fic: ask, receive (1/3)
Title: ask, receive (1/3)
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Jonghyun/Key (eventually), background '91-line
Notes: Many thanks to herocountry for the beta and the hand-holding. If you'll believe it, she was there when I first started writing this in January =_=; This is a 100% gratuitous AU, ft. Kibum the nonprofit worker and Jonghyun the popstar.
Kim Kibum wins a date with pop idol Kim Jonghyun. This is not a rom-com. AU.
part 1
part 2
part 3
“Kibum?” The tone of Nicole’s voice over the phone is so chipper the reception crackles in the middle of his name, and Kibum winces. That tone never bodes well-it is the same tone he has come to recognize as the one she uses when she needs to soften particularly unfortunate news.
The first time, he was an eighteen-year-old college freshman (in Kibum’s version, he is young and fresh-faced; in Nicole’s version, he is young and just slightly less grumpy) and Nicole was the bubbly girl in his chemistry class who came by during lunchtime to tell him she’d lost the extravagantly expensive chemistry textbook she had borrowed two nights before, just in time for finals. She bought him coffee, tricked the TA for the other class into giving her an outline of the test, and helped him eke out a B- in Chemistry I, the hardest class he has ever taken, and they have been best friends ever since.
The last time was just three weeks ago, and she’d called to tell him she’d somehow crashed and then lost his bike on the route from her apartment to his.
“What is it now,” Kibum says, already resigned to his fate.
“What’s with the tone, Kibum?” Nicole sounds offended, as she does every time, as if she doesn’t know. “This is why you can’t get a date, you’re so distrusting.” She pauses significantly, as if to let that sink in, mostly because Nicole had a flair for the dramatic and was terribly transparent. “And speaking of dates, do you remember that contest I entered to win a date with Kim Jonghyun?”
“Yes,” Kibum responds slowly. “That’s all you’ve talked about for the past month. Don’t tell me you won?”
“Well, actually,” Nicole continues, voice so gratingly cheerful Kibum actually holds the phone a little further away from his ear. “I entered your name, and you won!”
Kibum has never known what it means to be shocked speechless until this moment. After fifteen seconds without a reaction, including regular breathing, Nicole asks with some concern, “Kibum, are you still there?” at the same time Kibum finally snaps out of his reverie and half-shouts, “Excuse me?”
“You know,” Nicole says reprovingly (reprovingly, Kibum thinks-as if he’s the one being rude here), “there’s really no need to shout. Also, could you buzz me in? I’m outside! It’s kind of windy.”
Kibum hangs up, and sits down on the arm of his sofa, putting his head in his hands. Thirty seconds of wallowing later, there is a terrifying crack on the other side of his front door, as if someone with steel-capped boots just kicked it. It is followed by the rhythmic banging of someone’s fist on his door and Nicole’s voice. “Kibum, I know you’re in there, I can see the light! Let me in, or else I’m going to tell Taemin who really showed those photos of him in drag to the intern!”
Kibum jumps, and hurries to open the door lest his neighbors can complain again, catching Nicole’s fist in his hand on the downswing. “You already did that,” he reminds her wearily. “Last month, when I wouldn’t buy you drinks. Remember? He gave me the silent treatment for two days during summer internship application season and then we were behind on work for weeks.”
Nicole, the jerk, looks wholly unconcerned. “Oh, did I?” she says breezily, shrugging off her coat and handing it to him. Mechanically, he takes it and hangs it up on the coat rack next to his door before realizing what he’s inviting into his home.
“You did!” he says hotly. He resists the urge to stamp his foot a little, as Nicole settles onto his couch and takes a sip from a beer she’d just taken from his refrigerator. “Also, what are you doing in my house? Why are you drinking my beer? Traitors who sell me out to win dates with useless pretty boys with no talent aren’t allowed to drink my beer!”
Nicole looks up at him from her comfortable position on his couch, afghan pulled up to her chin. “I didn’t sell you out! And you’re going on the date, not me! Frankly, you should be thanking me-according to a poll Gallup conducted at the end of last year, Kim Jonghyun won with 56% of the 15-to-25 female vote in the ‘male singer you’d most like to date’ category. I’ve just made you the envy of thousands of fans everywhere!” She pauses, and adds, “And he’s very talented. I know you think so! You have his entire discography on your iPod.”
Kibum knows his mouth is hanging open, he can feel it, and yet he is literally incapable of not gaping at Nicole. “But I don’t want to be the envy of thousands of fans,” he finally moans. “And why do you know what I have on my iPod?”
Nicole looks shifty, then guilty. “Er, I borrowed it? For the gym?”
Kibum looks at her incredulously. “Nicole, I’ve been looking for my iPod for weeks.”
“Anyway,” Nicole says loudly, though she can’t hide the blush flooding her cheeks, “your date is in two weeks, on February 22nd. That’s a Friday. He’s paying!”
Kibum finally sits down-though it’s more like he collapses-on the couch, and puts his head in his hands again. Nicole helpfully scoots over to avoid having her feet crushed. “How did this happen to me?” he wonders. “What did I do wrong in a past life to deserve this?”
Nicole nudges at his arm until he relents, allowing her to set her head on his shoulder. “Shh,” she says soothingly, rubbing circles on his stomach. “It’ll be great! Don’t even worry about it! You’re going on a date with Kim Jonghyun to eat awesome food! He’ll be paying for all of it! You know how much you love that.”
This last remark is followed with a gentle jab at his ribs, and Kibum smiles a little at that, but he’s not letting Nicole off so easy. “What if I don’t want to go? Why has no one asked me if I want to go?” he asks, still grumpy but a little less annoyed. “And how did this happen, anyway?”
“Well,” Nicole says brightly, as if it’s a wonderful story she’s been waiting to tell for a long time. “I put your name and address in to, you know, maximize my chances. I thought, on the off chance you did win, you could just send me in your place or something. Except the application asked all these questions about occupation and interests, and I guess male directors of fundraising aren’t quite what comes to mind when one thinks of Kim Jonghyun’s fanbase. I think his PR team thinks it’s a good publicity stunt so they picked you. Oh, Kibum, please go! It’ll be so much fun!”
Kibum thinks to the crowd of screaming teenage girls he saw in the one episode of Jonghyun’s backstage documentary Nicole had forced him to watch and decides, no, he is most decidedly not a typical Kim Jonghyun fan. Still, this is not the direction he envisioned his life heading in when he sat down with a cold beer on a Thursday night after a long day of work.
“I am glad my complete and total humiliation will make a good publicity stunt, at least,” he says, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Please tell my mother that I tried, but I was forced to change my name and go into hiding in Brazil to avoid being trampled to death by a pop singer’s preteen fans. And also to save my professional reputation. Also, Nicole, even though I hate you for leading me to my ruin, you can have whatever you want from my belongings. Except my iPod-I’ll need that for when I’m basking in the sun on a Brazilian beach, surrounded by half-naked and beautiful beach babes.”
“You’re exotifying, Kibum,” Nicole says reproachfully. “And don’t be dramatic. It’s just a date with an attractive man, who also happens to one of South Korea’s most popular singers. I fail to see the downside to all this.” And then, because Nicole is an immoral, insensitive, and hedonistic creature-“Just don’t forget to slip Jonghyun my number at the end.”
Kibum doesn’t even need to look at her to envision the grossly inappropriate wink. “You are happily engaged,” he reminds her, exhausted. Jinwoon had finally popped the question two weeks ago after three years of dating, and they were set to be married the March of next year.
Nicole beams down at the ring on her finger. “I am, aren’t I?” she says, looking so happy that Kibum knows it’ll be impossible for him to stay mad at her long. Then she winds an arm around Kibum’s middle, snuggling in. “By the way,” she says, voice muffled somewhere in the vicinity of his armpit, “you have an interview tomorrow at six for his website.”
At that, Kibum unceremoniously dumps Nicole off his couch, ignoring her cry of surprise. He walks to his coat rack, pulls her coat off, and throws it at her. “Get out of my apartment,” he says flatly.
Nicole is downright cackling when she pulls out his iPod from her coat, throwing it at him-he misses, wincing when it hits the floor, because she is an awful person as well as an awful friend and threw it when he wasn’t looking-and then blows him a kiss. “Night, Kibum,” she singsongs. “I’ll come over after work tomorrow to help you prepare!”
--
The next day, Kibum slinks into work fifteen minutes late, hoping no one in his office has checked any popular gossip sites in the past twelve hours, which is exactly what Kibum stayed up until four in the morning doing, watching with horror as fans across the world not only tear apart his moral integrity but also, somehow, dig up a truly embarrassing dance team photo of him from college in the comments section of the at least twelve articles that have popped up about him since the news broke. His dreams of a day at work under the radar are quickly dashed when Taemin, their charming and all-talented Operations Director, undisputed prince of the office, and-in Kibum’s own humble opinion-a soulless robot with no allegiances, corners him in the kitchen as he is making coffee, unholy glee making his eyes gleam.
“So,” Taemin says, and Kibum clutches his warm cup of coffee to his chest, contemplating throwing it in Taemin’s face and making a run for it. He supposes the ire and dismay he would face from Taemin’s various fans in the office, including the secretary, Kibum’s own assistant director, that traitor, and, hilariously, the intern Jongin, wouldn’t quite be worth the escape. “My sister sent me an interesting article last night.”
Kibum, to his credit, responds blandly. “Was it the one about the American CIA officer, because, you know what, I saw that too, and I thought it was pretty thought-provoking-”
“You never told me you were a fan of Kim Jonghyun,” Taemin interrupts, rather rudely, in Kibum’s opinion, “and that you wanted to go on a, oh, what was it, ‘romantic spring awakening love date’ with him.”
Kibum winces. That was another one of the parts he’d been trying to forget. “Taeminnie,” he says pathetically, looking at Taemin with his best kicked-puppy look. “Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough humiliation?”
“No,” is the automatic answer-Kibum is actually insulted by how quickly it comes. “And never call me that again, it’s unprofessional. Who should I call to thank for this early birthday present?”
Kibum sighs, and sucks woefully at his rapidly cooling coffee through his stirring straw. “Nicole,” he finally grumbles. “Who else?”
“Nicole,” Taemin says, almost reverently, because he is an awful human being and Kibum should really see about having him fired, if only it weren’t for the fact that Kibum himself had recommended Taemin for the position. “What a beautiful goddess of a woman. Jinwoon is a lucky man.” He turns on his heel, asking over his shoulder, “Is her card still in the directory? I’ll have Jongin send her flowers.”
Kibum very seriously considers drowning himself in their coffeemaker for a second. “You were so sweet in college,” he says despairingly to Taemin’s back. “What happened?”
Taemin shoots him an amused look that makes Kibum feel as if the tables have somehow been very unfairly turned when he wasn’t looking. “You did,” he responds cheerfully which, Kibum supposes, is fair. Taemin had actually been fresh-faced and innocent when he was in college, until he joined the dance team and Kibum discovered that underneath the wide-eyed, apple-cheeked exterior was a soul even darker than his. It had provided him endless enjoyment then, but now he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end, and it was an unhappy, soul-crushing feeling. “By the way, I was the one who posted that dance team picture.” With this final parting shot, Taemin actually has the gall to wink at Kibum, and Kibum reconsiders his previously magnanimous decision to preserve his face.
He settles instead for throwing his stirring straw at Taemin’s back. It hits his shoulder just as Jongin walks by, who looks distressed that the Development Director is beating up on his supervisor, which quickly transforms into confusion when Taemin places a hand on his shoulder and asks, all charm and underlying manic, “Jongin, what do you know about flowers and women?”
Jongin looks back at Kibum, slightly panicked look in his eyes. Kibum is sure he would be mouthing help me, if only Jongin weren’t so serious and so determined to be such a good intern. It was funny to watch-Jongin was only a few months younger than Taemin, and they had even been in the same department at school, though Taemin had graduated two years earlier than Jongin, thanks to the grade he’d skipped in elementary school. A year out of college at 22, Jongin was more than capable, but Kibum had the sneaking suspicion that Taemin, who was the same age but still looked much like he had his first year of college, took immense pleasure out of lording it over someone for once. Jongin, to his credit, was immune to most of Taemin’s usual charms, though was often flustered around Taemin mostly because he was handling the transition from being Taemin’s classmate and dance team dongsaeng to being his intern poorly, and was often dismayed by Taemin’s casual teasing, a fact which seemed to delight Taemin to no end. Still, Kibum knew for a fact that Taemin had an offer letter he was sitting on just so he could make Jongin get him coffee twice a day and, apparently, buy Kibum’s traitorous best friend flowers, and still call it part of his job.
“Good luck,” Kibum says grimly to Jongin as he sidles by them on his way to his office. At least two heads swivel to watch him pass, and he resists the urge to throw his coat up over his head. He can hear their rapid clicking abruptly stop, and the profoundly guilty silence that follows, but thankfully he completes the journey from the break room to his office without any further humiliation.
It is not until he checks his email to see the sudden influx of messages notifying him of donations and emails of support that had come in overnight that Kibum starts to realize the potential in the situation. Out of curiosity, he checks their website’s statistics and page views and actually gasps a little out loud at the increase in website hits, which has almost tripled from last week’s statistics. For some reason, an image of Nicole comes to mind, winking and flashing a victory sign, and Kibum is suddenly overcome with an overwhelming urge to kiss her. Sorry, Jinwoon, he relays telepathically. Jumping up from his desk, he almost breaks his little toe in his hurry to Jongin’s cubicle. This time, more than just two heads swivel in his direction as he almost slips rounding a corner.
“Jongin,” he says, catching himself on the corner of Jongin’s cubicle and trying to pretend he’s not out of breath. “Jongin, are you still sending out those flowers?”
Jongin looks up, and the perpetual expression of mild alarm on his face inches towards guilt. “Taemin told me not to listen to you if you tried to stop me. I’m not-”
“Jongin,” Kibum interrupts, and hands over his credit card. “Buy Nicole a dozen roses, and charge it to this card.”
“Oh,” Jongin says, looking slightly stunned. “Yes, of course, I can do that.”
--
Kibum had graduated with honors with degrees in marketing and international relations four years ago with absolutely no clue of what he wanted to do. He relocated to the American branch of an oil company after graduation, too eager to get out and away, and worked a year in communications before the loneliness of living abroad and his increasing skepticism of the morality of his career led him to quit and move back to Seoul, where the familiarity was suddenly comforting instead of stifling. He worked mostly freelance for a few months, and started volunteering on the side through Nicole’s church. One of those volunteer gigs, and his favorite, was for The SHINE Project, an organization aimed at helping refugees in South Korea, with an unspoken but understood emphasis on providing legal services to those who faced further persecution based on their sexual orientation and/or gender identification.
When their Operations Director quit suddenly, Kibum applied for the job at Nicole’s urging without thinking too much of it, figuring he would quit in a year or so when he would finally figure out what it was he wanted to do. Somehow, a year or so turned into two years when he recommended Taemin for the position and he switched into Accounting, which turned into currently three years and counting, when he was promoted to Development Director just a few months prior.
Working full-time for a medium-sized nonprofit organization at twenty-five was not quite in line with anything Kibum had ever envisioned for himself but he figured that if the quiet feeling of pride and accomplishment made even making spreadsheets tolerable-and Kibum had to make a lot of spreadsheets-it was probably worth sticking out for.
Kibum was quite adept at his job, despite the frustrations that came with the territory-helping to keep a nonprofit financially solvent was difficult to begin with, and combined with the rather controversial nature of their work, Kibum often ran into issues whose solutions more or less depended on their ability to fundraise and solicit sponsorship. They generally did alright for themselves in this area, though the period after the start of the new year was typically their least profitable.
But not, apparently, when one of your employees suddenly and rather inexplicably wins a date with one of Korea’s most popular solo singers. Kim Jonghyun, if Kibum remembered correctly, had once upon a time been in a boyband of middling popularity until the company representing them went under, but it wasn’t until he’d come back from his stint in the army and had a solo comeback two years ago that he’d shot to stardom. Now his-okay, admittedly attractive-face was everywhere, and he, Kim Kibum, was going on a date with a man worth at least two million in album sales and an international fanbase boasting of a few hundred thousand members. He kind of wanted to cry a little bit.
“Kibum,” Nicole says, and touches his arm. “You’re getting that look on your face again.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Kibum informs her cheerfully. They are en route to Kim Jonghyun’s company offices for the interview, for which Kibum had a newfound enthusiasm that seemed to both amuse and worry Nicole. “By the way, have I told you lately that you are my best friend and that I really quite adore you?”
“Not enough to wear a dress at my wedding though,” Nicole points out, “so, frankly, your affection is useless to me. Now, please try to be excited when you’re doing this interview-you won this date because you wanted to, and because Jonghyun is the one source of excitement and joy in your otherwise boring office man life. When did he debut?” She had actually come over to the office after work to thank Taemin for the flowers, and then whipped out a cheat sheet of basic facts about Kim Jonghyun she told Kibum he had to memorize. Taemin had gone very quiet at the sight of Nicole berating Kibum into reciting Kim Jonghyun’s measurements back to her, and when Kibum had looked over again, he was turned away, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.
“Yes, right, of course,” Kibum says absentmindedly. “He debuted on May 5, 2005 with his group and his solo comeback was October 17, 2010. My favorite song was his first single though, of course, I like all of them. His official color is green, and he’s 1.73 meters tall, which is on the short side, but that’s fine because I think it’s cute.”
Nicole looks vaguely impressed, and when the taxi pulls up to the front of the office building, she steps out with him after paying the driver. “Kibum,” she says demurely, and puts a hand on his arm, “I just want to say that I’m very sorry about entering your name without telling you. Don’t feel pressured to do this if you don’t want to.”
Kibum looks at her incredulously. “Excuse me?” he says, swatting the hand off. This earns him a reproachful look from the middle-aged office lady stepping around them to catch a cab, and Kibum resists the urge to stick his tongue out at her. “Who’s the one who told me I had to go through with it or else I’d be uninvited from her wedding and excommunicated for months?”
Nicole laughs, and gives Kibum a quick peck on the cheek. “Jinwoon told me to say it,” she says. “Duh. If you try to back out now, I’m uninviting you from my wedding and excommunicating you for months and I’m going to make a slideshow of all those pictures from our spring break senior year and circulate it amongst our friends.”
“That’s more like it.” Kibum returns the kiss on the cheek, and straightens. “Alright. I’ll see you at dinner?”
Nicole waves at him as he turns around. “Of course! Call me the minute you get out!”
--
The interview goes about as well as Kibum imagined it would. He’s not quite sure if he fully convinced his interviewers-a reporter and one of Jonghyun’s managers-that he’s a diehard Kim Jonghyun fan, but he discovered that he didn’t have to dig particularly deep to enthuse a little about how smooth he thought Jonghyun’s voice was (a fact he would only ever admit to Nicole under threat of imminent death).
When the interview runs a week later, Kibum is even pleased to note it doesn’t make him seem like someone desperate for fame or a creepy male fan. To be fair, most of the article consists of gushing about Jonghyun’s widespread appeal, a short biography of Kibum, and the interview, which had been pared down to a few basic questions and then the one response where Kibum had been caught off guard and admitted that he thought Jonghyun was good-looking.
Taemin laughed himself sick when the interview came out, of course, and took a screenshot of it on Jonghyun’s website that he made Jongin include in the monthly SHINE employee newsletter. The number of emails of envy and congratulations Kibum received afterwards had been truly disheartening, and made him realize that the bit about Jonghyun’s widespread appeal apparently hadn’t been exaggeration.
In the meantime, his name is still being dragged through the mud in the comments section of various fansites, and he receives more than a few emails from Jonghyun’s fans, varying from the terrifying to the depressive-Kibum receives at least five in succession from one girl who threatens to kill herself because she hadn’t won the contest, before Nicole blocks the address and firmly tells him to stop reading the emails. Even his alarm, however, pales in comparison to the steadily increasing traffic-and press coverage, always crucial in the nonprofit sector-they’ve been receiving, and Kibum doesn’t care if he’s just riding off the coattails of Jonghyun’s fame, he would’ve pretended to be the fans of male idols a million times more embarrassing if he’d known it would’ve given them this jolt.
The day of his date arrives much sooner than Kibum feels comfortable with, despite the massive post-it countdown Taemin had been keeping on his office door.
Their boss actually makes Kibum take the day off work (“but-I have so much work to do still-” “Just get me an autograph, Kim.”), so Kibum finds himself trying to pass time by watching a few of Jonghyun’s interviews and live performances, so he’ll at least have something to talk about, if all else fails. In the end, he can’t decide if Jonghyun is entertainingly cocky or annoyingly cocky, though he ends up watching enough radio appearances and mic-removed performances (Kibum gives up any pretense of shame at this point) that he realizes Kim Jonghyun, especially for a company-manufactured pop idol, is devastatingly talented.
This is the state in which Nicole finds him when she comes over to help him prepare for the date: Kibum sitting on his couch with his laptop on his chest, idly clicking through the parts of a Chinese game show Jonghyun had appeared on a few months ago.
“Um,” Nicole says pointedly upon entrance, and Kibum’s attempts to hastily click away only reveal the Jonghyun photoshoot he was most adamantly not thinking about saving. “Don’t you think you’re taking this a little too far? I don’t think Jonghyun’s going to be suspicious if you don’t intimately know his AnAn photo shoot.”
“Shut up,” Kibum responds through gritted teeth, still trying to click away and only further damning himself. “I was doing research, okay.”
“Doing research…on his biceps?” Nicole asks archly, nodding to the shirtless picture of Jonghyun that he just can’t seem to close.
Kibum finally slams the laptop cover shut, and throws the offending object onto the other side of his couch, as if it’s its fault somehow. “Why don’t you just go on the date?” he asks, trying to sound winning but probably only sounding desperate. “I can dress you up like me and shave your head, I bet no one would even notice.” He cheers up a bit, imagining Nicole bald. Jinwoon would kill him, but it’d be so worth it. “I bet you’d look really good with a shaved head. And it’d probably grow back in time for your wedding! How ‘bout it, Nicole? What’s one measly hair-shaving compared to a date with Kim Jonghyun?”
“Sorry, lover boy,” Nicole says cheerfully, and walks over to his dresser, opening it to sift through his shirts. “It’s too late now, especially after you milked his fans for thousands of dollars worth of donations.”
Kibum perks up at that. “I really did, didn’t I,” he says, so satisfied that he even allows Nicole to manhandle him into his nicest button-down shirt, the one he usually saves for job interviews and dinner with his parents, and the silk tie she had given him for Christmas last year.
--
“Whoa.”
Somehow, that is not the first thing Kibum thought Kim Jonghyun would say to him when they met. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but he’s pretty sure it wasn’t that-or, to be honest, any of this. He’s sitting in the lobby area of one of Seoul’s nicest hotels per his agreement with Jonghyun’s manager with regards to a pickup point, feeling a bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, minus the hideous blonde wig and the hooker background. So, in retrospect, actually nothing like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, just out of his comfort zone and in way, way over his head. He’d almost gotten up and left when he spotted the representative of one of their corporate sponsors walk in, but the thought of going down in Kim Jonghyun fandom history as the pedestrian who stood him up made him bite his tongue, instead ducking his head and fiddling with the clasps of his coat.
Kibum raises an eyebrow, giving Jonghyun a discreet once-over. He really is on the short side in person, standing a few centimeters shorter than Kibum, and his skin up close, Kibum notes with a weird sense of satisfaction, isn’t particularly blemish-free. None of the pictures had lied about the confident set of his jaw and the charm of his lopsided smirk though, and Kibum feels the faint pull of attraction low in his belly before he can think better of it.
“Hi to you too,” he says dryly, standing up. He sticks his hand out after sizing up the man standing behind Jonghyun and making sure wasn’t going to tackle him to the ground. “I’m Kim Kibum.”
“Kim Jonghyun.” Jonghyun’s grasp is firm and the smile he flashes him is all idol. “It’s a good reaction, don’t worry. You’re just not what I would’ve pictured when I think of ‘male fan.’” He gestures at Kibum, taking in with the sweep of his hand the crisp button-down, the tie, and the slim chinos Kibum had argued with Nicole about for a whole fifteen minutes. The smile this time comes slower, and with an appreciative-there is no better word for this-leer that takes its time somewhere around the clean lines of Kibum’s shoulders before reaching his eyes, and Kibum feels his heart, that traitor, flutter a little. “Actually, you kind of look like an accountant.”
Kibum files this information away in his ‘to tell Nicole’ folder-Kim Jonghyun is sleazy, but also kind of bad at being sleazy.
“Well,” Kibum responds, before his mind can catch up to his mouth, “no need to worry about my dedication. I assure you that your name is tattooed right next to your mother’s on my ass.” Then his mind catches up, and his own mouth drops open just as the man behind Jonghyun coughs discreetly to mask what sounds like a surprised bubble of laughter. “Um. I meant that in the most respectful way possible?”
Jonghyun, who looks momentarily caught off guard, shakes off the surprise before cracking up, a sudden, incredulous laugh that is in no way refined. A few well-groomed heads swivel around at the sound, and Kibum kind of wants to curl underneath the sofa and never come out. He’s not sure which will come first-death by embarrassment, or death at the hands of thousands of teenage girls. He’s not sure which he’d prefer, either. Jonghyun, however, sounds downright gleeful when he says, “This was unexpected.” The hand he puts on Kibum’s elbow is comfortable and not unlike a friend’s, and he leads Kibum towards the door with a flourish.
Kibum lets out a surprised bark of laughter at that, and lets himself be led out. The tight ball of anticipation and nerves within him starts to unwind, and he finds welling up within him a deep, deep sense of relief that Kim Jonghyun, at least, has a sense of humor. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, blinking rapidly. He figures that if it works for Taemin, who uses the tactic to get out of any deadline or prior commitment with a 98% success rate, it can’t hurt to tack it on. “Where are we going?” he asks once they’re outside, and Jonghyun leads him to a waiting car.
“Ah,” Jonghyun says as he opens the door for Kibum (a careless, gentlemanly gesture Kibum takes careful note of-for Nicole, of course, not because he’s impressed), sliding in after him. “Did you read the agreement my manager sent over? We’re heading to a restaurant nearby; MNet’s going to film us for a bit. But I promise I’m all yours after that.”
The smirk he shoots at Kibum is more showy insinuation than anything else, and Kibum, to his surprise, catches himself faintly wishing this were a real date. In his defense, it’s been a while, and Jonghyun is surprisingly pleasant company, not to mention easy on the eyes. His hair is soft and unstyled, and the blue v-neck sweater he’s wearing cuts a fine contrast with the sharp dip of his collarbones.
“I don’t think you can handle me,” Kibum responds decisively, leaning back. “I’m not some teenager you can buy off with an autograph and an eye smile, you know.”
“I knew you were too good to be true,” Jonghyun sighs dramatically, tapping his fingers on the windowsill. When Kibum looks over, though, there’s a bright smile snaking its way across Jonghyun’s face. When he turns to Kibum, the genuineness is dazzling. “Thank you.”
Kibum is saved from having to think of a way to respond to that smile by their arrival at the restaurant, a chic date spot that seems primed for their arrival. There’s a camera trained on the car as it pulls up with MNet’s familiar logo on the side, and Kibum can see some staff members ushering curious passersby along. But he is suddenly hit with a wave of worry and guilt, and he grabs Jonghyun’s elbow just as his hand curls around the door handle.
“Wait,” he says, biting his lip.
“What’s up?” Jonghyun asks, raising an eyebrow. “Scared of a little press coverage?”
“No, that’s not exactly it,” Kibum says, rolling his eyes. “I just mean-well, now that you know I’m not really-aren’t you worried it won’t work out? I don’t want to mess it up for you or something.”
Jonghyun laughs at Kibum’s worry, and actually pats his hand. “Just laugh at everything I say and look appropriately cowed for fifteen minutes, and I’ll do the rest. Besides,” he says, that unrefined, un-idol-like smile back on his face, “it’s much better this way-trust me. I’d much rather be having dinner with you than a teenager I can buy off with an autograph and an eye smile.”
--
It is not until they’re getting their entrees that Kibum feels like he can finally breathe easy. He had followed Jonghyun’s instructions through the soup and salad and then the dessert, which they’d filmed out of order to get out of the way. He thinks his smitten teenager impression had been pretty convincing, especially during dessert, when he’d batted his eyelashes at Jonghyun as he fed him a piece of cake. Jonghyun had almost choked trying to muffle his laughter, but there were so many encouraging coos from the staff that Kibum felt vindicated.
“Thanks for your hard work.” Jonghyun is bowing to the MNet director and staff, who are all packing up save the one cameraman who’s staying behind to capture any particularly precious moments.
“I’m hungry,” Kibum complains, though he makes sure to pitch his voice low, trying and mostly succeeding at keeping the whine out of his voice. “Going on dates with idols is hard.”
Jonghyun looks amused when he sits back down. “Try being the idol,” he says, picking up his fork and knife.
“No thanks,” Kibum says, shivering a bit. “Believe it or not, I like walking down the street without knowing that I could be accosted at any moment by a stranger who knows my waist and shoe size.”
“Oh, you mean that’s not normal?” Jonghyun pulls a face in between bites of his steak. “That doesn’t happen as often as you’d think, though. Believe it or not, a lot of this,” here he gestures to his face and hair, “comes off once the cameras stop rolling.”
Kibum snickers, before throwing his fork down in a display of mock-anger. “You mean I’ve been in love with a lie this whole time?” he cries.
“Hey,” Jonghyun says, brows furrowed, and Kibum worries for a quick second that he’s actually offended him. Then he bursts out laughing, and lowers his voice so the camera won’t pick up on his next words. “Besides, who’s tricking who here? You still haven’t told me how this happened, by the way.”
Kibum groans. Nicole is going to be so mad at him later, he can feel it already. “My best friend is a big fan,” he finally mumbles, shoveling pasta in his mouth, “and signed me up without telling me to up her chances. I think your people thought it’d make a good story. I oversee development for a nonprofit,” he adds, in anticipation of Jonghyun’s next question.
Jonghyun nods. “It is a good story,” he says, so absentmindedly calculating that it gives Kibum a better understanding of what it must feel like to be an idol than any number of expository articles or documentaries. “Still doesn’t explain why you agreed to it, though.”
“Well,” Kibum says slowly, drawing out the syllables, “it’s been really good for business?” He holds his breath a little-it’s one thing to do it, and another thing entirely to admit it to the person whose fame he’s taking advantage of.
Jonghyun, who is apparently hell-bent on proving himself to be extraordinary tonight, sits back in his chair and downright cackles for so long the cameraman gets bored of filming it and starts taking artistic wide-angle shots of the ceiling instead.
“Oh my God, can you stop,” Kibum hisses, bright red and horrified, tossing a hunk of bread at Jonghyun, who catches it and folds it into his napkin, still giggling. The cameraman is suddenly interested again and Kibum feels helpless and light-headed, a bubble of laughter rising in his chest. Before long, he is laughing too-this is ridiculous, he is on a date with Kim Jonghyun for the sole purpose of extorting money from his fans for his nonprofit. He’s not sure how this happened, and if it makes him a bad person or just resourceful. He’d much prefer the latter, but he has a sneaking suspicion he’d crossed the line of morality some time ago.
“A man after my own heart,” Jonghyun says, a hint of laughter still chasing his words. His eyes are crinkled in amusement when he looks back up at Kibum. “I should hire you. So, what does this nonprofit of yours do?”
Kibum lights up. He can’t help it-he’s fiercely protective and proud of what he does, though it’s hard not to be. He was there when The SHINE Project consisted of just ten staff in their main Seoul office and the manpower of a handful of volunteers. In the few years since Kibum’s been there, he’s seen it grow to its current size of about twenty-five main staff and two branch offices.
Somehow, he ends up telling Jonghyun about it all-about the aimless year he’d spent in San Francisco after college, and how unhappy he’d been towards the end; how moving back had been the best decision he’d ever made, and how Nicole proved once and for all that she knows best and took him to church against his protests. He didn’t-still doesn’t-necessarily believe in God, but church grounded him and, most importantly, gave him something to do. Jonghyun quietly finishes his steak and calls for a bottle of wine as Kibum tells him about the first few months as a volunteer at SHINE, how Nicole had let him complain almost everyday for two months about its inefficiency, until he’d realized that he loved it, that he, inexplicably, loved sending emails rescheduling meetings and interviewing college students for their sincerity and writing grant proposals.
He is two glasses of wine deep when he finally tells Jonghyun about what else they do, about the legal services for LGBTQ-identifying refugees they provide but can’t advertise. He is thankful the cameraman had packed up and left ages ago; he trusts Jonghyun with the information, he thinks, but not public television. It is not until Jonghyun’s phone vibrates on the table between them, making them both jump, that he snaps his mouth closed, suddenly embarrassed-he must’ve been talking for close to an hour now, judging by the emptiness of the restaurant.
“Sorry, sorry,” Jonghyun mutters, turning off his phone. “It’s just my manager.”
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” Kibum responds, mortified. “Wow, I am so sorry. That must’ve been so boring for you, God, I can’t believe I just babbled like that, why didn’t you stop me-”
“Kibum,” Jonghyun cuts in gently but firmly, and Kibum finds the words dying away. “Trust me, I would’ve stopped you if I thought it was boring.” He cracks a smile, gesturing to himself with his own glass of wine. “Do I look like someone who listens to people out of politeness?” Then he seems to think about it for a second. “I mean, off-duty anyway.”
Kibum meets Jonghyun’s gaze, open and frank, for a few seconds before dropping his eyes from his face. “Well, still,” he says, feeling touched and wishing he didn’t.
The silence they sit in after that is drawn out but comfortable. It isn’t until Kibum chances a look at his watch that he breaks it with a yelp.
“What is it now?” Jonghyun asks, look of amusement crossing his face.
“Oh my God,” Kibum says, “it’s 10:30. I am so sorry. You must have things you have to do, I’m sorry I kept you for so long.” He shoots a helpless look at Jonghyun, frustrated first at his own agitation, and again at Jonghyun’s kindness.
“Can you stop apologizing,” Jonghyun sighs, rolling his eyes. “It’s a Friday. I have a life too, you know.”
“I know,” Kibum says, and is a little distraught to hear the note of anguish in his voice. “That’s what I’m saying. Surely you want to spend your Friday night with-with friends, or something. Not some stranger who pretended to be your fan as a fundraising stunt.”
Jonghyun makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat, waving his hand. “Do you only hear what you want to hear or something?” Kibum’s mouth snaps shut at this, and thinks briefly about feeling affronted at this, before deciding that it might also be kind of true. “What I meant was, I am very capable of choosing what I want to do. And,” he continues, looking uncertain now, “don’t you think this-” here, he gestures between them, “-counts as a friendship at this point?”
Kibum nervously pats flat the hair falling over his eyes, trying and failing to contain the blush he knows is spreading over his face, blotchy and obvious. “Well, of course,” he finally bursts out haughtily, because Kibum’s defense mechanism, for better or for worse, has always been arrogance. “I’m not completely immoral. You’re buying me dinner; the least I could do is be your friend.”
>>>
- The title of this google doc is 'THE NONPROFIT INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX AU' and, if you couldn't tell, this is light on the nonprofit and the industrial complex, heavy on the AU u__u
- 7.2k in this part, and the rest will soon follow.
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Jonghyun/Key (eventually), background '91-line
Notes: Many thanks to herocountry for the beta and the hand-holding. If you'll believe it, she was there when I first started writing this in January =_=; This is a 100% gratuitous AU, ft. Kibum the nonprofit worker and Jonghyun the popstar.
Kim Kibum wins a date with pop idol Kim Jonghyun. This is not a rom-com. AU.
part 1
part 2
part 3
“Kibum?” The tone of Nicole’s voice over the phone is so chipper the reception crackles in the middle of his name, and Kibum winces. That tone never bodes well-it is the same tone he has come to recognize as the one she uses when she needs to soften particularly unfortunate news.
The first time, he was an eighteen-year-old college freshman (in Kibum’s version, he is young and fresh-faced; in Nicole’s version, he is young and just slightly less grumpy) and Nicole was the bubbly girl in his chemistry class who came by during lunchtime to tell him she’d lost the extravagantly expensive chemistry textbook she had borrowed two nights before, just in time for finals. She bought him coffee, tricked the TA for the other class into giving her an outline of the test, and helped him eke out a B- in Chemistry I, the hardest class he has ever taken, and they have been best friends ever since.
The last time was just three weeks ago, and she’d called to tell him she’d somehow crashed and then lost his bike on the route from her apartment to his.
“What is it now,” Kibum says, already resigned to his fate.
“What’s with the tone, Kibum?” Nicole sounds offended, as she does every time, as if she doesn’t know. “This is why you can’t get a date, you’re so distrusting.” She pauses significantly, as if to let that sink in, mostly because Nicole had a flair for the dramatic and was terribly transparent. “And speaking of dates, do you remember that contest I entered to win a date with Kim Jonghyun?”
“Yes,” Kibum responds slowly. “That’s all you’ve talked about for the past month. Don’t tell me you won?”
“Well, actually,” Nicole continues, voice so gratingly cheerful Kibum actually holds the phone a little further away from his ear. “I entered your name, and you won!”
Kibum has never known what it means to be shocked speechless until this moment. After fifteen seconds without a reaction, including regular breathing, Nicole asks with some concern, “Kibum, are you still there?” at the same time Kibum finally snaps out of his reverie and half-shouts, “Excuse me?”
“You know,” Nicole says reprovingly (reprovingly, Kibum thinks-as if he’s the one being rude here), “there’s really no need to shout. Also, could you buzz me in? I’m outside! It’s kind of windy.”
Kibum hangs up, and sits down on the arm of his sofa, putting his head in his hands. Thirty seconds of wallowing later, there is a terrifying crack on the other side of his front door, as if someone with steel-capped boots just kicked it. It is followed by the rhythmic banging of someone’s fist on his door and Nicole’s voice. “Kibum, I know you’re in there, I can see the light! Let me in, or else I’m going to tell Taemin who really showed those photos of him in drag to the intern!”
Kibum jumps, and hurries to open the door lest his neighbors can complain again, catching Nicole’s fist in his hand on the downswing. “You already did that,” he reminds her wearily. “Last month, when I wouldn’t buy you drinks. Remember? He gave me the silent treatment for two days during summer internship application season and then we were behind on work for weeks.”
Nicole, the jerk, looks wholly unconcerned. “Oh, did I?” she says breezily, shrugging off her coat and handing it to him. Mechanically, he takes it and hangs it up on the coat rack next to his door before realizing what he’s inviting into his home.
“You did!” he says hotly. He resists the urge to stamp his foot a little, as Nicole settles onto his couch and takes a sip from a beer she’d just taken from his refrigerator. “Also, what are you doing in my house? Why are you drinking my beer? Traitors who sell me out to win dates with useless pretty boys with no talent aren’t allowed to drink my beer!”
Nicole looks up at him from her comfortable position on his couch, afghan pulled up to her chin. “I didn’t sell you out! And you’re going on the date, not me! Frankly, you should be thanking me-according to a poll Gallup conducted at the end of last year, Kim Jonghyun won with 56% of the 15-to-25 female vote in the ‘male singer you’d most like to date’ category. I’ve just made you the envy of thousands of fans everywhere!” She pauses, and adds, “And he’s very talented. I know you think so! You have his entire discography on your iPod.”
Kibum knows his mouth is hanging open, he can feel it, and yet he is literally incapable of not gaping at Nicole. “But I don’t want to be the envy of thousands of fans,” he finally moans. “And why do you know what I have on my iPod?”
Nicole looks shifty, then guilty. “Er, I borrowed it? For the gym?”
Kibum looks at her incredulously. “Nicole, I’ve been looking for my iPod for weeks.”
“Anyway,” Nicole says loudly, though she can’t hide the blush flooding her cheeks, “your date is in two weeks, on February 22nd. That’s a Friday. He’s paying!”
Kibum finally sits down-though it’s more like he collapses-on the couch, and puts his head in his hands again. Nicole helpfully scoots over to avoid having her feet crushed. “How did this happen to me?” he wonders. “What did I do wrong in a past life to deserve this?”
Nicole nudges at his arm until he relents, allowing her to set her head on his shoulder. “Shh,” she says soothingly, rubbing circles on his stomach. “It’ll be great! Don’t even worry about it! You’re going on a date with Kim Jonghyun to eat awesome food! He’ll be paying for all of it! You know how much you love that.”
This last remark is followed with a gentle jab at his ribs, and Kibum smiles a little at that, but he’s not letting Nicole off so easy. “What if I don’t want to go? Why has no one asked me if I want to go?” he asks, still grumpy but a little less annoyed. “And how did this happen, anyway?”
“Well,” Nicole says brightly, as if it’s a wonderful story she’s been waiting to tell for a long time. “I put your name and address in to, you know, maximize my chances. I thought, on the off chance you did win, you could just send me in your place or something. Except the application asked all these questions about occupation and interests, and I guess male directors of fundraising aren’t quite what comes to mind when one thinks of Kim Jonghyun’s fanbase. I think his PR team thinks it’s a good publicity stunt so they picked you. Oh, Kibum, please go! It’ll be so much fun!”
Kibum thinks to the crowd of screaming teenage girls he saw in the one episode of Jonghyun’s backstage documentary Nicole had forced him to watch and decides, no, he is most decidedly not a typical Kim Jonghyun fan. Still, this is not the direction he envisioned his life heading in when he sat down with a cold beer on a Thursday night after a long day of work.
“I am glad my complete and total humiliation will make a good publicity stunt, at least,” he says, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Please tell my mother that I tried, but I was forced to change my name and go into hiding in Brazil to avoid being trampled to death by a pop singer’s preteen fans. And also to save my professional reputation. Also, Nicole, even though I hate you for leading me to my ruin, you can have whatever you want from my belongings. Except my iPod-I’ll need that for when I’m basking in the sun on a Brazilian beach, surrounded by half-naked and beautiful beach babes.”
“You’re exotifying, Kibum,” Nicole says reproachfully. “And don’t be dramatic. It’s just a date with an attractive man, who also happens to one of South Korea’s most popular singers. I fail to see the downside to all this.” And then, because Nicole is an immoral, insensitive, and hedonistic creature-“Just don’t forget to slip Jonghyun my number at the end.”
Kibum doesn’t even need to look at her to envision the grossly inappropriate wink. “You are happily engaged,” he reminds her, exhausted. Jinwoon had finally popped the question two weeks ago after three years of dating, and they were set to be married the March of next year.
Nicole beams down at the ring on her finger. “I am, aren’t I?” she says, looking so happy that Kibum knows it’ll be impossible for him to stay mad at her long. Then she winds an arm around Kibum’s middle, snuggling in. “By the way,” she says, voice muffled somewhere in the vicinity of his armpit, “you have an interview tomorrow at six for his website.”
At that, Kibum unceremoniously dumps Nicole off his couch, ignoring her cry of surprise. He walks to his coat rack, pulls her coat off, and throws it at her. “Get out of my apartment,” he says flatly.
Nicole is downright cackling when she pulls out his iPod from her coat, throwing it at him-he misses, wincing when it hits the floor, because she is an awful person as well as an awful friend and threw it when he wasn’t looking-and then blows him a kiss. “Night, Kibum,” she singsongs. “I’ll come over after work tomorrow to help you prepare!”
--
The next day, Kibum slinks into work fifteen minutes late, hoping no one in his office has checked any popular gossip sites in the past twelve hours, which is exactly what Kibum stayed up until four in the morning doing, watching with horror as fans across the world not only tear apart his moral integrity but also, somehow, dig up a truly embarrassing dance team photo of him from college in the comments section of the at least twelve articles that have popped up about him since the news broke. His dreams of a day at work under the radar are quickly dashed when Taemin, their charming and all-talented Operations Director, undisputed prince of the office, and-in Kibum’s own humble opinion-a soulless robot with no allegiances, corners him in the kitchen as he is making coffee, unholy glee making his eyes gleam.
“So,” Taemin says, and Kibum clutches his warm cup of coffee to his chest, contemplating throwing it in Taemin’s face and making a run for it. He supposes the ire and dismay he would face from Taemin’s various fans in the office, including the secretary, Kibum’s own assistant director, that traitor, and, hilariously, the intern Jongin, wouldn’t quite be worth the escape. “My sister sent me an interesting article last night.”
Kibum, to his credit, responds blandly. “Was it the one about the American CIA officer, because, you know what, I saw that too, and I thought it was pretty thought-provoking-”
“You never told me you were a fan of Kim Jonghyun,” Taemin interrupts, rather rudely, in Kibum’s opinion, “and that you wanted to go on a, oh, what was it, ‘romantic spring awakening love date’ with him.”
Kibum winces. That was another one of the parts he’d been trying to forget. “Taeminnie,” he says pathetically, looking at Taemin with his best kicked-puppy look. “Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough humiliation?”
“No,” is the automatic answer-Kibum is actually insulted by how quickly it comes. “And never call me that again, it’s unprofessional. Who should I call to thank for this early birthday present?”
Kibum sighs, and sucks woefully at his rapidly cooling coffee through his stirring straw. “Nicole,” he finally grumbles. “Who else?”
“Nicole,” Taemin says, almost reverently, because he is an awful human being and Kibum should really see about having him fired, if only it weren’t for the fact that Kibum himself had recommended Taemin for the position. “What a beautiful goddess of a woman. Jinwoon is a lucky man.” He turns on his heel, asking over his shoulder, “Is her card still in the directory? I’ll have Jongin send her flowers.”
Kibum very seriously considers drowning himself in their coffeemaker for a second. “You were so sweet in college,” he says despairingly to Taemin’s back. “What happened?”
Taemin shoots him an amused look that makes Kibum feel as if the tables have somehow been very unfairly turned when he wasn’t looking. “You did,” he responds cheerfully which, Kibum supposes, is fair. Taemin had actually been fresh-faced and innocent when he was in college, until he joined the dance team and Kibum discovered that underneath the wide-eyed, apple-cheeked exterior was a soul even darker than his. It had provided him endless enjoyment then, but now he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end, and it was an unhappy, soul-crushing feeling. “By the way, I was the one who posted that dance team picture.” With this final parting shot, Taemin actually has the gall to wink at Kibum, and Kibum reconsiders his previously magnanimous decision to preserve his face.
He settles instead for throwing his stirring straw at Taemin’s back. It hits his shoulder just as Jongin walks by, who looks distressed that the Development Director is beating up on his supervisor, which quickly transforms into confusion when Taemin places a hand on his shoulder and asks, all charm and underlying manic, “Jongin, what do you know about flowers and women?”
Jongin looks back at Kibum, slightly panicked look in his eyes. Kibum is sure he would be mouthing help me, if only Jongin weren’t so serious and so determined to be such a good intern. It was funny to watch-Jongin was only a few months younger than Taemin, and they had even been in the same department at school, though Taemin had graduated two years earlier than Jongin, thanks to the grade he’d skipped in elementary school. A year out of college at 22, Jongin was more than capable, but Kibum had the sneaking suspicion that Taemin, who was the same age but still looked much like he had his first year of college, took immense pleasure out of lording it over someone for once. Jongin, to his credit, was immune to most of Taemin’s usual charms, though was often flustered around Taemin mostly because he was handling the transition from being Taemin’s classmate and dance team dongsaeng to being his intern poorly, and was often dismayed by Taemin’s casual teasing, a fact which seemed to delight Taemin to no end. Still, Kibum knew for a fact that Taemin had an offer letter he was sitting on just so he could make Jongin get him coffee twice a day and, apparently, buy Kibum’s traitorous best friend flowers, and still call it part of his job.
“Good luck,” Kibum says grimly to Jongin as he sidles by them on his way to his office. At least two heads swivel to watch him pass, and he resists the urge to throw his coat up over his head. He can hear their rapid clicking abruptly stop, and the profoundly guilty silence that follows, but thankfully he completes the journey from the break room to his office without any further humiliation.
It is not until he checks his email to see the sudden influx of messages notifying him of donations and emails of support that had come in overnight that Kibum starts to realize the potential in the situation. Out of curiosity, he checks their website’s statistics and page views and actually gasps a little out loud at the increase in website hits, which has almost tripled from last week’s statistics. For some reason, an image of Nicole comes to mind, winking and flashing a victory sign, and Kibum is suddenly overcome with an overwhelming urge to kiss her. Sorry, Jinwoon, he relays telepathically. Jumping up from his desk, he almost breaks his little toe in his hurry to Jongin’s cubicle. This time, more than just two heads swivel in his direction as he almost slips rounding a corner.
“Jongin,” he says, catching himself on the corner of Jongin’s cubicle and trying to pretend he’s not out of breath. “Jongin, are you still sending out those flowers?”
Jongin looks up, and the perpetual expression of mild alarm on his face inches towards guilt. “Taemin told me not to listen to you if you tried to stop me. I’m not-”
“Jongin,” Kibum interrupts, and hands over his credit card. “Buy Nicole a dozen roses, and charge it to this card.”
“Oh,” Jongin says, looking slightly stunned. “Yes, of course, I can do that.”
--
Kibum had graduated with honors with degrees in marketing and international relations four years ago with absolutely no clue of what he wanted to do. He relocated to the American branch of an oil company after graduation, too eager to get out and away, and worked a year in communications before the loneliness of living abroad and his increasing skepticism of the morality of his career led him to quit and move back to Seoul, where the familiarity was suddenly comforting instead of stifling. He worked mostly freelance for a few months, and started volunteering on the side through Nicole’s church. One of those volunteer gigs, and his favorite, was for The SHINE Project, an organization aimed at helping refugees in South Korea, with an unspoken but understood emphasis on providing legal services to those who faced further persecution based on their sexual orientation and/or gender identification.
When their Operations Director quit suddenly, Kibum applied for the job at Nicole’s urging without thinking too much of it, figuring he would quit in a year or so when he would finally figure out what it was he wanted to do. Somehow, a year or so turned into two years when he recommended Taemin for the position and he switched into Accounting, which turned into currently three years and counting, when he was promoted to Development Director just a few months prior.
Working full-time for a medium-sized nonprofit organization at twenty-five was not quite in line with anything Kibum had ever envisioned for himself but he figured that if the quiet feeling of pride and accomplishment made even making spreadsheets tolerable-and Kibum had to make a lot of spreadsheets-it was probably worth sticking out for.
Kibum was quite adept at his job, despite the frustrations that came with the territory-helping to keep a nonprofit financially solvent was difficult to begin with, and combined with the rather controversial nature of their work, Kibum often ran into issues whose solutions more or less depended on their ability to fundraise and solicit sponsorship. They generally did alright for themselves in this area, though the period after the start of the new year was typically their least profitable.
But not, apparently, when one of your employees suddenly and rather inexplicably wins a date with one of Korea’s most popular solo singers. Kim Jonghyun, if Kibum remembered correctly, had once upon a time been in a boyband of middling popularity until the company representing them went under, but it wasn’t until he’d come back from his stint in the army and had a solo comeback two years ago that he’d shot to stardom. Now his-okay, admittedly attractive-face was everywhere, and he, Kim Kibum, was going on a date with a man worth at least two million in album sales and an international fanbase boasting of a few hundred thousand members. He kind of wanted to cry a little bit.
“Kibum,” Nicole says, and touches his arm. “You’re getting that look on your face again.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Kibum informs her cheerfully. They are en route to Kim Jonghyun’s company offices for the interview, for which Kibum had a newfound enthusiasm that seemed to both amuse and worry Nicole. “By the way, have I told you lately that you are my best friend and that I really quite adore you?”
“Not enough to wear a dress at my wedding though,” Nicole points out, “so, frankly, your affection is useless to me. Now, please try to be excited when you’re doing this interview-you won this date because you wanted to, and because Jonghyun is the one source of excitement and joy in your otherwise boring office man life. When did he debut?” She had actually come over to the office after work to thank Taemin for the flowers, and then whipped out a cheat sheet of basic facts about Kim Jonghyun she told Kibum he had to memorize. Taemin had gone very quiet at the sight of Nicole berating Kibum into reciting Kim Jonghyun’s measurements back to her, and when Kibum had looked over again, he was turned away, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.
“Yes, right, of course,” Kibum says absentmindedly. “He debuted on May 5, 2005 with his group and his solo comeback was October 17, 2010. My favorite song was his first single though, of course, I like all of them. His official color is green, and he’s 1.73 meters tall, which is on the short side, but that’s fine because I think it’s cute.”
Nicole looks vaguely impressed, and when the taxi pulls up to the front of the office building, she steps out with him after paying the driver. “Kibum,” she says demurely, and puts a hand on his arm, “I just want to say that I’m very sorry about entering your name without telling you. Don’t feel pressured to do this if you don’t want to.”
Kibum looks at her incredulously. “Excuse me?” he says, swatting the hand off. This earns him a reproachful look from the middle-aged office lady stepping around them to catch a cab, and Kibum resists the urge to stick his tongue out at her. “Who’s the one who told me I had to go through with it or else I’d be uninvited from her wedding and excommunicated for months?”
Nicole laughs, and gives Kibum a quick peck on the cheek. “Jinwoon told me to say it,” she says. “Duh. If you try to back out now, I’m uninviting you from my wedding and excommunicating you for months and I’m going to make a slideshow of all those pictures from our spring break senior year and circulate it amongst our friends.”
“That’s more like it.” Kibum returns the kiss on the cheek, and straightens. “Alright. I’ll see you at dinner?”
Nicole waves at him as he turns around. “Of course! Call me the minute you get out!”
--
The interview goes about as well as Kibum imagined it would. He’s not quite sure if he fully convinced his interviewers-a reporter and one of Jonghyun’s managers-that he’s a diehard Kim Jonghyun fan, but he discovered that he didn’t have to dig particularly deep to enthuse a little about how smooth he thought Jonghyun’s voice was (a fact he would only ever admit to Nicole under threat of imminent death).
When the interview runs a week later, Kibum is even pleased to note it doesn’t make him seem like someone desperate for fame or a creepy male fan. To be fair, most of the article consists of gushing about Jonghyun’s widespread appeal, a short biography of Kibum, and the interview, which had been pared down to a few basic questions and then the one response where Kibum had been caught off guard and admitted that he thought Jonghyun was good-looking.
Taemin laughed himself sick when the interview came out, of course, and took a screenshot of it on Jonghyun’s website that he made Jongin include in the monthly SHINE employee newsletter. The number of emails of envy and congratulations Kibum received afterwards had been truly disheartening, and made him realize that the bit about Jonghyun’s widespread appeal apparently hadn’t been exaggeration.
In the meantime, his name is still being dragged through the mud in the comments section of various fansites, and he receives more than a few emails from Jonghyun’s fans, varying from the terrifying to the depressive-Kibum receives at least five in succession from one girl who threatens to kill herself because she hadn’t won the contest, before Nicole blocks the address and firmly tells him to stop reading the emails. Even his alarm, however, pales in comparison to the steadily increasing traffic-and press coverage, always crucial in the nonprofit sector-they’ve been receiving, and Kibum doesn’t care if he’s just riding off the coattails of Jonghyun’s fame, he would’ve pretended to be the fans of male idols a million times more embarrassing if he’d known it would’ve given them this jolt.
The day of his date arrives much sooner than Kibum feels comfortable with, despite the massive post-it countdown Taemin had been keeping on his office door.
Their boss actually makes Kibum take the day off work (“but-I have so much work to do still-” “Just get me an autograph, Kim.”), so Kibum finds himself trying to pass time by watching a few of Jonghyun’s interviews and live performances, so he’ll at least have something to talk about, if all else fails. In the end, he can’t decide if Jonghyun is entertainingly cocky or annoyingly cocky, though he ends up watching enough radio appearances and mic-removed performances (Kibum gives up any pretense of shame at this point) that he realizes Kim Jonghyun, especially for a company-manufactured pop idol, is devastatingly talented.
This is the state in which Nicole finds him when she comes over to help him prepare for the date: Kibum sitting on his couch with his laptop on his chest, idly clicking through the parts of a Chinese game show Jonghyun had appeared on a few months ago.
“Um,” Nicole says pointedly upon entrance, and Kibum’s attempts to hastily click away only reveal the Jonghyun photoshoot he was most adamantly not thinking about saving. “Don’t you think you’re taking this a little too far? I don’t think Jonghyun’s going to be suspicious if you don’t intimately know his AnAn photo shoot.”
“Shut up,” Kibum responds through gritted teeth, still trying to click away and only further damning himself. “I was doing research, okay.”
“Doing research…on his biceps?” Nicole asks archly, nodding to the shirtless picture of Jonghyun that he just can’t seem to close.
Kibum finally slams the laptop cover shut, and throws the offending object onto the other side of his couch, as if it’s its fault somehow. “Why don’t you just go on the date?” he asks, trying to sound winning but probably only sounding desperate. “I can dress you up like me and shave your head, I bet no one would even notice.” He cheers up a bit, imagining Nicole bald. Jinwoon would kill him, but it’d be so worth it. “I bet you’d look really good with a shaved head. And it’d probably grow back in time for your wedding! How ‘bout it, Nicole? What’s one measly hair-shaving compared to a date with Kim Jonghyun?”
“Sorry, lover boy,” Nicole says cheerfully, and walks over to his dresser, opening it to sift through his shirts. “It’s too late now, especially after you milked his fans for thousands of dollars worth of donations.”
Kibum perks up at that. “I really did, didn’t I,” he says, so satisfied that he even allows Nicole to manhandle him into his nicest button-down shirt, the one he usually saves for job interviews and dinner with his parents, and the silk tie she had given him for Christmas last year.
--
“Whoa.”
Somehow, that is not the first thing Kibum thought Kim Jonghyun would say to him when they met. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but he’s pretty sure it wasn’t that-or, to be honest, any of this. He’s sitting in the lobby area of one of Seoul’s nicest hotels per his agreement with Jonghyun’s manager with regards to a pickup point, feeling a bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, minus the hideous blonde wig and the hooker background. So, in retrospect, actually nothing like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, just out of his comfort zone and in way, way over his head. He’d almost gotten up and left when he spotted the representative of one of their corporate sponsors walk in, but the thought of going down in Kim Jonghyun fandom history as the pedestrian who stood him up made him bite his tongue, instead ducking his head and fiddling with the clasps of his coat.
Kibum raises an eyebrow, giving Jonghyun a discreet once-over. He really is on the short side in person, standing a few centimeters shorter than Kibum, and his skin up close, Kibum notes with a weird sense of satisfaction, isn’t particularly blemish-free. None of the pictures had lied about the confident set of his jaw and the charm of his lopsided smirk though, and Kibum feels the faint pull of attraction low in his belly before he can think better of it.
“Hi to you too,” he says dryly, standing up. He sticks his hand out after sizing up the man standing behind Jonghyun and making sure wasn’t going to tackle him to the ground. “I’m Kim Kibum.”
“Kim Jonghyun.” Jonghyun’s grasp is firm and the smile he flashes him is all idol. “It’s a good reaction, don’t worry. You’re just not what I would’ve pictured when I think of ‘male fan.’” He gestures at Kibum, taking in with the sweep of his hand the crisp button-down, the tie, and the slim chinos Kibum had argued with Nicole about for a whole fifteen minutes. The smile this time comes slower, and with an appreciative-there is no better word for this-leer that takes its time somewhere around the clean lines of Kibum’s shoulders before reaching his eyes, and Kibum feels his heart, that traitor, flutter a little. “Actually, you kind of look like an accountant.”
Kibum files this information away in his ‘to tell Nicole’ folder-Kim Jonghyun is sleazy, but also kind of bad at being sleazy.
“Well,” Kibum responds, before his mind can catch up to his mouth, “no need to worry about my dedication. I assure you that your name is tattooed right next to your mother’s on my ass.” Then his mind catches up, and his own mouth drops open just as the man behind Jonghyun coughs discreetly to mask what sounds like a surprised bubble of laughter. “Um. I meant that in the most respectful way possible?”
Jonghyun, who looks momentarily caught off guard, shakes off the surprise before cracking up, a sudden, incredulous laugh that is in no way refined. A few well-groomed heads swivel around at the sound, and Kibum kind of wants to curl underneath the sofa and never come out. He’s not sure which will come first-death by embarrassment, or death at the hands of thousands of teenage girls. He’s not sure which he’d prefer, either. Jonghyun, however, sounds downright gleeful when he says, “This was unexpected.” The hand he puts on Kibum’s elbow is comfortable and not unlike a friend’s, and he leads Kibum towards the door with a flourish.
Kibum lets out a surprised bark of laughter at that, and lets himself be led out. The tight ball of anticipation and nerves within him starts to unwind, and he finds welling up within him a deep, deep sense of relief that Kim Jonghyun, at least, has a sense of humor. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, blinking rapidly. He figures that if it works for Taemin, who uses the tactic to get out of any deadline or prior commitment with a 98% success rate, it can’t hurt to tack it on. “Where are we going?” he asks once they’re outside, and Jonghyun leads him to a waiting car.
“Ah,” Jonghyun says as he opens the door for Kibum (a careless, gentlemanly gesture Kibum takes careful note of-for Nicole, of course, not because he’s impressed), sliding in after him. “Did you read the agreement my manager sent over? We’re heading to a restaurant nearby; MNet’s going to film us for a bit. But I promise I’m all yours after that.”
The smirk he shoots at Kibum is more showy insinuation than anything else, and Kibum, to his surprise, catches himself faintly wishing this were a real date. In his defense, it’s been a while, and Jonghyun is surprisingly pleasant company, not to mention easy on the eyes. His hair is soft and unstyled, and the blue v-neck sweater he’s wearing cuts a fine contrast with the sharp dip of his collarbones.
“I don’t think you can handle me,” Kibum responds decisively, leaning back. “I’m not some teenager you can buy off with an autograph and an eye smile, you know.”
“I knew you were too good to be true,” Jonghyun sighs dramatically, tapping his fingers on the windowsill. When Kibum looks over, though, there’s a bright smile snaking its way across Jonghyun’s face. When he turns to Kibum, the genuineness is dazzling. “Thank you.”
Kibum is saved from having to think of a way to respond to that smile by their arrival at the restaurant, a chic date spot that seems primed for their arrival. There’s a camera trained on the car as it pulls up with MNet’s familiar logo on the side, and Kibum can see some staff members ushering curious passersby along. But he is suddenly hit with a wave of worry and guilt, and he grabs Jonghyun’s elbow just as his hand curls around the door handle.
“Wait,” he says, biting his lip.
“What’s up?” Jonghyun asks, raising an eyebrow. “Scared of a little press coverage?”
“No, that’s not exactly it,” Kibum says, rolling his eyes. “I just mean-well, now that you know I’m not really-aren’t you worried it won’t work out? I don’t want to mess it up for you or something.”
Jonghyun laughs at Kibum’s worry, and actually pats his hand. “Just laugh at everything I say and look appropriately cowed for fifteen minutes, and I’ll do the rest. Besides,” he says, that unrefined, un-idol-like smile back on his face, “it’s much better this way-trust me. I’d much rather be having dinner with you than a teenager I can buy off with an autograph and an eye smile.”
--
It is not until they’re getting their entrees that Kibum feels like he can finally breathe easy. He had followed Jonghyun’s instructions through the soup and salad and then the dessert, which they’d filmed out of order to get out of the way. He thinks his smitten teenager impression had been pretty convincing, especially during dessert, when he’d batted his eyelashes at Jonghyun as he fed him a piece of cake. Jonghyun had almost choked trying to muffle his laughter, but there were so many encouraging coos from the staff that Kibum felt vindicated.
“Thanks for your hard work.” Jonghyun is bowing to the MNet director and staff, who are all packing up save the one cameraman who’s staying behind to capture any particularly precious moments.
“I’m hungry,” Kibum complains, though he makes sure to pitch his voice low, trying and mostly succeeding at keeping the whine out of his voice. “Going on dates with idols is hard.”
Jonghyun looks amused when he sits back down. “Try being the idol,” he says, picking up his fork and knife.
“No thanks,” Kibum says, shivering a bit. “Believe it or not, I like walking down the street without knowing that I could be accosted at any moment by a stranger who knows my waist and shoe size.”
“Oh, you mean that’s not normal?” Jonghyun pulls a face in between bites of his steak. “That doesn’t happen as often as you’d think, though. Believe it or not, a lot of this,” here he gestures to his face and hair, “comes off once the cameras stop rolling.”
Kibum snickers, before throwing his fork down in a display of mock-anger. “You mean I’ve been in love with a lie this whole time?” he cries.
“Hey,” Jonghyun says, brows furrowed, and Kibum worries for a quick second that he’s actually offended him. Then he bursts out laughing, and lowers his voice so the camera won’t pick up on his next words. “Besides, who’s tricking who here? You still haven’t told me how this happened, by the way.”
Kibum groans. Nicole is going to be so mad at him later, he can feel it already. “My best friend is a big fan,” he finally mumbles, shoveling pasta in his mouth, “and signed me up without telling me to up her chances. I think your people thought it’d make a good story. I oversee development for a nonprofit,” he adds, in anticipation of Jonghyun’s next question.
Jonghyun nods. “It is a good story,” he says, so absentmindedly calculating that it gives Kibum a better understanding of what it must feel like to be an idol than any number of expository articles or documentaries. “Still doesn’t explain why you agreed to it, though.”
“Well,” Kibum says slowly, drawing out the syllables, “it’s been really good for business?” He holds his breath a little-it’s one thing to do it, and another thing entirely to admit it to the person whose fame he’s taking advantage of.
Jonghyun, who is apparently hell-bent on proving himself to be extraordinary tonight, sits back in his chair and downright cackles for so long the cameraman gets bored of filming it and starts taking artistic wide-angle shots of the ceiling instead.
“Oh my God, can you stop,” Kibum hisses, bright red and horrified, tossing a hunk of bread at Jonghyun, who catches it and folds it into his napkin, still giggling. The cameraman is suddenly interested again and Kibum feels helpless and light-headed, a bubble of laughter rising in his chest. Before long, he is laughing too-this is ridiculous, he is on a date with Kim Jonghyun for the sole purpose of extorting money from his fans for his nonprofit. He’s not sure how this happened, and if it makes him a bad person or just resourceful. He’d much prefer the latter, but he has a sneaking suspicion he’d crossed the line of morality some time ago.
“A man after my own heart,” Jonghyun says, a hint of laughter still chasing his words. His eyes are crinkled in amusement when he looks back up at Kibum. “I should hire you. So, what does this nonprofit of yours do?”
Kibum lights up. He can’t help it-he’s fiercely protective and proud of what he does, though it’s hard not to be. He was there when The SHINE Project consisted of just ten staff in their main Seoul office and the manpower of a handful of volunteers. In the few years since Kibum’s been there, he’s seen it grow to its current size of about twenty-five main staff and two branch offices.
Somehow, he ends up telling Jonghyun about it all-about the aimless year he’d spent in San Francisco after college, and how unhappy he’d been towards the end; how moving back had been the best decision he’d ever made, and how Nicole proved once and for all that she knows best and took him to church against his protests. He didn’t-still doesn’t-necessarily believe in God, but church grounded him and, most importantly, gave him something to do. Jonghyun quietly finishes his steak and calls for a bottle of wine as Kibum tells him about the first few months as a volunteer at SHINE, how Nicole had let him complain almost everyday for two months about its inefficiency, until he’d realized that he loved it, that he, inexplicably, loved sending emails rescheduling meetings and interviewing college students for their sincerity and writing grant proposals.
He is two glasses of wine deep when he finally tells Jonghyun about what else they do, about the legal services for LGBTQ-identifying refugees they provide but can’t advertise. He is thankful the cameraman had packed up and left ages ago; he trusts Jonghyun with the information, he thinks, but not public television. It is not until Jonghyun’s phone vibrates on the table between them, making them both jump, that he snaps his mouth closed, suddenly embarrassed-he must’ve been talking for close to an hour now, judging by the emptiness of the restaurant.
“Sorry, sorry,” Jonghyun mutters, turning off his phone. “It’s just my manager.”
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” Kibum responds, mortified. “Wow, I am so sorry. That must’ve been so boring for you, God, I can’t believe I just babbled like that, why didn’t you stop me-”
“Kibum,” Jonghyun cuts in gently but firmly, and Kibum finds the words dying away. “Trust me, I would’ve stopped you if I thought it was boring.” He cracks a smile, gesturing to himself with his own glass of wine. “Do I look like someone who listens to people out of politeness?” Then he seems to think about it for a second. “I mean, off-duty anyway.”
Kibum meets Jonghyun’s gaze, open and frank, for a few seconds before dropping his eyes from his face. “Well, still,” he says, feeling touched and wishing he didn’t.
The silence they sit in after that is drawn out but comfortable. It isn’t until Kibum chances a look at his watch that he breaks it with a yelp.
“What is it now?” Jonghyun asks, look of amusement crossing his face.
“Oh my God,” Kibum says, “it’s 10:30. I am so sorry. You must have things you have to do, I’m sorry I kept you for so long.” He shoots a helpless look at Jonghyun, frustrated first at his own agitation, and again at Jonghyun’s kindness.
“Can you stop apologizing,” Jonghyun sighs, rolling his eyes. “It’s a Friday. I have a life too, you know.”
“I know,” Kibum says, and is a little distraught to hear the note of anguish in his voice. “That’s what I’m saying. Surely you want to spend your Friday night with-with friends, or something. Not some stranger who pretended to be your fan as a fundraising stunt.”
Jonghyun makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat, waving his hand. “Do you only hear what you want to hear or something?” Kibum’s mouth snaps shut at this, and thinks briefly about feeling affronted at this, before deciding that it might also be kind of true. “What I meant was, I am very capable of choosing what I want to do. And,” he continues, looking uncertain now, “don’t you think this-” here, he gestures between them, “-counts as a friendship at this point?”
Kibum nervously pats flat the hair falling over his eyes, trying and failing to contain the blush he knows is spreading over his face, blotchy and obvious. “Well, of course,” he finally bursts out haughtily, because Kibum’s defense mechanism, for better or for worse, has always been arrogance. “I’m not completely immoral. You’re buying me dinner; the least I could do is be your friend.”
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- The title of this google doc is 'THE NONPROFIT INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX AU' and, if you couldn't tell, this is light on the nonprofit and the industrial complex, heavy on the AU u__u
- 7.2k in this part, and the rest will soon follow.