school it was quite little. They don’t say much- there’s the awkward exchange of hello’s and how are you’s and Kibum would dabble a bit in talking about his day. Taemin nods and listens and tends to stay silent, which was a bit unnerving but Kibum could live with that.
When he plays the instrument he’s like a completely different person.
With his back straight and his eyes set in concentration, he really does seem like a fairy, an ethereal one that’s caught in his own bubble. He doesn’t seem to notice the crowd or the occasional drop of money into his violin case- he’s completely immersed in the music, the notes that wash over the crowd like a silken blanket. Kibum’s not excepted from that- he curls his legs into his chest, watching him as he finishes off his notes with precision. Sometimes his fingers slip and play a wrong note but he quickly recovers, smoothing over the errors like nothing had happened.
He always does a bow after he’s done and says a quick word of thanks before scooping up all the money and putting it into his wallet, throwing it back into his backpack. Kibum claps and smiles proudly, and after a moment of hesitation, Taemin smiles back.
“You want coffee?” Taemin asks, fanning the new five dollar bill he had earned in front of his face to pretend to cool himself down. “I can get you a small size.”
It was the first time Taemin offered anything.
Kibum readily agrees.
--
Taemin’s one year younger than him, first year in University, and their schools are only a few blocks apart. He has music as a major and a dance minor and his mom didn’t quite like that, but Taemin could be ‘quite the stubborn asshole’, as he had classily quoted himself, when he wanted to be. He briefly mentions that he doesn’t have a dad. (Before Kibum could ask anything about him, he had abruptly changed the topic.) He likes banana milk, wrapping paper and potato peelers.
All of this Kibum had discovered within the first five minutes of them sitting down in a café.
“You talk a lot.” Kibum comments, right when Taemin was animatedly talking about something stupid that had happened between him and his buddy, Minho. Taemin abruptly stops talking and peels off a bit of his croissant, his face slightly pink from embarrassment.
“Sorry.” Taemin says, voice small and quiet. “I can stop if you want.”
“Keep going.” Kibum takes a sip from his iced coffee (his medium sized ice coffee, he thinks to himself smugly). “I like it when you talk.”
He had never seen someone brighten up so much because of something that he had said.
“That’s good.” Taemin bites his croissant in an almost animalistic way, and Kibum doesn’t quite know what to do besides stare at him. His eating habits were kind of strange. “I guess we didn’t speak that much outside?”
“Nope.” That was an understatement. It was mostly Kibum talking to himself while Taemin just so happened to be there. “You pretty much just stayed silent.”
“Well, you know, I had no idea who you were.” Taemin says defensively, his lips formed into a pout. “You just randomly came over and sat beside me every time I came. It was kind of scary, to be honest.”
Scary. Kibum had been called many things in his life, ranging from hot as fuck to weird jackass, but never had he been called scary. Kibum does not know how to take this information.
“But you’re really nice, so I’m talking now, see?” Taemin pokes Kibum’s arm with the end of his croissant, an easy smile on his face. Kibum feels warm and fuzzy and all he could do was look down and drink his coffee, hoping that it would cool his insides.
It did, temporarily. After a few seconds he could feel himself glowing from the comfortable feeling.
--
It wasn’t like they became best buddies over night. They still met about once a week. But instead of Kibum rambling on and on, Taemin would chat excitedly about his day as well, and they would butt into each other’s conversations very often, making the other pissed off and trying to finish their story first. It was kind of amusing, the way they would lapse into mini-fights, but in the end they both just laughed it off.
Kibum likes being in the spotlight, but when Taemin begins to play on his violin, he commands everyone’s attention to him, his notes having a rather magnetic effect on the audience. There was something beautiful about the simple chords, the way his head was tilted and how his eyes were half-lidded, eyelashes casting shadows over his high cheekbones. During these moments, Kibum contents himself on being part of the crowd, eyes closed and just listening to the sound enveloping the atmosphere.
His songs are short and brief and Kibum wishes that he could just play on forever.
He doesn’t say it, though. He claps so hard his hands are red and stinging, and he smiles as wide as possible, making his cheeks hurt and his eyes disappear into slits. Taemin always looks flushed and giddy as he bounds over, his pockets full of coins and his violin carefully wiped and cleaned before he gently places it into the case. He treats his violin like it was the most precious thing to him, and he envies how glossy and pristine the condition it was in, looking like it was well-cared for.
“How long have you been playing the violin?” Kibum asks. Taemin’s startled out of his reverie and he looks at him, hands mid-wipe on the violin.
“Ever since I was little?” He ends the sentence with a question mark, as though he didn’t know the answer himself. “It’s been quite some time. I didn’t like it at first.”
“Really?” Kibum doesn’t quite believe it, because if he didn’t like something, he would drop it immediately and not just deal with it. He was one to plow through with his decisions and do what he liked. “Then why did you continue on?”
“It grew on me.” Taemin has a wistful smile on his face, looking like he was here but his mind was floating faraway, not anywhere near reality. “Now I can’t part with it.”
Kibum had never in his life wanted to be a violin so badly before.
--
His classes had taken up a much larger chunk in his time than usual, and so he finds himself walking towards the whale fountain at 8 pm instead of 5, pretty certain that Taemin had left already. He didn’t have his number, so he was left with blindly wandering around, half-heartedly hoping that the other was there.
He sees a few people walking on the streets, texting on their cell phones or window-shopping around the square. Kibum should be going home- in fact, all he wanted to do was take a shower and maybe watch re-runs of shitty dramas- but his feet lead him forward, walking with no definite destination in mind.
When he reaches the fountain, however, he sees Taemin sitting there, squinting underneath the soft light of the streetlights to write on his notebook.
“You.” Taemin looks up, an irritated expression on his face, but once he sees that it’s Kibum it all but melts away, a satisfied smile on his face. “Were you waiting for me?”
“Kind of. Yeah.” Taemin admits, closing the notebook and putting it into his backpack. “You’re late. I can’t believe you.” He adopts a scolding tone, one that’s usually reserved for mothers yelling at their sons.
“I’m sorry.” Kibum’s still a bit shocked at seeing the younger wait there for three hours for Kibum, of all people. His stomach flip-flops and he opens his mouth to apologize even more, but Taemin ignores him and motions for him to come over.
“Well, sit down beside me. Something really funny happened today and…”
Kibum’s arm brushes against Taemin’s as he plops down, and he doesn’t even think about going back to his warm house.
--
Sometimes. Just a bit. Kibum thinks about how elegant Taemin looks while playing the violin, or how he laughs by covering up his smile with his hand, his eyes morphing into happy-looking slits and cheekbones puffing out like a chipmunk with acorns in his mouth. He unconsciously brings banana milk to drink during class. He goes online to search for pretty violin pieces for Taemin to play for him. He begins to wear more red for his clothes.
While his professor droned on and on about destructive forces and words of wisdom, Kibum looks out the window and daydreams, wondering what Taemin was doing at the moment. He contemplates on bringing a bag of chips for him to snack on when the professor directs a question to him and he only answers with a rather smooth ‘huh’?
When he’s kicked out from the class, Kibum’s still thinking, pondering, wondering.
He’s not really in love with him. But maybe he was feeling something akin to that.
--
It’s a few weeks later, after their awkwardness had all but slipped away and replaced with pure, simple glee that Kibum invites Taemin over to his apartment, the younger looking up at the tall building with awe.
“This building is huge.” Taemin breathes, eyes wide open with excitement. Kibum feels a bit proud for some odd reason, even though it wasn’t like he had designed the building himself. “I like it.”
“Glad it’s to your fancy.” Kibum says, smirking. He jabs the button to go up- twelfth floor, he tells Taemin- and they stand in silence, jazzy elevator music playing in the background. There’s something that he wants to say, something that’s right on the tip of his tongue, but his mind just couldn’t wrap itself around it, unsure of what it was. He leans back onto the wall, and they’re only a few inches apart. He could see the other’s reflection in the chrome surface of the elevator, distorting his pretty features and making his hair a lighter shade of red.
The door pings open and they walk out, Kibum shaking his keys in a carefree manner, Taemin trailing behind him while looking around curiously. They reach his apartment door and Kibum suddenly remembers he had forgotten to do laundry.
“Don’t expect too much.” He warns Taemin. He nods his head obediently and Kibum wants to reach over and hug him.
He turns the doorknob instead and invites him in.
He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the starry-eyed look that Taemin was giving off at the moment, hurriedly taking off his shoes and running around in his apartment. Kibum watches him, grinning wryly as the boy plops down onto his couch and stretches out, resembling a cat.
There’s something endearing about how the boy looks to be completely full of bliss just because he was lying down on the couch, his arms and legs dangling off and back pressed against all the pillows. He goes into his fridge, fishes out a carton of milk and tosses it to Taemin, who just barely catches it.
“Thank you.” Taemin says sincerely, and opens up the carton, twisting the lid off and drinking it in a really unattractive way. Kibum doesn’t comment on it but tucks it back for future reference, in case it ever came up again. He was pretty sure it would come up pretty often. “I like your apartment. It’s much better than mine.” His voice had a fleeting undertone to it, and Kibum wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it passed by just as quickly as it had come.
“You can come over anytime you want.” Kibum finds himself saying. Taemin has on an appreciative look but he doesn’t speak, just resumes lying down and closing his eyes. “Seriously.”
“Okay.” Taemin has this stupid grin on his face that Kibum wants to wipe away, but all he does is walk over there and sidle beside him, motioning for him to take his feet off from the couch. Taemin complies rather unwillingly, but when they’re sitting side-by-side, leaning into each other’s bodies, Taemin has a mellow expression on his face.
There’s something to say about how Kibum has no idea about Taemin’s sexuality when his hand wraps around the other’s, fingers woven through the cracks and feeling the soft skin underneath his own. Taemin doesn’t object- in fact, he snuggles even closer, if that was possible- and Kibum feels like taking a leap of faith.
“Hey, Taemin-“ His words are snatched away when he sees the other’s head perched on his shoulder, the brilliant red locks framing his face and covering up most of his eyes. He wonders if the other was napping when Taemin cracks open one eye and looks at him through the corners.
“Kibum.” Taemin’s voice sounds sleepy and almost dream-like, his name broken into two distinct syllables. “You won’t ever leave me, right?”
“Leave you?” Kibum almost lets out a laugh, but holds it in after a moment’s hesitation. “Why would I do that?”
“Good.” Taemin says. “Good.”
It feels surreal when Taemin leans in closer to him, pressing against his stomach in a rather painful way and kneeing his thighs, trying to settle down on his lap in a more comfortable position for the both of them.
He forgets about the ache after he tastes Taemin’s lips against his.
--
It’s about five dates and two heated make-out sessions later that Kibum notices Taemin’s backpack.
Sure, he’s seen it before- the simple, strappy bright blue backpack that’s always strung around his shoulders, hitting his back every time he walked. But he’s never actually noticed it. It was just there, always with the boy, like a duck following its mom. Whenever Kibum closed his eyes and pictured Taemin, there would be three distinct features- his hair, his violin, and his backpack.
Kibum has loads of bags. He doesn’t like to stay the same or settle with only one. If he could, he’d have a different bag for every single day of the year, one that would match his moods and coordinate with his outfits. He’s flighty and spontaneous, not liking to have the same schedule or attire as the day before. Taemin would have that stupid backpack no matter what he wore, be it a blue blouse or his black t-shirt. If he left his violin behind, the backpack would be swaying in the wind, molding into the small of his back and have its existence known by its bright-as-fuck color.
“What’s up with the backpack?” He asks, cutting Taemin off. Taemin’s in the middle of talking about how a soccer ball hit his face one time when Kibum rips his cookie in half, offering the bigger piece to him. Taemin takes it with a pout on his face.
“What about the backpack?” He says, crumbs tumbling out of his mouth in a rather disgusting way. Kibum had told him time and time again to eat with his mouth closed, but obviously Taemin forgot about it.
“You always have it with you. Why?” He swallows his cookie and looks at him expectantly, who all of a sudden has a demure and almost shy look on his face.
“Um.” Taemin blinks and pulls his backpack onto his lap, looking at it while biting his lips with worry. “The backpack isn’t really important. It’s what’s inside.”
“What’s inside?” Kibum persists. Taemin clutches the backpack even tighter before he visibly deflates, sighing and opening up the bag.
There’s only one item in the backpack, and it was the tattered black notebook, the one that had the papers falling out of the edges and millions of scribbles across the yellowed pages. “They’re music sheets.” Taemin explains, fingers caressing it ever so gently before passing it to Kibum. “I wrote it myself.”
“You?” Kibum’s rather impressed, because although he had taken piano for a few years, he had never actually attempted to create his own music. His mother usually forced upon him music books from classical composers, not blank pieces of paper for him to let his imagination run wild. “You write music?”
“It’s really bad though.” He admits. “I have no skill in composing. I can only play music.”
Kibum flips through a few pages and reads some of the bars, inwardly wincing at the way the sounds clashed and how it sounded messy and harsh, unlike his smooth, controlled playing. They were vivid and modern however, something that Kibum would like to dance to, and he can picture a crazy professor from somewhere deeming it a work of genius.
“It’s very unique.” Kibum comments, handing the notebook back. Taemin puts it back into his backpack, zipping it up and putting it on his lap. “Why didn’t you just tell me beforehand? I thought it was some big, mysterious secret, like a chamber or a trap door.”
There’s a serene smile on Taemin’s lips, and he looks at Kibum, staring into his eyes. “It’s not a secret. It’s my hopes. My future.”
And just like that, Kibum gets it.
Oh.
Taemin’s backpack is full of dreams.
--
The magic wears off much too quickly for Kibum’s liking. He finds himself picking on the other’s small faults often, poking and prodding at carelessly uttered words and brash actions. When Taemin’s trying to get Kibum out of his stormy mood one day by tickling him, Kibum snaps at him, his voice all edges.
“Can you stop it?” Kibum seethes, making Taemin startled. “I’m in a bad mood right now.”
“Evidently.” Taemin mutters underneath his breath, and Kibum almost doesn’t catch it. Almost being the key word.
“What?” Kibum sounds sharp, his words crisp and clear. “Can you just stop talking for a second?”
“Alright, your highness. I’ll shut up now.” Taemin has a really unattractive scowl on his face, his large eyes narrowed into slits, and Kibum feels like slapping him.
“Why are you like this?” Kibum says, exasperated. “You’re usually not this annoying.”
“Sorry if I’m not up to your standards.” Taemin’s voice is biting and ice-cold, a stark contrast to his usual soft tones. “I’m not perfect, you know.”
“Wha- I never said you were.”
“So I’m full of faults?”
“No! Quit twisting my words around!” Kibum walks a few steps quicker and whirls around, their eyes locked in a staring contest. He sees himself reflected in Taemin’s chocolate orbs, and he’s seething, hands gripped into fists at the sides.
“Kibum.” Taemin sounds tired, his posture relaxing from its previous stiffened pose. “Kibum. Really. I’m not perfect. Stop putting me up on a pedestal.”
“I- what?” Kibum blinks. He doesn’t know how the conversation directs to the topic of perfection, doesn’t know why Taemin suddenly looks defeated, but before he could ask anymore, Taemin whirls around, his hair swishing in the wind.
“I’m going to leave. Go home and take a nap, and come back when you’re calm.” Taemin says, walking away.
The only thing bright about the situation was Taemin’s blue backpack, seemingly mocking at a confused Kibum.
--
He has a notepad full of things he hates about Lee Taemin. Like the way he eats as though he’s not going to have a meal in the next ten years- he just shoves the food down his throat. And how he tunes out occasionally and catapults back to reality with a bunch of misheard words and makes up a brand new sentence that doesn’t even make any sense. And how he formulates his own opinions without a second thought, not listening to the whole story before judging someone.
But right next to the list is an even bigger list of things he loves about him. How he laughs by covering his mouth with the back of his hand- that was cute. Or how he knows exactly what Kibum wanted before he even said it. And the fact that when Kibum was angry, he would just back off and let him calm down, not go and argue with him.
Kibum remembers his first impression of Taemin- silent, quiet, withdrawn. A fairy, perched in the middle of the crowd, sitting in front of a whale fountain.
But he wasn’t a fairy.
He was Lee Taemin. The boy that sometimes doesn’t listen when Kibum’s rambling, the boy that can’t find his cell phone even when it’s right in his hands, the boy that was flawless because of his little faults.
He was Kibum’s. His.
His phone has no missed calls or new text messages. It’s oddly empty, and he scrolls through his contacts list, trying to locate Taemin’s number.
Kibum doesn’t know what to do after he sent the thirty-fourth text message that Taemin doesn’t reply to.
--
Kibum waits, day after day, at the stupid whale fountain with stupid people milling about and waiting for a stupid red-head named Taemin. He gets there from as early as four pm until seven. One time he waited until midnight.
No one appeared besides a lone stray cat.
His inbox is still empty- damn brat- and he’s slightly afraid of what was going to happen. He had the vague feeling that this would be a bad set-up for a film when he feels someone’s shadow over his, temporarily shading him from the sun. He looks up, taking off his sunglasses to see clearer, and he sees the faintest flick of red hair.
Taemin.
“Hi.” Taemin says rather awkwardly, staying far away from Kibum. “How’s it going.”
“How’s it going.” Kibum repeats rather listlessly, and Taemin shuffles a bit, adjusting the weight in his leg. “How do you think it’s going?! I’ve been waiting here for you, every day, for like, what, two weeks? I spent two weeks of my afternoons just sitting here like an idiot, in front of a whale fountain while doing absolutely nothing, and the first thing you say is how’s it GOING?!” He shouts the last word out loud, and a few passersby swivel their heads to their direction, wondering what was going on.
“Look, I’m sorry.” Taemin begins. “I’ve been really occupied-“
“So you don’t even leave a fucking text message?”
“I dropped my phone into the pond.”
“How precious.” Kibum says sarcastically, shoving his iPod into his bag. “That is just fucking awesome.”
“You can think of it as payback from when you left me waiting for hours.” Taemin sounds like he’s joking but there’s a weird tone to his words, like he’s trying to stifle down a sob. “Are you mad at me?” Kibum’s about to snort and laugh in front of his face when he sees Taemin cowering down, looking like a puppy about to get beaten up. Something squeezes Kibum’s heart and he melts like a marshmallow in the fire, sighing and shoving his iPod into his bag.
“No. No, I’m not.” And Kibum realizes that he wasn’t mad at him. It wasn’t Taemin’s fault. It never was to begin with. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry for not meeting up with you earlier.” Taemin has his hand outstretched, and Kibum takes it, squeezing it gently and leaning into the warm grip. He hadn’t noticed it before, but his body misses it- the hand holding, the frequent hugs, the heated kisses. Taemin’s looking at him with a mischievous look in his eyes and Kibum doesn’t know what’s going on when all of a sudden Taemin grabs him behind his neck and pulls him in and he tastes like milk and candy and mmm.
All he knows is that he kind of likes where this was leading.
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