SSS 2014: For st_ashleigh
For: st_ashleigh
From: Your Secret Santa
Title: in the eyelid of the beholder (your double eyelids are so deep that)
Pairing: onew/minho
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: anatopisms (?) (it pains me to write minho choi.)
Authors’ Notes: happy holidays! i hope you enjoy this mess of fluff and nonsense.
Black Friday is Minho's busiest day of the year. From 7 a.m. to 10 p.m., he has to fend off finicky housewives with their coupons and catty faces, stick himself with the backs of security pins, and fold, fold, fold endless sweaters, pants, and socks in menswear until his arms ache and his eyes are itchy from all the wool. Most years, Minho is grateful that he had decided to take the job at Bloomingdales instead of Macy's, where the workers have to get to the store at 3 a.m. to open at 4.
This year, however, Minho's running late. He's overslept, a little hung over from a drink to many during Thanksgiving dinner, and has had to run halfway across the city because the subway was packed, juggling a cup of fortifying coffee in his hand. It's edging past nine, an hour after opening, and perhaps the busiest time of the day when people fight over the last Michael Kors handbag in the bin.
The store, to Minho's chagrin, is in chaos. He ducks a flying patent leather shoe and makes his way to the staff room, where he can mentally prepare himself for a few minutes before the war begins. Taking a sip of coffee, Minho breathes.
And then shrieks in pain as his coffee is overturned onto his face by someone bumping into his arm, the lid coming off and spilling boiling liquid into his eyes and onto his skin and his new, white dress shirt.
"Sorry! Sorry, sorry," Minho hears a man chant frantically under his breath, drowned out by Minho’s own spluttering and cursing. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. Can I help you with anything?"
Minho's eyes are closed and stinging, and his wet shirt is cooling rapidly and sticking to his skin. He pinches the bridge of his nose as the other employee kind of flails at his chest uselessly.
"Go," Minho barks, "just go!" He doesn't rub his eyes open until he hears the door click shut, and only then does he survey the damage done. The shirt's completely ruined, and even buttoning up his jacket won't cover the spreading stain. No permanent damage to his retinas, at least. Minho looks around the empty room, and spots a stack of Bloomingdales staff t-shirts sitting on top of one of the cabinets, the ones that are the color of paper bags and printed with "big brown t-shirt", like it's supposed to be funny. They’re tacky, but functional, and not sopping wet. Minho strips without shame, washing briefly in the sink, pulls on the tee and drapes his suit jacket over it.
What a way to start the day, Minho thinks. It's nine-thirty, and the clueless businessmen are going to show up about now to pick out some boring collared shirts for work and ask, "Does this tie make it look like I'm trying too hard?" Minho steels himself another second more, and ventures out into the battle.
--
Minho almost regrets that he had never gotten a good look at the coffee culprit's face, especially after Kibum nearly laughs down the entire cosmetics department at Minho's t-shirt and angry eyes, and Kyuhyun and Changmin follow him with sniggers for the rest of the day. Jonghyun from formalwear stops by at the end of the afternoon shift with Starbucks, which everyone else digs into with gusto while Minho glares balefully from the side.
"Who spit into your Americano?" Jonghyun quips, looking Minho up and down, and when he recognizes the shirt he sniggers, too.
"Someone poured coffee all over me this morning," Minho gripes, "and I've been running my ass around all day only to have people like you snigger at me because I'm wearing a freaking t-shirt."
"You look very spirited, Minho-yah. We all know how much you like your pressed shirts and suits and patent leather shoes." Jonghyun pauses and muses to himself, "Someone poured coffee all over you, I heard that same story from J - ahhhhhhhhh."
"Ahhhh," Minho repeats suspiciously. "Do you know who did this to me?"
"Nope! Sorry Minho-yah, but there's a Kibum to bother and an Armani line to tag before the end of my shift, so I've gotta split!"
"Wait, Jonghyun!"
Jonghyun closes the elevator door behind him as soon as Minho makes a grab for his collar, and he rams himself into the wall, coffee spilling out of his cup and down his front. There goes his jacket, too.
--
Minho spends the weekend at the dry cleaner's, but otherwise for the most part he forgets about the incident. Kibum had taken pity on him and, after a minute of perusing through the final sale items that weren't torn apart in the melee, picked up a deep red, Ralph Lauren shirt, which he threw at Minho along with a couple of bills. After ringing it up, Minho delightedly changed out of his t-shirt and soiled jacket to prepare for the night shift.
Monday rolls along with preparations for the new holiday season, a little late for a department store even though it's only late November. The holiday months make up by far Minho's least favorite time of the year, because Christmas means customers' asking about different sizes and brands for gifts, means Minho going back into the storage room that's creepy as hell when he doesn't drag someone with him, means folding, folding, folding.
Minho swears he's going to quit every year around Christmas time, that he'll put his accounting degree to good use and get a job so he doesn’t have to avoid his parents’ Christmas dinner conversation, but then there are the sales, and he thinks he should stick it out for another year, because accountants have to be well-dressed, after all.
Today, at least, he's stringing flashing lights around menswear and propping up the sparkling reindeer. Kibum's helping, because cosmetics is dead since all of the regular middle-aged women are staying indoors after Black Friday shopping sprees. Taemin from customer service is there too, sneezing every so often.
"Customer service is right next to all of the fur coats," he complains with a sniffle. "Did you know that you can develop allergies to fur just by being around it more?"
"Does that mean that I can't bring Comme Des and Garçons to your Christmas party?" Kibum pouts as he drags a string of lights around Minho's counter.
"I don't understand why you think that every year I can hold a party in my closet-sized apartment but this time you have another thing coming - "
"Hold up guys," Minho interrupts as Kibum's about to protest. He ducks behind his counter, and pulls out a curious package out from behind an extra bin of security pins and receipt tape. It's small but heavy, with a note taped to the front.
"If I were a stop light, I'd turn red every time you passed by, just so I could stare at you a bit longer," he reads aloud, his voice trailing lower and lower with every word. There's a moment of embarrassed, pregnant silence, and then Taemin bursts out guffawing, almost choking on another sneeze. Kibum, on the other hand, peers brightly over Minho's shoulder, eyes sparkling, and snatches the package from Minho's hands, ripping off the gift wrap.
"Etude House's 'Bite Me' perfume." He nods admiringly, and seems a bit sad to hand it back to Minho. "Good choice, I have to say. It's our highest selling fragrance this season. All of the young girls really like it."
"Doesn’t that mean it’s a women’s fragrance?" Minho asks hastily, glancing around him to make sure Kyuhyun and Changmin don't catch him with girl's perfume. "It can't be for me then! You should keep it.”
"It was behind your counter. And I don’t think there’s a woman working in the menswear department," Kibum points out.
“Minho-yah has a secret admirer?” Taemin emerges out of a wad of tissues and blinks curiously at the other two.
“No,” Minho hisses vehemently.
Kibum rolls his eyes and takes a whiff of the perfume after Minho shoves it back into his hands. "Citrus and musk!" he sighs headily. "Thanks Minho-yah, I'm going to smell wonderful this season."
--
The next gift comes the following day when Minho, Kibum, and Taemin are setting up the Christmas tree next to the mannequin display. An employee tiptoes by, seemingly embarrassed, and asks for a Minho Choi.
“Jinki!” Kibum yelps frantically and almost crashes the other man into the Christmas tree. In a more level voice, he continues, “Guys, this is Jinki Lee, the new guy from formalwear.”
“Jonghyun’s slave then.” Minho nods, remembering a conversation about a new hire from a few weeks ago. “I’m surprised he didn’t make you get the coffee on Friday.”
Jinki’s kind of unassuming, if a bit plain. A nice eyesmile and an awesome head of hair, but an abysmal sense of good tailoring if the baggy dress pants are anything to go by. Just the kind of person Jonghyun would like to run around doing errands for a couple months before calling him his best friend.
“Jonghyun’s… encouraging,” Jinki replies vaguely, and then clears his throat as though suddenly remembering why he’s there. "Err… I found this near the undergarments section, when I came down looking for belts," he says, almost apologetically, handing Minho a thin package wrapped in the same gift wrap as the one from the day before. Just as Minho’s about to thank him, though, Jinki’s whole body jolts as though electrocuted, and with a half-uttered farewell to Kibum and something about cufflinks, he sprints away.
“He may be weirder than Kibum is,” Taemin announces with a sniffle once Jinki’s out of sight. Taking advantage of Minho’s momentary shell shock, he steals the note taped on the front of the gift in Minho's hands.
"Your double eyelids are so deep that I could make a nest and fall asleep to the beauty of your eyes," he reads, and Minho wants to combust on the spot Taemin's voice is so loud. A few customers glance their way, some laughing brightly and others sniggering behind their hands, and all Minho can do is give them a sheepish little smile, cheeks flaming. Kibum snatches the gift and unceremoniously unwraps it again.
"The newest Lady Gaga CD! Wow, whoever gave you this is the best!" he crows, and hugs it to the chest reverently.
"You keep it!" Minho snaps and runs his hands through his hair. "What the hell is this? I don't listen to Lady Gaga. I don't wear girls' perfume. Maybe, all of these gifts are supposed to be for Kibum - "
Pointing to his eye, Kibum deadpans, "Although my eyes are perfect as they are, I don't have double eyelids."
"And I don't think they could be referring to Kyuhyun or Changmin's weak-ass eyes either," Taemin adds unhelpfully.
Minho buries his head in his hands, fingers curling. "That doesn't make any sense!"
"Admit it, you have a secret admirer, Minho-yah," Kibum says slyly, startling Minho by wrapping his arms around Minho's middle from behind. "Maybe our little Minnie will actually get laid this Christmas!"
"And maybe someone will mess up Bummie's made-up face - "
Kibum squawks and shields the CD close to his chest as he curls in on himself to fend off Minho's tackle and noogie-ing. As embarrassed as he is, and as much as the customers stare and whisper at Kibum's war cries and Taemin's raucous laughter, Minho thinks back to the pearly blue gift wrap, the clumsily knotted bow, the hastily scrawled message on a piece of Bloomingdales stationary, and he wonders who would have such a fascination with him, Minho Choi who folds clothes for a job and lives at the dry cleaner's in his spare time.
--
The gifts come every day now, with the same blue gift wrap, the same silly bow, and different cheesy pick-up lines scrawled across Bloomingdale’s stationary. By now, Minho’s accepted that yes, these gifts are for him and yes, he does have a secret admirer. That doesn’t stop his cheeks from heating up and the reflex to cover his face with his hands, though. Somehow Kibum’s always there, sometimes dragging along Taemin and Jonghyun and even Jinki, once, to read the messages aloud.
The gifts themselves are kind of odd, though. They don’t quite… fit, with what Minho thinks he portrays as a (haughty, vain) sophisticated man. There’s a scarf, for example, one of the softest things Minho’s ever worn, but also printed with lurid leopard spots.
“It’s gorgeous,” Kibum coos, while Taemin tries to shy away from the fabric. Minho gifts it to Kibum just like the perfume and the CD, and that’s the fate of a majority of the little packages that Minho receives: ending up in Kibum’s hands.
On one hand, Minho feels kind of guilty accepting the gifts, because goodness knows how much his admirer has spent on him so far. But more than anything, he hopes that whoever it is will reveal themselves before Christmas. With the gifts and the wrapping and the silly, silly messages that the person writes to him, Minho has hope that maybe this Christmas, he won’t have to feel so alone.
--
Minho doesn’t like to get drunk very often - he saves those rare moments for holidays, or days when he’s reminded that he doesn’t actually have a real job that can pay for his rent and his groceries and his Jimmy Choo loafers - because there’s a certain amount of control that Minho constantly feels he needs to have over his life, his appearance, his persona. And drunk Minho is sloppy Minho, is maudlin Minho, not perfectly the poised Minho he tries to be.
It’s one of the latter kind of days, when Minho comes home from work to a voice mail from his mother - Minho dear, why aren’t you returning our phone calls, why haven’t you gotten a job, there’s a nice girl who lives next door I would like to introduce you to - when he would drag Kibum out to a bar just to forget, for a little while. Normally Kibum’s very sympathetic for half an hour, refilling Minho’s drinks and picking up the tab before roundly slapping him across the face. It’s enough to rouse Minho from his wallowing and go home, hung over yet oddly refreshed.
What Minho doesn’t expect, though, is that this time Kibum brings Jinki.
Jinki, who’s dressed in a loose white shirt and jeans, even plainer than he looks at work, and almost uncomfortable in his skin by the way he’s shuffling his feet. Minho stares.
“We’re going out clubbing tonight,” Kibum announces. “Taemin and Jonghyun have responsible things to do, so Jinki here is going to listen to your life problems while I make everyone on the dance floor want to get in my pants.” Kibum pats Jinki on the back, and the other smiles feebly at Minho. “He’s a really sympathetic person.”
Minho’s skeptical when they get to the club with all of its flashing lights and booming music, because Jinki startles whenever a scantily-clad dancer even comes close to touching him. Minho rolls his eyes, and with a wave to Kibum he drags Jinki off to the bar.
“Two shots of pineapple tequila, please,” he tells the bartender.
“Tequila?” Jinki jitters nervously as someone gets close enough to brush his back. He’s jammed close to Minho on a stool since the bar is pretty much full. “We have work tomorrow…”
For all of the nagging that Jinki does over the next half an hour about work and responsibility, he can hold his liquor surprisingly well. When Minho’s draped across the bar and humming ballads under his breath, Jinki’s only buzzed.
“I never want to drink with you again,” Minho groans as his head pounds in time to the bass blaring from the speakers. “I’ll die if I do.”
Jinki’s ears flush a pretty red, and he tries to prod Minho to keep him conscious.
“Yah,” Jinki half-shouts over the music, “Kibum told me you have problems and that’s why he brought me here. Tell me your problems.”
Minho groans at the mental efforts he must undergo to answer the question. He rolls on his stool to face the dance floor, where Kibum is tearing it up in the center. He’s in a groove, so when people try to cajole him, pull him out of the clearing he shrugs them off and dances, and people stare mesmerized.
“I wish I could be more like Kibum,” Minho says loudly, gesturing toward the dance floor with his glass. “Doesn’t care whose eyes are on him. Works in women’s cosmetics. Doesn’t care what people think.” He takes a sloppy gulp of alcohol. “Look at me. Got my accounting degree. Don’t want to use it. Can’t go home for Christmas because I don’t want to hear my mother ask me why I don’t have a job or a girl yet. My heart, it hurts.” It comes out more coherent than Minho expects, what with the way he can’t seem to feel his tongue in his mouth.
Jinki’s voice is softer this time, sympathetic, and yeah he’s damn good at this. “Why don’t you leave, then? Find something else for you to do?”
Minho gives a dry laugh. “I’m comfortable working at the store. I’m always around my friends. I get nice discounts. I like… the displays. Color coding, mixing patterns. It makes sense. Finances don’t make sense. People’s wants don’t make sense. You know, someone’s been giving me gifts? Leaving them around my counter. What could they want with me, Minho Choi, who folds clothes for a living and spends his free time at the dry cleaners?”
Minho thinks that he’s finally lost control of his voice during that last part, because Jinki only sighs, so heavily that Minho can feel the vibrations through his body, and that gets his stomach roiling.
“Let’s get you home, Minho-ah,” Jinki says gently, and leaves momentarily to push through the crowd. In a second Kibum is there by Minho’s side, holding him up as he lolls forward.
“Had a bit too much to drink, you idiot?” Kibum soothes as he hauls Minho toward the subway station nearby, Jinki puttering behind them. The evening air whips Minho’s face, refreshing, and rouses him enough to put one foot in front of the other.
The subway ride is quick, but still leaves Minho breathless and throbbing on the inside, like he’s been punched.
“Why aren’t you in pain,” he grumbles toward Jinki, and all he gets is comforting fingers carding through his hair. It’s nice, and Minho feels warm.
“Hey, Jinki,” Kibum says when they finally get up to Minho’s apartment. “You can go home now. I’ll take care of him.” Minho hears a noise of consent, and reaches out an arm, flailing.
“Jinki, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” he says fervently, and he doesn’t really know why he does. Just hears Jinki take the elevator back down to the lobby, ding ding ding.
The response only comes later, after Minho blacks out for a few minutes and wakes up in his bed.
“Why are you so stupid, Minho-yah,” Kibum mutters as he strips off Minho’s socks, and it’s kind of funny because Minho was thinking the same thing.
--
Minho’s made several bad decisions in his life. Getting an accounting degree is one of them. Purchasing an ugly polka-dotted Michael Kors jacket on a whim because it was on sale is another. The worst of them all, though, is drinking with Jinki.
“Holy shit pain,” is his first utterance of the next morning as he clutches his head. A bottle’s tossed in the direction of his head, and he hears the jangling of pills.
“We need to be at work in half an hour. Shower, brush your teeth, get dressed,” Kibum rattles off. Minho cracks an eyelid open, and sees that Kibum is dressed in a collared shirt and dress pants from Minho’s closet, sleeves and cuffs rolled up to look stylishly loose.
Minho swallows a few pills and gets ready in a daze and huge headache, choosing a Tom Ford sweater and Ralph Lauren blazer to layer over it.
“You know,” Kibum says casually in the subway as Minho dozes into his coffee. His tone is light, but his expression is alarmingly serious, eyes sharp and hard. “You really freaked out Jinki yesterday. I think you may need to apologize. Get him a gift, maybe, or take him out. Even I had a hard time restraining myself from strangling you. Who taught you to drink in such a sloppy way?”
Minho’s nose is almost in his coffee. “Okay,” he mutters, like a petulant child.
Minho does feel bad. He saves his worst side, his insecure side, for Kibum to see only because they’ve known each other since they were children, when Kibum had pointed at Minho on the first day of day care and announced, “I like you! Let’s be friends.” He shouldn’t expect Jinki to so readily accept his hysteria like Kibum does.
So that’s how Minho finds himself taking the escalator up to the second floor during his lunch break. He runs into Jonghyun returning cocktail dresses to their proper racks, humming ballads to himself.
“’Morning Minho!” Jonghyun greets with a nod. “Looking for something?”
“Someone,” Minho says. “Jinki Lee, the new hire?”
“Ah, Jinki!” Jonghyun’s eyes sparkle. “He’s been great these past few weeks, really attentive and hardworking. Right now he’s doing inventory, so you can find him in the back. Does menswear need to steal him from me for a while?”
“No, I just need to talk to him,” Minho corrects. He makes his way towards the back room when Jonghyun gives another nod and returns to his work.
Jinki is kneeling in a pile of shoeboxes in storage, and jumps when he hears Minho tiptoe towards him. But the expression of surprise turns instantly into one of delight when he spots Minho, smile bright and eyes squinted up into little half moons.
“Minho! It’s good to see you. How are you feeling?” he says, waving with a shoe in his hand.
“Headache’s not too bad. I’ll live,” Minho says lightly, but shuffles his feet anxiously. “Hey, Jinki, I’m really sorry about last night. I normally don’t get that drunk, but Kibum said I was pretty bad.”
Jinki waves the apology off. “I’m glad you got some stuff off your chest. Let me know if you ever want to go out again, for drinks or a talk or something.”
Something in Minho’s stomach warms like a balm. He clears his throat of emotion; Jinki’s really nice, he thinks.
“Actually, I wanted to take you out,” he says. “As a sort of expression of gratitude, you know. Are you free tonight to grab something to eat?”
Jinki peers up at Minho curiously, as though he wonders why Minho needs to offer gratitude in the first place, and blinks the confusion away.
“Tonight Jonghyun’s having me label a line of winter evening gowns.” Minho’s heart drops to his stomach. “But I can try to take off tomorrow night?”
“Oh!” Minho grins, relieved. “I get off at five tomorrow. Would that work for you?”
“Six is the earliest I can get off, I think,” Jinki says sadly.
“Six it is then. Meet me by cosmetics?”
Jinki brightens, and his smile takes up his whole face. “It’s a date!”
--
Minho fidgets with the hem of his sleeve as he waits for Jinki the next day, after they exchanged numbers and texted each other places and times. Kibum’s about to go crazy.
“Would you stop moving around so much?” he hisses after he says a pleasant farewell to a customer. “I was trying to apply shadow to that girl’s eye and all I could see was you fidgeting in my peripheral vision. Why are you so nervous?”
“I made a bad first impression though,” Minho frets. “Jinki must think I’m insane.”
Kibum looks like he’s about to say something, but then holds it back with a sigh.
“You are two of a kind,” he mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes. He glances over Minho’s shoulder. “There he is right now. Don’t do anything weird so I can get your miserable self to stay out of my department while I’m working.”
Minho spins around and spots Jinki shuffling towards them. He’s exchanged his blazer in favor of a baggy maroon hoody, his eyes drooping slightly.
“Hey,” Jinki says cheerfully, but his voice is tired.
“Yah, Jinki,” Kibum calls. “Bring this idiot back home in one piece. I’ll check in on him later tonight to make sure.”
“We’re just going to grab something to eat,” Minho says with an eye roll. Kibum waves them off with an eye roll of his own, and turns to help another customer.
Minho shoots glances at Jinki as they’re walking down the street, sees how he keeps nodding his head every couple of steps. They had decided to go to some Italian place a couple blocks away, something mildly expensive so Minho would feel like he’s actually treating Jinki. Instead, thinking hard, Minho stops in front of a diner and points toward the entrance.
“This place has great coffee,” is all that he says, and Jinki’s expression brightens exponentially.
They squeeze themselves into a booth towards the back of the diner, and immediately ask for coffees and stacks of pancakes. They grin at each other in surprise as the waiter walks away.
“So, any new secret admirer gifts today?” Jinki teases. He looks revived with a warm cup of coffee in his hands. Minho’s cheeks warm; he hadn’t remembered telling Jinki about that the other night.
“Some strange mineral powder for my face,” he mumbles, though he knows Jinki can hear. “I don’t really get it. Does my skin look bad? I wash my face in the morning and the evening, but I don’t use makeup. Should I?”
Jinki has a strange expression on his face. “You don’t like that kind of stuff?”
Minho shakes his head. “Makeup and stuff like that isn’t really my thing, believe it or not.”
“What are you into then? Besides good clothes, I mean,” Jinki asks with good humor, and leans forward with a small smile, as though he’s truly interested. And, from Minho’s first impressions of Jinki, he probably is.
“You know.” Minho waves his hand casually. “Sports. I wanted to be a soccer player when I was really young. Otherwise… Photography? Travel? Eating is a big one.”
“I like eating too,” Jinki says with a grin, and as if on cue the waiter comes to bring their pancakes. Jinki had gotten his with little chocolate chips, Minho with strawberries. Minho cuts a piece off of his. It melts in his mouth, delicious.
“So,” he says around a bite of fruit, “what is it that you like, Jinki?”
Jinki, who seemed pensive when they had started eating, flinches at Minho’s question. He nibbles at the end of his fork, playing with a sugar packet in his hand.
“I like movies,” he says after a pause. “I’m kind of a fail at anything that requires physical work and coordination, so sports aren’t for me. I was good in school, but I dropped out of college to be a singer instead. That didn’t work out, so here I am, working at the Bloomingdale’s formalwear department.”
“A singer?”
Jinki smiles and nods. “They called me Onew at the company I was going to sign to. But I got a vocal chord injury before I could debut, so that was the end of that.”
There’s nothing bitter in Jinki’s voice, just calm acceptance. Minho’s kind of impressed; he knows what the pain of not being able to fulfill your dreams is like.
“I’m not upset about it,” Jinki continues. “I live a good life. I have an apartment, I have food. Work is fun, because I get to watch people dress up and be surprised at how much the clothes can change the way they look. That happiness is enough.”
And that, that strikes Minho somewhere in his chest. That clothes can change perception and first impressions. That they can make you feel beautiful, smart, and strong. Minho looks like an accountant, even though he’s just a lowly department store worker.
“So, singing huh?” Minho says with a cough. “You must be really good, if you were going to be signed. Jonghyun sings too, did you know? And Kibum and Taemin, sometimes.”
“Do you?”
Minho laughs. “No, my vocal register is too low to sing most songs.”
“I’d like to hear it, though. Your speaking voice is nice.” Jinki winks above his mug.
“Hmm,” Minho muses. “It’s Friday, right? I think the five of us take off tomorrow, and I can probably convince the others to go out. How about we go to a noraebang? That way I’ll have the time to learn more about what kinds of movies you like.”
They’re both finished with their food by now, and Jinki twirls his spoon in his coffee cup. “I have no plans for tomorrow,” he says. “I’m game.”
Minho has bills to pay at home, and his bedroom needs tidying. But he hasn’t gone out in a long while, and supposes that he can afford a break, just this once.
“I’ll make some phone calls,” he promises as he flags down the waiter, and Jinki beams.
--
Jinki can sing, Minho learns the next day. Can sing as well as Jonghyun can, as they belt out the high notes in “Don’t Stop Believin’” and “Genie” with ease.
Minho also learns that Jinki’s a happy, happy bastard who doesn’t care that Jonghyun makes him go across the city to grab scarves from the warehouse, or into the snow to get Starbucks, or into storage to search for something that may or may not be in inventory. That happiness is kind of infectious, because Jinki makes these ridiculous jokes (like when Taemin considers holistic approaches to curing his allergies, Jinki says with a completely straight face, “Don’t trust people who do acupuncture, they’re back stabbers.”) and he smiles all the time. It’s why Minho can’t seem to say no when Jinki invites him to his apartment to watch a film he thinks Minho would like, doesn’t say no when Jinki takes him to a great samgyupsal restaurant that he wants to show him, only to find out it’s Minho’s favorite as well. They spend every evening of a whole week together, before Minho can blink an eye. There’s an untended to pile of laundry in his hamper.
And all through the work week, there are still the gifts. They get a little more creative, a little more… fitting, Minho supposes he can say. There’s a leather-bound journal, a comprehensive handbook on the best tourist sites in Tokyo, and even, once, a soccer jersey, his own name printed across the back. Minho wears the jersey to a game against Lu Han and Minseok and the others, and doesn’t want to admit how much he puffs up with pride when they say how good it looks on him. Kibum is disappointed when Minho doesn’t relinquish these gifts, but seems to be rewarded enough by seeing Minho’s ears flame with color when they read out embarrassing and slightly creepy lines like, “Do you live in a corn field? Cause I’m stalking you.”
During the day, Minho feels an overwhelming sense of charm and care coming from the gifts and their giver, and carefully tucks the packages in his bag before he leaves for home. He keeps the notes, the pick up lines, in a watch box next to his bed, and when he’s feeling particularly lonely he’ll read them just so he can laugh.
But then there are his outings with Jinki and the others, where he smiles and laughs and forgets, for a little bit, because of Jinki’s smile, or his odd ability to crack nuts with his bare hands, which they discover when Jonghyun brings over chestnuts in holiday spirit. Jinki texts him every morning and evening, now, with emojis and exclamation points and interesting anecdotes about his day, like, “this girl tried on a dress today, and she told me that she hadn’t felt so beautiful in the longest time.”
Minho’s confused, because he’s not sure what makes him happier; the little blue packages that are left around his counter with their clumsy messages and thoughtful gifts, or Jinki Lee, with his awful jokes and bright, bright smile.
--
It happens when Minho’s checking the sizes of dress pants for a customer near the Brooks Brothers display.
He spots a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye, and there’s only one thing Minho knows it can be. He briefly excuses himself and shoves a pair of pants into a passing Kyuhyun’s arms, and rounds the corner of a display roaring.
“STOP! YOU!”
The culprit is wearing a hoody and loose pants, face covered by a scarf, but he’s definitely holding a package wrapped in bright blue paper and a clumsily tied bow. Once he hears Minho’s voice, he stops dead, then bolts towards the stairs. Aha. Minho can take stairs four at a time no problem. No one can overtake him on the stairs.
As the culprit darts past shoes, though, his hood comes off, and Minho stops.
The loose dress pants.
The tacky hoody.
The awesome head of hair.
“Jinki,” he says to himself in disbelief, skittering to a stop, and stares for a few moments when the door swings shut to the stairwell.
Minho walks back to his abandoned customer in a daze, but only finds Kyuhyun holding the bright blue gift.
“That guy dropped this,” he says, handing out the gift with a surprisingly gentle smile. “I don’t think you’d want to lose it.”
Minho handles the package with numb fingers, and, like always, rips off the note first.
“If you were a flower, I’d watch you every minute of every hour of every day and keep you close to me because you'd be the most beautiful thing I’d have,” it reads, and Minho wants to laugh.
“You probably want to go look for him,” Kyuhyun says. “He must really like you, if he’s been giving you all of these gifts for the past few weeks.”
Things make sense now. Jinki’s jitteriness, his blushing. The careful prodding with questions of what Minho likes and what he doesn’t. On one hand, Minho’s surprised and angered at his own density because how could he not have known? On the other, there’s a certain fondness welling up in his chest. It was Jinki of all people, whom Minho’s gone out with almost every day this week, who texted him smiley faces when he woke up this morning, who smiles like sunshine.
It’s a date, Jinki had said that first time.
“Thanks, hyung,” Minho says after looking up, feeling wetness at the corners of his eyes.
“Good luck, Minho-yah,” Kyuhyun says, and gives Minho a two-finger salute before going off to do his work.
When Kyuhyun’s out of sight, Minho peels off the folds of the packaging to reveal a small, black box. He lifts the lid. Nestled inside is a pair of cufflinks, white-gold ovals that are striped with red. Simple, but almost heartbreakingly beautiful for it.
Minho takes the escalator up to formalwear, still clutching the cufflinks in his hand, feeling his heart thud giddily in his chest. He finds Jinki crouched behind his counter, head in his hands. He sounds, unbelievably, like he’s crying. Minho sighs.
“Yah.” He prods at Jinki’s thigh with his shoe. “You.” Jinki looks up, and his face is all red and blotchy, tears dribbling down his cheeks. Minho, despite himself, finds it oddly endearing. But then he remembers what he came up here to do, and waves the cufflinks box in Jinki’s face.
“What were you thinking, spending so much money on me?” he half-shouts to startle Jinki, and when he succeeds in getting a small jump he continues in a lower, exasperated voice. “I can’t believe you’ve gotten me a gift every day since Black Friday. Weird things, too! Girls’ perfume, and Lady Gaga CDs!”
“K-Kibum said that’s the kind of stuff you like. Some things I figured out myself, eventually, but Kibum…” Jinki sniffles feebly, and seems almost taken aback. Minho stares.
“Kibum was in on this?”
“Y-Yeah, he told me what I should get you in the beginning…”
“I’m going to murder him with that leopard-print scarf,” Minho mutters under his breath, and then bends down so he’s eye-level with Jinki.
“You,” he points at Jinki, “don’t need to get me gifts to court me. You could have just asked to go out on a date!”
Jinki rubs the back of his neck, and laughs weakly. “Well, I thought that after the coffee thing…”
For the second time Minho stares, remembering back to that awful Black Friday. “You were the one who poured coffee all over me?” Jonghyun’s gotta die too.
“Oh,” Jinki fumbles hastily.” “Um, yeah, I guess you didn’t know. Heh. Guilty. I’ve liked you ever since then. Even though you, you know, shouted at me.” Minho wants to retort that he burned his corneas on that coffee, but then Jinki’s eyes squeeze up into tiny crescents of mirth. Minho spots little paper cuts on the tips of the fingers that are covering Jinki’s face, and he forgets to be irritated instantaneously. He sighs again.
“Promise me to never listen to Kibum about my love life again,” Minho says solemnly, “and maybe we can try this whole courting thing out. You know, normally, without the secret gifts and stuff.”
Jinki brightens immediately, and flashes Minho a megawatt smile. “Promise!”
Minho grins back, and lends a hand to help Jinki to his feet. When Jinki’s standing in front of him, face to face, he hesitates, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. “I’m vain,” he says. “I care too much about my clothes. I’ll probably never get a legitimate job and die from inhaling too much perfume. Were the times we went out really that fun? Were the gifts worth it?”
Jinki frowns, and his eyes are calling Minho an idiot. “You make me laugh. You’re honest. A little neurotic, maybe, but when we went out we had a good time. What’s a paycheck or two for a person who I really like?”
“Don’t forget that I’m incredibly handsome,” Minho adds on some sort of odd reflex, and Jinki laughs.
“That’s why I was interested in the first place.” And the wink that Jinki gives him, that seals it for Minho. It’s a warm feeling, Jinki’s hands clasping his own.
“Promise me you’ll let me get you a new wardrobe, too,” Minho adds on an afterthought, and Jinki doesn’t even hesitate to smile wider and answer back:
“Promise.”
--
epilogue i
Christmas Eve falls on a Wednesday this year, and that means so does Kibum’s party. Minho dresses Jinki up in a fitted red sweater over a white collared shirt for the occasion, and he looks simply divine.
“Are you sure you want to go to the party, like, ‘together?’” Jinki asks, gnawing at his bottom lip as they stand outside of Kibum’s apartment (since Taemin’s is, decidedly, far too small). “I mean I don’t mind if we just go as friends…”
“No,” Minho assures firmly. “We’re going to grandly announce our relationship in front of everybody. I’d enjoy seeing Kibum’s eyes fall out of his face.”
Jinki grins and takes Minho’s hand, their dry palms sliding together pleasantly in the cold of the corridor. “I have a surprise for you once we get inside.”
The door swings open, revealing Kibum in a horrendous sweater printed with deer, clutching a mug of eggnog in his hand. There’s Christmas music humming low in the background, and the apartment is glittering with decorations. A tasteful evening party, it seems, rather than some of the more raucous gatherings Kibum’s thrown in the past.
Minho and Jinki are ushered in and offered glasses of eggnog, which they take and sip as they mingle with the crowd. Jinki’s fingers just brush Minho’s palm, and Minho doesn’t miss the way Kibum glances knowingly in their direction.
“I see you found out who your secret admirer is,” Kibum stage whispers to him as Jinki’s pulled to the side by Sunyoung, who pinches his cheeks and coos at how handsome he is in red.
“I’m going to strangle you with your scarf,” Minho replies cheerfully.
“Tee hee hee,” Kibum cackles, and dashes off with a wink as Minho attempts to grab for his collar. As Minho fumes to himself in exasperation for a moment, he doesn’t notice Jinki sidle up beside him, rubbing at his cheeks.
“I’m never going to follow your fashion advice again,” he complains.
“But red suits your complexion so well - ” Minho stops indignantly when Jinki begins to grin.
“Just kidding. Your sweater smells like your cologne. It’s nice.”
Minho preens a little, but concedes to lace his fingers with Jinki’s. “The cut makes your shoulders look wider, too,” he mutters to himself.
Throughout the evening they get stopped by incredulous stares - you two are finally together? - and Minho kind of feels at a loss, like he’s the last one in on a punch line. He’s tempted to stick out his tongue when Jonghyun and Taemin wink in his direction.
“So, what’s that surprise you promised me?” Minho leans down and whispers in Jinki’s ear after Kibum’s Christmas CD cycles again. Jinki, who had been munching on roasted nuts, peers up at Minho with wide eyes, like he’d been deep in thought. Minho has an inexplicable urge to squish his cheeks.
“Oh, the surprise!” Jinki exclaims. “I can’t believe I almost forgot.” He releases Minho’s hand and pushes his way through the chatting crowd, and Minho can see him go up to Jonghyun and tap him on the shoulder. Jonghyun turns away from the girl he was talking to and immediately nods, pulling something out of his jacket and pushing it into Jinki’s hands.
“What is that…?”
Jinki strides up to Minho, with an expression of apprehension and almost embarrassment. When he gets closer to Minho, close enough that Minho can feel the warmth radiating form Jinki’s body. Jinki takes a breath, and lifts what looks like a headband with a sprig of mistletoe dangling from a hanger, setting it on his head.
The mistletoe only reaches Minho’s chin.
“Oh,” Jinki says, paling and flailing at Minho’s chest. “Well. That… wasn’t expected.”
Minho’s torn between laughing until his chest aches, and kissing Jinki breathless. He tries to settle for an in between.
“How can you be so silly,” he chuckles, and reaches up to cup Jinki’s cheek.
“How can you be so tall! And, um, I mean, you said you wanted to make Kibum’s eyes fall out of his face, and we haven’t really kissed yet, but, um - !”
Minho brushes the mistletoe aside and leans down to press his lips to Jinki’s, chaste and tender. They’re a little chapped, but Jinki smells of eggnog and spices, sweet. Minho smiles and puffs out little gusts of laughter when they part.
“Um, oh, I - ” Jinki stammers, and his ears are as red as his sweater. There’s someone whooping in the crowd, probably Jonghyun, maybe Kibum. Minho ignores it and collects Jinki in a hug, awkward at first, but so warm when Jinki wraps his arms around Minho’s middle. Jinki relaxes, and Minho can feel cool breath on his neck.
“Merry Christmas, Minho,” Jinki sighs, and Minho just holds him tighter in his arms.
--
epilogue ii
This year, Minho is one of the unfortunate souls who have to work all the shifts just before the New Year, because Kyuhyun and Changmin, who are grossly domestic when they’re not tormenting Minho at work, are off on a trip to Jeju Island. Minho keeps getting pictures of crabs that are twice the size of Kyuhyun’s face, and Changmin throwing his arms against the wind in a Titanic pose, and really he doesn’t think he’s been more jealous of two people in his entire life.
Bloomingdale’s is almost a dead zone the last hour of Minho’s shift before he’s off for New Year’s, and he can feel the last of his energy evaporating along with the customers who shuffle out of the store. Jinki and Jonghyun are off the hook because Sunyoung agreed to handle their shifts, and Kibum somehow managed to wheedle Nicole into taking care of his. Taemin’s out sick after inhaling particularly hard next to the fur coats, so Minho’s pretty much all alone when he locks up the store and takes the subway home, dozing in between stops.
By the time that Minho throws his apartment door open, all he wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep for an eternity. He doesn’t even react to gentle fingers carding through his hair as he buries his face into his pillow.
“I knew you were working the past few days, so I had Kibum let me in. I just wanted to check up on you, make sure you’re okay,” Jinki says softly, and his hand pauses on Minho’s forehead. “You’re burning up, Minho.”
Minho feels like garbage, actually. His mouth is like cotton and his head is heavy and aching, and now that he thinks about it, his vision may have been blurring during those last few hours of work.
He supposes he dozes for a bit, because when he rouses Jinki seems to be padding back into the bedroom from the kitchen, a bowl in his hands.
“There, there,” he soothes when Minho whines as Jinki tries to prop him up on his pillows. Minho feels a spoon and broth being pressed to his lips, and he sips, feeling fortified as his stomach is warmed.
Minho wakes in the morning with no fever, refreshed and surprisingly light. Jinki had made sure to press cool cloths to his forehead, fed him broth and made him drink some water in between dozing. Minho glances at the other side of the bed, and smiles. Jinki, who sleeps with a wonky smile on his face. Jinki, who has a terrible wardrobe but looks good in one of Minho’s nightshirts. Jinki, whose limbs are splayed across the blankets so that his fingertips brush against Minho’s side. Minho leans down to brush the bangs from Jinki’s face, peck him softly on the cheek.
“Happy New Year, Jinki,” he whispers, and Minho, he feels warm.
From: Your Secret Santa
Title: in the eyelid of the beholder (your double eyelids are so deep that)
Pairing: onew/minho
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: anatopisms (?) (it pains me to write minho choi.)
Authors’ Notes: happy holidays! i hope you enjoy this mess of fluff and nonsense.
Black Friday is Minho's busiest day of the year. From 7 a.m. to 10 p.m., he has to fend off finicky housewives with their coupons and catty faces, stick himself with the backs of security pins, and fold, fold, fold endless sweaters, pants, and socks in menswear until his arms ache and his eyes are itchy from all the wool. Most years, Minho is grateful that he had decided to take the job at Bloomingdales instead of Macy's, where the workers have to get to the store at 3 a.m. to open at 4.
This year, however, Minho's running late. He's overslept, a little hung over from a drink to many during Thanksgiving dinner, and has had to run halfway across the city because the subway was packed, juggling a cup of fortifying coffee in his hand. It's edging past nine, an hour after opening, and perhaps the busiest time of the day when people fight over the last Michael Kors handbag in the bin.
The store, to Minho's chagrin, is in chaos. He ducks a flying patent leather shoe and makes his way to the staff room, where he can mentally prepare himself for a few minutes before the war begins. Taking a sip of coffee, Minho breathes.
And then shrieks in pain as his coffee is overturned onto his face by someone bumping into his arm, the lid coming off and spilling boiling liquid into his eyes and onto his skin and his new, white dress shirt.
"Sorry! Sorry, sorry," Minho hears a man chant frantically under his breath, drowned out by Minho’s own spluttering and cursing. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. Can I help you with anything?"
Minho's eyes are closed and stinging, and his wet shirt is cooling rapidly and sticking to his skin. He pinches the bridge of his nose as the other employee kind of flails at his chest uselessly.
"Go," Minho barks, "just go!" He doesn't rub his eyes open until he hears the door click shut, and only then does he survey the damage done. The shirt's completely ruined, and even buttoning up his jacket won't cover the spreading stain. No permanent damage to his retinas, at least. Minho looks around the empty room, and spots a stack of Bloomingdales staff t-shirts sitting on top of one of the cabinets, the ones that are the color of paper bags and printed with "big brown t-shirt", like it's supposed to be funny. They’re tacky, but functional, and not sopping wet. Minho strips without shame, washing briefly in the sink, pulls on the tee and drapes his suit jacket over it.
What a way to start the day, Minho thinks. It's nine-thirty, and the clueless businessmen are going to show up about now to pick out some boring collared shirts for work and ask, "Does this tie make it look like I'm trying too hard?" Minho steels himself another second more, and ventures out into the battle.
--
Minho almost regrets that he had never gotten a good look at the coffee culprit's face, especially after Kibum nearly laughs down the entire cosmetics department at Minho's t-shirt and angry eyes, and Kyuhyun and Changmin follow him with sniggers for the rest of the day. Jonghyun from formalwear stops by at the end of the afternoon shift with Starbucks, which everyone else digs into with gusto while Minho glares balefully from the side.
"Who spit into your Americano?" Jonghyun quips, looking Minho up and down, and when he recognizes the shirt he sniggers, too.
"Someone poured coffee all over me this morning," Minho gripes, "and I've been running my ass around all day only to have people like you snigger at me because I'm wearing a freaking t-shirt."
"You look very spirited, Minho-yah. We all know how much you like your pressed shirts and suits and patent leather shoes." Jonghyun pauses and muses to himself, "Someone poured coffee all over you, I heard that same story from J - ahhhhhhhhh."
"Ahhhh," Minho repeats suspiciously. "Do you know who did this to me?"
"Nope! Sorry Minho-yah, but there's a Kibum to bother and an Armani line to tag before the end of my shift, so I've gotta split!"
"Wait, Jonghyun!"
Jonghyun closes the elevator door behind him as soon as Minho makes a grab for his collar, and he rams himself into the wall, coffee spilling out of his cup and down his front. There goes his jacket, too.
--
Minho spends the weekend at the dry cleaner's, but otherwise for the most part he forgets about the incident. Kibum had taken pity on him and, after a minute of perusing through the final sale items that weren't torn apart in the melee, picked up a deep red, Ralph Lauren shirt, which he threw at Minho along with a couple of bills. After ringing it up, Minho delightedly changed out of his t-shirt and soiled jacket to prepare for the night shift.
Monday rolls along with preparations for the new holiday season, a little late for a department store even though it's only late November. The holiday months make up by far Minho's least favorite time of the year, because Christmas means customers' asking about different sizes and brands for gifts, means Minho going back into the storage room that's creepy as hell when he doesn't drag someone with him, means folding, folding, folding.
Minho swears he's going to quit every year around Christmas time, that he'll put his accounting degree to good use and get a job so he doesn’t have to avoid his parents’ Christmas dinner conversation, but then there are the sales, and he thinks he should stick it out for another year, because accountants have to be well-dressed, after all.
Today, at least, he's stringing flashing lights around menswear and propping up the sparkling reindeer. Kibum's helping, because cosmetics is dead since all of the regular middle-aged women are staying indoors after Black Friday shopping sprees. Taemin from customer service is there too, sneezing every so often.
"Customer service is right next to all of the fur coats," he complains with a sniffle. "Did you know that you can develop allergies to fur just by being around it more?"
"Does that mean that I can't bring Comme Des and Garçons to your Christmas party?" Kibum pouts as he drags a string of lights around Minho's counter.
"I don't understand why you think that every year I can hold a party in my closet-sized apartment but this time you have another thing coming - "
"Hold up guys," Minho interrupts as Kibum's about to protest. He ducks behind his counter, and pulls out a curious package out from behind an extra bin of security pins and receipt tape. It's small but heavy, with a note taped to the front.
"If I were a stop light, I'd turn red every time you passed by, just so I could stare at you a bit longer," he reads aloud, his voice trailing lower and lower with every word. There's a moment of embarrassed, pregnant silence, and then Taemin bursts out guffawing, almost choking on another sneeze. Kibum, on the other hand, peers brightly over Minho's shoulder, eyes sparkling, and snatches the package from Minho's hands, ripping off the gift wrap.
"Etude House's 'Bite Me' perfume." He nods admiringly, and seems a bit sad to hand it back to Minho. "Good choice, I have to say. It's our highest selling fragrance this season. All of the young girls really like it."
"Doesn’t that mean it’s a women’s fragrance?" Minho asks hastily, glancing around him to make sure Kyuhyun and Changmin don't catch him with girl's perfume. "It can't be for me then! You should keep it.”
"It was behind your counter. And I don’t think there’s a woman working in the menswear department," Kibum points out.
“Minho-yah has a secret admirer?” Taemin emerges out of a wad of tissues and blinks curiously at the other two.
“No,” Minho hisses vehemently.
Kibum rolls his eyes and takes a whiff of the perfume after Minho shoves it back into his hands. "Citrus and musk!" he sighs headily. "Thanks Minho-yah, I'm going to smell wonderful this season."
--
The next gift comes the following day when Minho, Kibum, and Taemin are setting up the Christmas tree next to the mannequin display. An employee tiptoes by, seemingly embarrassed, and asks for a Minho Choi.
“Jinki!” Kibum yelps frantically and almost crashes the other man into the Christmas tree. In a more level voice, he continues, “Guys, this is Jinki Lee, the new guy from formalwear.”
“Jonghyun’s slave then.” Minho nods, remembering a conversation about a new hire from a few weeks ago. “I’m surprised he didn’t make you get the coffee on Friday.”
Jinki’s kind of unassuming, if a bit plain. A nice eyesmile and an awesome head of hair, but an abysmal sense of good tailoring if the baggy dress pants are anything to go by. Just the kind of person Jonghyun would like to run around doing errands for a couple months before calling him his best friend.
“Jonghyun’s… encouraging,” Jinki replies vaguely, and then clears his throat as though suddenly remembering why he’s there. "Err… I found this near the undergarments section, when I came down looking for belts," he says, almost apologetically, handing Minho a thin package wrapped in the same gift wrap as the one from the day before. Just as Minho’s about to thank him, though, Jinki’s whole body jolts as though electrocuted, and with a half-uttered farewell to Kibum and something about cufflinks, he sprints away.
“He may be weirder than Kibum is,” Taemin announces with a sniffle once Jinki’s out of sight. Taking advantage of Minho’s momentary shell shock, he steals the note taped on the front of the gift in Minho's hands.
"Your double eyelids are so deep that I could make a nest and fall asleep to the beauty of your eyes," he reads, and Minho wants to combust on the spot Taemin's voice is so loud. A few customers glance their way, some laughing brightly and others sniggering behind their hands, and all Minho can do is give them a sheepish little smile, cheeks flaming. Kibum snatches the gift and unceremoniously unwraps it again.
"The newest Lady Gaga CD! Wow, whoever gave you this is the best!" he crows, and hugs it to the chest reverently.
"You keep it!" Minho snaps and runs his hands through his hair. "What the hell is this? I don't listen to Lady Gaga. I don't wear girls' perfume. Maybe, all of these gifts are supposed to be for Kibum - "
Pointing to his eye, Kibum deadpans, "Although my eyes are perfect as they are, I don't have double eyelids."
"And I don't think they could be referring to Kyuhyun or Changmin's weak-ass eyes either," Taemin adds unhelpfully.
Minho buries his head in his hands, fingers curling. "That doesn't make any sense!"
"Admit it, you have a secret admirer, Minho-yah," Kibum says slyly, startling Minho by wrapping his arms around Minho's middle from behind. "Maybe our little Minnie will actually get laid this Christmas!"
"And maybe someone will mess up Bummie's made-up face - "
Kibum squawks and shields the CD close to his chest as he curls in on himself to fend off Minho's tackle and noogie-ing. As embarrassed as he is, and as much as the customers stare and whisper at Kibum's war cries and Taemin's raucous laughter, Minho thinks back to the pearly blue gift wrap, the clumsily knotted bow, the hastily scrawled message on a piece of Bloomingdales stationary, and he wonders who would have such a fascination with him, Minho Choi who folds clothes for a job and lives at the dry cleaner's in his spare time.
--
The gifts come every day now, with the same blue gift wrap, the same silly bow, and different cheesy pick-up lines scrawled across Bloomingdale’s stationary. By now, Minho’s accepted that yes, these gifts are for him and yes, he does have a secret admirer. That doesn’t stop his cheeks from heating up and the reflex to cover his face with his hands, though. Somehow Kibum’s always there, sometimes dragging along Taemin and Jonghyun and even Jinki, once, to read the messages aloud.
The gifts themselves are kind of odd, though. They don’t quite… fit, with what Minho thinks he portrays as a (haughty, vain) sophisticated man. There’s a scarf, for example, one of the softest things Minho’s ever worn, but also printed with lurid leopard spots.
“It’s gorgeous,” Kibum coos, while Taemin tries to shy away from the fabric. Minho gifts it to Kibum just like the perfume and the CD, and that’s the fate of a majority of the little packages that Minho receives: ending up in Kibum’s hands.
On one hand, Minho feels kind of guilty accepting the gifts, because goodness knows how much his admirer has spent on him so far. But more than anything, he hopes that whoever it is will reveal themselves before Christmas. With the gifts and the wrapping and the silly, silly messages that the person writes to him, Minho has hope that maybe this Christmas, he won’t have to feel so alone.
--
Minho doesn’t like to get drunk very often - he saves those rare moments for holidays, or days when he’s reminded that he doesn’t actually have a real job that can pay for his rent and his groceries and his Jimmy Choo loafers - because there’s a certain amount of control that Minho constantly feels he needs to have over his life, his appearance, his persona. And drunk Minho is sloppy Minho, is maudlin Minho, not perfectly the poised Minho he tries to be.
It’s one of the latter kind of days, when Minho comes home from work to a voice mail from his mother - Minho dear, why aren’t you returning our phone calls, why haven’t you gotten a job, there’s a nice girl who lives next door I would like to introduce you to - when he would drag Kibum out to a bar just to forget, for a little while. Normally Kibum’s very sympathetic for half an hour, refilling Minho’s drinks and picking up the tab before roundly slapping him across the face. It’s enough to rouse Minho from his wallowing and go home, hung over yet oddly refreshed.
What Minho doesn’t expect, though, is that this time Kibum brings Jinki.
Jinki, who’s dressed in a loose white shirt and jeans, even plainer than he looks at work, and almost uncomfortable in his skin by the way he’s shuffling his feet. Minho stares.
“We’re going out clubbing tonight,” Kibum announces. “Taemin and Jonghyun have responsible things to do, so Jinki here is going to listen to your life problems while I make everyone on the dance floor want to get in my pants.” Kibum pats Jinki on the back, and the other smiles feebly at Minho. “He’s a really sympathetic person.”
Minho’s skeptical when they get to the club with all of its flashing lights and booming music, because Jinki startles whenever a scantily-clad dancer even comes close to touching him. Minho rolls his eyes, and with a wave to Kibum he drags Jinki off to the bar.
“Two shots of pineapple tequila, please,” he tells the bartender.
“Tequila?” Jinki jitters nervously as someone gets close enough to brush his back. He’s jammed close to Minho on a stool since the bar is pretty much full. “We have work tomorrow…”
For all of the nagging that Jinki does over the next half an hour about work and responsibility, he can hold his liquor surprisingly well. When Minho’s draped across the bar and humming ballads under his breath, Jinki’s only buzzed.
“I never want to drink with you again,” Minho groans as his head pounds in time to the bass blaring from the speakers. “I’ll die if I do.”
Jinki’s ears flush a pretty red, and he tries to prod Minho to keep him conscious.
“Yah,” Jinki half-shouts over the music, “Kibum told me you have problems and that’s why he brought me here. Tell me your problems.”
Minho groans at the mental efforts he must undergo to answer the question. He rolls on his stool to face the dance floor, where Kibum is tearing it up in the center. He’s in a groove, so when people try to cajole him, pull him out of the clearing he shrugs them off and dances, and people stare mesmerized.
“I wish I could be more like Kibum,” Minho says loudly, gesturing toward the dance floor with his glass. “Doesn’t care whose eyes are on him. Works in women’s cosmetics. Doesn’t care what people think.” He takes a sloppy gulp of alcohol. “Look at me. Got my accounting degree. Don’t want to use it. Can’t go home for Christmas because I don’t want to hear my mother ask me why I don’t have a job or a girl yet. My heart, it hurts.” It comes out more coherent than Minho expects, what with the way he can’t seem to feel his tongue in his mouth.
Jinki’s voice is softer this time, sympathetic, and yeah he’s damn good at this. “Why don’t you leave, then? Find something else for you to do?”
Minho gives a dry laugh. “I’m comfortable working at the store. I’m always around my friends. I get nice discounts. I like… the displays. Color coding, mixing patterns. It makes sense. Finances don’t make sense. People’s wants don’t make sense. You know, someone’s been giving me gifts? Leaving them around my counter. What could they want with me, Minho Choi, who folds clothes for a living and spends his free time at the dry cleaners?”
Minho thinks that he’s finally lost control of his voice during that last part, because Jinki only sighs, so heavily that Minho can feel the vibrations through his body, and that gets his stomach roiling.
“Let’s get you home, Minho-ah,” Jinki says gently, and leaves momentarily to push through the crowd. In a second Kibum is there by Minho’s side, holding him up as he lolls forward.
“Had a bit too much to drink, you idiot?” Kibum soothes as he hauls Minho toward the subway station nearby, Jinki puttering behind them. The evening air whips Minho’s face, refreshing, and rouses him enough to put one foot in front of the other.
The subway ride is quick, but still leaves Minho breathless and throbbing on the inside, like he’s been punched.
“Why aren’t you in pain,” he grumbles toward Jinki, and all he gets is comforting fingers carding through his hair. It’s nice, and Minho feels warm.
“Hey, Jinki,” Kibum says when they finally get up to Minho’s apartment. “You can go home now. I’ll take care of him.” Minho hears a noise of consent, and reaches out an arm, flailing.
“Jinki, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” he says fervently, and he doesn’t really know why he does. Just hears Jinki take the elevator back down to the lobby, ding ding ding.
The response only comes later, after Minho blacks out for a few minutes and wakes up in his bed.
“Why are you so stupid, Minho-yah,” Kibum mutters as he strips off Minho’s socks, and it’s kind of funny because Minho was thinking the same thing.
--
Minho’s made several bad decisions in his life. Getting an accounting degree is one of them. Purchasing an ugly polka-dotted Michael Kors jacket on a whim because it was on sale is another. The worst of them all, though, is drinking with Jinki.
“Holy shit pain,” is his first utterance of the next morning as he clutches his head. A bottle’s tossed in the direction of his head, and he hears the jangling of pills.
“We need to be at work in half an hour. Shower, brush your teeth, get dressed,” Kibum rattles off. Minho cracks an eyelid open, and sees that Kibum is dressed in a collared shirt and dress pants from Minho’s closet, sleeves and cuffs rolled up to look stylishly loose.
Minho swallows a few pills and gets ready in a daze and huge headache, choosing a Tom Ford sweater and Ralph Lauren blazer to layer over it.
“You know,” Kibum says casually in the subway as Minho dozes into his coffee. His tone is light, but his expression is alarmingly serious, eyes sharp and hard. “You really freaked out Jinki yesterday. I think you may need to apologize. Get him a gift, maybe, or take him out. Even I had a hard time restraining myself from strangling you. Who taught you to drink in such a sloppy way?”
Minho’s nose is almost in his coffee. “Okay,” he mutters, like a petulant child.
Minho does feel bad. He saves his worst side, his insecure side, for Kibum to see only because they’ve known each other since they were children, when Kibum had pointed at Minho on the first day of day care and announced, “I like you! Let’s be friends.” He shouldn’t expect Jinki to so readily accept his hysteria like Kibum does.
So that’s how Minho finds himself taking the escalator up to the second floor during his lunch break. He runs into Jonghyun returning cocktail dresses to their proper racks, humming ballads to himself.
“’Morning Minho!” Jonghyun greets with a nod. “Looking for something?”
“Someone,” Minho says. “Jinki Lee, the new hire?”
“Ah, Jinki!” Jonghyun’s eyes sparkle. “He’s been great these past few weeks, really attentive and hardworking. Right now he’s doing inventory, so you can find him in the back. Does menswear need to steal him from me for a while?”
“No, I just need to talk to him,” Minho corrects. He makes his way towards the back room when Jonghyun gives another nod and returns to his work.
Jinki is kneeling in a pile of shoeboxes in storage, and jumps when he hears Minho tiptoe towards him. But the expression of surprise turns instantly into one of delight when he spots Minho, smile bright and eyes squinted up into little half moons.
“Minho! It’s good to see you. How are you feeling?” he says, waving with a shoe in his hand.
“Headache’s not too bad. I’ll live,” Minho says lightly, but shuffles his feet anxiously. “Hey, Jinki, I’m really sorry about last night. I normally don’t get that drunk, but Kibum said I was pretty bad.”
Jinki waves the apology off. “I’m glad you got some stuff off your chest. Let me know if you ever want to go out again, for drinks or a talk or something.”
Something in Minho’s stomach warms like a balm. He clears his throat of emotion; Jinki’s really nice, he thinks.
“Actually, I wanted to take you out,” he says. “As a sort of expression of gratitude, you know. Are you free tonight to grab something to eat?”
Jinki peers up at Minho curiously, as though he wonders why Minho needs to offer gratitude in the first place, and blinks the confusion away.
“Tonight Jonghyun’s having me label a line of winter evening gowns.” Minho’s heart drops to his stomach. “But I can try to take off tomorrow night?”
“Oh!” Minho grins, relieved. “I get off at five tomorrow. Would that work for you?”
“Six is the earliest I can get off, I think,” Jinki says sadly.
“Six it is then. Meet me by cosmetics?”
Jinki brightens, and his smile takes up his whole face. “It’s a date!”
--
Minho fidgets with the hem of his sleeve as he waits for Jinki the next day, after they exchanged numbers and texted each other places and times. Kibum’s about to go crazy.
“Would you stop moving around so much?” he hisses after he says a pleasant farewell to a customer. “I was trying to apply shadow to that girl’s eye and all I could see was you fidgeting in my peripheral vision. Why are you so nervous?”
“I made a bad first impression though,” Minho frets. “Jinki must think I’m insane.”
Kibum looks like he’s about to say something, but then holds it back with a sigh.
“You are two of a kind,” he mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes. He glances over Minho’s shoulder. “There he is right now. Don’t do anything weird so I can get your miserable self to stay out of my department while I’m working.”
Minho spins around and spots Jinki shuffling towards them. He’s exchanged his blazer in favor of a baggy maroon hoody, his eyes drooping slightly.
“Hey,” Jinki says cheerfully, but his voice is tired.
“Yah, Jinki,” Kibum calls. “Bring this idiot back home in one piece. I’ll check in on him later tonight to make sure.”
“We’re just going to grab something to eat,” Minho says with an eye roll. Kibum waves them off with an eye roll of his own, and turns to help another customer.
Minho shoots glances at Jinki as they’re walking down the street, sees how he keeps nodding his head every couple of steps. They had decided to go to some Italian place a couple blocks away, something mildly expensive so Minho would feel like he’s actually treating Jinki. Instead, thinking hard, Minho stops in front of a diner and points toward the entrance.
“This place has great coffee,” is all that he says, and Jinki’s expression brightens exponentially.
They squeeze themselves into a booth towards the back of the diner, and immediately ask for coffees and stacks of pancakes. They grin at each other in surprise as the waiter walks away.
“So, any new secret admirer gifts today?” Jinki teases. He looks revived with a warm cup of coffee in his hands. Minho’s cheeks warm; he hadn’t remembered telling Jinki about that the other night.
“Some strange mineral powder for my face,” he mumbles, though he knows Jinki can hear. “I don’t really get it. Does my skin look bad? I wash my face in the morning and the evening, but I don’t use makeup. Should I?”
Jinki has a strange expression on his face. “You don’t like that kind of stuff?”
Minho shakes his head. “Makeup and stuff like that isn’t really my thing, believe it or not.”
“What are you into then? Besides good clothes, I mean,” Jinki asks with good humor, and leans forward with a small smile, as though he’s truly interested. And, from Minho’s first impressions of Jinki, he probably is.
“You know.” Minho waves his hand casually. “Sports. I wanted to be a soccer player when I was really young. Otherwise… Photography? Travel? Eating is a big one.”
“I like eating too,” Jinki says with a grin, and as if on cue the waiter comes to bring their pancakes. Jinki had gotten his with little chocolate chips, Minho with strawberries. Minho cuts a piece off of his. It melts in his mouth, delicious.
“So,” he says around a bite of fruit, “what is it that you like, Jinki?”
Jinki, who seemed pensive when they had started eating, flinches at Minho’s question. He nibbles at the end of his fork, playing with a sugar packet in his hand.
“I like movies,” he says after a pause. “I’m kind of a fail at anything that requires physical work and coordination, so sports aren’t for me. I was good in school, but I dropped out of college to be a singer instead. That didn’t work out, so here I am, working at the Bloomingdale’s formalwear department.”
“A singer?”
Jinki smiles and nods. “They called me Onew at the company I was going to sign to. But I got a vocal chord injury before I could debut, so that was the end of that.”
There’s nothing bitter in Jinki’s voice, just calm acceptance. Minho’s kind of impressed; he knows what the pain of not being able to fulfill your dreams is like.
“I’m not upset about it,” Jinki continues. “I live a good life. I have an apartment, I have food. Work is fun, because I get to watch people dress up and be surprised at how much the clothes can change the way they look. That happiness is enough.”
And that, that strikes Minho somewhere in his chest. That clothes can change perception and first impressions. That they can make you feel beautiful, smart, and strong. Minho looks like an accountant, even though he’s just a lowly department store worker.
“So, singing huh?” Minho says with a cough. “You must be really good, if you were going to be signed. Jonghyun sings too, did you know? And Kibum and Taemin, sometimes.”
“Do you?”
Minho laughs. “No, my vocal register is too low to sing most songs.”
“I’d like to hear it, though. Your speaking voice is nice.” Jinki winks above his mug.
“Hmm,” Minho muses. “It’s Friday, right? I think the five of us take off tomorrow, and I can probably convince the others to go out. How about we go to a noraebang? That way I’ll have the time to learn more about what kinds of movies you like.”
They’re both finished with their food by now, and Jinki twirls his spoon in his coffee cup. “I have no plans for tomorrow,” he says. “I’m game.”
Minho has bills to pay at home, and his bedroom needs tidying. But he hasn’t gone out in a long while, and supposes that he can afford a break, just this once.
“I’ll make some phone calls,” he promises as he flags down the waiter, and Jinki beams.
--
Jinki can sing, Minho learns the next day. Can sing as well as Jonghyun can, as they belt out the high notes in “Don’t Stop Believin’” and “Genie” with ease.
Minho also learns that Jinki’s a happy, happy bastard who doesn’t care that Jonghyun makes him go across the city to grab scarves from the warehouse, or into the snow to get Starbucks, or into storage to search for something that may or may not be in inventory. That happiness is kind of infectious, because Jinki makes these ridiculous jokes (like when Taemin considers holistic approaches to curing his allergies, Jinki says with a completely straight face, “Don’t trust people who do acupuncture, they’re back stabbers.”) and he smiles all the time. It’s why Minho can’t seem to say no when Jinki invites him to his apartment to watch a film he thinks Minho would like, doesn’t say no when Jinki takes him to a great samgyupsal restaurant that he wants to show him, only to find out it’s Minho’s favorite as well. They spend every evening of a whole week together, before Minho can blink an eye. There’s an untended to pile of laundry in his hamper.
And all through the work week, there are still the gifts. They get a little more creative, a little more… fitting, Minho supposes he can say. There’s a leather-bound journal, a comprehensive handbook on the best tourist sites in Tokyo, and even, once, a soccer jersey, his own name printed across the back. Minho wears the jersey to a game against Lu Han and Minseok and the others, and doesn’t want to admit how much he puffs up with pride when they say how good it looks on him. Kibum is disappointed when Minho doesn’t relinquish these gifts, but seems to be rewarded enough by seeing Minho’s ears flame with color when they read out embarrassing and slightly creepy lines like, “Do you live in a corn field? Cause I’m stalking you.”
During the day, Minho feels an overwhelming sense of charm and care coming from the gifts and their giver, and carefully tucks the packages in his bag before he leaves for home. He keeps the notes, the pick up lines, in a watch box next to his bed, and when he’s feeling particularly lonely he’ll read them just so he can laugh.
But then there are his outings with Jinki and the others, where he smiles and laughs and forgets, for a little bit, because of Jinki’s smile, or his odd ability to crack nuts with his bare hands, which they discover when Jonghyun brings over chestnuts in holiday spirit. Jinki texts him every morning and evening, now, with emojis and exclamation points and interesting anecdotes about his day, like, “this girl tried on a dress today, and she told me that she hadn’t felt so beautiful in the longest time.”
Minho’s confused, because he’s not sure what makes him happier; the little blue packages that are left around his counter with their clumsy messages and thoughtful gifts, or Jinki Lee, with his awful jokes and bright, bright smile.
--
It happens when Minho’s checking the sizes of dress pants for a customer near the Brooks Brothers display.
He spots a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye, and there’s only one thing Minho knows it can be. He briefly excuses himself and shoves a pair of pants into a passing Kyuhyun’s arms, and rounds the corner of a display roaring.
“STOP! YOU!”
The culprit is wearing a hoody and loose pants, face covered by a scarf, but he’s definitely holding a package wrapped in bright blue paper and a clumsily tied bow. Once he hears Minho’s voice, he stops dead, then bolts towards the stairs. Aha. Minho can take stairs four at a time no problem. No one can overtake him on the stairs.
As the culprit darts past shoes, though, his hood comes off, and Minho stops.
The loose dress pants.
The tacky hoody.
The awesome head of hair.
“Jinki,” he says to himself in disbelief, skittering to a stop, and stares for a few moments when the door swings shut to the stairwell.
Minho walks back to his abandoned customer in a daze, but only finds Kyuhyun holding the bright blue gift.
“That guy dropped this,” he says, handing out the gift with a surprisingly gentle smile. “I don’t think you’d want to lose it.”
Minho handles the package with numb fingers, and, like always, rips off the note first.
“If you were a flower, I’d watch you every minute of every hour of every day and keep you close to me because you'd be the most beautiful thing I’d have,” it reads, and Minho wants to laugh.
“You probably want to go look for him,” Kyuhyun says. “He must really like you, if he’s been giving you all of these gifts for the past few weeks.”
Things make sense now. Jinki’s jitteriness, his blushing. The careful prodding with questions of what Minho likes and what he doesn’t. On one hand, Minho’s surprised and angered at his own density because how could he not have known? On the other, there’s a certain fondness welling up in his chest. It was Jinki of all people, whom Minho’s gone out with almost every day this week, who texted him smiley faces when he woke up this morning, who smiles like sunshine.
It’s a date, Jinki had said that first time.
“Thanks, hyung,” Minho says after looking up, feeling wetness at the corners of his eyes.
“Good luck, Minho-yah,” Kyuhyun says, and gives Minho a two-finger salute before going off to do his work.
When Kyuhyun’s out of sight, Minho peels off the folds of the packaging to reveal a small, black box. He lifts the lid. Nestled inside is a pair of cufflinks, white-gold ovals that are striped with red. Simple, but almost heartbreakingly beautiful for it.
Minho takes the escalator up to formalwear, still clutching the cufflinks in his hand, feeling his heart thud giddily in his chest. He finds Jinki crouched behind his counter, head in his hands. He sounds, unbelievably, like he’s crying. Minho sighs.
“Yah.” He prods at Jinki’s thigh with his shoe. “You.” Jinki looks up, and his face is all red and blotchy, tears dribbling down his cheeks. Minho, despite himself, finds it oddly endearing. But then he remembers what he came up here to do, and waves the cufflinks box in Jinki’s face.
“What were you thinking, spending so much money on me?” he half-shouts to startle Jinki, and when he succeeds in getting a small jump he continues in a lower, exasperated voice. “I can’t believe you’ve gotten me a gift every day since Black Friday. Weird things, too! Girls’ perfume, and Lady Gaga CDs!”
“K-Kibum said that’s the kind of stuff you like. Some things I figured out myself, eventually, but Kibum…” Jinki sniffles feebly, and seems almost taken aback. Minho stares.
“Kibum was in on this?”
“Y-Yeah, he told me what I should get you in the beginning…”
“I’m going to murder him with that leopard-print scarf,” Minho mutters under his breath, and then bends down so he’s eye-level with Jinki.
“You,” he points at Jinki, “don’t need to get me gifts to court me. You could have just asked to go out on a date!”
Jinki rubs the back of his neck, and laughs weakly. “Well, I thought that after the coffee thing…”
For the second time Minho stares, remembering back to that awful Black Friday. “You were the one who poured coffee all over me?” Jonghyun’s gotta die too.
“Oh,” Jinki fumbles hastily.” “Um, yeah, I guess you didn’t know. Heh. Guilty. I’ve liked you ever since then. Even though you, you know, shouted at me.” Minho wants to retort that he burned his corneas on that coffee, but then Jinki’s eyes squeeze up into tiny crescents of mirth. Minho spots little paper cuts on the tips of the fingers that are covering Jinki’s face, and he forgets to be irritated instantaneously. He sighs again.
“Promise me to never listen to Kibum about my love life again,” Minho says solemnly, “and maybe we can try this whole courting thing out. You know, normally, without the secret gifts and stuff.”
Jinki brightens immediately, and flashes Minho a megawatt smile. “Promise!”
Minho grins back, and lends a hand to help Jinki to his feet. When Jinki’s standing in front of him, face to face, he hesitates, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. “I’m vain,” he says. “I care too much about my clothes. I’ll probably never get a legitimate job and die from inhaling too much perfume. Were the times we went out really that fun? Were the gifts worth it?”
Jinki frowns, and his eyes are calling Minho an idiot. “You make me laugh. You’re honest. A little neurotic, maybe, but when we went out we had a good time. What’s a paycheck or two for a person who I really like?”
“Don’t forget that I’m incredibly handsome,” Minho adds on some sort of odd reflex, and Jinki laughs.
“That’s why I was interested in the first place.” And the wink that Jinki gives him, that seals it for Minho. It’s a warm feeling, Jinki’s hands clasping his own.
“Promise me you’ll let me get you a new wardrobe, too,” Minho adds on an afterthought, and Jinki doesn’t even hesitate to smile wider and answer back:
“Promise.”
--
epilogue i
Christmas Eve falls on a Wednesday this year, and that means so does Kibum’s party. Minho dresses Jinki up in a fitted red sweater over a white collared shirt for the occasion, and he looks simply divine.
“Are you sure you want to go to the party, like, ‘together?’” Jinki asks, gnawing at his bottom lip as they stand outside of Kibum’s apartment (since Taemin’s is, decidedly, far too small). “I mean I don’t mind if we just go as friends…”
“No,” Minho assures firmly. “We’re going to grandly announce our relationship in front of everybody. I’d enjoy seeing Kibum’s eyes fall out of his face.”
Jinki grins and takes Minho’s hand, their dry palms sliding together pleasantly in the cold of the corridor. “I have a surprise for you once we get inside.”
The door swings open, revealing Kibum in a horrendous sweater printed with deer, clutching a mug of eggnog in his hand. There’s Christmas music humming low in the background, and the apartment is glittering with decorations. A tasteful evening party, it seems, rather than some of the more raucous gatherings Kibum’s thrown in the past.
Minho and Jinki are ushered in and offered glasses of eggnog, which they take and sip as they mingle with the crowd. Jinki’s fingers just brush Minho’s palm, and Minho doesn’t miss the way Kibum glances knowingly in their direction.
“I see you found out who your secret admirer is,” Kibum stage whispers to him as Jinki’s pulled to the side by Sunyoung, who pinches his cheeks and coos at how handsome he is in red.
“I’m going to strangle you with your scarf,” Minho replies cheerfully.
“Tee hee hee,” Kibum cackles, and dashes off with a wink as Minho attempts to grab for his collar. As Minho fumes to himself in exasperation for a moment, he doesn’t notice Jinki sidle up beside him, rubbing at his cheeks.
“I’m never going to follow your fashion advice again,” he complains.
“But red suits your complexion so well - ” Minho stops indignantly when Jinki begins to grin.
“Just kidding. Your sweater smells like your cologne. It’s nice.”
Minho preens a little, but concedes to lace his fingers with Jinki’s. “The cut makes your shoulders look wider, too,” he mutters to himself.
Throughout the evening they get stopped by incredulous stares - you two are finally together? - and Minho kind of feels at a loss, like he’s the last one in on a punch line. He’s tempted to stick out his tongue when Jonghyun and Taemin wink in his direction.
“So, what’s that surprise you promised me?” Minho leans down and whispers in Jinki’s ear after Kibum’s Christmas CD cycles again. Jinki, who had been munching on roasted nuts, peers up at Minho with wide eyes, like he’d been deep in thought. Minho has an inexplicable urge to squish his cheeks.
“Oh, the surprise!” Jinki exclaims. “I can’t believe I almost forgot.” He releases Minho’s hand and pushes his way through the chatting crowd, and Minho can see him go up to Jonghyun and tap him on the shoulder. Jonghyun turns away from the girl he was talking to and immediately nods, pulling something out of his jacket and pushing it into Jinki’s hands.
“What is that…?”
Jinki strides up to Minho, with an expression of apprehension and almost embarrassment. When he gets closer to Minho, close enough that Minho can feel the warmth radiating form Jinki’s body. Jinki takes a breath, and lifts what looks like a headband with a sprig of mistletoe dangling from a hanger, setting it on his head.
The mistletoe only reaches Minho’s chin.
“Oh,” Jinki says, paling and flailing at Minho’s chest. “Well. That… wasn’t expected.”
Minho’s torn between laughing until his chest aches, and kissing Jinki breathless. He tries to settle for an in between.
“How can you be so silly,” he chuckles, and reaches up to cup Jinki’s cheek.
“How can you be so tall! And, um, I mean, you said you wanted to make Kibum’s eyes fall out of his face, and we haven’t really kissed yet, but, um - !”
Minho brushes the mistletoe aside and leans down to press his lips to Jinki’s, chaste and tender. They’re a little chapped, but Jinki smells of eggnog and spices, sweet. Minho smiles and puffs out little gusts of laughter when they part.
“Um, oh, I - ” Jinki stammers, and his ears are as red as his sweater. There’s someone whooping in the crowd, probably Jonghyun, maybe Kibum. Minho ignores it and collects Jinki in a hug, awkward at first, but so warm when Jinki wraps his arms around Minho’s middle. Jinki relaxes, and Minho can feel cool breath on his neck.
“Merry Christmas, Minho,” Jinki sighs, and Minho just holds him tighter in his arms.
--
epilogue ii
This year, Minho is one of the unfortunate souls who have to work all the shifts just before the New Year, because Kyuhyun and Changmin, who are grossly domestic when they’re not tormenting Minho at work, are off on a trip to Jeju Island. Minho keeps getting pictures of crabs that are twice the size of Kyuhyun’s face, and Changmin throwing his arms against the wind in a Titanic pose, and really he doesn’t think he’s been more jealous of two people in his entire life.
Bloomingdale’s is almost a dead zone the last hour of Minho’s shift before he’s off for New Year’s, and he can feel the last of his energy evaporating along with the customers who shuffle out of the store. Jinki and Jonghyun are off the hook because Sunyoung agreed to handle their shifts, and Kibum somehow managed to wheedle Nicole into taking care of his. Taemin’s out sick after inhaling particularly hard next to the fur coats, so Minho’s pretty much all alone when he locks up the store and takes the subway home, dozing in between stops.
By the time that Minho throws his apartment door open, all he wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep for an eternity. He doesn’t even react to gentle fingers carding through his hair as he buries his face into his pillow.
“I knew you were working the past few days, so I had Kibum let me in. I just wanted to check up on you, make sure you’re okay,” Jinki says softly, and his hand pauses on Minho’s forehead. “You’re burning up, Minho.”
Minho feels like garbage, actually. His mouth is like cotton and his head is heavy and aching, and now that he thinks about it, his vision may have been blurring during those last few hours of work.
He supposes he dozes for a bit, because when he rouses Jinki seems to be padding back into the bedroom from the kitchen, a bowl in his hands.
“There, there,” he soothes when Minho whines as Jinki tries to prop him up on his pillows. Minho feels a spoon and broth being pressed to his lips, and he sips, feeling fortified as his stomach is warmed.
Minho wakes in the morning with no fever, refreshed and surprisingly light. Jinki had made sure to press cool cloths to his forehead, fed him broth and made him drink some water in between dozing. Minho glances at the other side of the bed, and smiles. Jinki, who sleeps with a wonky smile on his face. Jinki, who has a terrible wardrobe but looks good in one of Minho’s nightshirts. Jinki, whose limbs are splayed across the blankets so that his fingertips brush against Minho’s side. Minho leans down to brush the bangs from Jinki’s face, peck him softly on the cheek.
“Happy New Year, Jinki,” he whispers, and Minho, he feels warm.