[fic] Minho/Key - SHINee - Still I Have Romantic in My Heart
Title: Still I Have Romantic in My Heart
Author: fonulyn
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Minho/Key
Other characters: Jonghyun
Warnings: --
Wordcount: 4031
Disclaimer: I own no one, only my dirty imagination.
Summary: Kibum doesn’t hate poetry, by no means. Yet there are these horrible poems he’s subjected to regularly just because his roommate happens to think they’re romantic. At least Kibum has his new boyfriend for some distraction, otherwise he’s sure he’d die of exposure to bad poetry.
Comments: So this was supposed to be my entry for the shinee shorts, but I couldn’t manage to finish it and there were some… unexpected happenings in my life. Which means it never got to be a part of the challenge but here, have it as sort of an unofficial late entry :D
“C’mon Kibum, what’s with the sour face!” Jonghyun grins, his tone way too cheery for the early Sunday morning. No one should be even awake at this hour, much less actively chirpy, and it sort of makes Kibum want to punch Jonghyun in the face. Repeatedly. Then again, having been friends with Jonghyun since they were both in diapers, he’s so used to it that the urge is moderately easy to suppress.
So instead, Kibum drags himself to the coffee machine and curses, for the millionth time, the moment he decided that accepting an early Sunday shift would be a good idea. While he’s at it he also curses all cafeterias to the lower levels of Hell, along with the fact that he still needs a part time job as switching majors has left him with a few extra years in college.
As soon as he plops down on his seat at the table, Jonghyun is waving the morning paper at him. “Don’t worry, my dearest friend,” he grins and the expression is positively one hundred percent evil. “I know exactly how to cheer you up. The infamous Lady Luck’s Love Column.”
The mere thought of that makes Kibum groan in the way he hopes accurately conveys how much he hates Jonghyun right now. Come to think of it, he actually actively hates Jonghyun every single Sunday morning, as that ridiculous bunch of articles has been plaguing his life for months now. Months of listening to Jonghyun read out loud love advice, horoscopes, dating ads and what’s the worst, poems bad enough to make one’s ears bleed.
Well, at least to make Kibum’s ears bleed, as to his continued bafflement Jonghyun actually seems to enjoy those poems. He must be, deep down, somehow damaged.
“Why is it even called Lady Luck’s column? C’mon it’s just a bunch of sad individuals who have nothing better to do with their lives,” Kibum mumbles. He’s definitely already admitting defeat as he only thuds his forehead against the table and waits for his impending doom.
“Shush,” Jonghyun waves aside, “and listen.” He clears his throat in what he obviously hopes is an artistic manner, before taking on his best poem reading voice. “The glow of dawn / dances on your skin / soon you’ll be gone / there’s no way for me to win. Then you turn around / leave me feeling like a clown / please, never let me go / never leave / never go.”
“Oh my god,” Kibum groans. “That’s even worse than last week! What was it then? Something about ethereal beauty and getting nailed against a tree?”
Jonghyun actually bursts out laughing. “No! It was ethereal beauty that nails him on the spot. Your beauty stuns me / leaves me unable to be / like being crucified on a tree!”
At that Kibum gives his friend a pointed stare. “…how come you can quote the poems by heart? Oh my god, you must have the worst taste in the history of ever! How you can actually write semi-passable lyrics yourself, I have no idea.”
“Thank you,” Jonghyun sing-songs. He’s grinning as if it’s a big compliment instead of a thinly veiled insult. Then again, he knows his friend, and can dig out the compliments from where they’re offered, no matter how begrudgingly.
There’s a beat of silence, in which Kibum is just grumpily sipping his coffee and Jonghyun keeps on reading through the questions readers can send in to the editors of the love column. He’s a romantic at heart, and even if he vehemently swears he doesn’t believe in romance horoscopes, anyone of his friends could prove the opposite.
“I know how to cheer you up!” Jonghyun chirps up. “I’ll read your horoscope!”
Groaning, Kibum scrambles to get up from his seat. “No. I’m gonna be late for work.”
It’s sort of alarming how often Kibum has crappy days, but he blames it all on the stress of finally finishing his studies and all of the things he has to get done. He has two ways to de-stress and those are either going drinking with Jonghyun to get absolutely shitfaced, or to go loiter around in Minho’s apartment. Lately, he’s been favouring option number two, and not only because Jonghyun is occupied by his own love life.
The sound of the doorbell echoes faintly through the door. Kibum tries to be patient but he still sort of ends up counting seconds. “I had such a crap day!” he greets with as soon as the door swings open. “I’ve been shouted and sneered at, the customers were straight from Hell, and I am not going to go back there ever again. Ever.”
The only answer he gains is a grin. A large palm cups his jaw as he’s pulled closer into a soft, mostly chaste kiss that still leaves him feeling like there’s a bunch of butterflies swarming in the pit of his stomach. “Hi to you too.” The words are whispered roughly against his temple after the kiss breaks naturally, and for a second Kibum allows himself to relax against the strong body.
“Seriously Minho,” he sighs as he finally pulls back. “Save me. I’m not going to go back.”
“Didn’t you say you only have to suffer through four more months?” Minho asks, already guiding Kibum into the apartment, only reaching to close the door after them. He doesn’t even pause before he herds Kibum straight towards the kitchen and urges him to sit down. “You can make it. Just imagine how you don’t need to see them ever again after that.”
Kibum sighs again, and almost smashes his elbow on the table before resting his chin on his palm. “Yeah I know. And I do need the money. But people are assholes.” He’s already feeling better after his rant, though, and his mood improves even more when he remembers the glorious fact that his new boyfriend is an actually quite decent cook. Dinner seems to be almost done, judging by the simmering pots and the delicious scent of food wafting through the air.
“Is it too early in this relationship to propose marriage?” Kibum asks, at the same time as his stomach grumbles as a clear sign of his hunger. “You’d be an amazing housewife. And I want you.”
Minho laughs, but there’s a slight hint of a blush dusting his cheeks as he turns around to attend whatever it is he’s cooking up for them. “Yeah it might be a bit too early. Keep that in mind, though. For when I want to be impressed with grand gestures.”
“I will, promised,” Kibum says with a snicker. He leans against the table slightly, reaching for the newspaper folded neatly next to the lonely fern set on the table. He flips through it, only to realize it’s an older issue of the same magazine Jonghyun keeps reading, with the poems. Out of sick, morbid curiosity he finds the correct place, the pink bold letters screeching ‘love column’ at him from the top.
The poem is even worse than he expected.
“C’mon! Who writes stuff like this!” he bursts out. “Still I have romantic in my heart? What the hell? Have romantic? I’m sure.” Cursorily, he reads the rest of the poem, utterly unimpressed by the comparisons of pale skin and slanted eyes, enough to charm just about anyone. He’s fairly sure Jonghyun is eating it all up, with a moronic (“Dreamy, Kibum, it’s called dreamy!”) grin on his face.
When Kibum looks up, ready to start complaining some more, he notices that there’s something tense in the set of Minho’s shoulders. Suddenly, he comes to a horrible conclusion. “Oh my god. Oh my god!” He stands up and slowly circles the table, until he can peek at Minho’s expression. The blush seems to have intensified. “You actually like these, don’t you?”
“It’s not like that,” Minho begins, but then scoffs a little. “They’re not that bad.”
“Yes,” Kibum says. “They are. They actually are.”
Minho looks at him, arching an eyebrow almost challengingly. Kibum takes it as his cue to land a soft peck on his lips. “Don’t worry. It’s not like it’s a deal breaker. My best friend likes them too and I haven’t actually kicked him to the curb yet. Just,” a slow grin spreads on his lips as he sways a bit closer to Minho, “take the hint, don’t try these with me.”
That seems to be acceptable. “Okay.”
At first, Kibum had made it a rule of thumb to never spend more than a couple of nights a week at Minho’s place. How he ends up there for the ninth night in a row, he has no idea. He even has his own set of keys - which gets him a little giddy, it’s probably the first time he’s gotten the keys to someone’s place after less than a month of seeing each other - so he can let himself in when Minho is working instead of disturbing him.
If he’s there early, when Minho is still locked in his study, he just makes himself at home. He putters around the kitchen and makes some coffee, or grabs something from the fridge, and settles on the couch comfortably to occupy himself with the reruns of soap operas on TV or with the newest issue of a magazine that tempted him enough to buy it.
Sometime, later on, Minho emerges from his lair and yawns widely, usually plopping to sit down next to Kibum. If there’s any coffee left, he’ll steal it, and Kibum lets him. There are always casual touches, be it Minho’s palm on Kibum’s thigh or them just subtly leaning closer to one another. Whatever it is, it always makes Kibum feel content in a way he can’t really dissect rationally. Not that he even tries.
It’s so domestic that Kibum has a sneaking suspicion he should be freaking out but he’s enjoying it way too much to have any commitment issues. It’s been ages since he’s been this comfortable in a relationship, if ever.
“You want me to cook something?” Minho asks as he finally heaves himself up from the cosy confines of the couch, with a regretful little sigh. He yawns and stretches in a way that makes his shirt ride up slightly, and it distracts Kibum for a good while.
“I’m not really hungry,” he answers, a little belatedly, blinking to stop staring. “There’s still some soup from yesterday, just heat it up.” He gets up as well, thinking that he can get another dose of caffeine now. Minho seems to read his thoughts, as he asks him to get his coffee mug from his desk, disappearing into the kitchen.
Kibum just means to grab the mug, but he notices there are papers strewn across the desk in a disarray not typical for Minho. One of the sheets has even slipped down on the floor, so he bends to pick it up. There are random words on it, ones with no apparent meaning, but they all seem to be arranged in more or less rhyming groups.
That’s when Minho’s voice cuts into Kibum’s thoughts from the kitchen. “Did you find it?”
Kibum makes a noncommittal sound, sets the paper down on the desk and heads back towards the sweet promise of more coffee.
The next morning Kibum makes a short trip back to his own apartment after work and manages to bump into Jonghyun, who’s lounging around in his boxers seemingly with no care in the world. Kibum gives him the usual lecture about actually wearing pants, but it falls on deaf ears just like it has for the past twenty years. So instead Kibum slouches down next to Jonghyun, knocking their knees together. “How’s stuff?”
“There are some big news I’ve been waiting to tell you,” Jonghyun smirks, tilting his head so he’s looking at Kibum instead of at the TV screen. “And I wanted to do it face to face.”
“What? You knocked someone up?” Kibum arches an eyebrow. It earns him a slap on the back of his head, but it’s a lazy movement as Jonghyun apparently can’t be bothered to move his arms properly.
“No.” Jonghyun even straightens a bit, his smile spreading further until he’s practically beaming. “Your favourite column ever needs someone to edit it, and to write the monthly serial story they’re publishing. Apparently,” he laughs, “their incredible poet used to do it but now he has more work offers and he can’t make the time. I submitted some of my works and voila! You’re looking at an established author.”
Kibum isn’t impressed. “Established author? That’s what you’d be if you had actually published an actual novel, you know. Not if you get to write a story for a magazine. Especially that magazine.” He shoves at Jonghyun’s shoulder a bit, unable to hold back his grin any longer. “Congratulations, asshole. Don’t let it get to your head.”
“When would I ever?” Jonghyun practically sings.
They both fall silent and vegetate through half of an episode of Hell’s Kitchen, before something picks Kibum’s attention. “Hey?” He waits for Jonghyun to make a sound to indicate he’s listening. “Their incredible poet is a ‘he’?”
“Yep,” Jonghyun says. “They told me his name but I forgot it. I can check it for you if you’d like.”
“No it’s cool,” Kibum frowns as he leans back against the cushions. “I don’t need to know that.”
It’s not like he wants anything to do with a crappy poet like that, right?
One of Kibum’s favourite moments is when he wakes up in the early morning hours, glances at the time and realizes he still has a few hours of precious sleep before he has to get up. It’s even better when he notices how the pillow his face is smushed to is considerably fluffier than his own. Not to mention the warm presence right there against his side, a strong arm swung over his waist.
He still gets kind of giddy because he knew, from day one, that Minho would be a cuddler. He has learned to enjoy it a lot more than he ever used to, too. There are no words to describe the contentment when he gets to roll a bit closer and press his nose against Minho’s shoulder, soaking in the shared warmth.
The best, though, is that Minho wakes up before him and gets the breakfast started. After Kibum drags himself out of bed an hour or so later, he gets to just shuffle into the kitchen and pour himself a gigantic cup of coffee. He grabs a toast, before dropping to sit down in the chair next to Minho’s.
Minho is scrawling something on a piece of paper, in his messy, loopy handwriting. Curiously, Kibum leans a bit closer. “What’s that? You working already?” It’s inhumanly early, at least of one asks Kibum, but maybe Minho is sort of a little masochistic. Or just a morning person. Which should really be synonymous if one asks Kibum.
That seems to startle Minho a little. He slides the paper a bit further and turns properly towards Kibum, giving him a noncommittal shrug. “Just jotting down some ideas for later. Wanna have something better than just toast for breakfast?” he asks, and brushes his fingers along Kibum’s shoulder as he gets up to head for the fridge.
“You gonna make me pancakes?” Kibum grins.
Minho laughs. “Fine. Chocolate chip or blueberry?”
At that second, Kibum knows he is going to marry this man.
Kibum doesn’t have any idea how it happens but somehow he ends up not seeing Jonghyun for weeks. He practically lives in Minho’s apartment, only going back home to shower and change, and sometimes - rarely - to sleep. Jonghyun is both busy on a new work project and with his girlfriend, so their schedules don’t line up, and they only manage to send a few texts every now and then.
That’s why they actually set up a date for one evening, deciding to go out together to pig on pizza in their favourite place together. They’ve had countless meals there, and both know what to order without even glancing at the menus. As they wait, they catch up, and by the time the pizzas arrive they’re already back to the regular mindless banter they don’t need to pay any mind to.
“So,” Jonghyun begins as he’s poking at the last remains of his food. “How’re things going with the romantic poet? You only talked about school, don’t even think you can skip on the juicy details now.”
“Rom-” Kibum sighs, “Jonghyun! He writes columns for the Sports Week, and works as an editor for the magazine. It’s not like there’s anything romantic about sports, and it’s decidedly even less poetic.” He’s ready to launch into a rant about it, but there’s something curious about Jonghyun’s expression and he stops, frowning. “What? You look like you want to slap me.”
“It’s because I do!” Jonghyun bursts out. “Are you really this dense, Kibum? Really? How have you not noticed that sports columns are not the only thing he’s writing?”
That now is very confusing. It must show, since Jonghyun heaves a huge sigh, complemented by a matching eyeroll, and rummages through his bag. He curses as he doesn’t find what he needs, and jumps up to browse through the stack of magazines set on the side of the counter. He makes a triumphant sound as he plucks a magazine from the pile, quickly returning to their table.
“Now, Kibum,” he says as he spreads one of the magazines on the table, in front of is friend. “Read this poem. Read it, and think about it.”
It’s one of those godawful poems and Kibum wrinkles his nose. “Do I really have to? Seriously those are so -”
“Yes, Kibum. You really have to.”
So Kibum does. First he only scans through the poem, but then reads it more thoroughly and really takes in the words. It’s talking about a cutting jawline, sharp cheekbones, and an angular haircut with a red glint within the blackness. Kibum knows he’s staring, completely overwhelmed. Without a word he’s up from his seat and goes straight to the pile of magazines until he finds the previous issue.
The poem is like a clear replica of the slow morning they had a couple of weeks ago. He knows that for sure, even if it’s disguised in pompous words about golden sunlight and soulful eyes.
With an outraged groan, Kibum drops back on his seat. “I am going to strangle him.”
Jonghyun, however, seems only amused by this. “But hey, I figured it out before you! Your loverboy is using you as a muse. And you’ve been oblivious to it for months!” He laughs, and it’s when his status as a best friend is definitely revoked. “Think of how ironic this is! You’ve caused the poems you loathe from the bottom of your heart! This is amazing, I’m never going to let this go.”
Kibum tries to glare. “I hate you.”
When Kibum gets back to Minho’s apartment he’s dead set on confronting the miserable poet, and fully prepared for an explosive argument. He’s not quite even sure why he’s so mad, but goddamnit no one writes that bad poems and especially about him. And in secrecy! Minho could’ve bloody well come clean about it and told him, instead of trying to sneak around like that.
So when Kibum closes the door and hears the shower running, he only raises his voice to make sure he’ll be heard. “Get your ass over here, Minho! We need to talk!” There’s no answer, but the shower closes off so either Minho did hear him or he was done anyway. So Kibum stays there in the middle of the living room, waiting with his arms crossed.
It doesn’t take long for Minho to emerge from the bathroom, still dripping wet and with only a towel slung low on his hips. He looks somewhat concerned but that barely registers in Kibum’s mind as he follows a stray droplet of water that trickles down Minho’s neck, over his collarbone and down.
Kibum’s mouth goes dry. This is so not fair. Such a hit below the belt.
“What is it?” Minho asks, and has the nerve to run his fingers through his hair to muss them up in a way that makes him even more irresistible.
Kibum has a moment of self-reflection. The poems really are the worst poems he’s ever read.
But then again, why would bad poems be such a huge problem when the man has abs like that? Not to mention that Minho can cook, makes Kibum laugh with the stupidest jokes, knows exactly how he likes his coffee and has the warmest embrace to curl up into. He lets Kibum steal the blankets at night, doesn’t complain too much about the dirty clothes Kibum leaves lying around, and only barely mocks him for watching every single award show on TV.
That is the moment Kibum finally realizes he has it bad. He’s willing to ignore everything from Minho being a morning person to him being ridiculously fond of sports to him writing these godawful poems. He’s in deep. And he’s not sure if he even wants to struggle free anymore. Not when all the good outweighs the bad by far.
So instead of the huge rant he had prepared, he launches himself at Minho, wraps his arms around Minho’s neck and kisses him like he means it. His shirt gets damp from the droplets of water still clinging on to Minho’s chest but he doesn’t mind, instead presses in closer, insistently, until Minho is kissing him back with equal fervour.
They get lost there for a while, somehow. But when Minho’s hands stray on Kibum’s butt and yank him close in a way that makes them both moan, Kibum finally manages to break free from the kisses enough to speak. He’s not proud of how shaky his voice is, but screw that, it’s not like anyone cares. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you wrote those shitty poems?”
At first, Minho seems to be utterly confused, but it’s soon replaced by embarrassment. He’s already trying to retreat and pulls his hands back, but Kibum won’t have anything of that. He grabs Minho’s wrists and pulls his hands back on his butt, placing them firmly back where they belong. That seems to bring the confusion back and Minho doesn’t know what to say, or what to do, so he just stands there.
That makes Kibum laugh. “You idiot! Would I have kissed you just now if I was here to dump you because of your illiterate self?”
“Well,” Minho drawls, a slow grin finally spreading on his face, “probably not.”
“Definitely not,” Kibum says. He leans in and gently captures Minho’s lower lip with his teeth, before deepening the contact. It’s more playful this time, and Kibum doesn’t let it go on for too long since he needs to speak his mind too. “You need to promise me one thing, though,” he breathes out, then swallows to make his voice more firm and respectable. “Stop writing me into those poems.”
“It’s my job, though,” Minho reasons. He seems to have finally caught up since he uses his grip on Kibum’s bottom to give it a small squeeze, all the while manhandling Kibum towards the couch. “I would have to use someone else as inspiration. Wouldn’t you rather I only focus my thoughts on you?”
As they fall on the couch in a tangle of limbs - and good, Minho’s towel has gotten lost somewhere along the way, Kibum approves of that - Kibum huffs and easily shifts until he’s more comfortable. “Alright, fine.”
As if taking that as his cue Minho already leans in to kiss him, but Kibum stops him with a hand on his forehead. “But I will proofread every single one of them before you send them to be published. Are we clear.”
Minho laughs. “We are clear.”
Then, he finally gets the kiss.
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:D ? lmao idk what this is. I think Minho is a bad poet I truly do. and definitely romantic enough to try write poems even when he sucks at it.
@DW.
Author: fonulyn
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Minho/Key
Other characters: Jonghyun
Warnings: --
Wordcount: 4031
Disclaimer: I own no one, only my dirty imagination.
Summary: Kibum doesn’t hate poetry, by no means. Yet there are these horrible poems he’s subjected to regularly just because his roommate happens to think they’re romantic. At least Kibum has his new boyfriend for some distraction, otherwise he’s sure he’d die of exposure to bad poetry.
Comments: So this was supposed to be my entry for the shinee shorts, but I couldn’t manage to finish it and there were some… unexpected happenings in my life. Which means it never got to be a part of the challenge but here, have it as sort of an unofficial late entry :D
“C’mon Kibum, what’s with the sour face!” Jonghyun grins, his tone way too cheery for the early Sunday morning. No one should be even awake at this hour, much less actively chirpy, and it sort of makes Kibum want to punch Jonghyun in the face. Repeatedly. Then again, having been friends with Jonghyun since they were both in diapers, he’s so used to it that the urge is moderately easy to suppress.
So instead, Kibum drags himself to the coffee machine and curses, for the millionth time, the moment he decided that accepting an early Sunday shift would be a good idea. While he’s at it he also curses all cafeterias to the lower levels of Hell, along with the fact that he still needs a part time job as switching majors has left him with a few extra years in college.
As soon as he plops down on his seat at the table, Jonghyun is waving the morning paper at him. “Don’t worry, my dearest friend,” he grins and the expression is positively one hundred percent evil. “I know exactly how to cheer you up. The infamous Lady Luck’s Love Column.”
The mere thought of that makes Kibum groan in the way he hopes accurately conveys how much he hates Jonghyun right now. Come to think of it, he actually actively hates Jonghyun every single Sunday morning, as that ridiculous bunch of articles has been plaguing his life for months now. Months of listening to Jonghyun read out loud love advice, horoscopes, dating ads and what’s the worst, poems bad enough to make one’s ears bleed.
Well, at least to make Kibum’s ears bleed, as to his continued bafflement Jonghyun actually seems to enjoy those poems. He must be, deep down, somehow damaged.
“Why is it even called Lady Luck’s column? C’mon it’s just a bunch of sad individuals who have nothing better to do with their lives,” Kibum mumbles. He’s definitely already admitting defeat as he only thuds his forehead against the table and waits for his impending doom.
“Shush,” Jonghyun waves aside, “and listen.” He clears his throat in what he obviously hopes is an artistic manner, before taking on his best poem reading voice. “The glow of dawn / dances on your skin / soon you’ll be gone / there’s no way for me to win. Then you turn around / leave me feeling like a clown / please, never let me go / never leave / never go.”
“Oh my god,” Kibum groans. “That’s even worse than last week! What was it then? Something about ethereal beauty and getting nailed against a tree?”
Jonghyun actually bursts out laughing. “No! It was ethereal beauty that nails him on the spot. Your beauty stuns me / leaves me unable to be / like being crucified on a tree!”
At that Kibum gives his friend a pointed stare. “…how come you can quote the poems by heart? Oh my god, you must have the worst taste in the history of ever! How you can actually write semi-passable lyrics yourself, I have no idea.”
“Thank you,” Jonghyun sing-songs. He’s grinning as if it’s a big compliment instead of a thinly veiled insult. Then again, he knows his friend, and can dig out the compliments from where they’re offered, no matter how begrudgingly.
There’s a beat of silence, in which Kibum is just grumpily sipping his coffee and Jonghyun keeps on reading through the questions readers can send in to the editors of the love column. He’s a romantic at heart, and even if he vehemently swears he doesn’t believe in romance horoscopes, anyone of his friends could prove the opposite.
“I know how to cheer you up!” Jonghyun chirps up. “I’ll read your horoscope!”
Groaning, Kibum scrambles to get up from his seat. “No. I’m gonna be late for work.”
It’s sort of alarming how often Kibum has crappy days, but he blames it all on the stress of finally finishing his studies and all of the things he has to get done. He has two ways to de-stress and those are either going drinking with Jonghyun to get absolutely shitfaced, or to go loiter around in Minho’s apartment. Lately, he’s been favouring option number two, and not only because Jonghyun is occupied by his own love life.
The sound of the doorbell echoes faintly through the door. Kibum tries to be patient but he still sort of ends up counting seconds. “I had such a crap day!” he greets with as soon as the door swings open. “I’ve been shouted and sneered at, the customers were straight from Hell, and I am not going to go back there ever again. Ever.”
The only answer he gains is a grin. A large palm cups his jaw as he’s pulled closer into a soft, mostly chaste kiss that still leaves him feeling like there’s a bunch of butterflies swarming in the pit of his stomach. “Hi to you too.” The words are whispered roughly against his temple after the kiss breaks naturally, and for a second Kibum allows himself to relax against the strong body.
“Seriously Minho,” he sighs as he finally pulls back. “Save me. I’m not going to go back.”
“Didn’t you say you only have to suffer through four more months?” Minho asks, already guiding Kibum into the apartment, only reaching to close the door after them. He doesn’t even pause before he herds Kibum straight towards the kitchen and urges him to sit down. “You can make it. Just imagine how you don’t need to see them ever again after that.”
Kibum sighs again, and almost smashes his elbow on the table before resting his chin on his palm. “Yeah I know. And I do need the money. But people are assholes.” He’s already feeling better after his rant, though, and his mood improves even more when he remembers the glorious fact that his new boyfriend is an actually quite decent cook. Dinner seems to be almost done, judging by the simmering pots and the delicious scent of food wafting through the air.
“Is it too early in this relationship to propose marriage?” Kibum asks, at the same time as his stomach grumbles as a clear sign of his hunger. “You’d be an amazing housewife. And I want you.”
Minho laughs, but there’s a slight hint of a blush dusting his cheeks as he turns around to attend whatever it is he’s cooking up for them. “Yeah it might be a bit too early. Keep that in mind, though. For when I want to be impressed with grand gestures.”
“I will, promised,” Kibum says with a snicker. He leans against the table slightly, reaching for the newspaper folded neatly next to the lonely fern set on the table. He flips through it, only to realize it’s an older issue of the same magazine Jonghyun keeps reading, with the poems. Out of sick, morbid curiosity he finds the correct place, the pink bold letters screeching ‘love column’ at him from the top.
The poem is even worse than he expected.
“C’mon! Who writes stuff like this!” he bursts out. “Still I have romantic in my heart? What the hell? Have romantic? I’m sure.” Cursorily, he reads the rest of the poem, utterly unimpressed by the comparisons of pale skin and slanted eyes, enough to charm just about anyone. He’s fairly sure Jonghyun is eating it all up, with a moronic (“Dreamy, Kibum, it’s called dreamy!”) grin on his face.
When Kibum looks up, ready to start complaining some more, he notices that there’s something tense in the set of Minho’s shoulders. Suddenly, he comes to a horrible conclusion. “Oh my god. Oh my god!” He stands up and slowly circles the table, until he can peek at Minho’s expression. The blush seems to have intensified. “You actually like these, don’t you?”
“It’s not like that,” Minho begins, but then scoffs a little. “They’re not that bad.”
“Yes,” Kibum says. “They are. They actually are.”
Minho looks at him, arching an eyebrow almost challengingly. Kibum takes it as his cue to land a soft peck on his lips. “Don’t worry. It’s not like it’s a deal breaker. My best friend likes them too and I haven’t actually kicked him to the curb yet. Just,” a slow grin spreads on his lips as he sways a bit closer to Minho, “take the hint, don’t try these with me.”
That seems to be acceptable. “Okay.”
At first, Kibum had made it a rule of thumb to never spend more than a couple of nights a week at Minho’s place. How he ends up there for the ninth night in a row, he has no idea. He even has his own set of keys - which gets him a little giddy, it’s probably the first time he’s gotten the keys to someone’s place after less than a month of seeing each other - so he can let himself in when Minho is working instead of disturbing him.
If he’s there early, when Minho is still locked in his study, he just makes himself at home. He putters around the kitchen and makes some coffee, or grabs something from the fridge, and settles on the couch comfortably to occupy himself with the reruns of soap operas on TV or with the newest issue of a magazine that tempted him enough to buy it.
Sometime, later on, Minho emerges from his lair and yawns widely, usually plopping to sit down next to Kibum. If there’s any coffee left, he’ll steal it, and Kibum lets him. There are always casual touches, be it Minho’s palm on Kibum’s thigh or them just subtly leaning closer to one another. Whatever it is, it always makes Kibum feel content in a way he can’t really dissect rationally. Not that he even tries.
It’s so domestic that Kibum has a sneaking suspicion he should be freaking out but he’s enjoying it way too much to have any commitment issues. It’s been ages since he’s been this comfortable in a relationship, if ever.
“You want me to cook something?” Minho asks as he finally heaves himself up from the cosy confines of the couch, with a regretful little sigh. He yawns and stretches in a way that makes his shirt ride up slightly, and it distracts Kibum for a good while.
“I’m not really hungry,” he answers, a little belatedly, blinking to stop staring. “There’s still some soup from yesterday, just heat it up.” He gets up as well, thinking that he can get another dose of caffeine now. Minho seems to read his thoughts, as he asks him to get his coffee mug from his desk, disappearing into the kitchen.
Kibum just means to grab the mug, but he notices there are papers strewn across the desk in a disarray not typical for Minho. One of the sheets has even slipped down on the floor, so he bends to pick it up. There are random words on it, ones with no apparent meaning, but they all seem to be arranged in more or less rhyming groups.
That’s when Minho’s voice cuts into Kibum’s thoughts from the kitchen. “Did you find it?”
Kibum makes a noncommittal sound, sets the paper down on the desk and heads back towards the sweet promise of more coffee.
The next morning Kibum makes a short trip back to his own apartment after work and manages to bump into Jonghyun, who’s lounging around in his boxers seemingly with no care in the world. Kibum gives him the usual lecture about actually wearing pants, but it falls on deaf ears just like it has for the past twenty years. So instead Kibum slouches down next to Jonghyun, knocking their knees together. “How’s stuff?”
“There are some big news I’ve been waiting to tell you,” Jonghyun smirks, tilting his head so he’s looking at Kibum instead of at the TV screen. “And I wanted to do it face to face.”
“What? You knocked someone up?” Kibum arches an eyebrow. It earns him a slap on the back of his head, but it’s a lazy movement as Jonghyun apparently can’t be bothered to move his arms properly.
“No.” Jonghyun even straightens a bit, his smile spreading further until he’s practically beaming. “Your favourite column ever needs someone to edit it, and to write the monthly serial story they’re publishing. Apparently,” he laughs, “their incredible poet used to do it but now he has more work offers and he can’t make the time. I submitted some of my works and voila! You’re looking at an established author.”
Kibum isn’t impressed. “Established author? That’s what you’d be if you had actually published an actual novel, you know. Not if you get to write a story for a magazine. Especially that magazine.” He shoves at Jonghyun’s shoulder a bit, unable to hold back his grin any longer. “Congratulations, asshole. Don’t let it get to your head.”
“When would I ever?” Jonghyun practically sings.
They both fall silent and vegetate through half of an episode of Hell’s Kitchen, before something picks Kibum’s attention. “Hey?” He waits for Jonghyun to make a sound to indicate he’s listening. “Their incredible poet is a ‘he’?”
“Yep,” Jonghyun says. “They told me his name but I forgot it. I can check it for you if you’d like.”
“No it’s cool,” Kibum frowns as he leans back against the cushions. “I don’t need to know that.”
It’s not like he wants anything to do with a crappy poet like that, right?
One of Kibum’s favourite moments is when he wakes up in the early morning hours, glances at the time and realizes he still has a few hours of precious sleep before he has to get up. It’s even better when he notices how the pillow his face is smushed to is considerably fluffier than his own. Not to mention the warm presence right there against his side, a strong arm swung over his waist.
He still gets kind of giddy because he knew, from day one, that Minho would be a cuddler. He has learned to enjoy it a lot more than he ever used to, too. There are no words to describe the contentment when he gets to roll a bit closer and press his nose against Minho’s shoulder, soaking in the shared warmth.
The best, though, is that Minho wakes up before him and gets the breakfast started. After Kibum drags himself out of bed an hour or so later, he gets to just shuffle into the kitchen and pour himself a gigantic cup of coffee. He grabs a toast, before dropping to sit down in the chair next to Minho’s.
Minho is scrawling something on a piece of paper, in his messy, loopy handwriting. Curiously, Kibum leans a bit closer. “What’s that? You working already?” It’s inhumanly early, at least of one asks Kibum, but maybe Minho is sort of a little masochistic. Or just a morning person. Which should really be synonymous if one asks Kibum.
That seems to startle Minho a little. He slides the paper a bit further and turns properly towards Kibum, giving him a noncommittal shrug. “Just jotting down some ideas for later. Wanna have something better than just toast for breakfast?” he asks, and brushes his fingers along Kibum’s shoulder as he gets up to head for the fridge.
“You gonna make me pancakes?” Kibum grins.
Minho laughs. “Fine. Chocolate chip or blueberry?”
At that second, Kibum knows he is going to marry this man.
Kibum doesn’t have any idea how it happens but somehow he ends up not seeing Jonghyun for weeks. He practically lives in Minho’s apartment, only going back home to shower and change, and sometimes - rarely - to sleep. Jonghyun is both busy on a new work project and with his girlfriend, so their schedules don’t line up, and they only manage to send a few texts every now and then.
That’s why they actually set up a date for one evening, deciding to go out together to pig on pizza in their favourite place together. They’ve had countless meals there, and both know what to order without even glancing at the menus. As they wait, they catch up, and by the time the pizzas arrive they’re already back to the regular mindless banter they don’t need to pay any mind to.
“So,” Jonghyun begins as he’s poking at the last remains of his food. “How’re things going with the romantic poet? You only talked about school, don’t even think you can skip on the juicy details now.”
“Rom-” Kibum sighs, “Jonghyun! He writes columns for the Sports Week, and works as an editor for the magazine. It’s not like there’s anything romantic about sports, and it’s decidedly even less poetic.” He’s ready to launch into a rant about it, but there’s something curious about Jonghyun’s expression and he stops, frowning. “What? You look like you want to slap me.”
“It’s because I do!” Jonghyun bursts out. “Are you really this dense, Kibum? Really? How have you not noticed that sports columns are not the only thing he’s writing?”
That now is very confusing. It must show, since Jonghyun heaves a huge sigh, complemented by a matching eyeroll, and rummages through his bag. He curses as he doesn’t find what he needs, and jumps up to browse through the stack of magazines set on the side of the counter. He makes a triumphant sound as he plucks a magazine from the pile, quickly returning to their table.
“Now, Kibum,” he says as he spreads one of the magazines on the table, in front of is friend. “Read this poem. Read it, and think about it.”
It’s one of those godawful poems and Kibum wrinkles his nose. “Do I really have to? Seriously those are so -”
“Yes, Kibum. You really have to.”
So Kibum does. First he only scans through the poem, but then reads it more thoroughly and really takes in the words. It’s talking about a cutting jawline, sharp cheekbones, and an angular haircut with a red glint within the blackness. Kibum knows he’s staring, completely overwhelmed. Without a word he’s up from his seat and goes straight to the pile of magazines until he finds the previous issue.
The poem is like a clear replica of the slow morning they had a couple of weeks ago. He knows that for sure, even if it’s disguised in pompous words about golden sunlight and soulful eyes.
With an outraged groan, Kibum drops back on his seat. “I am going to strangle him.”
Jonghyun, however, seems only amused by this. “But hey, I figured it out before you! Your loverboy is using you as a muse. And you’ve been oblivious to it for months!” He laughs, and it’s when his status as a best friend is definitely revoked. “Think of how ironic this is! You’ve caused the poems you loathe from the bottom of your heart! This is amazing, I’m never going to let this go.”
Kibum tries to glare. “I hate you.”
When Kibum gets back to Minho’s apartment he’s dead set on confronting the miserable poet, and fully prepared for an explosive argument. He’s not quite even sure why he’s so mad, but goddamnit no one writes that bad poems and especially about him. And in secrecy! Minho could’ve bloody well come clean about it and told him, instead of trying to sneak around like that.
So when Kibum closes the door and hears the shower running, he only raises his voice to make sure he’ll be heard. “Get your ass over here, Minho! We need to talk!” There’s no answer, but the shower closes off so either Minho did hear him or he was done anyway. So Kibum stays there in the middle of the living room, waiting with his arms crossed.
It doesn’t take long for Minho to emerge from the bathroom, still dripping wet and with only a towel slung low on his hips. He looks somewhat concerned but that barely registers in Kibum’s mind as he follows a stray droplet of water that trickles down Minho’s neck, over his collarbone and down.
Kibum’s mouth goes dry. This is so not fair. Such a hit below the belt.
“What is it?” Minho asks, and has the nerve to run his fingers through his hair to muss them up in a way that makes him even more irresistible.
Kibum has a moment of self-reflection. The poems really are the worst poems he’s ever read.
But then again, why would bad poems be such a huge problem when the man has abs like that? Not to mention that Minho can cook, makes Kibum laugh with the stupidest jokes, knows exactly how he likes his coffee and has the warmest embrace to curl up into. He lets Kibum steal the blankets at night, doesn’t complain too much about the dirty clothes Kibum leaves lying around, and only barely mocks him for watching every single award show on TV.
That is the moment Kibum finally realizes he has it bad. He’s willing to ignore everything from Minho being a morning person to him being ridiculously fond of sports to him writing these godawful poems. He’s in deep. And he’s not sure if he even wants to struggle free anymore. Not when all the good outweighs the bad by far.
So instead of the huge rant he had prepared, he launches himself at Minho, wraps his arms around Minho’s neck and kisses him like he means it. His shirt gets damp from the droplets of water still clinging on to Minho’s chest but he doesn’t mind, instead presses in closer, insistently, until Minho is kissing him back with equal fervour.
They get lost there for a while, somehow. But when Minho’s hands stray on Kibum’s butt and yank him close in a way that makes them both moan, Kibum finally manages to break free from the kisses enough to speak. He’s not proud of how shaky his voice is, but screw that, it’s not like anyone cares. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you wrote those shitty poems?”
At first, Minho seems to be utterly confused, but it’s soon replaced by embarrassment. He’s already trying to retreat and pulls his hands back, but Kibum won’t have anything of that. He grabs Minho’s wrists and pulls his hands back on his butt, placing them firmly back where they belong. That seems to bring the confusion back and Minho doesn’t know what to say, or what to do, so he just stands there.
That makes Kibum laugh. “You idiot! Would I have kissed you just now if I was here to dump you because of your illiterate self?”
“Well,” Minho drawls, a slow grin finally spreading on his face, “probably not.”
“Definitely not,” Kibum says. He leans in and gently captures Minho’s lower lip with his teeth, before deepening the contact. It’s more playful this time, and Kibum doesn’t let it go on for too long since he needs to speak his mind too. “You need to promise me one thing, though,” he breathes out, then swallows to make his voice more firm and respectable. “Stop writing me into those poems.”
“It’s my job, though,” Minho reasons. He seems to have finally caught up since he uses his grip on Kibum’s bottom to give it a small squeeze, all the while manhandling Kibum towards the couch. “I would have to use someone else as inspiration. Wouldn’t you rather I only focus my thoughts on you?”
As they fall on the couch in a tangle of limbs - and good, Minho’s towel has gotten lost somewhere along the way, Kibum approves of that - Kibum huffs and easily shifts until he’s more comfortable. “Alright, fine.”
As if taking that as his cue Minho already leans in to kiss him, but Kibum stops him with a hand on his forehead. “But I will proofread every single one of them before you send them to be published. Are we clear.”
Minho laughs. “We are clear.”
Then, he finally gets the kiss.
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:D ? lmao idk what this is. I think Minho is a bad poet I truly do. and definitely romantic enough to try write poems even when he sucks at it.
@DW.