30 day drabbles 16-20
sixteen: thanks
onho, pg13
seventeen: look
onho, r
eighteen: summer
jongkey, r
nineteen: transformation
minkey, pg13
twenty: tremble
onho, pg13
- day sixteen: thanks
onho; 1802 words; angst, romance; pg13
Someone once told Minho that one could not love without first loving oneself.
That, he knew without a shred of doubt, was a lie.
In the lightest terms, Minho’s feelings towards his own existence were of absolute loathing. He hated himself more than should be imaginable, more than he hated anything else. He thought of himself as nothing more than a waste of matter and an unfortunate configuration of atoms. He abhorred everything about himself, from his gangly limbs to his inability to do anything right and every little thing in between. Everything he did was a transgression. Everything he thought was stupid. Everything he said was even worse. He often thought that the world would be better off if he’d never been born.
Minho was in love.
Very unfortunate for the other person, he thought in his misery, but couldn’t stop himself from feeling the overwhelming affection for the upperclassman who tutored him in science (because, again, he couldn’t do anything right on his own).
Lee Jinki was everything Minho wished he was: full of easy smiles and effortless charm. Jinki was funny when he didn’t mean to be and not funny when he tried to be. A perfect mix of polite, intelligent, kind, respectful. In a word, perfect.
Jinki didn’t know what Minho thought of him, not in the slightest; Minho didn’t want to burden him with his feelings. He was already interrupting his life enough with their tutoring sessions every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. He didn’t want Jinki to even think about him outside those few hours they spent together. It was better that way, better for Minho to think that no one ever really spared him a second thought.
He wasn’t worth a minute of Jinki’s time, much less one of his fleeting thoughts.
Minho wasn’t good at soccer.
He was mediocre at best and shamefully sloppy at worst, and he’d long before convinced himself that he was only on the school’s team because the coach took pity on him at tryouts. The over-eager kid with legs too long to run with the ideal finesse and hopes too high to ignore. A charity case.
Now, when he went to soccer practice, he could see the disapproving stares from his teammates because he was lacking in everything he did even after so much training; he could hear their low mumbles in the locker room and feel the isolation from the other guys because he carried a dark cloud above his head everywhere he went.
He wished he’d never tried out in the first place.
Sometimes Jinki met up with Minho outside the locker room doors when he was done with practice so they could walk to the science lab for tutoring together. Minho liked those days the best, because even if he might as well have been a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of Jinki’s sneaker, it still felt nice to be around him. He was a ray of sunshine personified, his bright, vibrant attitude stark contrast to Minho’s own dark cloud.
Jinki sometimes made Minho incredibly angry.
It was never when he smiled too effortlessly or combed his long shaggy bangs out of his eyes; it wasn’t when he carefully explained the same biology lesson for the third time, patience never waning even though Minho was an idiot who didn’t understand simple concepts.
It was when Jinki told him he was doing a good job. It was when Jinki smiled at him like he was proud, like Minho wasn’t the fuck-up that he knew he was. It was when Jinki beamed and patted his shoulder and said that he got something correct or when he patted his back in consolation when Minho got his test scores back, promising that he would do better next time and they would study hard together.
It was when Jinki got Minho’s hopes up that he wasn’t just dirt under his shoe, that he actually meant something to Jinki.
Minho hated when Jinki showed him such care. It made him feel like a sheet of paper lying in the palm of someone’s hand, nervously anticipating the moment that the person would crumple the paper into a useless ball and toss it in the trash bin. It made him feel like he mattered for half a moment before he reverted to his personal logic that he was to Jinki like he was to the soccer team: just someone he pitied.
The second time he failed his biology test was the same day the soccer team lost a match against a rival school.
He blamed himself for both.
It wasn’t Jinki’s fault he failed; Jinki was a competent teacher, a wonderful teacher. Minho was just an idiot.
It wasn’t the team’s fault they lost; Minho slipped on the wet grass when he was trying to pass the ball and fell down, letting the opponent steal it away and score the winning point.
In the locker room after everyone else had cleared out, Minho found himself wondering why the hell he even bothered living anymore. He was nothing but a nuisance to everyone else, a lost cause in every way. His parents would be so disappointed in him for failing another test; he prayed that his older brother wouldn’t hear about this game, lest he scowl at Minho at the dinner table for another month to come. He wondered why he hadn’t ended it long ago, why he hadn’t just-
Oh yeah, because along with being a burden on everyone around him, he was also a shameful coward.
Minho felt hot tears dripping down his cheeks along with the lukewarm shower water in the locker room. He was so sick of this, so sick of feeling so alone and of hating himself for his every little fault.
He wanted to be like Jinki. He wanted to know what it was like to be good at everything, to have the ability to make someone else’s heart face and their face break into a grin even when they felt like they’d forgotten how to do it on their own. He wanted Jinki to be there, a complacent hand between his shoulder blades, soft voice telling him he did his best and that was what mattered.
But he didn’t want Jinki to waste his time with him.
Minho bent down to grab his bag to sling over his shoulder, dressed and dreading that he had to walk home in the freezing drizzle outside. He breathed deep, in and out, exhausted by the game and by his own emotions. He was sick of this. So sick.
Jinki was outside the door when he walked out, just like the days they had tutoring.
Minho stopped dead, lips unable to even form a question of what he was doing there.
“I saw the game,” Jinki said, voice bright as always.
Minho sighed and stared down at the tiles.
“You did really well!”
His head snapped up and his jaw went slightly slack. “What are you-I lost the game for us, hyung,” he said slowly, unsure if Jinki even understood the gravity of the situation.
“No you didn’t.” He shook his head and then, just like always, had to brush his hair out of his eyes. “You slipped on wet grass, Minho. It happened to half your team. It’s not your fault.” His voice was solemn, serious, reminiscent of when he taught Minho a difficult concept.
Minho didn’t agree with him. But he didn’t want to say that and upset him. “What are you doing here?” he mumbled instead.
“Oh,” Jinki perked up again, tone lightening, “I came to see if you wanted a ride home.”
Minho blinked, dumbstruck again by his hyung’s care for him. He didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. If nothing else, he figured he should be walking home in the rain as punishment for failing the test and losing the game and just being him.
“You shouldn’t walk in the rain, you’ll get sick.” His brows drew together slightly, lips tilting in a sheepish smile.
“I’d deserve it.” Minho didn’t even realize the words had escaped his lips until Jinki’s head was tilting in concern.
“What do you mean?”
“I-” A rant bubbled on his tongue, each word of loathing skating on the edge of his tongue; his hands fisted at his sides and his bag slid down his shoulder and landed on the tiles with a dull noise, “We lost the game. I failed my test. I can’t even pass a biology test even after you taught me everything. I’m not worth-”
His words stuck in his throat like a second Adam’s apple when he felt warm arms wrap around his middle and a chin settle on his shoulder.
“I-what-” His arms were static at his sides, eyes going wide; he stared unseeingly at the wall behind Jinki, so confused by the sudden move. His heart jumped out of rhythm and he felt sick.
“You’ve improved a lot, Minho. You don’t see it, but I do,” Jinki said soothingly, soft words loud in his ear as they were spoken just over his shoulder.
Minho’s stomach flipped over and his arms rose uncertainly to drape around Jinki’s shoulders.
“You work so hard and you don’t give yourself any credit. You’re too harsh on yourself. I can tell.”
Minho felt his grip tighten unconsciously, heart clenching just the same with every one of Jinki’s words.
“I’m so proud of everything you do.”
He crumbled right there, clinging onto Jinki and burying his nose into his neck. He felt his shoulders trembling but he tried with every bit of strength left in his exhausted body not to cry.
Jinki rubbed his back, pressing his warm chest closer to Minho’s. He didn’t try to push Minho away, not even once, and that made Minho’s heart hurt just the same as it soared.
“Thank you,” Minho said, a rush of emotion clouding his brain; he couldn’t think of anything better than just that to tell Jinki to express his appreciation, just how much he loved him for always making him feel like he was worth something even when he didn’t think he was.
He wanted to tell him a thousand things and not a single one all at once; he didn’t want to burden him with his thoughts but for the first time he considered that maybe Jinki wouldn’t mind having that burden.
“Thank you,” he repeated, voice cracking around the syllables.
It wasn’t true, not to Minho, that he had to love himself before he could love Jinki; but he thought that maybe he could learn to let himself be happy, especially when Jinki’s embrace, arms tight, hands lightly patting his back, made him feel like the most worthwhile person on the planet.
- day seventeen: look
onho; 676 words; angst, sexual situations; r
Jinki wiped his lips, filmy white residue catching light on the back of his hand. “D-don’t tell anyone, okay?” His voice trembled as he spoke, barely able to look Minho in the eye.
Minho’s lips turned into a frown and his stomach clenched up. His eyes slowly peeled open, and he tried to keep his knees from trembling. He looked down at Jinki, uncaring of his intimidating he seemed from here. In fact, after hearing him say that, he favored it. “Don’t worry,” he began coldly, “I won’t have to tell anyone. They’ll be able to smell the cum on your breath anyway.”
Jinki’s eyes tripled in size and his lips opened and shut. “I-”
“Regret swallowing now, huh?” Minho asked coolly, eyes half-lidded, back of his head beginning to throb from throwing it back against the wall before. He thought bitterly that he would have a headache now even without the egg-sized knot to add to the sensation.
Jinki looked like a lost fish, features consumed in shame and humiliation.
Minho couldn’t stand to look at his face like that. “Get the fuck out of here,” he snarled, and used the hand still knotted in his hair to shove his head back.
Jinki fell back, hair a dismal mess in front of his face. He waited a beat and then scrambled to gather his discarded bag and throw it over his shoulder. As he was rocking back on his heels to stand, he stumbled back and a heart-stopping crunch sound was heard; he’d stepped on and shattered his glasses lens.
Minho pretended not to notice Jinki glancing up at him in horror, busying himself with buckling his belt back into place.
The older student, after none-too-gracefully stumbling sideways against the stall and having to regain his balance, all-but flew out of the stall, throwing the door open and walking out the dingy bathroom with his chin tucked to his chest, fingers clenching the strap of his bag so hard his knuckles were white. Minho didn’t miss a tear streak on the side of his face, as much as he feigned ignorance.
Minho didn’t see what he was so ashamed of. Or what he was afraid of.
No, he knew what he was ashamed of. And afraid of. Minho wasn’t an idiot. And Jinki had made his concerns quite clear anyway.
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets so hard that he saw dots of light on the backs of his eyelids.
God fucking forbid someone found out Minho and Jinki did something like that together. Because how shameful would it be for anyone to know that Jinki had a closet affinity for having cock down his throat, or that Minho equally enjoyed having his cock down Jinki’s throat.
Except everyone already knew about Minho, and he didn’t mind it one bit.
But here he was, the one stuck waiting in the bathroom stall with quickened breath and a brick of ice where his stomach should be, so no one would find out that Jinki was in there with him. That the reason for Jinki’s dirtied knees and mussed hair and swollen lips was because of a mix of Minho and hormones and unadulterated lust.
Even more shameful, still, would it be for Minho to ever let Jinki know how much it hurt, how much it actually broke his fucking heart, to hear his plea for him not to tell. To know how mortified he was to have done any of that with Minho at all. To be kept as a one-time dirty little secret.
To know that, past this one impulsive encounter, there wasn’t a chance in hell that Jinki would so much as speak to him again.
And, as someone who was content inopportunely getting sucked off between classes, but someone who would also love to take the studious boy on a date sometime and maybe actually kiss him like he didn’t get a chance to before Jinki was on his knees, that really fucking sucked for Minho.
- day eighteen: summer
jongkey; 1119 words; fluff, romance; r
Jonghyun rolled over, cracked open his eyes, and sighed.
He was used to Kibum getting up earlier than him-the younger was so restless in the mornings, which Jonghyun would never understand-, but he thought that maybe things would be different when they were relaxing on a summer vacation. Here, in the nice hotel on Jeju Island, balcony overlooking the sea, they didn’t have housework to take care of, or any pressing work matters to attend to. They were here to take time off together, to unwind for once and not live their hectic lives, the dancer’s schedule and the singer’s schedule forgotten for the week.
But no, Kibum still got up in the morning before Jonghyun did, because something rooted in the fiber of his being didn’t allow him to have a lie-in for once. He probably went and found a feather duster under the cabinet and was dusting the shelves or something, as if they didn’t have maids for that.
Jonghyun smiled at the thought and rolled over. A quick stretch, and then he slid out of bed. He found his pajama pants right beside the bed (discarded the night before, of course, because what would a vacation be without making love, dragging out every second because they had no obligations to be up early in the morning, leaving all the marks they wanted because they didn’t have to keep up appearances for a week), but gave up the search for his shirt when it didn’t show up in his immediate line of sight. He was sure Kibum wouldn’t mind, anyway.
After a trip to the bathroom to brush his teeth-morning breath was definitely not on his list of favorite things in the world-, he padded through the room’s sitting area. It was then that he got a whiff of the air and found that, typical, Kibum was cooking breakfast.
He stood in the kitchenette’s doorway, arms crossed over his chest, amused smile on his lips. “Good morning.”
Kibum turned back with wide eyes, as if he didn’t expect Jonghyun to catch him cooking. His hair was still mussed from sleep, lips redder than normal. He smiled at him, almost nervously.
Jonghyun walked around to the stove, because the setup of the space kept him from seeing Kibum properly.
He didn’t have much luck walking, however, when he caught sight of what Kibum was wearing. Or rather, wasn’t wearing.
Jonghyun solved the mystery of his missing shirt at least, because it was the only thing Kibum was wearing, pale skin of his smooth, bare legs making Jonghyun’s heart pound. His and Kibum’s size difference wasn’t that big-Kibum was taller, but Jonghyun wore bigger clothes because his torso was thicker-, so the shirt didn’t cover much, hem reaching the tops of his thighs, sleeves falling down near his elbows.
What it was covering, however, wasn’t nearly as important as what it wasn’t covering.
Jonghyun’s throat was stuck. His boyfriend was usually the modest one, the one clothed head-to-toe in pajamas in the mornings after he showered.
So it went without saying that Jonghyun wasn’t used to seeing him so… scantily-clad.
“H-hey,” he stuttered, and it was really unnecessary because he’d already greeted Kibum when he walked in. Now he was just giving himself away.
Kibum glanced over at him with a half-smile, pushing around something unidentifiable but very delicious-smelling in the skillet with a spatula. “Hi. How’d you sleep?”
“Fine.” He forced himself not to openly gawk at Kibum’s legs. “You?”
“Very well. The bed is really soft.” His smile grew.
“Key, are you even wearing-” underwear?
Kibum reached above his head to turn on the light on the stove, rising to his tiptoes, and Jonghyun’s question was answered.
He choked on air.
“Key, what are you-” he broke off, voice too weak to sustain the question. Had he not been so shell-shocked, he would have been incredibly turned on by his scarcely-dressed boyfriend.
“I’m on vacation,” he said resolutely, bordering on stubbornly, stirring the contents of the skillet again. “I don’t have to wear underwear if I don’t want to.”
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
Kibum turned to him and laughed.
He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the back to calm himself down. The unexpected role-reversal was stressing him out. And he couldn’t stop himself from staring at his boyfriend’s legs, especially after he was on his tiptoes and it made it so much more obvious how well-toned he was.
“You’re the one who makes a habit of being half-naked all the time. You can’t say much, Jonghyun.” He quirked a brow towards him.
Jonghyun let out a strangled sound that was supposed to be a response, but crashed and burned halfway up his throat.
Kibum laughed again, eyes squeezing shut for a second.
Of course he was enjoying this, Jonghyun thought miserably. Apparently time to relax made Kibum a sadist.
The younger punctuated the laugh with a wink, not entirely saucy or seductive, just something playful. It was enough to make Jonghyun’s hair stand on end.
“You need to stop that,” he said half-seriously.
“Why are you so flustered?” He turned the heat off and moved the skillet off the burner, lips pulled into a smile.
Jonghyun only got more so at the question. “I swear to god, Kibum, I’m about to bend you over the counter and-”
“The food will get cold.” He waved him off, scraping the breakfast-it looked like eggs with some vegetables in there, and Jonghyun had to wonder where he even got the ingredients in a hotel room-onto two plates.
“You’re a horrible tease.”
Kibum chuckled and held out a plate for him. “Do you want breakfast or not?”
Jonghyun glared at him, but took the plate anyway, no less than stomping to the table. Chopsticks were already sitting out for him, so he didn’t wait to start eating.
“Oh man, I forgot I brought my apron with me!” Kibum called from the kitchen.
“Then put it on,” Jonghyun said distractedly; Kibum’s food usually had that effect on him.
Kibum walked to the table with his plate, and it took all of one glance to have Jonghyun choking on his food.
“What?” Kibum asked innocently, as if he hadn’t taken off Jonghyun’s shirt and wasn’twearing the apron with nothing else under it.
“Nothing.” Jonghyun shook his head and trained his eyes on his plate. His cheeks were blazing and his stomach was turning over and he really couldn’t handle his boyfriend being such an insufferable tease.
This was going to be the most stressful summer vacation he ever went on, he could feel it.
- day nineteen: transformation
minkey; 1625 words; comedy, slice-of-life; pg13
“This must be all new to you, huh?” Jonghyun grinned, patting the wary Kibum on his back.
“I grew up here, Jjong, it’s not new,” Kibum rolled his eyes, batting away Jonghyun’s hand. It was his best effort to hide how nervous he actually was, going to this party at a university of all things only a day after he got back into Korea. He was incredibly self-conscious of how rusty and accented his speaking must be after using primarily English for a solid seven years while he studied abroad in California, and the fact that Jonghyun had already poked fun at him for the combination of his American and Daegu accent he had really didn’t help matters.
Jonghyun continued to pat him, wearing a snide smile.
“STOP,” Kibum snapped, and only afterward realized that he’d said it in English.
Oh god, he was hopeless.
“Relax,” Jonghyun caught on easily to his distress, “It’s a party. Just have fun.”
He gave a shaky smile, trying to put up his optimistic front. Jonghyun would stay with him through the night, he promised, ever his best friend. That fact served to put him a bit at ease, though the anxiety was still underlying.
“I wonder if any of our old classmates are going to be here,” Kibum mused aloud, coming upon the friend-of-a-friend’s house and sensing the upbeat atmosphere.
“Maybe,” Jonghyun said, “But I doubt anyone will recognize you.”
Kibum narrowed his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just saying you looked a lot different since you left when you were, what fourteen? I mean, I barely recognized you at the airport and I’ve been your best friend since we were five.”
His eyes remained squinted in skepticism.
He shrugged and offered a vague, “Puberty did you good.”
His judgement went higher.
“You got super hot,” Jonghyun said bluntly.
Kibum’s only reaction was to burst into laughter.
Jonghyun’s smile looked accomplished, as if making him laugh was his goal all along.
Kibum appreciated it either way.
Once inside the house, Kibum found himself feeling more comfortable. He didn’t talk to many people, save for two guys sitting on the couch named Jinki and Taemin, who Jonghyun insisted he had to meet. He was nervous, but not cripplingly so like before. Jonghyun was there to make sure he didn’t mix up his words and to nudge him when he said something in English out of habit, so he was all right.
“Let’s get a drink. You’re still too uptight.”
“Shut up, I haven’t even been back for three days yet,” Kibum hissed as Jonghyun dragged him to the kitchen. “Hearing Korean all around me is giving me a headache.”
“Excuse me that we’re not all multilingual like you are,” Jonghyun rolled his eyes, “I can start speaking English if you want me to. Hello, my name is Jonghyun. My hobbies are singing and playing inst-how do you say that?-instruments. I love you. Merry Christmas. I’m sorry. How are you? I’m fine, thank you, and you? Where is the restro-”
“Oh my god, Jonghyun, stop.” Kibum felt a stitch in his side from laughing so hard at his rapidfire random and badly-accented English phrases.
“Stop,” he said in English. “You just said that one. Stop. Stop stop stop stop-”
“Jonghyun, I swear to god, you are so annoying-” Kibum’s upcoming rant was cut short when the sound of loud laughter caught his attention. He looked around for the perpetrator and his eyes settled on a trio of guys standing nearby the kitchen door. The one laughing was the tallest, with wavy brown hair and eyes that looked big even squinted up from his smile.
He started speaking, and Kibum couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying from that far away, but he caught an air of confidence and ease as he casually spoke with the other two.
“Who’s he?” Kibum asked, interest peaking as his eyes trailed down from the handsome face to his nice clothes and the hand holding a plastic cup with his drink, and then back up.
“No clue,” Jonghyun mumbled. “Stop staring, it’s weird.”
“I’m not staring,” Kibum slapped at his shoulder.
“What do you want to drink?” Jonghyun asked as he reached the counter covered in bottles of assorted beverages.
Kibum shrugged, eyes sneaking over to the tall man again. “Don’t care. Alcohol.”
“You’re too easy, Kibum.”
He shrugged a second time, glaring at Jonghyun playfully. “Sue me.”
“Excuse me,” a low voice said beside him, and Kibum’s head whipped around.
It was the tall guy. Right beside him, trying to reach for a bottle of soju around Kibum.
“Oh, sorry.” Kibum winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth, because dammit, he reverted back to English again. The tall guy caught him off guard. It wasn’t exactly fair.
The guy looked at him curiously, a glance at first that turned into incredulous studying. “Do I know you?”
Kibum blinked at the sudden question; he could feel his face heating up. “Um, I-”
“Kim Kibum?” his eyes grew.
Kibum’s did the same. “Yes?”
“It’s me, Choi Minho!” A huge, excited smile grew across his lips. “We w-went to middle school together!”
He racked his brains for any memory of the name “Choi Minho” but came up blank. “I’m sorry, I don’t-”
“Wow, you look r-really great.” His grin softened slightly, looking at Kibum like a familiar friend.
“You all right, Minho?” Jonghyun piped up from Kibum, “Had too much to drink?”
Minho’s eyes went wide and ashamed at being called out. His stammer grew even worse. “Sorry, I uh-this is a b-bad habit I’ve had s-since I was a k-k-kid.”
“Really? I’ve haven’t heard you stutter like this since middle school.”
Wait, so Jonghyun did know who he was? Kibum was so confused. And a bit upset at his friend, because Minho wasn’t causing any harm and Jonghyun was pointing out his stutter in a cruel way.
“S-s-sorry,” Minho put his cup to his lips for a moment. Kibum saw that his hands were shaking. “I only get this way when I’m n-nervous.”
“Then maybe I was wrong and you need more to drink, huh?” Jonghyun said, voice cold.
“Jonghyun,” Kibum hissed at him, disapproving.
Jonghyun scowled and went back to mixing their drinks.
And all in one swoop, Kibum’s memory rushed back and he remembered Choi Minho.
The tall, lanky kid who was too into sports and had a terrible stutter that he tried to hide by staying silent in class. Someone who Kibum was good friends with despite their clashing personalities, and who Jonghyun was eternally jealous of for reasons Kibum wasn’t sure.
He seemed to have changed just as much as Kibum did. The awkward-limbed body had filled out, slender and fit, his cheekbones high, eyes large, lips full, nose perfectly straight. He was incredibly handsome, Kibum’s usual type down to the T. Without the glasses perched on his nose or the fringe hanging over his eyes, Kibum didn’t recognize him at first.
“Oh my god, Minho!” Kibum’s face lit up. “I remember you now!”
Minho grinned and he offered a bit of a friendly wave.
“You uh,” Kibum smiled shyly, trying not to come on too strong for meeting him again for the first time in years. “You’ve changed a lot.”
Minho laughed lightly. “Only on the outside. You h-have too. I l-like your accent.”
Kibum covered his mouth for a moment, self-conscious that it was that noticeable. “I was in America for seven years, don’t make fun,” he grumbled, unable to stop himself from pouting.
The taller man grinned. “It’s okay I-I’m not better off.” He shrugged. “I missed y-you when you left-t. I’m glad you’re back.”
Kibum’s lips spread in a smile, apples of his cheeks tinting with color. “Thanks,”
“Are you b-back for good now?
He nodded, wishing he had a drink in his hand so his arms wouldn’t be awkwardly hanging at his sides.
"Well, I’d l-love to catch up-p, if you w-want to get lunch or s-something,” Minho said, barely meeting Kibum’s eyes, a nervous smile on his lips.
Kibum’s heart jumped. “Yeah, sure, I’m-”
“Here’s your drink, Kibum,” Jonghyun interrupted, nudging him from behind.
Kibum faked a smile, teeth gritting together as he turned to Jonghyun and took it with a stale “thanks.”
Jonghyun’s “no problem” seemed just as forced.
“Minho, did you get lost?” someone called from the next room.
“Just a second, guys! My old friend is here!” Minho’s voice sounded entirely transformed when he talked to the other guys, smooth and stable, without so much as a hitch to a single syllable. In his hands was a pen and a napkin he’d swiped from the counter.
It made Kibum curious, hearing how composed he was talking to the other guys compared to when he spoke to him.
He handed over the napkin, on which a cell phone number was written. “So, I’ll t-talk to y-you later?”
Kibum grinned at the number and then at him, feeling endeared as he heard the stutter come out again. “Yeah, of course.”
His smile lit up the entire room. “Cool, I’ll l-look forward to i-it.” He gave another cordial wave as he left through the doorway.
“Stop staring, it’s weird.”
“I’m not staring, Jonghyun, Christ!” He hurriedly brought his cup to his lips and took a good long sip of it, downing almost half of it at once.
“You like him,” Jonghyun said dryly.
He tucked the napkin into his pants pocket, smiling fondly. “He’s just… he’s changed a lot, I guess.”
Jonghyun snorted, unconvinced.
Kibum just shot him a glare and swallowed the rest of his drink.
The way he saw it, at least he wasn’t completely nervous about coming back anymore.
- day twenty: tremble
onho; 873 words; romance, general; pg13
Jinki’s hands trembled and he balled his fists to stop them; the resulting stab of his fingernails stabbing into his palms served to keep him grounded, keep him alert. Self-consciousness struck him the longer he stood: he should have trimmed his nails more neatly, maybe at a time that his hands weren’t shaking; his hair was grown out (perhaps too long?) and pushed behind his ear on one side, but should he have pinned it back instead? His clothing suddenly weighed tons more on his figure, and the thought that he’d chosen the wrong things, that this was more of an occasion than he dressed for, made him cringe.
It was too late to change any of that now.
(He was immobile, in any case, too afflicted by nerves to consider moving.)
Anticipation grew thick and suffocating in the air amongst the small group awaiting their loved ones. Above the sound of blood pulsing in his ears, he couldn’t easily hear the chatter, but he could see his comrades in waiting. Mothers fussed with daughters’ hair and fixed sons’ ties. They appeared slightly compulsive as they rocked their babies in their arms, patting diapered bottoms, and Jinki both empathized with and greatly envied those mothers.
Jinki was by himself; his concerns not including children, only the man who was coming home to him that day. A twinge of selfish shame nipped at him, but he exhaled it away at the memory of the promise they’d shared before the other man had gone. As soon as they were both finished with their military service, they would start a family together. It was a scary thought (Jinki had never been the most skilled with kids, and it was by some miracle that he kept their cat alive in the time the house had been missing one), yet he was willing to brave such a leap. More than anything, he desired their lives together to be complete: a humble, charming home, a few children to raise and cherish, pets, neighbors, friends, everything.
Now that he was returning, their chance to make that a reality was awaiting.
Someone gasped beside Jinki; the abrupt jump out of his reverie jostled him in place and he nearly tripped sideways.
He could see silhouettes of men walking from around a corner and the thrum of his pulse tripled; he couldn’t discern their figures clearly, and wasn’t sure to blame the lighting or his tearing eyes. He was shivering now, uncontrollably; the excited whispers coming from around him punctuated his every shake like a full stop.
Footsteps approaching, scuffs of boots on tile, muttering grower louder. Jinki’s ears went deaf to anything aside from his heartbeat. Both eyes strained to find his beloved in the crowd, but moisture veiled his eyes like a fun house mirror. He blinked in quick succession to will them back, because his first glimpse of the man in the flesh wouldn’t be compromised if he could help it.
A few men sped their steps, some broke into a run, at the sight of their loved ones waiting to greet them. Uniforms whirred past Jinki, men’s arms outstretched, wives and children gasping with happiness. Sons and daughters were scooped into long-awaited hugs, wives were swept into overdue kisses.
Jinki watched the miniature crowd disperse and his shivers grew slightly more violent.
Where are you…?
There.
Knees weakened as eyes met and went wide all in one moment. A smile broke across that face he’d so dearly waited to see, and every bit of breath left Jinki’s body.
“Min-” The word choked as the first tear broke the barrier, and at once, Minho was running.
Jinki felt a numb leg lift to step forward but he couldn’t manage even one step before Minho was pressed against him, arms constricting around his shoulders.
Overwhelmed heart, eyes squeezing shut, arms twining around a familiar waist in an out-of-practice motion. Jinki couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything at all other than hold Minho as close as possible, bury his nose in the side of his neck, feel the heartbeat that pounded hard enough for him to feel it in the off beats of his own.
“Jinki…” Lips brushed against the tiny space of exposed skin over his collar.
Jinki shivered, and had Minho’s hold been any looser, he would’ve lost his footing entirely and fallen to the ground. Those lips felt just as phenomenal on his skin as he remembered; the subtle touch of rough skin against the gooseflesh counterpart sent his senses back into the realm of pure astonishment.
As soon as they reached their home, he could have those lips pressing into his own. He could have so much more that he’d missed, that he’d fantasized about, that he’d anticipated.
“We should get home.” Jinki’s voice trembled, not sounding quite like his own. Moisture transferred from his cheeks to Minho’s collar.
Arms shifted around him, feet took a minute step forward to bring them impossibly closer, and lips moved to his ear.
“Like this…” The tone of his voice was like the sweetest music, the exact tenor to pluck at his heartstrings. Hands gripped tighter and Jinki could feel him melting into his touch.
“I already am home.”
onho, pg13
seventeen: look
onho, r
eighteen: summer
jongkey, r
nineteen: transformation
minkey, pg13
twenty: tremble
onho, pg13
- day sixteen: thanks
onho; 1802 words; angst, romance; pg13
Someone once told Minho that one could not love without first loving oneself.
That, he knew without a shred of doubt, was a lie.
In the lightest terms, Minho’s feelings towards his own existence were of absolute loathing. He hated himself more than should be imaginable, more than he hated anything else. He thought of himself as nothing more than a waste of matter and an unfortunate configuration of atoms. He abhorred everything about himself, from his gangly limbs to his inability to do anything right and every little thing in between. Everything he did was a transgression. Everything he thought was stupid. Everything he said was even worse. He often thought that the world would be better off if he’d never been born.
Minho was in love.
Very unfortunate for the other person, he thought in his misery, but couldn’t stop himself from feeling the overwhelming affection for the upperclassman who tutored him in science (because, again, he couldn’t do anything right on his own).
Lee Jinki was everything Minho wished he was: full of easy smiles and effortless charm. Jinki was funny when he didn’t mean to be and not funny when he tried to be. A perfect mix of polite, intelligent, kind, respectful. In a word, perfect.
Jinki didn’t know what Minho thought of him, not in the slightest; Minho didn’t want to burden him with his feelings. He was already interrupting his life enough with their tutoring sessions every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. He didn’t want Jinki to even think about him outside those few hours they spent together. It was better that way, better for Minho to think that no one ever really spared him a second thought.
He wasn’t worth a minute of Jinki’s time, much less one of his fleeting thoughts.
Minho wasn’t good at soccer.
He was mediocre at best and shamefully sloppy at worst, and he’d long before convinced himself that he was only on the school’s team because the coach took pity on him at tryouts. The over-eager kid with legs too long to run with the ideal finesse and hopes too high to ignore. A charity case.
Now, when he went to soccer practice, he could see the disapproving stares from his teammates because he was lacking in everything he did even after so much training; he could hear their low mumbles in the locker room and feel the isolation from the other guys because he carried a dark cloud above his head everywhere he went.
He wished he’d never tried out in the first place.
Sometimes Jinki met up with Minho outside the locker room doors when he was done with practice so they could walk to the science lab for tutoring together. Minho liked those days the best, because even if he might as well have been a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of Jinki’s sneaker, it still felt nice to be around him. He was a ray of sunshine personified, his bright, vibrant attitude stark contrast to Minho’s own dark cloud.
Jinki sometimes made Minho incredibly angry.
It was never when he smiled too effortlessly or combed his long shaggy bangs out of his eyes; it wasn’t when he carefully explained the same biology lesson for the third time, patience never waning even though Minho was an idiot who didn’t understand simple concepts.
It was when Jinki told him he was doing a good job. It was when Jinki smiled at him like he was proud, like Minho wasn’t the fuck-up that he knew he was. It was when Jinki beamed and patted his shoulder and said that he got something correct or when he patted his back in consolation when Minho got his test scores back, promising that he would do better next time and they would study hard together.
It was when Jinki got Minho’s hopes up that he wasn’t just dirt under his shoe, that he actually meant something to Jinki.
Minho hated when Jinki showed him such care. It made him feel like a sheet of paper lying in the palm of someone’s hand, nervously anticipating the moment that the person would crumple the paper into a useless ball and toss it in the trash bin. It made him feel like he mattered for half a moment before he reverted to his personal logic that he was to Jinki like he was to the soccer team: just someone he pitied.
The second time he failed his biology test was the same day the soccer team lost a match against a rival school.
He blamed himself for both.
It wasn’t Jinki’s fault he failed; Jinki was a competent teacher, a wonderful teacher. Minho was just an idiot.
It wasn’t the team’s fault they lost; Minho slipped on the wet grass when he was trying to pass the ball and fell down, letting the opponent steal it away and score the winning point.
In the locker room after everyone else had cleared out, Minho found himself wondering why the hell he even bothered living anymore. He was nothing but a nuisance to everyone else, a lost cause in every way. His parents would be so disappointed in him for failing another test; he prayed that his older brother wouldn’t hear about this game, lest he scowl at Minho at the dinner table for another month to come. He wondered why he hadn’t ended it long ago, why he hadn’t just-
Oh yeah, because along with being a burden on everyone around him, he was also a shameful coward.
Minho felt hot tears dripping down his cheeks along with the lukewarm shower water in the locker room. He was so sick of this, so sick of feeling so alone and of hating himself for his every little fault.
He wanted to be like Jinki. He wanted to know what it was like to be good at everything, to have the ability to make someone else’s heart face and their face break into a grin even when they felt like they’d forgotten how to do it on their own. He wanted Jinki to be there, a complacent hand between his shoulder blades, soft voice telling him he did his best and that was what mattered.
But he didn’t want Jinki to waste his time with him.
Minho bent down to grab his bag to sling over his shoulder, dressed and dreading that he had to walk home in the freezing drizzle outside. He breathed deep, in and out, exhausted by the game and by his own emotions. He was sick of this. So sick.
Jinki was outside the door when he walked out, just like the days they had tutoring.
Minho stopped dead, lips unable to even form a question of what he was doing there.
“I saw the game,” Jinki said, voice bright as always.
Minho sighed and stared down at the tiles.
“You did really well!”
His head snapped up and his jaw went slightly slack. “What are you-I lost the game for us, hyung,” he said slowly, unsure if Jinki even understood the gravity of the situation.
“No you didn’t.” He shook his head and then, just like always, had to brush his hair out of his eyes. “You slipped on wet grass, Minho. It happened to half your team. It’s not your fault.” His voice was solemn, serious, reminiscent of when he taught Minho a difficult concept.
Minho didn’t agree with him. But he didn’t want to say that and upset him. “What are you doing here?” he mumbled instead.
“Oh,” Jinki perked up again, tone lightening, “I came to see if you wanted a ride home.”
Minho blinked, dumbstruck again by his hyung’s care for him. He didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. If nothing else, he figured he should be walking home in the rain as punishment for failing the test and losing the game and just being him.
“You shouldn’t walk in the rain, you’ll get sick.” His brows drew together slightly, lips tilting in a sheepish smile.
“I’d deserve it.” Minho didn’t even realize the words had escaped his lips until Jinki’s head was tilting in concern.
“What do you mean?”
“I-” A rant bubbled on his tongue, each word of loathing skating on the edge of his tongue; his hands fisted at his sides and his bag slid down his shoulder and landed on the tiles with a dull noise, “We lost the game. I failed my test. I can’t even pass a biology test even after you taught me everything. I’m not worth-”
His words stuck in his throat like a second Adam’s apple when he felt warm arms wrap around his middle and a chin settle on his shoulder.
“I-what-” His arms were static at his sides, eyes going wide; he stared unseeingly at the wall behind Jinki, so confused by the sudden move. His heart jumped out of rhythm and he felt sick.
“You’ve improved a lot, Minho. You don’t see it, but I do,” Jinki said soothingly, soft words loud in his ear as they were spoken just over his shoulder.
Minho’s stomach flipped over and his arms rose uncertainly to drape around Jinki’s shoulders.
“You work so hard and you don’t give yourself any credit. You’re too harsh on yourself. I can tell.”
Minho felt his grip tighten unconsciously, heart clenching just the same with every one of Jinki’s words.
“I’m so proud of everything you do.”
He crumbled right there, clinging onto Jinki and burying his nose into his neck. He felt his shoulders trembling but he tried with every bit of strength left in his exhausted body not to cry.
Jinki rubbed his back, pressing his warm chest closer to Minho’s. He didn’t try to push Minho away, not even once, and that made Minho’s heart hurt just the same as it soared.
“Thank you,” Minho said, a rush of emotion clouding his brain; he couldn’t think of anything better than just that to tell Jinki to express his appreciation, just how much he loved him for always making him feel like he was worth something even when he didn’t think he was.
He wanted to tell him a thousand things and not a single one all at once; he didn’t want to burden him with his thoughts but for the first time he considered that maybe Jinki wouldn’t mind having that burden.
“Thank you,” he repeated, voice cracking around the syllables.
It wasn’t true, not to Minho, that he had to love himself before he could love Jinki; but he thought that maybe he could learn to let himself be happy, especially when Jinki’s embrace, arms tight, hands lightly patting his back, made him feel like the most worthwhile person on the planet.
- day seventeen: look
onho; 676 words; angst, sexual situations; r
Jinki wiped his lips, filmy white residue catching light on the back of his hand. “D-don’t tell anyone, okay?” His voice trembled as he spoke, barely able to look Minho in the eye.
Minho’s lips turned into a frown and his stomach clenched up. His eyes slowly peeled open, and he tried to keep his knees from trembling. He looked down at Jinki, uncaring of his intimidating he seemed from here. In fact, after hearing him say that, he favored it. “Don’t worry,” he began coldly, “I won’t have to tell anyone. They’ll be able to smell the cum on your breath anyway.”
Jinki’s eyes tripled in size and his lips opened and shut. “I-”
“Regret swallowing now, huh?” Minho asked coolly, eyes half-lidded, back of his head beginning to throb from throwing it back against the wall before. He thought bitterly that he would have a headache now even without the egg-sized knot to add to the sensation.
Jinki looked like a lost fish, features consumed in shame and humiliation.
Minho couldn’t stand to look at his face like that. “Get the fuck out of here,” he snarled, and used the hand still knotted in his hair to shove his head back.
Jinki fell back, hair a dismal mess in front of his face. He waited a beat and then scrambled to gather his discarded bag and throw it over his shoulder. As he was rocking back on his heels to stand, he stumbled back and a heart-stopping crunch sound was heard; he’d stepped on and shattered his glasses lens.
Minho pretended not to notice Jinki glancing up at him in horror, busying himself with buckling his belt back into place.
The older student, after none-too-gracefully stumbling sideways against the stall and having to regain his balance, all-but flew out of the stall, throwing the door open and walking out the dingy bathroom with his chin tucked to his chest, fingers clenching the strap of his bag so hard his knuckles were white. Minho didn’t miss a tear streak on the side of his face, as much as he feigned ignorance.
Minho didn’t see what he was so ashamed of. Or what he was afraid of.
No, he knew what he was ashamed of. And afraid of. Minho wasn’t an idiot. And Jinki had made his concerns quite clear anyway.
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets so hard that he saw dots of light on the backs of his eyelids.
God fucking forbid someone found out Minho and Jinki did something like that together. Because how shameful would it be for anyone to know that Jinki had a closet affinity for having cock down his throat, or that Minho equally enjoyed having his cock down Jinki’s throat.
Except everyone already knew about Minho, and he didn’t mind it one bit.
But here he was, the one stuck waiting in the bathroom stall with quickened breath and a brick of ice where his stomach should be, so no one would find out that Jinki was in there with him. That the reason for Jinki’s dirtied knees and mussed hair and swollen lips was because of a mix of Minho and hormones and unadulterated lust.
Even more shameful, still, would it be for Minho to ever let Jinki know how much it hurt, how much it actually broke his fucking heart, to hear his plea for him not to tell. To know how mortified he was to have done any of that with Minho at all. To be kept as a one-time dirty little secret.
To know that, past this one impulsive encounter, there wasn’t a chance in hell that Jinki would so much as speak to him again.
And, as someone who was content inopportunely getting sucked off between classes, but someone who would also love to take the studious boy on a date sometime and maybe actually kiss him like he didn’t get a chance to before Jinki was on his knees, that really fucking sucked for Minho.
- day eighteen: summer
jongkey; 1119 words; fluff, romance; r
Jonghyun rolled over, cracked open his eyes, and sighed.
He was used to Kibum getting up earlier than him-the younger was so restless in the mornings, which Jonghyun would never understand-, but he thought that maybe things would be different when they were relaxing on a summer vacation. Here, in the nice hotel on Jeju Island, balcony overlooking the sea, they didn’t have housework to take care of, or any pressing work matters to attend to. They were here to take time off together, to unwind for once and not live their hectic lives, the dancer’s schedule and the singer’s schedule forgotten for the week.
But no, Kibum still got up in the morning before Jonghyun did, because something rooted in the fiber of his being didn’t allow him to have a lie-in for once. He probably went and found a feather duster under the cabinet and was dusting the shelves or something, as if they didn’t have maids for that.
Jonghyun smiled at the thought and rolled over. A quick stretch, and then he slid out of bed. He found his pajama pants right beside the bed (discarded the night before, of course, because what would a vacation be without making love, dragging out every second because they had no obligations to be up early in the morning, leaving all the marks they wanted because they didn’t have to keep up appearances for a week), but gave up the search for his shirt when it didn’t show up in his immediate line of sight. He was sure Kibum wouldn’t mind, anyway.
After a trip to the bathroom to brush his teeth-morning breath was definitely not on his list of favorite things in the world-, he padded through the room’s sitting area. It was then that he got a whiff of the air and found that, typical, Kibum was cooking breakfast.
He stood in the kitchenette’s doorway, arms crossed over his chest, amused smile on his lips. “Good morning.”
Kibum turned back with wide eyes, as if he didn’t expect Jonghyun to catch him cooking. His hair was still mussed from sleep, lips redder than normal. He smiled at him, almost nervously.
Jonghyun walked around to the stove, because the setup of the space kept him from seeing Kibum properly.
He didn’t have much luck walking, however, when he caught sight of what Kibum was wearing. Or rather, wasn’t wearing.
Jonghyun solved the mystery of his missing shirt at least, because it was the only thing Kibum was wearing, pale skin of his smooth, bare legs making Jonghyun’s heart pound. His and Kibum’s size difference wasn’t that big-Kibum was taller, but Jonghyun wore bigger clothes because his torso was thicker-, so the shirt didn’t cover much, hem reaching the tops of his thighs, sleeves falling down near his elbows.
What it was covering, however, wasn’t nearly as important as what it wasn’t covering.
Jonghyun’s throat was stuck. His boyfriend was usually the modest one, the one clothed head-to-toe in pajamas in the mornings after he showered.
So it went without saying that Jonghyun wasn’t used to seeing him so… scantily-clad.
“H-hey,” he stuttered, and it was really unnecessary because he’d already greeted Kibum when he walked in. Now he was just giving himself away.
Kibum glanced over at him with a half-smile, pushing around something unidentifiable but very delicious-smelling in the skillet with a spatula. “Hi. How’d you sleep?”
“Fine.” He forced himself not to openly gawk at Kibum’s legs. “You?”
“Very well. The bed is really soft.” His smile grew.
“Key, are you even wearing-” underwear?
Kibum reached above his head to turn on the light on the stove, rising to his tiptoes, and Jonghyun’s question was answered.
He choked on air.
“Key, what are you-” he broke off, voice too weak to sustain the question. Had he not been so shell-shocked, he would have been incredibly turned on by his scarcely-dressed boyfriend.
“I’m on vacation,” he said resolutely, bordering on stubbornly, stirring the contents of the skillet again. “I don’t have to wear underwear if I don’t want to.”
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
Kibum turned to him and laughed.
He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the back to calm himself down. The unexpected role-reversal was stressing him out. And he couldn’t stop himself from staring at his boyfriend’s legs, especially after he was on his tiptoes and it made it so much more obvious how well-toned he was.
“You’re the one who makes a habit of being half-naked all the time. You can’t say much, Jonghyun.” He quirked a brow towards him.
Jonghyun let out a strangled sound that was supposed to be a response, but crashed and burned halfway up his throat.
Kibum laughed again, eyes squeezing shut for a second.
Of course he was enjoying this, Jonghyun thought miserably. Apparently time to relax made Kibum a sadist.
The younger punctuated the laugh with a wink, not entirely saucy or seductive, just something playful. It was enough to make Jonghyun’s hair stand on end.
“You need to stop that,” he said half-seriously.
“Why are you so flustered?” He turned the heat off and moved the skillet off the burner, lips pulled into a smile.
Jonghyun only got more so at the question. “I swear to god, Kibum, I’m about to bend you over the counter and-”
“The food will get cold.” He waved him off, scraping the breakfast-it looked like eggs with some vegetables in there, and Jonghyun had to wonder where he even got the ingredients in a hotel room-onto two plates.
“You’re a horrible tease.”
Kibum chuckled and held out a plate for him. “Do you want breakfast or not?”
Jonghyun glared at him, but took the plate anyway, no less than stomping to the table. Chopsticks were already sitting out for him, so he didn’t wait to start eating.
“Oh man, I forgot I brought my apron with me!” Kibum called from the kitchen.
“Then put it on,” Jonghyun said distractedly; Kibum’s food usually had that effect on him.
Kibum walked to the table with his plate, and it took all of one glance to have Jonghyun choking on his food.
“What?” Kibum asked innocently, as if he hadn’t taken off Jonghyun’s shirt and wasn’twearing the apron with nothing else under it.
“Nothing.” Jonghyun shook his head and trained his eyes on his plate. His cheeks were blazing and his stomach was turning over and he really couldn’t handle his boyfriend being such an insufferable tease.
This was going to be the most stressful summer vacation he ever went on, he could feel it.
- day nineteen: transformation
minkey; 1625 words; comedy, slice-of-life; pg13
“This must be all new to you, huh?” Jonghyun grinned, patting the wary Kibum on his back.
“I grew up here, Jjong, it’s not new,” Kibum rolled his eyes, batting away Jonghyun’s hand. It was his best effort to hide how nervous he actually was, going to this party at a university of all things only a day after he got back into Korea. He was incredibly self-conscious of how rusty and accented his speaking must be after using primarily English for a solid seven years while he studied abroad in California, and the fact that Jonghyun had already poked fun at him for the combination of his American and Daegu accent he had really didn’t help matters.
Jonghyun continued to pat him, wearing a snide smile.
“STOP,” Kibum snapped, and only afterward realized that he’d said it in English.
Oh god, he was hopeless.
“Relax,” Jonghyun caught on easily to his distress, “It’s a party. Just have fun.”
He gave a shaky smile, trying to put up his optimistic front. Jonghyun would stay with him through the night, he promised, ever his best friend. That fact served to put him a bit at ease, though the anxiety was still underlying.
“I wonder if any of our old classmates are going to be here,” Kibum mused aloud, coming upon the friend-of-a-friend’s house and sensing the upbeat atmosphere.
“Maybe,” Jonghyun said, “But I doubt anyone will recognize you.”
Kibum narrowed his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just saying you looked a lot different since you left when you were, what fourteen? I mean, I barely recognized you at the airport and I’ve been your best friend since we were five.”
His eyes remained squinted in skepticism.
He shrugged and offered a vague, “Puberty did you good.”
His judgement went higher.
“You got super hot,” Jonghyun said bluntly.
Kibum’s only reaction was to burst into laughter.
Jonghyun’s smile looked accomplished, as if making him laugh was his goal all along.
Kibum appreciated it either way.
Once inside the house, Kibum found himself feeling more comfortable. He didn’t talk to many people, save for two guys sitting on the couch named Jinki and Taemin, who Jonghyun insisted he had to meet. He was nervous, but not cripplingly so like before. Jonghyun was there to make sure he didn’t mix up his words and to nudge him when he said something in English out of habit, so he was all right.
“Let’s get a drink. You’re still too uptight.”
“Shut up, I haven’t even been back for three days yet,” Kibum hissed as Jonghyun dragged him to the kitchen. “Hearing Korean all around me is giving me a headache.”
“Excuse me that we’re not all multilingual like you are,” Jonghyun rolled his eyes, “I can start speaking English if you want me to. Hello, my name is Jonghyun. My hobbies are singing and playing inst-how do you say that?-instruments. I love you. Merry Christmas. I’m sorry. How are you? I’m fine, thank you, and you? Where is the restro-”
“Oh my god, Jonghyun, stop.” Kibum felt a stitch in his side from laughing so hard at his rapidfire random and badly-accented English phrases.
“Stop,” he said in English. “You just said that one. Stop. Stop stop stop stop-”
“Jonghyun, I swear to god, you are so annoying-” Kibum’s upcoming rant was cut short when the sound of loud laughter caught his attention. He looked around for the perpetrator and his eyes settled on a trio of guys standing nearby the kitchen door. The one laughing was the tallest, with wavy brown hair and eyes that looked big even squinted up from his smile.
He started speaking, and Kibum couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying from that far away, but he caught an air of confidence and ease as he casually spoke with the other two.
“Who’s he?” Kibum asked, interest peaking as his eyes trailed down from the handsome face to his nice clothes and the hand holding a plastic cup with his drink, and then back up.
“No clue,” Jonghyun mumbled. “Stop staring, it’s weird.”
“I’m not staring,” Kibum slapped at his shoulder.
“What do you want to drink?” Jonghyun asked as he reached the counter covered in bottles of assorted beverages.
Kibum shrugged, eyes sneaking over to the tall man again. “Don’t care. Alcohol.”
“You’re too easy, Kibum.”
He shrugged a second time, glaring at Jonghyun playfully. “Sue me.”
“Excuse me,” a low voice said beside him, and Kibum’s head whipped around.
It was the tall guy. Right beside him, trying to reach for a bottle of soju around Kibum.
“Oh, sorry.” Kibum winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth, because dammit, he reverted back to English again. The tall guy caught him off guard. It wasn’t exactly fair.
The guy looked at him curiously, a glance at first that turned into incredulous studying. “Do I know you?”
Kibum blinked at the sudden question; he could feel his face heating up. “Um, I-”
“Kim Kibum?” his eyes grew.
Kibum’s did the same. “Yes?”
“It’s me, Choi Minho!” A huge, excited smile grew across his lips. “We w-went to middle school together!”
He racked his brains for any memory of the name “Choi Minho” but came up blank. “I’m sorry, I don’t-”
“Wow, you look r-really great.” His grin softened slightly, looking at Kibum like a familiar friend.
“You all right, Minho?” Jonghyun piped up from Kibum, “Had too much to drink?”
Minho’s eyes went wide and ashamed at being called out. His stammer grew even worse. “Sorry, I uh-this is a b-bad habit I’ve had s-since I was a k-k-kid.”
“Really? I’ve haven’t heard you stutter like this since middle school.”
Wait, so Jonghyun did know who he was? Kibum was so confused. And a bit upset at his friend, because Minho wasn’t causing any harm and Jonghyun was pointing out his stutter in a cruel way.
“S-s-sorry,” Minho put his cup to his lips for a moment. Kibum saw that his hands were shaking. “I only get this way when I’m n-nervous.”
“Then maybe I was wrong and you need more to drink, huh?” Jonghyun said, voice cold.
“Jonghyun,” Kibum hissed at him, disapproving.
Jonghyun scowled and went back to mixing their drinks.
And all in one swoop, Kibum’s memory rushed back and he remembered Choi Minho.
The tall, lanky kid who was too into sports and had a terrible stutter that he tried to hide by staying silent in class. Someone who Kibum was good friends with despite their clashing personalities, and who Jonghyun was eternally jealous of for reasons Kibum wasn’t sure.
He seemed to have changed just as much as Kibum did. The awkward-limbed body had filled out, slender and fit, his cheekbones high, eyes large, lips full, nose perfectly straight. He was incredibly handsome, Kibum’s usual type down to the T. Without the glasses perched on his nose or the fringe hanging over his eyes, Kibum didn’t recognize him at first.
“Oh my god, Minho!” Kibum’s face lit up. “I remember you now!”
Minho grinned and he offered a bit of a friendly wave.
“You uh,” Kibum smiled shyly, trying not to come on too strong for meeting him again for the first time in years. “You’ve changed a lot.”
Minho laughed lightly. “Only on the outside. You h-have too. I l-like your accent.”
Kibum covered his mouth for a moment, self-conscious that it was that noticeable. “I was in America for seven years, don’t make fun,” he grumbled, unable to stop himself from pouting.
The taller man grinned. “It’s okay I-I’m not better off.” He shrugged. “I missed y-you when you left-t. I’m glad you’re back.”
Kibum’s lips spread in a smile, apples of his cheeks tinting with color. “Thanks,”
“Are you b-back for good now?
He nodded, wishing he had a drink in his hand so his arms wouldn’t be awkwardly hanging at his sides.
"Well, I’d l-love to catch up-p, if you w-want to get lunch or s-something,” Minho said, barely meeting Kibum’s eyes, a nervous smile on his lips.
Kibum’s heart jumped. “Yeah, sure, I’m-”
“Here’s your drink, Kibum,” Jonghyun interrupted, nudging him from behind.
Kibum faked a smile, teeth gritting together as he turned to Jonghyun and took it with a stale “thanks.”
Jonghyun’s “no problem” seemed just as forced.
“Minho, did you get lost?” someone called from the next room.
“Just a second, guys! My old friend is here!” Minho’s voice sounded entirely transformed when he talked to the other guys, smooth and stable, without so much as a hitch to a single syllable. In his hands was a pen and a napkin he’d swiped from the counter.
It made Kibum curious, hearing how composed he was talking to the other guys compared to when he spoke to him.
He handed over the napkin, on which a cell phone number was written. “So, I’ll t-talk to y-you later?”
Kibum grinned at the number and then at him, feeling endeared as he heard the stutter come out again. “Yeah, of course.”
His smile lit up the entire room. “Cool, I’ll l-look forward to i-it.” He gave another cordial wave as he left through the doorway.
“Stop staring, it’s weird.”
“I’m not staring, Jonghyun, Christ!” He hurriedly brought his cup to his lips and took a good long sip of it, downing almost half of it at once.
“You like him,” Jonghyun said dryly.
He tucked the napkin into his pants pocket, smiling fondly. “He’s just… he’s changed a lot, I guess.”
Jonghyun snorted, unconvinced.
Kibum just shot him a glare and swallowed the rest of his drink.
The way he saw it, at least he wasn’t completely nervous about coming back anymore.
- day twenty: tremble
onho; 873 words; romance, general; pg13
Jinki’s hands trembled and he balled his fists to stop them; the resulting stab of his fingernails stabbing into his palms served to keep him grounded, keep him alert. Self-consciousness struck him the longer he stood: he should have trimmed his nails more neatly, maybe at a time that his hands weren’t shaking; his hair was grown out (perhaps too long?) and pushed behind his ear on one side, but should he have pinned it back instead? His clothing suddenly weighed tons more on his figure, and the thought that he’d chosen the wrong things, that this was more of an occasion than he dressed for, made him cringe.
It was too late to change any of that now.
(He was immobile, in any case, too afflicted by nerves to consider moving.)
Anticipation grew thick and suffocating in the air amongst the small group awaiting their loved ones. Above the sound of blood pulsing in his ears, he couldn’t easily hear the chatter, but he could see his comrades in waiting. Mothers fussed with daughters’ hair and fixed sons’ ties. They appeared slightly compulsive as they rocked their babies in their arms, patting diapered bottoms, and Jinki both empathized with and greatly envied those mothers.
Jinki was by himself; his concerns not including children, only the man who was coming home to him that day. A twinge of selfish shame nipped at him, but he exhaled it away at the memory of the promise they’d shared before the other man had gone. As soon as they were both finished with their military service, they would start a family together. It was a scary thought (Jinki had never been the most skilled with kids, and it was by some miracle that he kept their cat alive in the time the house had been missing one), yet he was willing to brave such a leap. More than anything, he desired their lives together to be complete: a humble, charming home, a few children to raise and cherish, pets, neighbors, friends, everything.
Now that he was returning, their chance to make that a reality was awaiting.
Someone gasped beside Jinki; the abrupt jump out of his reverie jostled him in place and he nearly tripped sideways.
He could see silhouettes of men walking from around a corner and the thrum of his pulse tripled; he couldn’t discern their figures clearly, and wasn’t sure to blame the lighting or his tearing eyes. He was shivering now, uncontrollably; the excited whispers coming from around him punctuated his every shake like a full stop.
Footsteps approaching, scuffs of boots on tile, muttering grower louder. Jinki’s ears went deaf to anything aside from his heartbeat. Both eyes strained to find his beloved in the crowd, but moisture veiled his eyes like a fun house mirror. He blinked in quick succession to will them back, because his first glimpse of the man in the flesh wouldn’t be compromised if he could help it.
A few men sped their steps, some broke into a run, at the sight of their loved ones waiting to greet them. Uniforms whirred past Jinki, men’s arms outstretched, wives and children gasping with happiness. Sons and daughters were scooped into long-awaited hugs, wives were swept into overdue kisses.
Jinki watched the miniature crowd disperse and his shivers grew slightly more violent.
Where are you…?
There.
Knees weakened as eyes met and went wide all in one moment. A smile broke across that face he’d so dearly waited to see, and every bit of breath left Jinki’s body.
“Min-” The word choked as the first tear broke the barrier, and at once, Minho was running.
Jinki felt a numb leg lift to step forward but he couldn’t manage even one step before Minho was pressed against him, arms constricting around his shoulders.
Overwhelmed heart, eyes squeezing shut, arms twining around a familiar waist in an out-of-practice motion. Jinki couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything at all other than hold Minho as close as possible, bury his nose in the side of his neck, feel the heartbeat that pounded hard enough for him to feel it in the off beats of his own.
“Jinki…” Lips brushed against the tiny space of exposed skin over his collar.
Jinki shivered, and had Minho’s hold been any looser, he would’ve lost his footing entirely and fallen to the ground. Those lips felt just as phenomenal on his skin as he remembered; the subtle touch of rough skin against the gooseflesh counterpart sent his senses back into the realm of pure astonishment.
As soon as they reached their home, he could have those lips pressing into his own. He could have so much more that he’d missed, that he’d fantasized about, that he’d anticipated.
“We should get home.” Jinki’s voice trembled, not sounding quite like his own. Moisture transferred from his cheeks to Minho’s collar.
Arms shifted around him, feet took a minute step forward to bring them impossibly closer, and lips moved to his ear.
“Like this…” The tone of his voice was like the sweetest music, the exact tenor to pluck at his heartstrings. Hands gripped tighter and Jinki could feel him melting into his touch.
“I already am home.”