fic scrap #4: Untitled (Kibum/Kim Bum, Kibum/Donghae)
Kibum/Kim Bum (Super Junior/Other), past Kibum/Donghae
PG-13, AU.
Unfinished WIP; one of a few I'll be posting in the next couple of days. I'm clearing out my WIPs and trying to finish those I've decided to stick with as a new outlook towards writing, lol.
In terms of this fic: I liked the idea I had for it, and the execution at first was somewhat inspired (by these pictures), but then I lost steam and motivation for it. I also disliked how I introduced the Pride meetings in here. And, as always, I had no real plot in mind while writing, so it jumps from one scene to another, having started writing this in parts and not chronologically.
The sun shone in brilliantly through the motionless white curtain above the kitchen sink. It was early morning, and quiet, in the way that the city sounds just before the Seoul city workers rise from their warm beds and shuffle through the motions of preparing for work, leaving their apartment blocks bleary-eyed with coffee in hand.
One man, however, was wide awake and scrawling illegible lines in a notebook at the table across the studio from the window. A mug was steaming gently by his other hand, and he paused in his writing every so often to raise it to his lips. When he did so, his eyes seemed far away, focused on something only he could see beyond the walls of his one-room studio apartment.
He spent each morning like this, with a notebook and tea and a pen in hand. It didn't matter if what he'd written the day before was unreadable or nonsensical; he would only turn the page and continue writing until the morning air rang with the sounds of the city waking up.
He finished a character and dotted a period, setting down his pen just before the stop-start rumbling sounds of the garbage truck echoed up from the street. He picked up his mug and seemed momentarily surprised after he tilted it to his mouth, setting it down and peering within as though its depths would replenish with just a glance.
He stood, his chair scraping back against the floorboards with a rasp, and walked across the room to his sink. He pushed the curtain aside with one hand, letting the white morning light flood over the sink, before turning the tap and washing the mug in the sparkling stream.
It was no sooner than he'd placed it upside-down in the drying rack that there was an unfamiliar buzz, a signal from someone downstairs wanting to come up to his studio. He turned in surprise, drops of water from his hands flicking across the floor.
-
"Kibummie-yah," someone had crowed behind him before slinging a friendly arm around his neck, "Are you coming today?"
He'd turned on his spot on the bench, startled, and relaxed when he'd recognized Donghae's cheerful grin.
"Sure, hyung. I always do."
"Good." Donghae had given him a half-hearted noogie across his sharply-cut hair - he'd brushed him away with duck of his head and a barely-concealed smile - then run his warm, calloused hands to Kibum's shoulders, squeezing them lightly before breezing away with a sunny grin.
"I better see you there!" He'd spun around and called out, already halfway across the field, and Kibum had given a small, embarrassed wave of his hand before turning back to the novel in his hands. Only after turning three pages had he realized he hadn't read a single word, his face stuck in the same sort of silly grin he'd often teased Sungmin for.
-
He wiped his hands on the dishtowel hanging from the oven door, heading over to the rarely-used intercom, and looked at it speculatively before pressing a button and uttering a hesitant greeting.
Got a package for a Mr. Kim Kibum, the speaker emitted in a crackle of static. He frowned, not remembering any recent orders he'd made, but sent the package up regardless.
-
The Kombi he slept in was constructed by his own hands.
It had been a rough day, with an unexpected run-in with a former classmate, and Kibum had found himself in the local junkyard, brooding and smoking. He'd overturned a cracked headlight with the tip of his boot, then paused, before bending down and sticking the spliff between his lips. He'd picked up the headlight, turned it over in his hands, and turned to the dented Kombi to his left.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time - he'd spent the following two weeks devoting his time and energy into transporting the Kombi to his apartment in bits and parts at a time, constructing it the best he could while doped up on opiates. The wise decision of building a van inside his studio, however, came into question once he'd fixed the silver VW to the front and realized that he'd just built a van inside his studio, and there was no way of removing it. Faltering, he'd decided that the engine was most likely faulty, anyway - the car was in the junkyard for a reason - and ended up using the empty van as a crude imitation of a bedroom. He hadn't had much more than a mattress at the time, anyway, so it all worked out perfectly.
-
Aside from the enhancement of his mechanical and motor abilities, for him, smoking made everything slow and easy to understand - lighting up was his way of easing the natural uncertainty he sometimes felt in his small apartment as a bright young man with endless potential, nothing to do, and no one to do it with. He'd sit out on his balcony and face the night sky, sour-sweet smoke streaming up to the stars, his only company potted plants and the infinite universe, and feel more at ease with his place in the world.
-
He actually spent little time in his studio flat - he often found himself wandering around the city or biking out along the waterside as far as he could push himself. He spent the occasional morning out on the banks of the Han River, just listening.
-
He smiled at Kibum, so genuine it almost hurt, and clasped his hand in a friendly gesture.
-
Pride meetings had always made him feel slightly more comfortable in his skin. Despite the fact that they had all been so different - or perhaps it had been because of this, because of the fact that they'd seemed to subscribe to so many stereotypes across campus - he'd always felt okay with essentially admitting that he often fantasized about the sinewy muscles of a man's body rather than the soft curves of a woman's. If a tough Human Kinetics major, a foot taller than him and two times his breadth, had been so nonchalant in telling them about his overly chatty boyfriend, it had seemed fine for Kibum to admit to being a little bit more than just curious about being gay. Each week, the topic had varied from things as simple as celebrity crushes and worst break-ups to topics that made him redden in an embarrassed flush; topics like fetishes and sex toys and the best places to hook up without getting caught on campus.
Donghae had been a constant presence by his side from the first time he'd stepped hesitantly through the door of the Pride office - emblazoned with the gayest goddamn rainbow flag, he remembered thinking - on the basement floor of the student union building. He'd waved him through with a welcoming grin when Kibum had paused by the doorway, and had asked him his name, what major he was in, and Kibum had flushed, nervous and jittery, glancing around at the others looking on and ducking his head in respect. He'd replied that he was a first year, Engineering, and hadn’t said another word for the next hour. He saw Donghae sneaking glances at him from the corner of his eye, and something about that open, expressive face made it easier from him to decide to come again, week after week.
-
“Come on, Kibum!” He hollered, skipping down the road, “Let’s go, let’s go!”
“Jesus,” Kibum muttered to himself, but he couldn’t help the smile that burst into brilliance across his face at the sight of Kim Bum jumping around like a lunatic, one hand clutching the silly white hat on the top of his head.
-
PG-13, AU.
Unfinished WIP; one of a few I'll be posting in the next couple of days. I'm clearing out my WIPs and trying to finish those I've decided to stick with as a new outlook towards writing, lol.
In terms of this fic: I liked the idea I had for it, and the execution at first was somewhat inspired (by these pictures), but then I lost steam and motivation for it. I also disliked how I introduced the Pride meetings in here. And, as always, I had no real plot in mind while writing, so it jumps from one scene to another, having started writing this in parts and not chronologically.
The sun shone in brilliantly through the motionless white curtain above the kitchen sink. It was early morning, and quiet, in the way that the city sounds just before the Seoul city workers rise from their warm beds and shuffle through the motions of preparing for work, leaving their apartment blocks bleary-eyed with coffee in hand.
One man, however, was wide awake and scrawling illegible lines in a notebook at the table across the studio from the window. A mug was steaming gently by his other hand, and he paused in his writing every so often to raise it to his lips. When he did so, his eyes seemed far away, focused on something only he could see beyond the walls of his one-room studio apartment.
He spent each morning like this, with a notebook and tea and a pen in hand. It didn't matter if what he'd written the day before was unreadable or nonsensical; he would only turn the page and continue writing until the morning air rang with the sounds of the city waking up.
He finished a character and dotted a period, setting down his pen just before the stop-start rumbling sounds of the garbage truck echoed up from the street. He picked up his mug and seemed momentarily surprised after he tilted it to his mouth, setting it down and peering within as though its depths would replenish with just a glance.
He stood, his chair scraping back against the floorboards with a rasp, and walked across the room to his sink. He pushed the curtain aside with one hand, letting the white morning light flood over the sink, before turning the tap and washing the mug in the sparkling stream.
It was no sooner than he'd placed it upside-down in the drying rack that there was an unfamiliar buzz, a signal from someone downstairs wanting to come up to his studio. He turned in surprise, drops of water from his hands flicking across the floor.
-
"Kibummie-yah," someone had crowed behind him before slinging a friendly arm around his neck, "Are you coming today?"
He'd turned on his spot on the bench, startled, and relaxed when he'd recognized Donghae's cheerful grin.
"Sure, hyung. I always do."
"Good." Donghae had given him a half-hearted noogie across his sharply-cut hair - he'd brushed him away with duck of his head and a barely-concealed smile - then run his warm, calloused hands to Kibum's shoulders, squeezing them lightly before breezing away with a sunny grin.
"I better see you there!" He'd spun around and called out, already halfway across the field, and Kibum had given a small, embarrassed wave of his hand before turning back to the novel in his hands. Only after turning three pages had he realized he hadn't read a single word, his face stuck in the same sort of silly grin he'd often teased Sungmin for.
-
He wiped his hands on the dishtowel hanging from the oven door, heading over to the rarely-used intercom, and looked at it speculatively before pressing a button and uttering a hesitant greeting.
Got a package for a Mr. Kim Kibum, the speaker emitted in a crackle of static. He frowned, not remembering any recent orders he'd made, but sent the package up regardless.
-
The Kombi he slept in was constructed by his own hands.
It had been a rough day, with an unexpected run-in with a former classmate, and Kibum had found himself in the local junkyard, brooding and smoking. He'd overturned a cracked headlight with the tip of his boot, then paused, before bending down and sticking the spliff between his lips. He'd picked up the headlight, turned it over in his hands, and turned to the dented Kombi to his left.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time - he'd spent the following two weeks devoting his time and energy into transporting the Kombi to his apartment in bits and parts at a time, constructing it the best he could while doped up on opiates. The wise decision of building a van inside his studio, however, came into question once he'd fixed the silver VW to the front and realized that he'd just built a van inside his studio, and there was no way of removing it. Faltering, he'd decided that the engine was most likely faulty, anyway - the car was in the junkyard for a reason - and ended up using the empty van as a crude imitation of a bedroom. He hadn't had much more than a mattress at the time, anyway, so it all worked out perfectly.
-
Aside from the enhancement of his mechanical and motor abilities, for him, smoking made everything slow and easy to understand - lighting up was his way of easing the natural uncertainty he sometimes felt in his small apartment as a bright young man with endless potential, nothing to do, and no one to do it with. He'd sit out on his balcony and face the night sky, sour-sweet smoke streaming up to the stars, his only company potted plants and the infinite universe, and feel more at ease with his place in the world.
-
He actually spent little time in his studio flat - he often found himself wandering around the city or biking out along the waterside as far as he could push himself. He spent the occasional morning out on the banks of the Han River, just listening.
-
He smiled at Kibum, so genuine it almost hurt, and clasped his hand in a friendly gesture.
-
Pride meetings had always made him feel slightly more comfortable in his skin. Despite the fact that they had all been so different - or perhaps it had been because of this, because of the fact that they'd seemed to subscribe to so many stereotypes across campus - he'd always felt okay with essentially admitting that he often fantasized about the sinewy muscles of a man's body rather than the soft curves of a woman's. If a tough Human Kinetics major, a foot taller than him and two times his breadth, had been so nonchalant in telling them about his overly chatty boyfriend, it had seemed fine for Kibum to admit to being a little bit more than just curious about being gay. Each week, the topic had varied from things as simple as celebrity crushes and worst break-ups to topics that made him redden in an embarrassed flush; topics like fetishes and sex toys and the best places to hook up without getting caught on campus.
Donghae had been a constant presence by his side from the first time he'd stepped hesitantly through the door of the Pride office - emblazoned with the gayest goddamn rainbow flag, he remembered thinking - on the basement floor of the student union building. He'd waved him through with a welcoming grin when Kibum had paused by the doorway, and had asked him his name, what major he was in, and Kibum had flushed, nervous and jittery, glancing around at the others looking on and ducking his head in respect. He'd replied that he was a first year, Engineering, and hadn’t said another word for the next hour. He saw Donghae sneaking glances at him from the corner of his eye, and something about that open, expressive face made it easier from him to decide to come again, week after week.
-
“Come on, Kibum!” He hollered, skipping down the road, “Let’s go, let’s go!”
“Jesus,” Kibum muttered to himself, but he couldn’t help the smile that burst into brilliance across his face at the sight of Kim Bum jumping around like a lunatic, one hand clutching the silly white hat on the top of his head.
-