SBB 2011 Entry #13: The List (1/2)
Title: The List
Pairing: minho/key
Genre: au, drama, romance
Rating: pg - 13
Summary: wherein kibum and minho are heart patients.
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
-- If I Can Stop by Emily Dickinson
Kibum’s room is who he is. His room was a mess of stringed events, phases that have come and passed, pictures of people whom he met, kept and left.
Funny how that was all he could think about now that he’s 16 and he’s seated before the eminent and well known cardiothoracic surgeon of South Korea, Dr. Lee Jinki, both his parents by his side opposite the surgeon’s desk. Now, Dr. Lee told Kibum of his fate. That his time was much more limited than it originally was. That his heart was going to fail him in less than a month unless he replaces it with a new one. One that is not his own.
Kibum stares at his bracelets, a collection of beads in gold and pink, circling his arm in a thick embrace, giving it the illusion that it’s about to fall off. In Kibum’s periphery he sees his mother’s lips quiver in candid fear while his father sternly looks at Dr. Lee as if waiting for an alternative.
“His heart is of its weakest stage right now which will explain why he lost consciousness during the game earlier. And the only solution we’re looking at for the moment is for him to undergo an operation wherein a pacemaker will aid his heart beats.
“Ideally, Kibum should be granted a new heart before his condition worsens. So if you would like to place Kibum on the list you should state your interest now because the process is rather complicated and… it’s going to take a while.” Dr. Lee continues without a trace of remorse. His tone was flaccid and Kibum didn’t know what he estimated of a man who has been delivering news like this to people with his condition for years, to patients of far worse situations, of younger ages.
They do all the arrangements, all of the talking and hand shaking. His mother wipes her tears away while trying as best she could not to look at her son and feel the reality of everything. She’s holding up pretty well, Kibum decides.
Everything happens in slow motion almost. But he soaks it all in; his parents looking over the papers that will place Kibum on the list of recipients, his mother’s hand on his without even sparing him a weak glance, his father clearing up the protocols and ways to go about the donation and the heart he was to receive. He watches everything play out without really listening. Kibum is suddenly reminded of school and how people would respond upon hearing of his misfortune. Would they care? What about his relatives? Would they call him and visit him and let him know of their sympathy? The idea of everyone looking at him with repentant eyes suddenly burns into his skull and he senses his own eyes narrow at the thought. What would they know? It wasn’t their hearts that needed help.
Suddenly, Kibum can’t take in the right amount of air that his lungs need, the lapel of his shirt is clinging around his neck much tighter and the walls are closing in on him. His body moves on its own accord and he finds himself bolting from the office and sprinting through the halls of the hospital, white everywhere, people’s faces blurring together in a fleshy pink line around him as his pace quickens. His name is being called, pulling at him to turn back but he refuses. He wants to run and feel his youth while he can.
And just as he’s about to exit the hospital he feels a vice-like grip squeezing the muscles of his heart. He halts too hastily and staggers to the floor. When he lifts himself from the floor his face scrunches up as the pain gets worse and one of his hands fly to his chest, clawing at the fabric of his clothes, nails slightly scratching the skin underneath.
His parents are instantly by his side, his mother smothering him in a hug as she finally breaks down, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer. She’s begging for a miracle. She’s begging with all that she is, with everything that she can while his father kneels beside him. Kibum folds over himself as he sits on his calves. He wants to pull away from his mother, to feel himself breathe normally, but he can’t push her away because he’s begging for the same miracle that she is.
The people start to stare and Kibum hears Dr. Lee come up from behind them. He helps them out of the hospital, speaking with Kibum’s father first before they drive off. Kibum hears clips of their conversation, how Kibum was to be at the hospital tomorrow for his operation, how he was not allowed to do a repeat of the stunt he pulled earlier and how he was to return to the hospital for check-ups every month. Kibum drowns out the rest of the conversation by sticking his earphones in his ears and raising the volume of his iPod on full blast.
When he steps into his room his mother’s cries bleed through the walls. Kibum walks towards the mirror above his dresser and he stares at his reflection. His eyes were still small and pointy, his lips, however, grew fuller. His skin cleared up too, still milky and features still prominent. His hair was no longer in its previous, rainbow like state with his high lights. He dyed it back to a chocolate brown a week ago, thinking that he wanted to go back to his roots. He was young and he always thought that dying was an option only for those who acknowledged it. He was never one of those people. Kibum loved his life. He never did anything to ruin his health, he never smoked or drank too much or did drugs. He never slit his wrists, never hated himself to the point of self abuse. The most he’s ever done to put himself in danger was when he got into a fight a long time ago. He would accept things better had he indulged in temptation and vices. So why? Why do this to him?
Why, of all the hearts beating in all parts of the world, is his being shot to hell?
His slim fingers trace the outline of a Marvin the Martian figurine Jonghyun gifted him with on his birthday before lifting it in his palm. He takes a few steps back from the mirror, gaze roaming back to his reflection. Then he flings the figurine towards the mirror, every piece detaching from one another in random, ill-defined ruins.
He spins on his heel and jumps on his bed, ruining the sheets as he stumbles towards his posters and shreds each one to colorful pieces of paper, raining on the carpet and his bed. Then he moves to his closet and starts pulling clothes from hangers, chucking them in all directions, his breathing labored with every movement.
It’s starting again. The pain-the acid-like liquid crawling over his heart and capturing it in an agonizing, unforgiving grip. With the last of the clothes on his hangers, he claws at the sleeves, fighting for balance when his chest punishes him. When he loosens his grip and falls to the floor, that’s when his tears finally streak down his porcelain cheeks, rendering Kibum into a crying mess while his room cries with him, tears in the form of cut up posters, broken glass and wrinkled fabric.
---
The tenderness over his cut subsides in about three weeks, but Kibum is still trying to get used to the mini machine stuck in his left shoulder. During his first week he remembers lifting his left arm and sensing the most bizarre sensation of the wires digging and moving slightly in his flesh.
He comes back to school when a month passes by and all his teachers agreed to exempt him in PE. Kibum wanted to throw a fit when they temporarily took him off the volleyball varsity team, but to be completely honest, he was too… tired.
He was tired with the restless days in school and the restless nights in his blank room. He was tired of the thought that his heart can’t beat right anymore and that anything strenuous or exciting could cause his pacemaker to cease functionality. He was tired of waiting for someone in the world to sequentially die for him to keep living. Kibum hated putting it that way, but that’s the only perspective it fits in.
People die every day just as much as new people live. One of them must be bound to have Kibum’s new heart. However, thoughts about a different heart crossed his mind from time to time. The idea of a machine inside of him felt unnatural enough as it was so Kibum couldn’t even imagine what it would be like having something as foreign as another human heart stuck in his chest. He didn’t like to think about the details. About how this person has a family just like him and how this person was probably never planning to give their heart away.
The pain killers helped a lot during his recovery and he was surprised at the many hours he found himself sleeping for the duration of the day. During the weekends he would usually go out and walk around the city, maybe invite Jonghyun to come with him. But now he didn’t want to face Jonghyun. He didn’t know how to go about explaining to his best friend that he’s waiting in line for a heart because his current one is failing miserably. He didn’t want to have to see the way Jonghyun’s eyes would go round, then soft, then just plain lost. So, he stays at home where no secrets are worth keeping. Where he still hears his mother calling the doctor every once in a while because of minor complaints he voiced out earlier. Kibum made a mental note to never let his mother know of the aches. No use worrying her more so than he already has.
---
He knew that he could not avoid Jonghyun forever, especially since the other boy had the radar of a bat when it came to him. But he had to give himself credit for being able to hide from Jonghyun for this long in view of the fact that Jonghyun knew where he lived and that they went to the exact same school. Kibum thinks that not being in any of Jonghyun’s classes this year bodes well for him considering the circumstances.
“So, how, uhmm.” Jonghyun gestures wildly about his shoulders as a way of trying to ask Kibum exactly what the hell he was talking about sticking machinery into skins and whatnot. “They just shoved it in there?”
They’re situated in a park a few blocks away from Kibum’s house. The sun was setting in the horizon, the sky painting the empty park in orange hues of warmth. Kibum and Jonghyun sit side by side on the swings, kicking at the ground a few times.
“Yeah.” Kibum nods, both hands clutching the chains holding the swing up.
“What for? Like, what’s wrong with you-your heart, I mean.” Jonghyun clumsily corrects himself when one of Kibum’s brows rises.
“Basically,” Kibum begins as he tries to simplify everything that he’s learned about his heart thus far. “My heart just isn’t capable of beating properly anymore. It stops sometimes which is why the beats are irregular and why they had to put a pacemaker in me. Dr. Lee calls it congenital heart disease.”
“So, you need a new heart?”
“In the simplest sense, yeah.” Kibum nods. It felt surprisingly relieving to talk to someone about it, Kibum decides as he rubs his hand over the beads of his bracelets, moving them around like mini rolling pins over his wrist. “I still have a shitload of tests to go through before getting on the list of recipients, though.”
“Why?”
“Policy.”
“I don’t know if you heard but when you just fainted that night during the game and someone said that you weren’t breathing I thought you were a goner. I went pale. Paper white. I’m talking about Casper and all of his uncles put toge-“
“-I think I get.” Kibum smiles.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore. I used to feel sore, like, my whole left chest and arm and all that was bruised. But that was right after the surgery and I had to stay in the hospital for a day. I complained about the soreness to Dr. Lee and he gave me pain killers to get me by.”
“Dr. Lee’s your…”
“Surgeon. Yeah.”
“And he’s gonna do the whole operation once you get a new heart?”
Kibum nods.
“What’s he like? I mean, you know. Is he, uhmm, capable and shit?”
“He’s one of the highest paid cardiothoracic surgeons in the country. I’m pretty sure he’s capable. And shit.”
“I never thought. It’s just. Are you. Are you scared?”
Kibum considers Jonghyun’s question for a bit, squinting at the sun as he does so. It’s almost completely gone now. “No.” He’s quite certain he isn’t scared. “It’s more of worry than fear. Like, there’s so much I wanna do and I feel like half of my life hasn’t even gone by and already my days are being counted. At age seventeen. It just doesn’t seem fair sometimes.”
“I’m kinda scared.” Jonghyun half whispers.
“Yeah well, you’ve always been kind of a bitch.” Kibum reaches out to shove Jonghyun and his swing to the side.
“Kibum, I’m serious.” Kibum stares at Jonghyun’s profile, his brows furrowing. “You’re my best friend.”
They stay quiet after that, allowing the night breeze to sweep through their hair and clothes.
“Remember,” Jonghyun begins. “that time that we talked about taking a break after graduating high school? That we were gonna go backpacking through Europe first for a few months before college?”
Kibum smiles. “Yeah. I remember.”
“I want that to happen, Kibum.” Jonghyun sniffs. He brings a hand up to rub his eyes from the tears that haven’t crawled down his cheek yet. “I want you and me on a fucking plane to London after graduation. And by the time we get to college we’re gonna room in together and meet girls and go partying and you’re gonna start drinking-“
“-Ha.”
“Would it be wrong if I asked you to promise me that you’ll live?”
Kibum lets out a breathy laugh. “No. But I’d rather you didn’t. In the three years that we’ve been best friends not once did I break any of my promises. I don’t plan on starting now, Jjong.”
Kibum wanted to promise Jonghyun. He just couldn’t take the look in Jonghyun’s eyes or the desperation in his voice. Kibum wasn’t used to his show of affection and vulnerability and had this emotion been caused by anything else he would probably break Jonghyun’s face out of irritation. But his best friend was crying for him. And Kibum figures that the least he can do is be honest.
“Can you promise me something though?” Jonghyun doesn’t answer Kibum, instead choosing to blink at him. “Don’t ever look at me the way you did a minute ago.”
“How was I looking at you a minute ago?” Jonghyun toes at the patch of grass before him, the swing pushing back.
“Like I was some dying kid.” Kibum says to the clouds.
“Technically, we’re all heading towards that direction, Kibum.”
“Still.” Kibum sighs. “I don’t want your pity.”
It’s a year after his surgery that Kibum finally makes it into the list of heart transplant recipients. It just adds to his hope of a much normal life, where nothing inside of him was made of metal.
Three months pass by and there’s still no news about a heart reserved for Kibum’s safety. By the fourth month Kibum had half a mind to give up. The pacemaker was there and it was working fine. But even Dr. Lee says that pacemakers are not permanent solutions for his condition.
There was a time when he was washing his hands in the male’s lavatory in school and his throat felt as if it was closing in on itself. He lost consciousness then and there, only coming to a few days later in the hospital after going under the knife again because his pacemaker suddenly stopped working. It was after that experience that Kibum realized how fragile he had become.
---
Dr. Lee doesn’t smile very much, Kibum confirms as he sits atop the hospital bed, his feet dangling above the floor, his shirt forlornly strewn behind him. Dr. Lee placed the bell of the stethoscope somewhere on Kibum’s back, one hand on Kibum’s shoulder to keep his posture straight.
“Take a deep breath.” He orders and Kibum complies.
He sets the stethoscope to hang loosely by his neck as he reaches for his clipboard and scribbles on Kibum’s file. The wait had been gruesome, for Kibum especially since he had to go home to his mother from every check up and dampen her spirits once more. His father was rarely home anymore as he tried to balance out the money that they needed for Kibum’s treatment as well as his upcoming surgery once a donor is present. Heart transplants were no joke.
“Is your new medication to your liking?”
“Yeah. Uhmm. I’m a bit drowsy during the day, though.”
“That’s normal. Your body is probably responding to the switch, but you should be fine soon. Is it affecting your sleeping cycle?”
“Not necessarily.” Kibum shakes his head as he reaches for his shirt. The bandage on his shoulder was removed months ago, the scar renewed and permanent with every cut made. “I’ve uhh,” Kibum starts again as he slips into his shirt. “I’ve been back on the team for weeks now. The coach hasn’t kicked me off yet.”
“That’s good to hear. You know they’re just worried about you, though.” Dr. Lee offers with a curt smile, so polite and appropriate.
“Of course.” Kibum hops off the bed and lands on his feet. “Oh, and my mom wanted to ask…” That was only half true. “About the donor...”
Dr. Lee runs his tongue over his lips and sticks the pen in the clip of the clipboard. “Not today, Kibum-ah. I’m sorry. I’ll let you know when we’ve got one ready for you.”
“Right, yeah, no.” Kibum blurts out too quickly. “I just. She’s been bothering me a lot so.”
Dr. Lee offers Kibum another one of his polite smiles and he can’t help but be kind of grateful for the professionalism he’s being proffered. With the exception of Jonghyun, everyone else that Kibum spends most of his time with has done nothing but tiptoe around him as if trying to break the surface without trying hard enough.
He’s on his way out of the automatic sliding doors when they part a few feet away and a boy enters, tall, hair a lighter shade of brown in comparison to his with big, round eyes and a chiseled jaw. Kibum couldn’t help but stare inconspicuously (if turning your head away while keeping your eyes rolled towards the boy could be considered inconspicuous). He was wearing a yellow shirt, rounded collar with the sleeves folded high and khaki pants loose around his long legs. He wore a white backpack, and Kibum automatically assumed that the guy was an intern of sorts. There was also this white wire sticking out from underneath the boy’s shirt, curling over to connect to the back with his bag. Earphones, they looked like.
And Kibum was able to observe all of this within a matter of seconds of passing the boy by, yet the boy didn’t even spare him a glance.
---
“Does he give out candy like other doctors?”
“Jonghyun if you want candy go to the fucking Seven Eleven downstairs.” Kibum crosses his legs at the same time he flips through his magazine in the waiting room of the hospital, the beads of his bracelets bumping against one another, serving as the only sound in the waiting room apart from the buzzing of the TV and the occasional ring of the announcements.
Jonghyun shifts in his seat, his pants creating a squeaky noise when it moves against the plastic covered cushions. Jonghyun pouts as he leans over his knees, one foot tapping against the floor.
“Why are you even here?”
“If caring too much about you is a crime then lock me up.” Jonghyun says to dignify himself, only causing Kibum to mock gag on a picture of Jessica Jung and Lee Donghae in the tabloid magazine. “It smells like Clorox in here. And not the good kind.”
“I thought you’d be used to it what with your mom giving birth to you in a plantation site.”
“Kibum, she did not give birth to me in a plantation.”
“Explain why you’re so retarded then.”
Jonghyun shoves Kibum by the shoulder to which the other boy responds by swatting his now rolled up magazine on Jonghyun’s head over and over until Jonghyun lies on his side of the chair, laughing out pleas for Kibum to stop.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound halts both boys and they simultaneously turn their heads around to the row of chairs behind them that they thought were empty and where they think the source of the sound is.
Kibum recognized his mop of hair instantly. The khaki pants wearing boy from last month. The boy’s hands are shaking as he detaches the Velcro lock of his knapsack apart and plucks the tiny, beeping machine from it. He holds it with both hands and pushes a few things. Kibum and Jonghyun pass each other questioning stares before returning their eyes to the boy who was struggling with the machine.
“Shit…” Kibum hears him mumble. He reaches for his backpack, occupying the seat next to him. Inside is another similar looking machine, white, clean if not for a few stickers here and there that were indistinguishable from where Kibum was seated. The beeping dies down when the boy attaches the tube to the other machine. He fixes up, closes his backpack and places the little machine back inside his knapsack. And Kibum and Jonghyun are still inappropriately staring. Even as the boy looks up and locks stares with both of them.
“Cardiomyopathy.” The boy speaks after a few moments of awkward silence between the three of them.
“Sorry?” Jonghyun asks for the both of them since Kibum’s throat is weirdly dry.
“Cardiomyopathy: disease involving heart muscles and their inability to do what they’re supposed to.” He supplies, looking at both boys. “And this little baby-“ He raises the knapsack containing the mini machine and adds another one from his pocket, it’s smaller and much more rectangular in shape. “-is my LVAD.”
“LVAD?” Jonghyun asks again. Kibum sensed how the scene was a bit wrong but he was just as curious as Jonghyun. Especially since he found out that this boy was a patient. A heart patient. Like him.
“Left Ventricular Assist Device. Somewhat similar to a pacemaker only much more… inconvenient.” He shakes the two devices in his hands to emphasize his point.
“So you’ve got a metal thing inside you too, huh?”
Kibum smacks Jonghyun’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Jjong!”
The boy smiles.
“What? He has CHD.” Jonghyun points at Kibum to which Kibum reacts violently towards, pushing Jonghyun out of his chair.
“Ignore him. His brain never grew to its full potential so in a nutshell, he’s a fucking idiot.” Kibum says with such mock remorse, one hand on his chest that the boy can’t help but smile wider at.
“Did you have to push me off the chair?”
“I’m Kibum.” Kibum ignores Jonghyun as he dusts himself off and sinks back down into his original seat. “This is Jonghyun.”
“Minho.” The boy introduces himself. “So, CHD, huh?”
“Oh. Pssh, yeah.” Kibum jokes. Then he pokes his left shoulder. “I’ve got a pacemaker in. Got it last year.”
“I was on a pacemaker before too.”
Kibum’s chin reflexively tucks inward from surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Minho nods. “When I was thirteen.”
“Woah. That’s some hardcore shit, man.” Jonghyun blurts out, jaw hanging in awe.
“I’m sorry.” It came out of nowhere. Kibum just felt like apologizing.
Minho and Kibum lock eyes, Minho’s smile slowly fading away as he stared into the chocolate pool of Kibum’s irises. Did Kibum say too much? Was Minho offended?
“Kim Kibum.” A nurse walks into the waiting room, clipboard in hand and all three boys turn to the door. She gives him a smile. “Dr. Lee will see you now.”
Kibum stands from his seat and gives one quick look at Minho before glaring at Jonghyun. “Behave.”
“I’m not a fucking dog.”
---
“I’ve been on the list for a little over four months now.” Minho answers Kibum’s question as they sat in the diner waiting for their orders, Jonghyun leaving the two of them to wander off in the counter and check the desserts available.
Jonghyun and Kibum decide to take Minho out to lunch after their check up and Kibum can’t help but stare every time he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “Me too. I think.” The loneliest four months in Kibum’s life, if you catch Kibum’s drift. “What’s it. Uhmm. How does it feel?”
“What? The LVAD?” Minho bunches his shirt up to reveal the white tube disappearing into a hole in Minho’s lower abdomen. Kibum has to lean over the table to get a better look. Turns out they weren’t earphones after all.
“That’s something you don’t see every day.” Kibum says, eyes fixated where the tube is piercing Minho’s stomach. Minho lowers his shirt.
“I see it every day. I wish I didn’t.” He jokes as he makes room for the orders the waitress has appeared with. She places each item down and when she walks away Kibum takes his milkshake and swirls the straw around.
“I thought this felt weird. I can’t even imagine.” Kibum refers to his pacemaker.
“So, how long have you known?”
Kibum takes a sip of his drink. “Since last year. Pretty recent. I just fainted on the court during a volleyball game in school. When they rushed me to the hospital they did a few tests first before finally realizing it was my heart. Took them a while because our family doesn’t have a history of anything cardio related.”
“How’d your friends and family take it?”
A memory of Kibum’s mother wailing and Jonghyun crying like a bitch enters his mind. “Better than I thought. My mom went crazy for a bit.”
“Understandable.”
“Yeah. I still catch her crying sometimes, you know? Like when we’re watching sad movies or out at dinner and the next table is discussing prom and graduation plans. She’s pretty extreme.”
“You still in school?”
“Yeah. I think I’d go crazy if I stayed at home. You?”
“I stopped a long time ago to work. Gotta help pay the bills.”
“Your mom’s cool with that?”
“She’s practically an iceberg,”
Kibum stares at Minho quizzically.
“She doesn’t care. If she did she’d be at home with me.” Minho shrugs.
Kibum worries on his lower lip, guiding the straw back to his mouth. The milkshake turns sour in his mouth. “Who do you live with?”
“With my aunt, uncle and my cousin. They’re nice. Really nice. I feel lucky despite everything.”
“And you’ve known Dr. Lee for longer than I have, huh?”
“Who? Jinki hyung? Yeah, yeah.” Minho nods. “He’s been my doctor since this all started seven years ago.”
“You call Dr. Lee, Ginseng?”
“Jinki.” Minho laughs. “It’s his name.”
“Oh.” Kibum smiles wryly then puffs out a low whistle. “Seven years. Huh. Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.” Minho gives a lopsided grin.
“Guess what I scored apart from this mountainous hot fudge sundae.” Jonghyun slides into the booth next to Kibum, their shoulders knocking together as he grips the glass that contained his sundae.
“Herpes?” Kibum aims his spoon at the glistening red cherry atop the white hill of ice cream situated at the mouth of the glass. But Jonghyun uses his much longer spoon to swat it away.
“Close.” Jonghyun scoops the tip of the sundae along with the cherry and shoots the spoon in his mouth while Minho enjoys the banter from his side of the table. “I godda date.” Jonghyun mumbles through his mouthful.
“What? With who?” Kibum’s head swings around the diner.
“With that cute little number over there in blue.”
“Fucker, all the waitresses are in blue.”
“Right! I mean, she’s got blonde-that one!” Jonghyun points at her with his spoon. The girl notices and instantly bats her eyelashes at their table before walking into the kitchen.
“God bless her soul.” Kibum does a sign of the cross.
“You’re not even catholic.”
“Am too. Don’t similarize me to your Satanic ways.”
“One, similarize isn’t a word, and two, you shouldn’t wear that shirt anymore. It makes you look fat.”
“One, yes it is and two,” Kibum kicks Jonghyun’s ankle from underneath the table, causing it to wobble when Kibum accidentally hits one of its legs in the process.
Minho’s hands fly to the surface to steady it. “Guys, keep it down.” He requests while trying not to laugh out loud.
They walk out of the diner much later during the day. Minho intended to part ways with them at the bus stop but Kibum insisted that he take him home. And since Kibum insisted by pushing Minho towards his car Minho found himself in the backseat, once again enjoying the two fight over the radio station.
They drive by Jonghyun’s house first. He gets out of the car but not without turning the radio off first just to get under Kibum’s skin.
“Later, Minho.” Jonghyun pats Minho’s shoulder before walking back towards his gate, the taller of the two switching to ride shotgun.
“Are you guys always that…”
“..loud?”
“Violent is more like it.” Minho amends with a smirk.
“It feels comforting.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Kibum exhales as he turns the wheel to round the corner. “even after everything he doesn’t act differently around me. He did, at one point. But he immediately switched it off and tried acting the way he always did around me. It’s comforting. Which way do I go?”
“Take a right at the next gas station.”
Minho speaks the directions for the rest of the ride and sometimes he catches his stare lingering over the dip of Kibum’s shirt where his collar bone and neck are exposed rather delicately. With the air conditioning of Kibum’s car deemed out of order, Kibum rolled down the windows on both sides to keep the ventilation on a decent level.
The breeze goes through Kibum’s brown hair, flipping his fringe in the opposite direction of where it was styled and Kibum has to chuck his head to the side to keep it from covering his eyes. In the middle of it all when Kibum’s fed up with straining his neck he uses one of his hands, the one farthest from Minho, to comb through his fringe and keep the hair in that one direction, his arm resting on the window of his car as he kept his other hand on the wheel.
Minho senses the slightest of a tug slyly making itself known on one corner of his mouth. He drops his stare to his long fingers and he feels Kibum look away from the road to spare him a glance. Kibum probably saw that reaction, the way Minho just smiled and looked away. But he said nothing of it. And the radio was doing a good job of playing low in the background.
Minho resides in the farther part of town, a place where apartment buildings where collected in a bulk, surrounded by open space and a bridge somewhere in the distance. They pull over by a red building, one that is almost identical to the rest while Minho gathers his things.
“Do you have school tomorrow?” Minho asks as he slips his hands into the straps of his backpack.
“Yeah.” Kibum pulls at the ends of his hair at his nape.
“Til what time?”
“Five.”
“You wanna hangout after?”
It was as if Kibum was an open book and Minho was reading every page without much trouble. “Ye. Yes. That. We should.” Kibum wants to hit his head on the steering wheel for stammering like a pirated DVD.
Minho isn’t bothered by it, though. In fact, Minho thinks it’s adorable when Kibum acts nervous like that and his mouse-like eyes go as round as they can. Minho felt the sudden urge to draw whiskers right between his tiny nose and pouty lips. He reaches into his back pocket for his phone instead. “Here, give me your number.”
Kibum gingerly programs his number in and hands the phone back. Minho presses a few buttons, eyes concentrating hard on the tiny screen. Then he flips it shut and flashes Kibum with a smile before tucking the phone back in his pocket. “I just sent you a text.”
“Okay.” Kibum feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Before he can reach for it Minho’s already stepping out from his car and shutting the door.
“Later!”
“Yeah, later.” Kibum distractedly adds just as he presses the read button on his phone and in comes Minho’s message on the screen.
Similarize isnt a word Kibum. Jus thot u shud knw. - Minho
---
Minho, as Kibum soon finds out, works in a grocery store. Not a tiny convenience store, a fucking grocery store, with a line of registers (Minho being assigned in one of them regularly) and a vegetable aisle that stretches from one end to the other, and meat sections… it was huge.
Kibum spots Minho instantly in one of the cash register lanes, punching items in and allowing each one to slide to the other person who was bagging them. He had his knapsack on again wrapped around his waist along with his apron which Kibum assumed was a part of his uniform. He’s on his way over to tap the boy on his shoulder when another boy who was the same height as Minho, give or take a few inches, comes over to his counter.
He grips Minho’s shoulder and talks to him while Minho bows and nods in response to whatever it was that he was saying. Kibum halts in his spot, a few feet away, observing the two exchange smiles and answers and, oh fuck no, he’s weirdly uncomfortable, like he’s suddenly being asked to walk on a pile of hot, scorching coal.
The boy catches a glimpse of him and Kibum acts on impulse, spins on his heel and is just about ready to leave when,
“Kibum?” Minho runs to him and blocks his way, smile on full force. “Where are you going? Didn’t you see me?”
“I did. I mean, I didn’t earlier. But. Now, I do.” Kibum nods carefully with every word. Minho nods with him, although the other male seems slightly confused.
“Right.” Minho says it slowly. Kibum’s eyes trail over the boy from earlier who was now positioning himself beside Minho again as he smiled at Kibum. “This is Changmin hyung, a friend of mine from an old job. He helped me snag this current one.”
“I’m guessing you’re Kibum.” Changmin tilts his head to one side as he considers the boy before him.
Kibum stares. “Sorry, do I know you from somewhere?”
“No. I know your name coz Minho likes to talk about you.” He says matter of factly and Kibum remembers hearing a small beep before Minho raises one brow and faces Changmin.
“Yah,” Minho whispers.
“A lot.” Changming adds with emphasis to which Minho takes Kibum by the arm, fingers missing the first of Kibum’s bracelets by an inch and starts dragging him away from the older boy.
“Wanna see my dressing room.” Minho says more than asks and Kibum allows his head to look back at Changmin who was still smiling at them, hands in his pockets.
---
“Do you like chess?” it’s all that Minho asks before they speed towards the road in Kibum’s car.
Minho leads Kibum to a park somewhere around the area he lives in. It’s peaceful, surprisingly enough, with trees planted firmly on the grounds. Kibum parks his car a few feet away from a gate that was left ajar, rusty and old. Inside were groups of men of different ages gathering in the middle of the grassy field bordered with trees.
“What’s going on?” Kibum dips his hands in the front pockets of his black pants, walking after Minho.
“It’s a chess tournament. It happens every three months around my neighborhood. Men mostly participate more than women.” Minho explains as they near the crowd circling around what seems to be an intense game between a middle aged man, belly popping from underneath his red shirt (he looked like he dressed up for the occasion, stylish bastard) and a kid who looked no older than 15. He’s got a wide set of eyes, hooded now as he sinks further and further into a crouch over the table. Tummy, here, is making his move with his knight, skipping over a few pawns and going “Checkmate.” to confirm of his temporary victory. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back, eyeing the younger through beady, conquering eyes as if he’s certain he’s got this in the bag. Tummy’s friends are quite obvious even from the watching crowd since they keep howling every move he makes and staying behind him to give him a back rub. As if this was fucking wrestling.
Kibum gives Minho a glance from beside him and he sees the boy’s jaw lock up as he watches the younger player.
“Are you rooting for the kid?” Kibum whispers.
“I’d be crazy not to.” Minho whispers back, breath warm as it coats the shell of Kibum’s ear. “He’s never lost a match since he started playing.”
Kibum ‘s eyes go round in shock. “Never?” He mouths and Minho shakes his head, a knowing smile on his lips.
There’s a first time for everything though, Kibum thinks and by the looks of the positions of the pieces at the moment, the kid was, well, fucked, for lack of a better term. He’s lost his queen and all he has is a rook, both his bishops and about three pawns. Tummy still had his knight alive and one bishop, both rooks and about five pawns guarding the barrier of the board, one still left untouched.
The kid reaches over the table and at first Kibum thinks what the hell? But he sees what the kid is aiming for and even he feels stupid for not noticing it in the first place. The kid reaches for one of his pawns positioned by the edge of Tummy’s side of the board. With one push he replaces it with his queen and victoriously claims the game, earning him a cheer from the crowd, Minho and Kibum included, and a bow of respect from Tummy. He was good.
Kibum was just about to ask if Minho knew him when the kid turned away from the group to spot Minho, a smile forming on his lips. “Hyung!”
“Hi.” They clasp hands and Minho crushes him into a hug while ruffling his hair. “Fine work you did there.”
“Always.” The boy pushes away from Minho and cockily blows on his fingers.
“Kibum, this is my cousin Taemin.” Minho pushes the boy towards Kibum. Taemin’s orangey blonde bob cut bounces as he halts in front of Kibum. He stares at Kibum from behind the curtain of his fringe, his smile never leaving his face, making his eyes seem smaller than they actually were.
“Hey.” Kibum smiles back and they bow at the same time.
“Hi.” Taemin chirps. Minho clasps both of Taemin’s shoulders and spins him around. “What’s for dinner?”
“Mom made cake. And fried chicken.” Taemin answers at the same time he looks over Minho’s shoulders to wave at his other friends.
“You hungry, Kibum?”
He wanted to lie and say no, but his stomach betrayed him by grumbling the slightest bit, reminding him that all he had for lunch earlier was a pack of crackers that weren’t even the flavor that he liked.
---
Minho introduces Kibum to the rest of his family or who he could under the circumstances. Minho’s aunt was a lot older than Kibum had expected. Apparently they had Taemin pretty late. The lines of her face were undetectable whenever she would smile and joke around with both boys, allowing Kibum to feel at home instantly.
The whole house wasn’t any larger than Kibum’s kitchen and garage. It had this scent that was a mixture of laundry and cushions, air fresheners sprayed from cans and shoe polisher from their shoe cabinet. It smelled like a real house, where time has taken its course and blazed the house with stories and age. The wood paneling of the walls was slightly chipped but the carpets where clean and blue despite everything.
Minho and Taemin lead Kibum to their room, a smaller version of the house at the end of the hall next to the bathroom. The moment they walk in Taemin moves and plops down on his bed in the middle of the room. Minho’s bed was still neatly in place, sheets cream and pillows white, as it stayed glued to the wall. In between the two beds was a dresser which contained a machine that looked similar to an enlarged car radio. Minho walks over to it when he notices Kibum’s questioning stare.
“It’s for my LVAD.” Minho explains as he bends over to pick up a cord that was rolled up. He raises it to where Kibum can see it. “At night I have to connect my LVAD here and sort of. Charge.”
“Like a robot?” Kibum mused, eyes never leaving the machine.
“Now. You know. Too much.” Minho says in a robotic tone, eyes open dangerously wide and only looking past Kibum’s head. “I must. Des. Troy you.”
Taemin takes one of his pillows and tosses it at Minho’s head. The taller male does a 180 spin from walking towards Kibum and plunges on top of the blonde, holding him captive under his long limbs.
“Kibum hyung! Help!” Taemin reaches out a hand that Minho smacks away.
Kibum clicks his tongue once and feigns turning around, claiming to be better than any of this immature banter, but instantly turns back around to wrap his arms around Minho’s waist.
“Unhand the boy, Choi!”
“That rhymes.”
“Ow, my spleen!”
“Guys watch my fucking wires!”
---
Minho’s uncle looked slightly younger than his aunt; Kibum noticed when he finally arrives thirty minutes before dinner time. He kicks off his shoes and Kibum shoots off the couch to bow at the older man. The man smiles at him and they exchange introductions.
“What do your parents do, Kibum?” Dinner had finally been served and Kibum gathers with the rest of them around the table, passing the bowl of kimchi towards Taemin when Minho’s uncle spoke up.
“My dad’s an engineer. My mom owns a small bakery in our neighborhood.” Kibum supplies.
“You must be pretty well off then.” He doesn’t say it with an air of impoliteness but Kibum suddenly feels uncomfortable about the subject.
“We’re okay. Treatment is still pretty rough on our finances, though.” Kibum nods as he steals a glance at Minho who was in the middle of plucking half a peeled hardboiled egg from the plate with his chopsticks. He looks back at Kibum, the egg slipping from his chopsticks, and smiles. “Plus, there’s school to worry about too so.”
“Where do you go?” Taemin asks from beside him. “I bet you go to Haneul, don’t you?”
Kibum’s eyes light up. “Yeah, how’d you know?”
“That’s where all my rich friends go.” Taemin pushes his mouthful of rice to one side of his mouth in order to answer while Kibum’s ears grow increasingly scarlet. “I hear you guys have a pool.”
“It’s not that. I mean. Haneul’s not all that great.” Kibum tries. Minho chews slowly from his other side to hear Kibum.
“I bet it’s no worse than Chodong.” Kibum’s heard of Chodong high school. He hasn’t been hearing some very nice things. In fact, learning that Taemin went there, it worried him a bit to think that someone as skinny and fragile would go there everyday.
“You go there?”
“Yeah. Minho hyung used to go there too.”
“We wish that he didn’t have to stop either.” Minho’s uncle expressed with obvious distaste for the matter. Kibum sensed the sudden tension in the room, his aunt’s eyes staring at her food, Taemin chewing in silence while Minho’s hand forms a fist from underneath the table.
“Kibum.” Minho’s aunt’s voice floats across the table, sending Kibum’s eyes to fixate on hers. “More rice?”
“Yes please.”
---
“They’re not very happy about a few things.”
“I see that.” Kibum answers, hands in his jacket pocket as Minho walks him to his car. There’s been a thought itching at Kibum’s brain and he voices it out once they’re by his car door. “You’ve known about your heart for seven years, right?”
Minho nods.
“Then why have you not been on the list since knowing about it?”
“Oh, uhmm.” Minho uses one hand to rub his nape. “I applied for the list a year after getting my pacemaker because Jinki hyung said that it wouldn’t keep me stable for long. But I got my pacemaker done by another doctor in another hospital and when I had to undergo a blood test for the list they found out that I somehow acquired hepatitis C from the blood transfusion in my last operation. I wasn’t cleared up ‘til late. Well, ‘til very late.” Minho finishes with a smile.
Kibum’s eyes remain fixed on Minho and they stay that way for a while, Minho feeling strangely comfortable under the scrutiny.
“My aunt got you leftovers.” Minho suddenly sticks out the plastic bag he’s brought with him from inside the house.
“You don’t have too.” Kibum politely pushes the plastic away from his reach, but Minho’s quicker. He sticks it back in Kibum’s hand and curls his fingers around the handle.
“Take it.” Minho probes, his hair shining in brown strands below the street lights.
“I’d leave school if I could. To work.” Kibum confesses out of nowhere, Minho’s palms are still comfortably resting atop his hand. Kibum stares at their fingers, his breath quickening even if he’s just standing there under the light. His thumb moves across Minho’s skin.
“Don’t.” is all Minho replies, not allowing Kibum much to decipher.
They’re unexpectedly standing very close to one another and Kibum tries not to look up because he doesn’t want Minho to see him up close like this. And he can feel his heart. He hasn’t felt it beat this way in a long time, not for anything or anyone. But for the first time he isn’t afraid of how hard it’s beating no matter how similar it is to the times right before he collapses into darkness. Minho’s hands feel a bit calloused around Kibum’s moisturized skin, but he could get used to the texture. Without meaning to Kibum’s concentrating so hard on the roughness of Minho’s pads, slipping the feel in the folds of his brain, a new addition to the memories he wants to keep for a long time, like the smell of vanilla or the first drop of rain after a long summer’s month.
A beeping sound, familiar and pitchy, attacks both their ears and Minho finally lets go of his hand to fix the machine in his knapsack. He’s fumbling with the Velcro again, just like the first time he saw Minho the day before.
Seeing Minho walk through the doors of the hospital for the first time, his head held high as he crossed the halls, never did he think that the boy would be this ungainly or good-natured. He seemed so unapproachable then, so distant. Now Kibum was standing in front of his building reaching for his keys in the depths of his pocket as he watches Minho push a few buttons here and there to calm the machine. The silence rolls back around and Minho looks up at Kibum almost like he’s embarrassed.
“What’s wrong with that thing?” Kibum finally asks, twirling the keys in his hand before slipping it past the key hole of his car door.
“It’s only supposed to beep when it’s running out of batteries. But Jinki hyung insisted that they add this sensor so that people can tell when my heart’s beating irregularly or something, either from exhaustion or nervousness or …” Minho’s voice trails off, throat drying when Kibum finds the fact interesting enough to test it. Kibum lunges forward until he’s an inch away from Minho’s face, mouth split in a malicious grin, silencing Minho.
“Do I make you nervous?” He whispers, every breath reaching Minho and he can almost smell a hint of the mint candy he popped in his mouth earlier after dinner.
“N-“, before Minho can answer his machine starts beeping again and Kibum has to hold on to the car for support to keep himself from falling to the ground from laughing too much.
Minho silences the machine again, this time taking the initiative to back away from Kibum. Kibum calms down from laughing, tears appearing in the corners of his eyes. He wipes them with the crook of his forefinger and straightens up the same time Minho continues to walk back towards his house, his back facing the door as he proceeds to look at Kibum with a shy smile.
“Are you free tomorrow?” Minho asks when he’s a few feet away that he has to semi shout.
“It’s a Saturday.”
“So?”
“So, don’t you think I have plans? Don’t you think I’m a popular guy?”
“Do you have plans?”
“Text me tomorrow, I’ll let you know.” Kibum unlocks his car. He waits for Minho to enter his building before starting the engine and driving out onto the highway. He didn’t have plans that weekend. He hasn’t had plans in a while. But he has a feeling that even if he did he’d probably skip them.
---
Kibum’s been restraining himself from checking his phone all morning. He doesn’t like Minho the way that he’s liked the girls that he’s met. He likes Minho in an unlikely way, the kind of way that makes him want to spend time with the boy and turn his brain off for the rest of the day. It’s different with him. He’s not soft, doesn’t need protection, and doesn’t need reassurance all the time. But Kibum’s never liked boys before. Although he figures that it’s more than understandable considering that the male person he spends the most time with is Jonghyun. And Jonghyun was just… as alluring as road kill. And even the slightest sexual thoughts involving his best friend was as appealing to him as having his own puke for breakfast.
Kibum fished his phone from the inside of his jacket pocket while watching Jonghyun from his side of their dining table, gobbling down the newest chicken sandwich from the fast food chain they stopped by before going to Kibum’s house. Kibum ordered the salad while Jonghyun explained which of the orders he wanted. Kibum wanted to throw up on the sandwich’s description.
“It has two chicken fillets as the bun and bacon and mayo in between.” Was Jonghyun’s explanation.
“Do you want extra mayo with that or would you like me to just stab you in the heart?” Kibum begins as he punches in his lock code. Jonghyun smiles, cheeks bulking up with chicken, bacon and mayo.
“It’s really good.” He mumbles through his mouthful.
“You do realize that by eating that in front of me you’re being an asshole and ignoring my condition, right?”
Jonghyun shrugs as if what Kibum has said just went over his head and began eating again.
Kibum sees that he has one message unread and he holds his breath like that was the appropriate thing to do until the message loads and he finds out that it’s just one of his other friends. His face falls to an evident frown.
“Problem?” Jonghyun wipes his mouth with a tissue.
Kibum stabs his lettuce with a fork. “Just shut up and eat your heart attack sandwich.”
“Jeez, grumpy. Was just checking.”
Kibum stuffs his phone back in his pocket.
“Are you waiting for a text?”
“No.” Kibum bites into his meal. “Do I look like I’m fucking waiting?”
“No, but you’re acting like a fucking bitch right now and I haven’t even done anything yet.”
Kibum’s fork drops to his plate. He pushes his plate away to lay his head on their expensive, glass made dining table. “I’m so pathetic.”
“Is this about Minho?”
Kibum’s head shoots up and they lock eyes. Kibum averts his gaze at one of the paintings hanging above the pristinely painted walls. “No.” He places his head back down.
“Bullshit, Kim Kibum.”
“Fuck you. Stop acting like you know what’s going through my head.” Kibum mumbles on the glass, fogging up the surface.
“Fuck you. That’s why we’re friends.”
“Fuck you. You’re only friends with me coz of my money.”
“Fuck you. I’m not some gold digging road whore.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, fuck you!”
“What are we talking about?”
“Minho?” Jonghyun finishes the remnants of his sandwich and wipes his fingers. “So, I guess you’re gay now, huh?”
“Not as gay as your dad…” Kibum mumbles under his breath, into his hands that were gathered over his mouth.
“What?”
“I said, aren’t you glad?” Kibum smiles innocently, batting his eyelashes in such a way that he deems flirtatious.
Jonghyn glares. “Aren’t you gonna tell him?”
“Tell who what?” Kibum checks his phone again, two new messages, none from Minho. He throws his phone on the table.
“Kibum, do your heart a favor and stop stressing it further. What have you got to lose?”
“You think you’re so smart.”
“And I’m not? Tell me I’m wrong. Go ahead, Kibum. I dare yo-“
“You’re wrong.”
“Kibum!” Jonghyun whines as he leans over the table. “I’m not gonna hate you for liking a guy.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“Then what’s up?”
Kibum stares at his best friend, forcing his words mentally through his thick head so that he won’t have to voice out what he thinks. He just doesn’t want to hear it said by himself. It’s gonna sound mean. “I’m not supposed to like him. I’m supposed to get better, Jjong. Not meet someone.”
“That’s not a nice way of seeing this whole thing.”
“Then put it into perspective for me.” Kibum challenges.
“Okay.” Jonghyun straightens in his seat. “Okay, I will. You like him. He might be desperate enough to get with you. Both your hearts are fucked up. He’s a ten. You’re a seven-“
Kibum throws the flowers in the vase by the center of the dining table at Jonghyun and hits him square in the face. Jonghyun holds the flowers away and laughs, Kibum joining him shortly after a few seconds of glaring at him. “This is serious, Jjong.”
“I’m not kidding.” Jonghyun places the flowers back in the vase. “You’re the one who’s taking everything so seriously. Just have fun and don’t forget to breathe before the big fall.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Stop ruining every word of wisdom I pass onto you.” Jonghyun points his finger at Kibum the same time Kibum’s phone vibrates on the table. Kibum’s hands practically dive for it while Jonghyun unbuttons his jeans and burps.
Hey wer r u? Minho’s text finally comes and Kibum can’t help the smile tugging on his lips as he sinks into his chair. He feels like a school girl and the more he thinks about Minho, imagining him typing the message down and scrolling over the names in his phone in search of Kibum’s… maybe he even knows Kibum’s number by heart… wait, no. Kibum scrunches his nose and purses his lips.
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
He stretches his right hand before typing down a reply.
---
Kibum doesn’t know why he agreed to Jonghyun coming with them, but he passed a pretty convincing argument when he was stepping into Kibum’s car no matter how many times Kibum shouts into his ear for him to get out.
“I’m gonna see how he feels about you.”
“Coz you’re just an expert when it comes to human emotions?”
“Have you any idea how many people I’ve slept with, Kibum?”
“I’d say one but I’m not sure your right hand counts.” They both indulge in mock laughter before Kibum turns his eyes back on the road. Jonghyun moves to the backseat when they park in front of Minho’s building. Kibum pulls at his best friend’s shirt when Jonghyun tries to squeeze in between the driver’s seat and the passenger seat to fall, head first in the back.
“What the fuck, Jjong?”
“You guys can share the front.”
“It’ll seem weird if I drove all the way here with you in the backseat.”
“It’s not weird, Kibum that’s all in your head coz you’re head over heels in love with him.”
“Fine!” Kibum stops tugging and Jonghyun falls with a shout in the backseat.
Minho appears from the other side of the apartment main door a few minutes after Kibum texted him of his location. Minho opens the front door of the passenger’s side and waves at Jonghyun in the back.
After five minutes of passing the question “Where do you wanna go?” around and to no resolve, Jonghyun finally chirps in and suggests that they visit the arcade in the town mall. Minho’s too polite to say no and Kibum takes his silence as Minho being content.
They drive off to the town mall with mostly Jonghyun asking Minho more questions about himself and Kibum listening as if it were a radio talk show, opting to keep the actual radio off for the duration of the ride. Every so often Jonghyun would nudge Kibum and try to get him to join in on the conversation but Kibum was mildly bothered by the fact that Jonghyun was there. For some reason, he wanted to kick Jonghyun out of the car, more so than the other times he felt similar urges to do so.
Be that as it may, Jonghyun did provide the mood by never losing a topic to talk about and Minho seemed to be enjoying his company. Maybe a little too much. Kibum purses his lips as he forces his eyes on the road. Was Jonghyun that much more interesting to talk to?
They finally arrive at the mall and as they walk out of the car and across the parking lot Minho and Jonghyun are still talking each other’s ears off. Kibum realizes that the steering wheel can no longer be used as an excuse for his current state of silence, but he really doesn’t want to butt in. It’s weird, he thinks. He feels as if he might be interrupting Minho and Jonghyun from their conversation even though he was a part of the trio as well as Jonghyun’s best friend for longer.
They make it to the arcade, Kibum eyeing the sea of students and couples walking past, colorful machinery in play with unique sounds and buzzes. They stride towards the token booth first and Minho insists on paying for their tokens. Jonghyun doesn’t object but of course Kibum was going to. Minho gets his wallet out first and Kibum feels flustered by the simplest gestures. Seeing Minho in this setting was also finally taking its effect on Kibum in a way only love struck teenagers would find appealing. Minho’s bangs and the way he has to sweep them out of his face in order to see the bills in his wallet, the way his biceps flex around the right places as he reaches for his back pocket in order to deposit his wallet back, his smiles when he collect s the tokens, the way his smile widens when he eyes Kibum and hands him five tokens to spare. Kibum knew then and there that maybe he had it bad for this guy and it shouldn’t have to be that way considering the circumstances. He wants to disregard the metal pacemaker inside of him but he feels it every time he sees Minho’s white tube connected to his LVAD. He’s reminded of the brutal reality and finds himself stuck between wanting to leave it all and wanting to get better. And sometimes, at night he finds himself hating the way the latter was much more appealing.
Jonghyun accidentally bumps into Kibum’s shoulder on his way to the first House of the Dead machine he sees and Minho follows the excited teen, patting Kibum’s shoulder where Jonghyun had hit it as he does so. Kibum’s skin burns, irregularly so, where he feels Minho’s pads. He spins around and watches the two insert two tokens in the slot, hitting the buttons to begin their game.
Next
Pairing: minho/key
Genre: au, drama, romance
Rating: pg - 13
Summary: wherein kibum and minho are heart patients.
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
-- If I Can Stop by Emily Dickinson
Kibum’s room is who he is. His room was a mess of stringed events, phases that have come and passed, pictures of people whom he met, kept and left.
Funny how that was all he could think about now that he’s 16 and he’s seated before the eminent and well known cardiothoracic surgeon of South Korea, Dr. Lee Jinki, both his parents by his side opposite the surgeon’s desk. Now, Dr. Lee told Kibum of his fate. That his time was much more limited than it originally was. That his heart was going to fail him in less than a month unless he replaces it with a new one. One that is not his own.
Kibum stares at his bracelets, a collection of beads in gold and pink, circling his arm in a thick embrace, giving it the illusion that it’s about to fall off. In Kibum’s periphery he sees his mother’s lips quiver in candid fear while his father sternly looks at Dr. Lee as if waiting for an alternative.
“His heart is of its weakest stage right now which will explain why he lost consciousness during the game earlier. And the only solution we’re looking at for the moment is for him to undergo an operation wherein a pacemaker will aid his heart beats.
“Ideally, Kibum should be granted a new heart before his condition worsens. So if you would like to place Kibum on the list you should state your interest now because the process is rather complicated and… it’s going to take a while.” Dr. Lee continues without a trace of remorse. His tone was flaccid and Kibum didn’t know what he estimated of a man who has been delivering news like this to people with his condition for years, to patients of far worse situations, of younger ages.
They do all the arrangements, all of the talking and hand shaking. His mother wipes her tears away while trying as best she could not to look at her son and feel the reality of everything. She’s holding up pretty well, Kibum decides.
Everything happens in slow motion almost. But he soaks it all in; his parents looking over the papers that will place Kibum on the list of recipients, his mother’s hand on his without even sparing him a weak glance, his father clearing up the protocols and ways to go about the donation and the heart he was to receive. He watches everything play out without really listening. Kibum is suddenly reminded of school and how people would respond upon hearing of his misfortune. Would they care? What about his relatives? Would they call him and visit him and let him know of their sympathy? The idea of everyone looking at him with repentant eyes suddenly burns into his skull and he senses his own eyes narrow at the thought. What would they know? It wasn’t their hearts that needed help.
Suddenly, Kibum can’t take in the right amount of air that his lungs need, the lapel of his shirt is clinging around his neck much tighter and the walls are closing in on him. His body moves on its own accord and he finds himself bolting from the office and sprinting through the halls of the hospital, white everywhere, people’s faces blurring together in a fleshy pink line around him as his pace quickens. His name is being called, pulling at him to turn back but he refuses. He wants to run and feel his youth while he can.
And just as he’s about to exit the hospital he feels a vice-like grip squeezing the muscles of his heart. He halts too hastily and staggers to the floor. When he lifts himself from the floor his face scrunches up as the pain gets worse and one of his hands fly to his chest, clawing at the fabric of his clothes, nails slightly scratching the skin underneath.
His parents are instantly by his side, his mother smothering him in a hug as she finally breaks down, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer. She’s begging for a miracle. She’s begging with all that she is, with everything that she can while his father kneels beside him. Kibum folds over himself as he sits on his calves. He wants to pull away from his mother, to feel himself breathe normally, but he can’t push her away because he’s begging for the same miracle that she is.
The people start to stare and Kibum hears Dr. Lee come up from behind them. He helps them out of the hospital, speaking with Kibum’s father first before they drive off. Kibum hears clips of their conversation, how Kibum was to be at the hospital tomorrow for his operation, how he was not allowed to do a repeat of the stunt he pulled earlier and how he was to return to the hospital for check-ups every month. Kibum drowns out the rest of the conversation by sticking his earphones in his ears and raising the volume of his iPod on full blast.
When he steps into his room his mother’s cries bleed through the walls. Kibum walks towards the mirror above his dresser and he stares at his reflection. His eyes were still small and pointy, his lips, however, grew fuller. His skin cleared up too, still milky and features still prominent. His hair was no longer in its previous, rainbow like state with his high lights. He dyed it back to a chocolate brown a week ago, thinking that he wanted to go back to his roots. He was young and he always thought that dying was an option only for those who acknowledged it. He was never one of those people. Kibum loved his life. He never did anything to ruin his health, he never smoked or drank too much or did drugs. He never slit his wrists, never hated himself to the point of self abuse. The most he’s ever done to put himself in danger was when he got into a fight a long time ago. He would accept things better had he indulged in temptation and vices. So why? Why do this to him?
Why, of all the hearts beating in all parts of the world, is his being shot to hell?
His slim fingers trace the outline of a Marvin the Martian figurine Jonghyun gifted him with on his birthday before lifting it in his palm. He takes a few steps back from the mirror, gaze roaming back to his reflection. Then he flings the figurine towards the mirror, every piece detaching from one another in random, ill-defined ruins.
He spins on his heel and jumps on his bed, ruining the sheets as he stumbles towards his posters and shreds each one to colorful pieces of paper, raining on the carpet and his bed. Then he moves to his closet and starts pulling clothes from hangers, chucking them in all directions, his breathing labored with every movement.
It’s starting again. The pain-the acid-like liquid crawling over his heart and capturing it in an agonizing, unforgiving grip. With the last of the clothes on his hangers, he claws at the sleeves, fighting for balance when his chest punishes him. When he loosens his grip and falls to the floor, that’s when his tears finally streak down his porcelain cheeks, rendering Kibum into a crying mess while his room cries with him, tears in the form of cut up posters, broken glass and wrinkled fabric.
---
The tenderness over his cut subsides in about three weeks, but Kibum is still trying to get used to the mini machine stuck in his left shoulder. During his first week he remembers lifting his left arm and sensing the most bizarre sensation of the wires digging and moving slightly in his flesh.
He comes back to school when a month passes by and all his teachers agreed to exempt him in PE. Kibum wanted to throw a fit when they temporarily took him off the volleyball varsity team, but to be completely honest, he was too… tired.
He was tired with the restless days in school and the restless nights in his blank room. He was tired of the thought that his heart can’t beat right anymore and that anything strenuous or exciting could cause his pacemaker to cease functionality. He was tired of waiting for someone in the world to sequentially die for him to keep living. Kibum hated putting it that way, but that’s the only perspective it fits in.
People die every day just as much as new people live. One of them must be bound to have Kibum’s new heart. However, thoughts about a different heart crossed his mind from time to time. The idea of a machine inside of him felt unnatural enough as it was so Kibum couldn’t even imagine what it would be like having something as foreign as another human heart stuck in his chest. He didn’t like to think about the details. About how this person has a family just like him and how this person was probably never planning to give their heart away.
The pain killers helped a lot during his recovery and he was surprised at the many hours he found himself sleeping for the duration of the day. During the weekends he would usually go out and walk around the city, maybe invite Jonghyun to come with him. But now he didn’t want to face Jonghyun. He didn’t know how to go about explaining to his best friend that he’s waiting in line for a heart because his current one is failing miserably. He didn’t want to have to see the way Jonghyun’s eyes would go round, then soft, then just plain lost. So, he stays at home where no secrets are worth keeping. Where he still hears his mother calling the doctor every once in a while because of minor complaints he voiced out earlier. Kibum made a mental note to never let his mother know of the aches. No use worrying her more so than he already has.
---
He knew that he could not avoid Jonghyun forever, especially since the other boy had the radar of a bat when it came to him. But he had to give himself credit for being able to hide from Jonghyun for this long in view of the fact that Jonghyun knew where he lived and that they went to the exact same school. Kibum thinks that not being in any of Jonghyun’s classes this year bodes well for him considering the circumstances.
“So, how, uhmm.” Jonghyun gestures wildly about his shoulders as a way of trying to ask Kibum exactly what the hell he was talking about sticking machinery into skins and whatnot. “They just shoved it in there?”
They’re situated in a park a few blocks away from Kibum’s house. The sun was setting in the horizon, the sky painting the empty park in orange hues of warmth. Kibum and Jonghyun sit side by side on the swings, kicking at the ground a few times.
“Yeah.” Kibum nods, both hands clutching the chains holding the swing up.
“What for? Like, what’s wrong with you-your heart, I mean.” Jonghyun clumsily corrects himself when one of Kibum’s brows rises.
“Basically,” Kibum begins as he tries to simplify everything that he’s learned about his heart thus far. “My heart just isn’t capable of beating properly anymore. It stops sometimes which is why the beats are irregular and why they had to put a pacemaker in me. Dr. Lee calls it congenital heart disease.”
“So, you need a new heart?”
“In the simplest sense, yeah.” Kibum nods. It felt surprisingly relieving to talk to someone about it, Kibum decides as he rubs his hand over the beads of his bracelets, moving them around like mini rolling pins over his wrist. “I still have a shitload of tests to go through before getting on the list of recipients, though.”
“Why?”
“Policy.”
“I don’t know if you heard but when you just fainted that night during the game and someone said that you weren’t breathing I thought you were a goner. I went pale. Paper white. I’m talking about Casper and all of his uncles put toge-“
“-I think I get.” Kibum smiles.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore. I used to feel sore, like, my whole left chest and arm and all that was bruised. But that was right after the surgery and I had to stay in the hospital for a day. I complained about the soreness to Dr. Lee and he gave me pain killers to get me by.”
“Dr. Lee’s your…”
“Surgeon. Yeah.”
“And he’s gonna do the whole operation once you get a new heart?”
Kibum nods.
“What’s he like? I mean, you know. Is he, uhmm, capable and shit?”
“He’s one of the highest paid cardiothoracic surgeons in the country. I’m pretty sure he’s capable. And shit.”
“I never thought. It’s just. Are you. Are you scared?”
Kibum considers Jonghyun’s question for a bit, squinting at the sun as he does so. It’s almost completely gone now. “No.” He’s quite certain he isn’t scared. “It’s more of worry than fear. Like, there’s so much I wanna do and I feel like half of my life hasn’t even gone by and already my days are being counted. At age seventeen. It just doesn’t seem fair sometimes.”
“I’m kinda scared.” Jonghyun half whispers.
“Yeah well, you’ve always been kind of a bitch.” Kibum reaches out to shove Jonghyun and his swing to the side.
“Kibum, I’m serious.” Kibum stares at Jonghyun’s profile, his brows furrowing. “You’re my best friend.”
They stay quiet after that, allowing the night breeze to sweep through their hair and clothes.
“Remember,” Jonghyun begins. “that time that we talked about taking a break after graduating high school? That we were gonna go backpacking through Europe first for a few months before college?”
Kibum smiles. “Yeah. I remember.”
“I want that to happen, Kibum.” Jonghyun sniffs. He brings a hand up to rub his eyes from the tears that haven’t crawled down his cheek yet. “I want you and me on a fucking plane to London after graduation. And by the time we get to college we’re gonna room in together and meet girls and go partying and you’re gonna start drinking-“
“-Ha.”
“Would it be wrong if I asked you to promise me that you’ll live?”
Kibum lets out a breathy laugh. “No. But I’d rather you didn’t. In the three years that we’ve been best friends not once did I break any of my promises. I don’t plan on starting now, Jjong.”
Kibum wanted to promise Jonghyun. He just couldn’t take the look in Jonghyun’s eyes or the desperation in his voice. Kibum wasn’t used to his show of affection and vulnerability and had this emotion been caused by anything else he would probably break Jonghyun’s face out of irritation. But his best friend was crying for him. And Kibum figures that the least he can do is be honest.
“Can you promise me something though?” Jonghyun doesn’t answer Kibum, instead choosing to blink at him. “Don’t ever look at me the way you did a minute ago.”
“How was I looking at you a minute ago?” Jonghyun toes at the patch of grass before him, the swing pushing back.
“Like I was some dying kid.” Kibum says to the clouds.
“Technically, we’re all heading towards that direction, Kibum.”
“Still.” Kibum sighs. “I don’t want your pity.”
It’s a year after his surgery that Kibum finally makes it into the list of heart transplant recipients. It just adds to his hope of a much normal life, where nothing inside of him was made of metal.
Three months pass by and there’s still no news about a heart reserved for Kibum’s safety. By the fourth month Kibum had half a mind to give up. The pacemaker was there and it was working fine. But even Dr. Lee says that pacemakers are not permanent solutions for his condition.
There was a time when he was washing his hands in the male’s lavatory in school and his throat felt as if it was closing in on itself. He lost consciousness then and there, only coming to a few days later in the hospital after going under the knife again because his pacemaker suddenly stopped working. It was after that experience that Kibum realized how fragile he had become.
---
Dr. Lee doesn’t smile very much, Kibum confirms as he sits atop the hospital bed, his feet dangling above the floor, his shirt forlornly strewn behind him. Dr. Lee placed the bell of the stethoscope somewhere on Kibum’s back, one hand on Kibum’s shoulder to keep his posture straight.
“Take a deep breath.” He orders and Kibum complies.
He sets the stethoscope to hang loosely by his neck as he reaches for his clipboard and scribbles on Kibum’s file. The wait had been gruesome, for Kibum especially since he had to go home to his mother from every check up and dampen her spirits once more. His father was rarely home anymore as he tried to balance out the money that they needed for Kibum’s treatment as well as his upcoming surgery once a donor is present. Heart transplants were no joke.
“Is your new medication to your liking?”
“Yeah. Uhmm. I’m a bit drowsy during the day, though.”
“That’s normal. Your body is probably responding to the switch, but you should be fine soon. Is it affecting your sleeping cycle?”
“Not necessarily.” Kibum shakes his head as he reaches for his shirt. The bandage on his shoulder was removed months ago, the scar renewed and permanent with every cut made. “I’ve uhh,” Kibum starts again as he slips into his shirt. “I’ve been back on the team for weeks now. The coach hasn’t kicked me off yet.”
“That’s good to hear. You know they’re just worried about you, though.” Dr. Lee offers with a curt smile, so polite and appropriate.
“Of course.” Kibum hops off the bed and lands on his feet. “Oh, and my mom wanted to ask…” That was only half true. “About the donor...”
Dr. Lee runs his tongue over his lips and sticks the pen in the clip of the clipboard. “Not today, Kibum-ah. I’m sorry. I’ll let you know when we’ve got one ready for you.”
“Right, yeah, no.” Kibum blurts out too quickly. “I just. She’s been bothering me a lot so.”
Dr. Lee offers Kibum another one of his polite smiles and he can’t help but be kind of grateful for the professionalism he’s being proffered. With the exception of Jonghyun, everyone else that Kibum spends most of his time with has done nothing but tiptoe around him as if trying to break the surface without trying hard enough.
He’s on his way out of the automatic sliding doors when they part a few feet away and a boy enters, tall, hair a lighter shade of brown in comparison to his with big, round eyes and a chiseled jaw. Kibum couldn’t help but stare inconspicuously (if turning your head away while keeping your eyes rolled towards the boy could be considered inconspicuous). He was wearing a yellow shirt, rounded collar with the sleeves folded high and khaki pants loose around his long legs. He wore a white backpack, and Kibum automatically assumed that the guy was an intern of sorts. There was also this white wire sticking out from underneath the boy’s shirt, curling over to connect to the back with his bag. Earphones, they looked like.
And Kibum was able to observe all of this within a matter of seconds of passing the boy by, yet the boy didn’t even spare him a glance.
---
“Does he give out candy like other doctors?”
“Jonghyun if you want candy go to the fucking Seven Eleven downstairs.” Kibum crosses his legs at the same time he flips through his magazine in the waiting room of the hospital, the beads of his bracelets bumping against one another, serving as the only sound in the waiting room apart from the buzzing of the TV and the occasional ring of the announcements.
Jonghyun shifts in his seat, his pants creating a squeaky noise when it moves against the plastic covered cushions. Jonghyun pouts as he leans over his knees, one foot tapping against the floor.
“Why are you even here?”
“If caring too much about you is a crime then lock me up.” Jonghyun says to dignify himself, only causing Kibum to mock gag on a picture of Jessica Jung and Lee Donghae in the tabloid magazine. “It smells like Clorox in here. And not the good kind.”
“I thought you’d be used to it what with your mom giving birth to you in a plantation site.”
“Kibum, she did not give birth to me in a plantation.”
“Explain why you’re so retarded then.”
Jonghyun shoves Kibum by the shoulder to which the other boy responds by swatting his now rolled up magazine on Jonghyun’s head over and over until Jonghyun lies on his side of the chair, laughing out pleas for Kibum to stop.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound halts both boys and they simultaneously turn their heads around to the row of chairs behind them that they thought were empty and where they think the source of the sound is.
Kibum recognized his mop of hair instantly. The khaki pants wearing boy from last month. The boy’s hands are shaking as he detaches the Velcro lock of his knapsack apart and plucks the tiny, beeping machine from it. He holds it with both hands and pushes a few things. Kibum and Jonghyun pass each other questioning stares before returning their eyes to the boy who was struggling with the machine.
“Shit…” Kibum hears him mumble. He reaches for his backpack, occupying the seat next to him. Inside is another similar looking machine, white, clean if not for a few stickers here and there that were indistinguishable from where Kibum was seated. The beeping dies down when the boy attaches the tube to the other machine. He fixes up, closes his backpack and places the little machine back inside his knapsack. And Kibum and Jonghyun are still inappropriately staring. Even as the boy looks up and locks stares with both of them.
“Cardiomyopathy.” The boy speaks after a few moments of awkward silence between the three of them.
“Sorry?” Jonghyun asks for the both of them since Kibum’s throat is weirdly dry.
“Cardiomyopathy: disease involving heart muscles and their inability to do what they’re supposed to.” He supplies, looking at both boys. “And this little baby-“ He raises the knapsack containing the mini machine and adds another one from his pocket, it’s smaller and much more rectangular in shape. “-is my LVAD.”
“LVAD?” Jonghyun asks again. Kibum sensed how the scene was a bit wrong but he was just as curious as Jonghyun. Especially since he found out that this boy was a patient. A heart patient. Like him.
“Left Ventricular Assist Device. Somewhat similar to a pacemaker only much more… inconvenient.” He shakes the two devices in his hands to emphasize his point.
“So you’ve got a metal thing inside you too, huh?”
Kibum smacks Jonghyun’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Jjong!”
The boy smiles.
“What? He has CHD.” Jonghyun points at Kibum to which Kibum reacts violently towards, pushing Jonghyun out of his chair.
“Ignore him. His brain never grew to its full potential so in a nutshell, he’s a fucking idiot.” Kibum says with such mock remorse, one hand on his chest that the boy can’t help but smile wider at.
“Did you have to push me off the chair?”
“I’m Kibum.” Kibum ignores Jonghyun as he dusts himself off and sinks back down into his original seat. “This is Jonghyun.”
“Minho.” The boy introduces himself. “So, CHD, huh?”
“Oh. Pssh, yeah.” Kibum jokes. Then he pokes his left shoulder. “I’ve got a pacemaker in. Got it last year.”
“I was on a pacemaker before too.”
Kibum’s chin reflexively tucks inward from surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Minho nods. “When I was thirteen.”
“Woah. That’s some hardcore shit, man.” Jonghyun blurts out, jaw hanging in awe.
“I’m sorry.” It came out of nowhere. Kibum just felt like apologizing.
Minho and Kibum lock eyes, Minho’s smile slowly fading away as he stared into the chocolate pool of Kibum’s irises. Did Kibum say too much? Was Minho offended?
“Kim Kibum.” A nurse walks into the waiting room, clipboard in hand and all three boys turn to the door. She gives him a smile. “Dr. Lee will see you now.”
Kibum stands from his seat and gives one quick look at Minho before glaring at Jonghyun. “Behave.”
“I’m not a fucking dog.”
---
“I’ve been on the list for a little over four months now.” Minho answers Kibum’s question as they sat in the diner waiting for their orders, Jonghyun leaving the two of them to wander off in the counter and check the desserts available.
Jonghyun and Kibum decide to take Minho out to lunch after their check up and Kibum can’t help but stare every time he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “Me too. I think.” The loneliest four months in Kibum’s life, if you catch Kibum’s drift. “What’s it. Uhmm. How does it feel?”
“What? The LVAD?” Minho bunches his shirt up to reveal the white tube disappearing into a hole in Minho’s lower abdomen. Kibum has to lean over the table to get a better look. Turns out they weren’t earphones after all.
“That’s something you don’t see every day.” Kibum says, eyes fixated where the tube is piercing Minho’s stomach. Minho lowers his shirt.
“I see it every day. I wish I didn’t.” He jokes as he makes room for the orders the waitress has appeared with. She places each item down and when she walks away Kibum takes his milkshake and swirls the straw around.
“I thought this felt weird. I can’t even imagine.” Kibum refers to his pacemaker.
“So, how long have you known?”
Kibum takes a sip of his drink. “Since last year. Pretty recent. I just fainted on the court during a volleyball game in school. When they rushed me to the hospital they did a few tests first before finally realizing it was my heart. Took them a while because our family doesn’t have a history of anything cardio related.”
“How’d your friends and family take it?”
A memory of Kibum’s mother wailing and Jonghyun crying like a bitch enters his mind. “Better than I thought. My mom went crazy for a bit.”
“Understandable.”
“Yeah. I still catch her crying sometimes, you know? Like when we’re watching sad movies or out at dinner and the next table is discussing prom and graduation plans. She’s pretty extreme.”
“You still in school?”
“Yeah. I think I’d go crazy if I stayed at home. You?”
“I stopped a long time ago to work. Gotta help pay the bills.”
“Your mom’s cool with that?”
“She’s practically an iceberg,”
Kibum stares at Minho quizzically.
“She doesn’t care. If she did she’d be at home with me.” Minho shrugs.
Kibum worries on his lower lip, guiding the straw back to his mouth. The milkshake turns sour in his mouth. “Who do you live with?”
“With my aunt, uncle and my cousin. They’re nice. Really nice. I feel lucky despite everything.”
“And you’ve known Dr. Lee for longer than I have, huh?”
“Who? Jinki hyung? Yeah, yeah.” Minho nods. “He’s been my doctor since this all started seven years ago.”
“You call Dr. Lee, Ginseng?”
“Jinki.” Minho laughs. “It’s his name.”
“Oh.” Kibum smiles wryly then puffs out a low whistle. “Seven years. Huh. Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.” Minho gives a lopsided grin.
“Guess what I scored apart from this mountainous hot fudge sundae.” Jonghyun slides into the booth next to Kibum, their shoulders knocking together as he grips the glass that contained his sundae.
“Herpes?” Kibum aims his spoon at the glistening red cherry atop the white hill of ice cream situated at the mouth of the glass. But Jonghyun uses his much longer spoon to swat it away.
“Close.” Jonghyun scoops the tip of the sundae along with the cherry and shoots the spoon in his mouth while Minho enjoys the banter from his side of the table. “I godda date.” Jonghyun mumbles through his mouthful.
“What? With who?” Kibum’s head swings around the diner.
“With that cute little number over there in blue.”
“Fucker, all the waitresses are in blue.”
“Right! I mean, she’s got blonde-that one!” Jonghyun points at her with his spoon. The girl notices and instantly bats her eyelashes at their table before walking into the kitchen.
“God bless her soul.” Kibum does a sign of the cross.
“You’re not even catholic.”
“Am too. Don’t similarize me to your Satanic ways.”
“One, similarize isn’t a word, and two, you shouldn’t wear that shirt anymore. It makes you look fat.”
“One, yes it is and two,” Kibum kicks Jonghyun’s ankle from underneath the table, causing it to wobble when Kibum accidentally hits one of its legs in the process.
Minho’s hands fly to the surface to steady it. “Guys, keep it down.” He requests while trying not to laugh out loud.
They walk out of the diner much later during the day. Minho intended to part ways with them at the bus stop but Kibum insisted that he take him home. And since Kibum insisted by pushing Minho towards his car Minho found himself in the backseat, once again enjoying the two fight over the radio station.
They drive by Jonghyun’s house first. He gets out of the car but not without turning the radio off first just to get under Kibum’s skin.
“Later, Minho.” Jonghyun pats Minho’s shoulder before walking back towards his gate, the taller of the two switching to ride shotgun.
“Are you guys always that…”
“..loud?”
“Violent is more like it.” Minho amends with a smirk.
“It feels comforting.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Kibum exhales as he turns the wheel to round the corner. “even after everything he doesn’t act differently around me. He did, at one point. But he immediately switched it off and tried acting the way he always did around me. It’s comforting. Which way do I go?”
“Take a right at the next gas station.”
Minho speaks the directions for the rest of the ride and sometimes he catches his stare lingering over the dip of Kibum’s shirt where his collar bone and neck are exposed rather delicately. With the air conditioning of Kibum’s car deemed out of order, Kibum rolled down the windows on both sides to keep the ventilation on a decent level.
The breeze goes through Kibum’s brown hair, flipping his fringe in the opposite direction of where it was styled and Kibum has to chuck his head to the side to keep it from covering his eyes. In the middle of it all when Kibum’s fed up with straining his neck he uses one of his hands, the one farthest from Minho, to comb through his fringe and keep the hair in that one direction, his arm resting on the window of his car as he kept his other hand on the wheel.
Minho senses the slightest of a tug slyly making itself known on one corner of his mouth. He drops his stare to his long fingers and he feels Kibum look away from the road to spare him a glance. Kibum probably saw that reaction, the way Minho just smiled and looked away. But he said nothing of it. And the radio was doing a good job of playing low in the background.
Minho resides in the farther part of town, a place where apartment buildings where collected in a bulk, surrounded by open space and a bridge somewhere in the distance. They pull over by a red building, one that is almost identical to the rest while Minho gathers his things.
“Do you have school tomorrow?” Minho asks as he slips his hands into the straps of his backpack.
“Yeah.” Kibum pulls at the ends of his hair at his nape.
“Til what time?”
“Five.”
“You wanna hangout after?”
It was as if Kibum was an open book and Minho was reading every page without much trouble. “Ye. Yes. That. We should.” Kibum wants to hit his head on the steering wheel for stammering like a pirated DVD.
Minho isn’t bothered by it, though. In fact, Minho thinks it’s adorable when Kibum acts nervous like that and his mouse-like eyes go as round as they can. Minho felt the sudden urge to draw whiskers right between his tiny nose and pouty lips. He reaches into his back pocket for his phone instead. “Here, give me your number.”
Kibum gingerly programs his number in and hands the phone back. Minho presses a few buttons, eyes concentrating hard on the tiny screen. Then he flips it shut and flashes Kibum with a smile before tucking the phone back in his pocket. “I just sent you a text.”
“Okay.” Kibum feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Before he can reach for it Minho’s already stepping out from his car and shutting the door.
“Later!”
“Yeah, later.” Kibum distractedly adds just as he presses the read button on his phone and in comes Minho’s message on the screen.
Similarize isnt a word Kibum. Jus thot u shud knw. - Minho
---
Minho, as Kibum soon finds out, works in a grocery store. Not a tiny convenience store, a fucking grocery store, with a line of registers (Minho being assigned in one of them regularly) and a vegetable aisle that stretches from one end to the other, and meat sections… it was huge.
Kibum spots Minho instantly in one of the cash register lanes, punching items in and allowing each one to slide to the other person who was bagging them. He had his knapsack on again wrapped around his waist along with his apron which Kibum assumed was a part of his uniform. He’s on his way over to tap the boy on his shoulder when another boy who was the same height as Minho, give or take a few inches, comes over to his counter.
He grips Minho’s shoulder and talks to him while Minho bows and nods in response to whatever it was that he was saying. Kibum halts in his spot, a few feet away, observing the two exchange smiles and answers and, oh fuck no, he’s weirdly uncomfortable, like he’s suddenly being asked to walk on a pile of hot, scorching coal.
The boy catches a glimpse of him and Kibum acts on impulse, spins on his heel and is just about ready to leave when,
“Kibum?” Minho runs to him and blocks his way, smile on full force. “Where are you going? Didn’t you see me?”
“I did. I mean, I didn’t earlier. But. Now, I do.” Kibum nods carefully with every word. Minho nods with him, although the other male seems slightly confused.
“Right.” Minho says it slowly. Kibum’s eyes trail over the boy from earlier who was now positioning himself beside Minho again as he smiled at Kibum. “This is Changmin hyung, a friend of mine from an old job. He helped me snag this current one.”
“I’m guessing you’re Kibum.” Changmin tilts his head to one side as he considers the boy before him.
Kibum stares. “Sorry, do I know you from somewhere?”
“No. I know your name coz Minho likes to talk about you.” He says matter of factly and Kibum remembers hearing a small beep before Minho raises one brow and faces Changmin.
“Yah,” Minho whispers.
“A lot.” Changming adds with emphasis to which Minho takes Kibum by the arm, fingers missing the first of Kibum’s bracelets by an inch and starts dragging him away from the older boy.
“Wanna see my dressing room.” Minho says more than asks and Kibum allows his head to look back at Changmin who was still smiling at them, hands in his pockets.
---
“Do you like chess?” it’s all that Minho asks before they speed towards the road in Kibum’s car.
Minho leads Kibum to a park somewhere around the area he lives in. It’s peaceful, surprisingly enough, with trees planted firmly on the grounds. Kibum parks his car a few feet away from a gate that was left ajar, rusty and old. Inside were groups of men of different ages gathering in the middle of the grassy field bordered with trees.
“What’s going on?” Kibum dips his hands in the front pockets of his black pants, walking after Minho.
“It’s a chess tournament. It happens every three months around my neighborhood. Men mostly participate more than women.” Minho explains as they near the crowd circling around what seems to be an intense game between a middle aged man, belly popping from underneath his red shirt (he looked like he dressed up for the occasion, stylish bastard) and a kid who looked no older than 15. He’s got a wide set of eyes, hooded now as he sinks further and further into a crouch over the table. Tummy, here, is making his move with his knight, skipping over a few pawns and going “Checkmate.” to confirm of his temporary victory. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back, eyeing the younger through beady, conquering eyes as if he’s certain he’s got this in the bag. Tummy’s friends are quite obvious even from the watching crowd since they keep howling every move he makes and staying behind him to give him a back rub. As if this was fucking wrestling.
Kibum gives Minho a glance from beside him and he sees the boy’s jaw lock up as he watches the younger player.
“Are you rooting for the kid?” Kibum whispers.
“I’d be crazy not to.” Minho whispers back, breath warm as it coats the shell of Kibum’s ear. “He’s never lost a match since he started playing.”
Kibum ‘s eyes go round in shock. “Never?” He mouths and Minho shakes his head, a knowing smile on his lips.
There’s a first time for everything though, Kibum thinks and by the looks of the positions of the pieces at the moment, the kid was, well, fucked, for lack of a better term. He’s lost his queen and all he has is a rook, both his bishops and about three pawns. Tummy still had his knight alive and one bishop, both rooks and about five pawns guarding the barrier of the board, one still left untouched.
The kid reaches over the table and at first Kibum thinks what the hell? But he sees what the kid is aiming for and even he feels stupid for not noticing it in the first place. The kid reaches for one of his pawns positioned by the edge of Tummy’s side of the board. With one push he replaces it with his queen and victoriously claims the game, earning him a cheer from the crowd, Minho and Kibum included, and a bow of respect from Tummy. He was good.
Kibum was just about to ask if Minho knew him when the kid turned away from the group to spot Minho, a smile forming on his lips. “Hyung!”
“Hi.” They clasp hands and Minho crushes him into a hug while ruffling his hair. “Fine work you did there.”
“Always.” The boy pushes away from Minho and cockily blows on his fingers.
“Kibum, this is my cousin Taemin.” Minho pushes the boy towards Kibum. Taemin’s orangey blonde bob cut bounces as he halts in front of Kibum. He stares at Kibum from behind the curtain of his fringe, his smile never leaving his face, making his eyes seem smaller than they actually were.
“Hey.” Kibum smiles back and they bow at the same time.
“Hi.” Taemin chirps. Minho clasps both of Taemin’s shoulders and spins him around. “What’s for dinner?”
“Mom made cake. And fried chicken.” Taemin answers at the same time he looks over Minho’s shoulders to wave at his other friends.
“You hungry, Kibum?”
He wanted to lie and say no, but his stomach betrayed him by grumbling the slightest bit, reminding him that all he had for lunch earlier was a pack of crackers that weren’t even the flavor that he liked.
---
Minho introduces Kibum to the rest of his family or who he could under the circumstances. Minho’s aunt was a lot older than Kibum had expected. Apparently they had Taemin pretty late. The lines of her face were undetectable whenever she would smile and joke around with both boys, allowing Kibum to feel at home instantly.
The whole house wasn’t any larger than Kibum’s kitchen and garage. It had this scent that was a mixture of laundry and cushions, air fresheners sprayed from cans and shoe polisher from their shoe cabinet. It smelled like a real house, where time has taken its course and blazed the house with stories and age. The wood paneling of the walls was slightly chipped but the carpets where clean and blue despite everything.
Minho and Taemin lead Kibum to their room, a smaller version of the house at the end of the hall next to the bathroom. The moment they walk in Taemin moves and plops down on his bed in the middle of the room. Minho’s bed was still neatly in place, sheets cream and pillows white, as it stayed glued to the wall. In between the two beds was a dresser which contained a machine that looked similar to an enlarged car radio. Minho walks over to it when he notices Kibum’s questioning stare.
“It’s for my LVAD.” Minho explains as he bends over to pick up a cord that was rolled up. He raises it to where Kibum can see it. “At night I have to connect my LVAD here and sort of. Charge.”
“Like a robot?” Kibum mused, eyes never leaving the machine.
“Now. You know. Too much.” Minho says in a robotic tone, eyes open dangerously wide and only looking past Kibum’s head. “I must. Des. Troy you.”
Taemin takes one of his pillows and tosses it at Minho’s head. The taller male does a 180 spin from walking towards Kibum and plunges on top of the blonde, holding him captive under his long limbs.
“Kibum hyung! Help!” Taemin reaches out a hand that Minho smacks away.
Kibum clicks his tongue once and feigns turning around, claiming to be better than any of this immature banter, but instantly turns back around to wrap his arms around Minho’s waist.
“Unhand the boy, Choi!”
“That rhymes.”
“Ow, my spleen!”
“Guys watch my fucking wires!”
---
Minho’s uncle looked slightly younger than his aunt; Kibum noticed when he finally arrives thirty minutes before dinner time. He kicks off his shoes and Kibum shoots off the couch to bow at the older man. The man smiles at him and they exchange introductions.
“What do your parents do, Kibum?” Dinner had finally been served and Kibum gathers with the rest of them around the table, passing the bowl of kimchi towards Taemin when Minho’s uncle spoke up.
“My dad’s an engineer. My mom owns a small bakery in our neighborhood.” Kibum supplies.
“You must be pretty well off then.” He doesn’t say it with an air of impoliteness but Kibum suddenly feels uncomfortable about the subject.
“We’re okay. Treatment is still pretty rough on our finances, though.” Kibum nods as he steals a glance at Minho who was in the middle of plucking half a peeled hardboiled egg from the plate with his chopsticks. He looks back at Kibum, the egg slipping from his chopsticks, and smiles. “Plus, there’s school to worry about too so.”
“Where do you go?” Taemin asks from beside him. “I bet you go to Haneul, don’t you?”
Kibum’s eyes light up. “Yeah, how’d you know?”
“That’s where all my rich friends go.” Taemin pushes his mouthful of rice to one side of his mouth in order to answer while Kibum’s ears grow increasingly scarlet. “I hear you guys have a pool.”
“It’s not that. I mean. Haneul’s not all that great.” Kibum tries. Minho chews slowly from his other side to hear Kibum.
“I bet it’s no worse than Chodong.” Kibum’s heard of Chodong high school. He hasn’t been hearing some very nice things. In fact, learning that Taemin went there, it worried him a bit to think that someone as skinny and fragile would go there everyday.
“You go there?”
“Yeah. Minho hyung used to go there too.”
“We wish that he didn’t have to stop either.” Minho’s uncle expressed with obvious distaste for the matter. Kibum sensed the sudden tension in the room, his aunt’s eyes staring at her food, Taemin chewing in silence while Minho’s hand forms a fist from underneath the table.
“Kibum.” Minho’s aunt’s voice floats across the table, sending Kibum’s eyes to fixate on hers. “More rice?”
“Yes please.”
---
“They’re not very happy about a few things.”
“I see that.” Kibum answers, hands in his jacket pocket as Minho walks him to his car. There’s been a thought itching at Kibum’s brain and he voices it out once they’re by his car door. “You’ve known about your heart for seven years, right?”
Minho nods.
“Then why have you not been on the list since knowing about it?”
“Oh, uhmm.” Minho uses one hand to rub his nape. “I applied for the list a year after getting my pacemaker because Jinki hyung said that it wouldn’t keep me stable for long. But I got my pacemaker done by another doctor in another hospital and when I had to undergo a blood test for the list they found out that I somehow acquired hepatitis C from the blood transfusion in my last operation. I wasn’t cleared up ‘til late. Well, ‘til very late.” Minho finishes with a smile.
Kibum’s eyes remain fixed on Minho and they stay that way for a while, Minho feeling strangely comfortable under the scrutiny.
“My aunt got you leftovers.” Minho suddenly sticks out the plastic bag he’s brought with him from inside the house.
“You don’t have too.” Kibum politely pushes the plastic away from his reach, but Minho’s quicker. He sticks it back in Kibum’s hand and curls his fingers around the handle.
“Take it.” Minho probes, his hair shining in brown strands below the street lights.
“I’d leave school if I could. To work.” Kibum confesses out of nowhere, Minho’s palms are still comfortably resting atop his hand. Kibum stares at their fingers, his breath quickening even if he’s just standing there under the light. His thumb moves across Minho’s skin.
“Don’t.” is all Minho replies, not allowing Kibum much to decipher.
They’re unexpectedly standing very close to one another and Kibum tries not to look up because he doesn’t want Minho to see him up close like this. And he can feel his heart. He hasn’t felt it beat this way in a long time, not for anything or anyone. But for the first time he isn’t afraid of how hard it’s beating no matter how similar it is to the times right before he collapses into darkness. Minho’s hands feel a bit calloused around Kibum’s moisturized skin, but he could get used to the texture. Without meaning to Kibum’s concentrating so hard on the roughness of Minho’s pads, slipping the feel in the folds of his brain, a new addition to the memories he wants to keep for a long time, like the smell of vanilla or the first drop of rain after a long summer’s month.
A beeping sound, familiar and pitchy, attacks both their ears and Minho finally lets go of his hand to fix the machine in his knapsack. He’s fumbling with the Velcro again, just like the first time he saw Minho the day before.
Seeing Minho walk through the doors of the hospital for the first time, his head held high as he crossed the halls, never did he think that the boy would be this ungainly or good-natured. He seemed so unapproachable then, so distant. Now Kibum was standing in front of his building reaching for his keys in the depths of his pocket as he watches Minho push a few buttons here and there to calm the machine. The silence rolls back around and Minho looks up at Kibum almost like he’s embarrassed.
“What’s wrong with that thing?” Kibum finally asks, twirling the keys in his hand before slipping it past the key hole of his car door.
“It’s only supposed to beep when it’s running out of batteries. But Jinki hyung insisted that they add this sensor so that people can tell when my heart’s beating irregularly or something, either from exhaustion or nervousness or …” Minho’s voice trails off, throat drying when Kibum finds the fact interesting enough to test it. Kibum lunges forward until he’s an inch away from Minho’s face, mouth split in a malicious grin, silencing Minho.
“Do I make you nervous?” He whispers, every breath reaching Minho and he can almost smell a hint of the mint candy he popped in his mouth earlier after dinner.
“N-“, before Minho can answer his machine starts beeping again and Kibum has to hold on to the car for support to keep himself from falling to the ground from laughing too much.
Minho silences the machine again, this time taking the initiative to back away from Kibum. Kibum calms down from laughing, tears appearing in the corners of his eyes. He wipes them with the crook of his forefinger and straightens up the same time Minho continues to walk back towards his house, his back facing the door as he proceeds to look at Kibum with a shy smile.
“Are you free tomorrow?” Minho asks when he’s a few feet away that he has to semi shout.
“It’s a Saturday.”
“So?”
“So, don’t you think I have plans? Don’t you think I’m a popular guy?”
“Do you have plans?”
“Text me tomorrow, I’ll let you know.” Kibum unlocks his car. He waits for Minho to enter his building before starting the engine and driving out onto the highway. He didn’t have plans that weekend. He hasn’t had plans in a while. But he has a feeling that even if he did he’d probably skip them.
---
Kibum’s been restraining himself from checking his phone all morning. He doesn’t like Minho the way that he’s liked the girls that he’s met. He likes Minho in an unlikely way, the kind of way that makes him want to spend time with the boy and turn his brain off for the rest of the day. It’s different with him. He’s not soft, doesn’t need protection, and doesn’t need reassurance all the time. But Kibum’s never liked boys before. Although he figures that it’s more than understandable considering that the male person he spends the most time with is Jonghyun. And Jonghyun was just… as alluring as road kill. And even the slightest sexual thoughts involving his best friend was as appealing to him as having his own puke for breakfast.
Kibum fished his phone from the inside of his jacket pocket while watching Jonghyun from his side of their dining table, gobbling down the newest chicken sandwich from the fast food chain they stopped by before going to Kibum’s house. Kibum ordered the salad while Jonghyun explained which of the orders he wanted. Kibum wanted to throw up on the sandwich’s description.
“It has two chicken fillets as the bun and bacon and mayo in between.” Was Jonghyun’s explanation.
“Do you want extra mayo with that or would you like me to just stab you in the heart?” Kibum begins as he punches in his lock code. Jonghyun smiles, cheeks bulking up with chicken, bacon and mayo.
“It’s really good.” He mumbles through his mouthful.
“You do realize that by eating that in front of me you’re being an asshole and ignoring my condition, right?”
Jonghyun shrugs as if what Kibum has said just went over his head and began eating again.
Kibum sees that he has one message unread and he holds his breath like that was the appropriate thing to do until the message loads and he finds out that it’s just one of his other friends. His face falls to an evident frown.
“Problem?” Jonghyun wipes his mouth with a tissue.
Kibum stabs his lettuce with a fork. “Just shut up and eat your heart attack sandwich.”
“Jeez, grumpy. Was just checking.”
Kibum stuffs his phone back in his pocket.
“Are you waiting for a text?”
“No.” Kibum bites into his meal. “Do I look like I’m fucking waiting?”
“No, but you’re acting like a fucking bitch right now and I haven’t even done anything yet.”
Kibum’s fork drops to his plate. He pushes his plate away to lay his head on their expensive, glass made dining table. “I’m so pathetic.”
“Is this about Minho?”
Kibum’s head shoots up and they lock eyes. Kibum averts his gaze at one of the paintings hanging above the pristinely painted walls. “No.” He places his head back down.
“Bullshit, Kim Kibum.”
“Fuck you. Stop acting like you know what’s going through my head.” Kibum mumbles on the glass, fogging up the surface.
“Fuck you. That’s why we’re friends.”
“Fuck you. You’re only friends with me coz of my money.”
“Fuck you. I’m not some gold digging road whore.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, fuck you!”
“What are we talking about?”
“Minho?” Jonghyun finishes the remnants of his sandwich and wipes his fingers. “So, I guess you’re gay now, huh?”
“Not as gay as your dad…” Kibum mumbles under his breath, into his hands that were gathered over his mouth.
“What?”
“I said, aren’t you glad?” Kibum smiles innocently, batting his eyelashes in such a way that he deems flirtatious.
Jonghyn glares. “Aren’t you gonna tell him?”
“Tell who what?” Kibum checks his phone again, two new messages, none from Minho. He throws his phone on the table.
“Kibum, do your heart a favor and stop stressing it further. What have you got to lose?”
“You think you’re so smart.”
“And I’m not? Tell me I’m wrong. Go ahead, Kibum. I dare yo-“
“You’re wrong.”
“Kibum!” Jonghyun whines as he leans over the table. “I’m not gonna hate you for liking a guy.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“Then what’s up?”
Kibum stares at his best friend, forcing his words mentally through his thick head so that he won’t have to voice out what he thinks. He just doesn’t want to hear it said by himself. It’s gonna sound mean. “I’m not supposed to like him. I’m supposed to get better, Jjong. Not meet someone.”
“That’s not a nice way of seeing this whole thing.”
“Then put it into perspective for me.” Kibum challenges.
“Okay.” Jonghyun straightens in his seat. “Okay, I will. You like him. He might be desperate enough to get with you. Both your hearts are fucked up. He’s a ten. You’re a seven-“
Kibum throws the flowers in the vase by the center of the dining table at Jonghyun and hits him square in the face. Jonghyun holds the flowers away and laughs, Kibum joining him shortly after a few seconds of glaring at him. “This is serious, Jjong.”
“I’m not kidding.” Jonghyun places the flowers back in the vase. “You’re the one who’s taking everything so seriously. Just have fun and don’t forget to breathe before the big fall.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Stop ruining every word of wisdom I pass onto you.” Jonghyun points his finger at Kibum the same time Kibum’s phone vibrates on the table. Kibum’s hands practically dive for it while Jonghyun unbuttons his jeans and burps.
Hey wer r u? Minho’s text finally comes and Kibum can’t help the smile tugging on his lips as he sinks into his chair. He feels like a school girl and the more he thinks about Minho, imagining him typing the message down and scrolling over the names in his phone in search of Kibum’s… maybe he even knows Kibum’s number by heart… wait, no. Kibum scrunches his nose and purses his lips.
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
He stretches his right hand before typing down a reply.
---
Kibum doesn’t know why he agreed to Jonghyun coming with them, but he passed a pretty convincing argument when he was stepping into Kibum’s car no matter how many times Kibum shouts into his ear for him to get out.
“I’m gonna see how he feels about you.”
“Coz you’re just an expert when it comes to human emotions?”
“Have you any idea how many people I’ve slept with, Kibum?”
“I’d say one but I’m not sure your right hand counts.” They both indulge in mock laughter before Kibum turns his eyes back on the road. Jonghyun moves to the backseat when they park in front of Minho’s building. Kibum pulls at his best friend’s shirt when Jonghyun tries to squeeze in between the driver’s seat and the passenger seat to fall, head first in the back.
“What the fuck, Jjong?”
“You guys can share the front.”
“It’ll seem weird if I drove all the way here with you in the backseat.”
“It’s not weird, Kibum that’s all in your head coz you’re head over heels in love with him.”
“Fine!” Kibum stops tugging and Jonghyun falls with a shout in the backseat.
Minho appears from the other side of the apartment main door a few minutes after Kibum texted him of his location. Minho opens the front door of the passenger’s side and waves at Jonghyun in the back.
After five minutes of passing the question “Where do you wanna go?” around and to no resolve, Jonghyun finally chirps in and suggests that they visit the arcade in the town mall. Minho’s too polite to say no and Kibum takes his silence as Minho being content.
They drive off to the town mall with mostly Jonghyun asking Minho more questions about himself and Kibum listening as if it were a radio talk show, opting to keep the actual radio off for the duration of the ride. Every so often Jonghyun would nudge Kibum and try to get him to join in on the conversation but Kibum was mildly bothered by the fact that Jonghyun was there. For some reason, he wanted to kick Jonghyun out of the car, more so than the other times he felt similar urges to do so.
Be that as it may, Jonghyun did provide the mood by never losing a topic to talk about and Minho seemed to be enjoying his company. Maybe a little too much. Kibum purses his lips as he forces his eyes on the road. Was Jonghyun that much more interesting to talk to?
They finally arrive at the mall and as they walk out of the car and across the parking lot Minho and Jonghyun are still talking each other’s ears off. Kibum realizes that the steering wheel can no longer be used as an excuse for his current state of silence, but he really doesn’t want to butt in. It’s weird, he thinks. He feels as if he might be interrupting Minho and Jonghyun from their conversation even though he was a part of the trio as well as Jonghyun’s best friend for longer.
They make it to the arcade, Kibum eyeing the sea of students and couples walking past, colorful machinery in play with unique sounds and buzzes. They stride towards the token booth first and Minho insists on paying for their tokens. Jonghyun doesn’t object but of course Kibum was going to. Minho gets his wallet out first and Kibum feels flustered by the simplest gestures. Seeing Minho in this setting was also finally taking its effect on Kibum in a way only love struck teenagers would find appealing. Minho’s bangs and the way he has to sweep them out of his face in order to see the bills in his wallet, the way his biceps flex around the right places as he reaches for his back pocket in order to deposit his wallet back, his smiles when he collect s the tokens, the way his smile widens when he eyes Kibum and hands him five tokens to spare. Kibum knew then and there that maybe he had it bad for this guy and it shouldn’t have to be that way considering the circumstances. He wants to disregard the metal pacemaker inside of him but he feels it every time he sees Minho’s white tube connected to his LVAD. He’s reminded of the brutal reality and finds himself stuck between wanting to leave it all and wanting to get better. And sometimes, at night he finds himself hating the way the latter was much more appealing.
Jonghyun accidentally bumps into Kibum’s shoulder on his way to the first House of the Dead machine he sees and Minho follows the excited teen, patting Kibum’s shoulder where Jonghyun had hit it as he does so. Kibum’s skin burns, irregularly so, where he feels Minho’s pads. He spins around and watches the two insert two tokens in the slot, hitting the buttons to begin their game.
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