SBB 2011 Entry #13: The List (2/2)
Title: The List
Pairing: minho/key
Genre: au, drama, romance
Rating: pg - 13
Summary: wherein kibum and minho are heart patients.
Kibum almost chokes on his soft pretzel mid bite due to a hand slapping against his back. He leans forward, regaining his composure, coughing slightly as Minho, the backslapper, comes up from behind him and places both hands on his hips.
“What are you doing out here?” Minho allows his gaze to roam about the exit of the arcade before looking back at Kibum who was tentatively picking at the bits of his pretzel, refusing to look Minho in the eye. “Kibum?”
“Mm?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Kibum finally bites into his pretzel, still avoiding Minho’s eyes.
“Why are you being weird?”
“I’m not.” Kibum hears how much of a whiner he’s being at the moment. He tries not to dwell on it. Neither does Minho.
Minho exhales. “Whatever. Here.” He hands over a token for Kibum to reach. Kibum clips his pretzel in between his teeth in order to vacate his hands and reach for the token.
Kibum places it back in Minho’s pocket. The boy stares at Kibum’s hand then up at Kibum’s face. “I still have five of mine.”
“You don’t wanna play?”
Comprehension wasn’t Kibum’s friend today. Kibum knows what Minho means. Minho is talking about games in arcades and simplistic strategies to win, nothing more or less, yet Kibum, with all of his former thoughts gets caught in the middle of Minho’s sentence-the middle that didn’t exist until Kibum split Minho’s sentence apart just to get it in there. “No. I don’t wanna play.”
Kibum walks past a baffled Minho, discarding the pretzel in the first recycling bin he sees by the escalator. He hops on the step and wishes that Minho wouldn’t follow him out. Clearly, he wasn’t aware of the fact that not all of his wishes came true.
Minho’s by his side in an instant, his long legs stretching over the steps to get to him. “The fuck was that, Kibum?”
“I need you to stay away from me now.” Kibum provides monotonously. Minho, for the first time, doesn’t face Kibum with a smile.
“What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything, Minho. You’re perfect.”
Once on the last step of the escalator Minho finally takes hold of Kibum’s wrist, his fingers getting caught between the colorful beads of his bracelets, pulling him away from the landing and the other people proceeding to step off it.
“What’s going on with you? You’ve been off this whole morning.”
“Let go of my arm.” Minho doesn’t hesitate to loosen his grip, Kibum tugs away immediately. “Listen, I don’t feel so well. I’m going home. Just tell Jonghyun that maybe you guys can take a cab.”
“Kibum, what is this? Why won’t you talk to me?”
“I told you. I’m not feeling well.” Kibum bumps past Minho’s shoulder in order to walk away from the boy. Create a distance that doesn’t require them to share the same breath. He was swiftly aggravated with the idea of Minho and just his whole face. Kibum hated Minho’s face. So much so that he didn’t even turn back to see the levels of disappointment lining Minho’s features.
---
Minho finds Jonghyun where he last left him in the drum machine game, pounding away on the caricature drum set. Minho positions himself beside the screen in order to get the boy’s attention.
“Hey!” Jonghyun greets in between beats, never roaming his eyes away from the screen. “Where’s Kibum?”
“He left.” Minho shouts over the bass of the drum game, leaning against the machine.
Jonghyun’s rhythm is tarnished then, eyes going round as he faces Minho, arms falling loosely to his sides with the drumsticks, the game announcing his loss. “He what?”
“He left.” Minho repeats.
“What? But how are we--?”
“He said we should take a cab?” Minho suggests the same thing.
“Fucker.” Jonghyun shoves the drum sticks back in the holding place, shifting out of the seat while the next group of students that were in line dropped their tokens in the slot. “He didn’t say anything, just left?”
“He said he wasn’t feeling well.”
“What a liar.” Jonghyun groans. They walk out of the all too noisy arcade, past the shops and down the escalator. “Don’t worry about it, Minho. He gets these mood swings sometimes.”
“He’s really stupid. Your friend.”
Jonghyun snorts out a laugh. “He is. But he’s alright once you get past the stupidity. And the mood swings.”
“And the fact that he does what he does.”
“And his bracelets.”
“Yeah, what is it with him and those bracelets?”
“I dunno, man.” Jonghyun shakes his head and swishes his bangs to one side. “I’m not one to go about judging accessories. I just go with whatever floats his metaphorical boat.”
Minho laughs and holds onto Jonghyun’s shoulder. “Where can we get a cab around here?”
---
Kibum’s staring at Minho’s message later that night, blurring the words on the screen as he begins to stare at the spaces in between as opposed to the actual letters. Then his head hurts and he can’t concentrate.
Kibum finds solace in the dark. He thinks that this is where secrets should be spoken, where he can be a book with the pages wide open. But Minho’s message is still glowing from his phone and he can’t help but wonder what kind of sickening metaphor is being said to him. Maybe there was no metaphor. Maybe Kibum just lacked sleep.
He’s been sleeping for longer than he should though because of the meds and every time he skips them, which is partly what he’s trying to do so that he won’t be dependent of them, his eyes remain open for the rest of the night as if his eyelids were taped to his eyebrows.
His cellphone vibrates against his palm and he flips it open to read another message from the guy that he does not like, like.
Whatever it is if you think that im at fault im sorry kibum. please talke t me. Typos, did that mean that he was just as nervous as Kibum? And if that were the case would it lead to the conclusion that Minho liking Kibum back would not be an impossibility?
“Why am I even?” Kibum stretches on his back, his pillow rolling off the mattress only to be met with the floor. Without a plan in mind, and no need for one as he soon realizes, Kibum decides to stop being a pussy. He dials Minho’s number and waits for the ring and he will never admit how the first “Hello,” washes him over with so much ease it makes his pulse flip.
“Uhm. Hey. You.” Kibum makes a face in the dark.
“Are you okay?” There were no traces of antagonism in his voice when he speaks, just genuine concern.
“So, I was an asshole earlier.” Kibum shifts in his bed. “Honestly, I was just a little out of sorts, uhm. Things weren’t going very well for me during the beginning of the day and I didn’t mean to take my frustrations out on you, I swear.”
“Okay.” Minho answers after a few minutes. “Well, if I said anything or did anything-“
“No. You were. I mean. You’re great. I meant it when I said you were perfect.” Kibum cringes when he realizes what he’d just said and his heart beat becomes almost audible when the only reply he gets is Minho’s breaths. Kibum clears his throat. “Minho? Are you still there?”
“Yeah. Yes.”
“Uhm.” Kibum stares at nothing in particular, feeling less safe in his room and wanting to drown in his sheets, maybe stay there. And just as he’s about to ask whether Minho was about to go to bed he hears a faint beeping sound.
“Shit.”
“Minho?”
“I have to go.”
“Ok-“ the line comes in and Kibum gingerly shuts his phone, discarding it on the dresser before lying straight on his back, fixating his stare at the ceiling as he replays the conversation and it’s lack of connection to anything that Kibum finds comprehensive.
---
It’s not all that weird, is it? Okay, maybe it is. But Kibum hasn’t seen Minho in two weeks and so what if staring at his counter from the window outside of the grocery store made him seem a little mad. Drastic times call for drastic measures.
Kibum finally decides that he needed to do something about this sudden fallout. He can’t take it, the way his week screamed emptiness the moment Minho’s texts never reached him anymore. He checks his faint reflection on the surface of the glass, seeing the spots on the window that needs more cleaning, before placing his hands in his pockets and finally walking through the sliding doors. It was getting hot outside anyway.
He makes it inside the grocery store without Minho noticing him, instead busying himself with the customers. Kibum idly nabs himself a basket and places the first thing he can get his hands on inside. After his very impromptu plan he finally makes his way to Minho’s isle, right behind a boy who looks no older than Kibum.
The boy casts a glance at Kibum when he senses another person in line, eyeing his basket then back at Kibum’s face. Kibum notices the weary look in the boy’s eyes and decides to glare at him.
“What?” Kibum says with a roll of his eyes.
As soon as it’s the boy’s turn ahead of him Kibum tests his breath in his hands and pats on his fringe.
“Can I be honest with you?” Kibum is the first to speak as he finally reaches Minho’s counter, taking his basket and placing it on the counter.
Minho’s brows shoot to his hair line, lips pressed in a tight line. Kibum isn’t sure what to make of his reaction.
“Minho, I.” Kibum takes a deep breath as Minho’s lips part. He doesn’t look like he’s about to interrupt Kibum, but he looks slightly fearful of what Kibum’s about to say. “It’s been weeks. And I know things have been weird between us and I don’t do things like this. Really. But I don’t meet people like you very often which sucks since you get it. I mean, about this and us. You get it.”
The whole time Kibum started speaking Minho fixated his stare on the censor in his counter, counting the lights, the red dots that scan through the prices. He takes a deep breath, uses one hand to reach for the itch on the side of his nose caused by his overgrown fringe.
“I can’t talk right now.” Minho replies, avoiding Kibum’s eyes while taking in his hands the one item in Kibum’s basket.
Kibum’s out of breath in that moment, eyes stinging with threatening tears. He doesn’t blink until he’s out of Minho’s sight and walking out of the door.
“Kibum!” Minho calls after him. But Kibum’s past ashamed at this point. He’s never felt so useless in his life, so out of place like a single needle in a haystack just wanting to be found. “Kibum, wait up!”
Minho catches him in the parking lot, gripping his wrist but Kibum pulls his hand away with every intention of leaving without Minho seeing the hurt in his eyes. The other boy doesn’t give up easily, though.
“Kibum what the fuck? Why do I feel like I keep doing this lately?”
Kibum’s a few feet away from his car and he fumbles with his keys in the depth of his pocket. It slows him down and Minho is able to take hold of his wrists.
“Kibum, you forgot your milk-“
“Minho.” Kibum’s voice sounded strained, almost hesitant, but he pushes with it just to get it out of the way. Minho’s brows knit together at the sudden confession as his lips part in a semi scowl. “I know it’s ridiculous as fuck for me to like you. I know that, okay! You didn’t have to humiliate me like that or - just, whatever.”
“Wha-you came to me at work! What the hell do you expect me to do?” It registers on Minho how his voice was rather loud in the parking lot. His eyes bounce from the ground then back to Kibum’s face, calming himself down with hands planted behind his hips. “Last time you called-I didn’t deal with that the best way that I could and I’m sorry. You can hit me or fucking shove your foot down my throat if you want. I deserve it. I’m still trying to figure this all out and I-yeah. I should have called.”
Kibum struggles for a response, one that he doesn’t have to stutter out but it’s cold all of a sudden and he feels bare. He wants to run away again and possibly hide under the covers, away from Minho’s stare but he knows that scrutiny will haunt him for a long time.
“Minho!” Minho drops his hands and walks away from Kibum as he spins his heel and faces the direction of the voice.
“Hyung?” Kibum recognizes the Changmin guy from before, standing outside of the grocery store in an apron similar to Minho’s.
“You’re line’s filling up. I can’t handle all of these alone.”
“Yeah. I’ll be right in.” Minho turns to Kibum and starts to walk away. He’s about to say something, the same thing that he asks every time so Kibum decides to beat him to it.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Kibum asks and Minho smiles like a child.
“Nothing.”
“Good. You wanna hangout?”
---
“What are you on about, Kim? What is this?” Minho refuses to take a step further on what he cannot believe is Kibum’s lawn, laid elegantly in greens and pinks and all other garden-ish colors. Minho stays by Kibum’s car door as the other male pads along the graveled pathway leading towards his front door.
“My house?” Kibum provides as he glances at Minho over his shoulder. He cocks one brow upward; both eyes narrow as he spins on his heel and plants both hands on his hips. Minho’s on his way, carefully trotting along the gravel and skirting his eyes over the height of Kibum’s house. “Don’t worry. I’m not some sick psychopath that owns a cellar wherein you will be pushed into in five minutes time and murdered with incomprehensible paraphernalia.”
“That’s very specific.”
“Hm.” Kibum fishes for his keys in his back pocket, skipping his fingers over his phone. He checks his other pocket while Minho finishes staring up at the sides and other places of the exterior of the house that he can feast his wide, brown eyes on.
“Murder’s the last thing on my mind.” Minho absentmindedly adds. “From the looks of this place you’re probably gonna. I dunno. Drown me in luxuries.”
Kibum laughs briefly as he finally pushes the door open. “That’s a bad thing?”
“It can go both ways. I can turn greedy.” Minho whispers the last part, once again busy with skimming over the simplistic interior of what he only thought he could only see in magazines. “Jesus.”
Kibum’s striding over towards the different doors, hooking his hands around some of the columns as he takes a peek at the different rooms. “Mom? Dad?” He runs over the first three floating steps of their staircase, calling after his parents again. He gets no response and finally plops down on one of the white, curved couches. “Guess it’s just us.”
Minho’s too frightened of dirtying the floor with his scuffed up Chuck Taylors.
Kibum gets comfortable on the couch and for a minute he doesn’t realize that he’s alone. In the emptiness of the couch and the lack of Minho in it, he turns his head around to finally face the boy he was in search of, in the same spot where he left him earlier. Kibum frowns.
Minho’s just about certain that Kibum’s about to say something snarky like we have couches for a reason or Minho, just coz you have long legs doesn’t mean they won’t break like short ones if you stand there all day.
“D’you wanna see my room?”
Minho didn’t see that one coming, though. His eyes drop to his shoes, the laces somehow seeming to hold the answer to Kibum’s question.
Minho’s hesitation and abrupt flush of cheeks elicits a grin from Kibum. Kibum rises from the couch, palming the frame in order to hop off from the back. He walks over to Minho, leans in close when he’s just an inch away and Minho shuts his eyes closed. He’s not sure what he’s hiding from but it must be fucking scary. Whatever it was, it never came. Instead, Minho’s greeted with a nudge on his shoulder caused by Kibum’s as he proceeds to walk past him, towards what seems to be the kitchen area.
Minho pops one eye open and Kibum comes back with a refrigerator magnet with a pineapple shaped cover. He places it in Minho’s hand. Minho clutches onto the magnet, unsure of what Kibum was trying to do.
“If I try anything you have my full permission to use that.” Kibum tugs at the dip in his shirt and exposes his scar from when the metal pacemaker was set in his flesh. “Right here.” He draws an imaginary X mark with his forefinger. Minho hasn’t laughed that hard in ages.
“I’m not-“ Minho fights for air after calming himself down. “-gonna go easy on you.”
“I don’t expect you to.” Kibum scoffs.
Up in Kibum’s room it takes Minho five minutes of strolling and looking around before stretching beside Kibum on his bed. He notices how clean everything is, how partially devoid the room was of anything expected of Kibum. Minho always thought that Kibum’s room would be colored with stories and secrets. Instead all he gets is a white chasm, blank and completely unlike him. Except for the glow in the dark stars scattered across the ceiling, the yellowish green almost unseen against the white of the paint.
“My dad got them for me.” Kibum explains the origins of the glow in the dark stars. “He won them in one of those shooting booths in the amusement park near the mall? You’ve probably been there.”
Minho shakes his head. “I’ve never been to an amusement park.”
Kibum’s feline eyes widen. “No fucking way.”
“Yes fucking way.“
“How is that possible?”
“My parents never took me.”
“Why?”
“My heart. I knew early on. And they didn’t want me to have to go to a place where I’d only be limited to certain rides. They didn’t want me to feel neglected or discriminated or. You know. Whatever.”
“That’s pointless. It’s not like you don’t get that living in the real world. At least in amusement parks you’re blinded by cotton candy and cheap thrills. It’s a perfect mimicry of temporary happiness.”
“All happiness is temporary.” Minho’s feet are swaying from side to side, causing the mattress to shake slightly.
---
So maybe it took Kibum a lot longer to plan than he expected. But a few headaches from being cooped up in a tiny, ill lit space (such as the storage room in the grocery store where Minho worked) as he covers the ordinary, grocery push cart with greens and reds and yellows and blues just to make it seem similar to a ride in any typical amusement park, and planning the perfect schedule with Changmin to get the grocery store all to himself without people doing inventory was a small price to pay in comparison to the brightness of Minho’s smile the moment he takes sight of the finished product.
“Wait for it…” Kibum reveals the piece of rectangular carton he’s been keeping from behind his back and sticks it right at the front of the push cart, the word MinhoMobile written in bold, black letters across the surface, hand painted and imperfect. “Ta-da!”
Minho can’t help how his LVAD is beeping as a reaction to his excitement as if his ear to ear grin wasn’t enough of an indication. The best part was Kibum not knowing how this moment was probably the highlight of his gestures, how he probably didn’t mean for any of it to be romantic. And maybe, it wasn’t romantic. What was romance when faced with perfection?
Minho grips either side of the cart before hopping over and slipping into the center, struggling for a bit with his long legs to fit in the cart just right. When he’s snug and safe he leans back and feels the makeshift seatbelt (which was basically two leather belts and a necktie) digging into his shoulder blades.
“Safety first.” Kibum winks down at him as he pushes the cart towards the first aisle of cereal and chips.
Minho simply pulls on one of the belts and it detaches from the rest with a snap, material pooling behind him and slipping past the bars of the cart. Minho passes Kibum a sarcastic smile over his shoulder and the other male mirrors it.
“You ready for the ride of your life?”
“I’m ready for a line that’s less of a cliché than that.” Minho raises both his fists in the air as Kibum kicks at the ground animatedly, readying himself to run but instead of running Kibum anticlimactically pushes the cart with undemanding stride.
“The fuck?” Minho swerves his head around to raise a brow at Kibum.
“I don’t wanna get tired.” Kibum enlightens.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Minho flips his hair. “I thought this was the MinhoMobile, not the KibumIsSuchASuckyDriverMobile.”
Kibum ran and pushed and turned over the aisles that night, his sneakers squeaking against the newly cleaned floors, Minho’s fist pumping at the air like a child.
Kibum feels as if he’s finally done something right.
---
“How would your life be different?” Kibum asks as they finally exit the grocery store and sit by the sidewalk outside, the pavement cold and weaving thought the material of their jeans. Minho’s looking up at the night sky, the glittering powder of stars allowing them a peaceful conversation underneath black and white burn. “If you weren’t sick.”
“I would never think about quitting school.” Minho accompanies his admission with a light chuckle, like maybe if he doesn’t it’ll sound much more of a waste, like he’s trying to pass it off as an actual joke. “I’d, uhm. I would replace my charger machine with a TV. I’d eat five packs of Snickers and jog it off just coz I can.” Kibum notices the light smile playing on Minho’s lips, his eyes closing as he goes on. He’s there in that world that he’s describing and Kibum wishes he could bring him there. Somehow. “And then. And then you’d still be here. With me. On this sidewalk. Yeah. That’s just about right.”
And when Minho looks down, his eyes skirting over Kibum’s features, there’s a thump in his broken heart that’s no different than the rest except for the fact that it was caused by Minho’s stare. And of all the beats-that one beat in particular belonged to the boy whose eyes bore holes into his soul.
---
It’s not easy being friends with Kibum, that much Minho has confirmed. Being with Kibum was like being on a minefield, but in some small way it was worth it because their hearts beat in the same broken mold.
The first year of being on the list has finally past and Minho can’t find any other way to spend it wisely than by wasting it with Kibum and his lazy jokes. But on this one particular Wednesday fate has decided to pave pathway for the both of them.
“Jinki hyung, you wanted to see me?”
“Minho yah. Hey. Come in, come in.”
Minho ushers himself in, settling on the chair before Jinki’s desk.
“So.”
Minho’s smile is wobbly, but it’s resting on his lips, his hope evident in the way his palms are sweating with nervousness.
Minho had dreamed about this moment for months. But the way it all played out was different somehow. Jinki tells him of the news he’s been waiting to hear for half his life. There was a heart waiting for him. And people may never understand it, the way Minho’s isn’t as excited about the finish line as he is the starting point.
---
Kibum joins Taemin and the rest of Minho’s family on their couch, watching Minho excitedly pace in front of them. He announces the news and the roar of laughter and buckets of tears was much more than Minho could ever expect. Kibum and Taemin sandwich him into a hug while his aunt was being comforted by his uncle. Minho’s never really won anything in his life out of luck, this was close enough.
Kibum joins them for dinner once again that night, a never ending spiel of how happy he was spilling from his lips. But what was it, Kibum asks, that his food went stale at the initial landing of it on his tongue? Why couldn’t he ignore the question in his head about where this would leave them?
He knows that they’ll probably still talk, still be together, still breathe the same air but Kibum always thought that their bond relied on a source of pain, a line of suffering from Kibum’s chest to Minho’s. Kibum doesn’t say anything.
---
“What happened to your room?” Kibum kicks at the stray items of clothing, chess pieces and whatever else, lying on the floor of Minho’s room.
Minho’s in the process of picking some of the chess pieces up, pawns and queens gathered in his hands. “Taemin and I got into a fight.” He provides without sparing Kibum’s look of confused revulsion a glance.
“So he’s kind of like Katrina when he gets mad?” Kibum aids with the cleaning by grabbing a few shirts off the floor and stuffing them in Minho and Taemin’s shared closet messily.
“Who?”
“You know.” Kibum elbows the heaps of clothes slipping past his arms. “The hurricane.”
Jonghyun pops his aggravating little blonde fringe in sometimes and when it’s just him and Kibum he tends to torture his best friend by asking him the distasteful so, when are you gonna get yourself some Minho-ass? question over and over again, between commercial breaks, in the waiting room of Kibum’s monthly check up, from the other side of the cubicle of the bathroom (in this situation Kibum usually retorts with, “Don’t say Minho’s name and ass while touching your pencil dick, fucktard!”), and everywhere else they hangout. Prick.
However, denying himself of the obvious wasn’t helping him at all. He wasn’t really thinking of sex. He needed to take care of his baby steps first. Like holding hands, intimate brushes and whatnot. Then kissing.
Kibum invites Minho to his next volleyball game, a match that Dr. Lee wasn’t very supportive about when placing into consideration how Kibum’s heart wasn’t getting any better. But he’s known Kibum long enough to know that the boy wants what he wants and getting in his way wasn’t going to do any of them good.
Dr. Lee tries to go about the match by talking to Minho-asking the younger boy to maybe get Kibum to reconsider. And as Minho watches Kibum in the locker room, stretching his arm on the same side where his pacemaker was while staring at the mirror, he begins with a simple, “Jinki hyung told me something interesting today.”
Kibum smirks at him from their reflection on the mirror. “Lemme tell you something, Minho yah. I get it.”
Minho scratches the bell of his ear.
“You and Dr. Lee are close. Whatever. But he’s still a doctor. And doctors always say shit like you can’t do this or you can’t do that or you’re never gonna walk again. Guess what? As long as I can play, Imma help win my team a trophy.”
“Well, what about me?”
“What about you?”
“I worry too.”
Kibum shuts his locker closed and faces Minho’s solemn face. “I’m a big boy, Minho. I can take care of myself.”
“I know.” There’s a brief silence as they stare at one another from across the room. Minho’s the first to stir, slapping his hands on his knees before standing up. “Go, then. Kick the shit out of this game.”
Minho finds his way onto the stands, watching Kibum punch his emotions onto the innocent ball, flying over the net and missing the opposing team’s receiving block by a few centimeters, earning Kibum’s team a point, the first lead in the game and a chorus of applause from the students rooting for their school. Kibum returns the high fives of his teammates, his breathing shortened already. His gaze sweeps across the crowd until he finds Minho, the only person in the front row who remains calmly in his seat, his gaze familiar even at a distance, even after all of these months. Kibum feels naked on the court; he tears his gaze away in hopes of getting his senses back in order.
Kibum wins the first set but not without effort. He’s sweating and his left knee is giving into his determination and his drive, throbbing for him to take notice. Kibum shakes the pain away, stretching his limbs further as they huddle in before the next set. He hasn’t looked at Minho since the beginning of the game and when their team disperses, positioning back into their respective places on the court, Kibum risks a quick glance and finds Minho’s seat empty. And that’s when his knee folds in, his arm burning, his vision disappearing behind his lids.
---
Kibum wakes up to the sight of his mother reading a book by his bed side in the hospital, the room seemingly similar to the state of his room. She strokes his hair, offers him food as he asks about Minho. She tells him that Minho was coming much later and that he was again removed from the volleyball team. This time Kibum doesn’t even feel remorseful. He just wanted to sleep some more.
Minho comes at a later time, greeting his mother as he enters the room. He doesn’t speak the obvious, just sits by Kibum’s side and smiles. There was no need for apologies or explanations, words of encouragement. All Kibum needed was a smile and that was exactly what he got. Jonghyun comes a few hours after, bearing pillows and a bundle of Kibum’s favorite magazines. The three of them spend the rest of the night in the hospital just talking and throwing magazines and pillows at one another.
Kibum doesn’t realize he fell asleep until waking up the next morning, Dr. Lee next to his bed, scribbling on a piece of paper laid on his clipboard. He greets Kibum once he realizes the younger has woken up. Dr. Lee takes his temperature, blood pressure, pulse beats per minute, the usual. After a few more documented results Kibum is placed on a wheel chair and sent to the x-ray room.
A week later, Kibum is summoned into Dr. Lee’s stuffy office and is asked to make himself comfortable on the couch as opposed to the chairs opposite his desk. Dr. Lee accompanies him on the couch, his glasses riding low on the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep breath and clips his lips, pins them in a straight line.
“Something wrong, doctor?”
“It’s not what you would expect.” Dr. Lee replies in hushed tones.
Kibum shakes his head in question and Dr. Lee doesn’t prolong the silence.
“It’s about the list, Kibum.”
Kibum tilts his head to the right. “Okay.”
“In your papers have you. Uhm. Do you remember the clauses regarding priority?”
“…mmh. Not entirely.”
Dr. Lee releases a breath. “Okay, well. There are certain cases when the person in line for the new heart may be overseen. Like, Minho.”
Kibum visualizes red alarms going off in his head. “What are you-“
“Let me finish.” Silence. “Minho is next in line for the heart. But his operation is put on hold because, as stated in the priority clause, if the person after Minho, which is you, has been undergoing deteriorating levels in their condition, which you have…” Dr. Lee’s sentence ends in an almost whisper. “Then you will be prioritized for the heart.”
“But.” Kibum can’t seem to return Dr. Lee’s steady gaze, instead choosing to stare at things around him, the floor, the arm of the couch, the edges of his desk on the far end. Kibum even struggles to find his own voice. “He’s been waiting for months-years! He can’t afford to wait anymore.”
“No, Kibum. You can’t afford to wait anymore. Without the heart by the time you black out again, which will happen, I guarantee you, your heart will weaken even more and you’re going to be placed on an LVAD. And even then it’s not going to keep you alive for more than a number of months.”
Kibum rises from the couch, clutching at his shoulder where his pacemaker was working just fine. Was there a way for him to talk to God? Kibum has never been the most religious person out there but he needed some comfort and what was better comfort than religion where miracles were not just seen in fairytales.
He pushed the rewind button in his mind and he saw everything move backwards to the time he knew nothing but school and volleyball and Jonghyun and girls. Then he moves forward to when Minho first walked through the doors of the hospital, the way Kibum couldn’t see anything else but him.
---
Kibum was way past exhausted when he was finally told that he could go home. He wasn’t in the mood for much, feeling beaten up at all sides. He felt as if he had already lost something he never knew he was fighting and the more he claws for the surface the further away victory runs.
His mother holds him tightly by the shoulders as they walk up the stairs, leaving him in front of his door, a smile on her face before walking away. Kibum’s door was ajar, the small light spilling through the crack. With middling inquisitiveness he pushes the door open.
His white walls were covered with pictures and posters from magazines. They weren’t his old ones, they were new and with up to date movies, plastered on surfaces where they seemed appropriate. His mirror, which was once cracked was now replaced, polished and reflecting some of the light from the window.
But the best of all the sights in his room, the one that stole his breath was Minho, attaching the last of the magazine pages somewhere by his balcony sliding door, turning around slowly to face Kibum when he sensed someone open the door. He grinned at Kibum, placing the scissors and scotch tape atop the stack of magazines that he left by Kibum’s night stand.
“I just thought this place needed a bit of color. It was looking almost like a hospital room, to be honest.”
Kibum’s feet, no matter how shaky his joints are, fight for balance to run to Minho and in his state he turns to gelatin in the boy’s arms, clutching at his shirt to hoist himself up. Minho holds Kibum steady by the waist, still in the process of keeping him up when Kibum’s lips find his.
Kibum can’t figure it out yet-why the feel of Minho’s lips was painful yet beautiful. He holds onto the fabric of Minho’s shirt tighter and almost loses balance when he senses Minho’s palms against his sides, keeping him firmly in place. With his lips he coats Minho’s with kisses filled with promises and regret.
Kibum pulls away immediately, as if Minho’s lips burned. And with that small distance in between their faces they stare at each other wide eyed and nervous. Then Kibum’s eyes wander back to Minho’s mouth, his heart racing. Minho mirrors the half lidded gaze, one of his hands cupping Kibum’s cheek and catching a tear he never knew was there.
“What’s wrong?” His breath is warm in Kibum’s ear and he senses the way Minho’s wire is digging into his stomach.
“I’m so sorry, Minho.” Kibum says to the fabric of Minho’s shirt.
“Kibum, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry.” Kibum says again and both their grips tighten.
Kibum weakly pulls away, still clutching at Minho’s sleeves as Minho watches him closely, his own eyes beginning to burn at the sight of Kibum’s red pair. Minho slides his thumbs across Kibum’s cheeks, spreading the lines of tears away. Kibum’s fingers circle around his wrists and when his breathing evens he looks up.
“I’ve never kissed a boy before. Did I do that right?” Kibum asks through a tiny hiccup that makes Minho smile.
“Really? I thought you practiced with Jonghyun all the time.”
Kibum tries to reach for Minho’s hair, failing by a few inches when Minho playfully swerves away while taking hold of his wrist.
Minho captures Kibum’s lips again, catching KIbum off guard, slower this time, calmer, allowing them to savor each ounce of softness that they steal. “You did okay.”
Kibum buried his nose in the curve of Minho’s neck, hearing the other boy swallow hard when he swiftly grazes his bottom lip along his collar bone. “I just want you to know that for whatever its worth, you have been stealing so many beats of my literally broken heart that I’ve lost count.”
The beeping of Minho’s LVAD registers on both of them and both boys eye the machine. Kibum huffs. “You should get that fixed.”
“No.” Minho thumbs away the strands of Kibum’s fringe. “I like it when you can at least hear what you’re doing to me.”
Kibum finally notices the color in his room, the color on Minho’s cheeks-color, Kibum thinks, is so underrated. And he wanted Minho to see, feel, taste every color, every burn, every surge of excitement to its fullest. He wanted Minho wrapped up in long years and good intentions-unselfish acts. He wanted Minho is his life for much longer than it’s planning to last and Kibum, despite the decision he finds himself making in Minho’s arms, feels selfish.
---
Minho awakens in a hospital room, the inside of his throat feeling like sandpaper rubbing together.
“Hyung? Hyung?” It’s almost like an echo, the voices familiar but not registering as clearly. There’s scrambling., the light mixing the entire room into waves of ill shaped colors. “He’s awake! Someone! Nurse!”
Suddenly, people are by his side, white, tall, touching him, spreading his eyes open, placing objects in front of him for him to stare at. “Taemin-ah, call your father. Nurse, get me some water. Move, now.”
“Key…” Minho can’t be sure if he said it loud enough, or if his croak of a voice was only his imagination. He can’t make out how much of his senses were unadulterated and which parts were just pieces of a misled dream.
He reaches out but finds his joints rendered too weak. His arm falls back to his stomach and finding that it was rid of wires and belts, only a soreness caused by a stitch was the last thing he remembers before falling back into a slumber.
---
Minho stares hard at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, carefully discarding his hospital gown.
“No wires.” He says under his breath, fingers lightly dragging along the edge of is bandages where his abdomen was stitched. Then his hand trails to his chest, pressing ever so slightly just to catch a low thump.
“Minho yah?” His aunt’s voice reaches him. He snatches his gown and places it back on before walking out.
“I was in the bathroom.”
His aunt’s eyes return to a calm when he emerges from the door, placing himself back on his bed.
“Minho, the doctor said-“
“I know what he said. I’m sorry.”
She nods once before taking the seat next to his bed. The beep of the announcements and people in white walking past in the halls fills the space of silence between them. “I brought you soup.”
“They give us food here.”
“Don’t act like you’ve been eating it.” She retorts motherly. Minho smiles.
“Is uhm. Have you heard anything about Kibum?”
“No.” She shakes her head while in the process
of retracting the table in front of him. “He’s been busy, I guess.”
“Right. Yeah.” Minho quietly answers. “So, he hasn’t called or anything?”
She places the bowl of soup on the table, the aroma of spices spreading immediately. “Not that I know of.”
“Can I borrow your phone?”
“Why?”
“I wanna call him.”
“Minho.” She finally settles back on her chair. “Just work on getting better first. I don’t want you to have to worry about things like these until you’re better.”
“But I’m fine. Please. I just want to see him.”
“And you will.” She places a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Just, not now, okay?”
---
It was beginning to eat at his mind when everyone he asked about Kibum would dodge his question as if he were asking something personal. Even Taemin was of no help. During his recovery Jinki would come into his room every once in a while to check up on him and when the subject of Kibum would enter the conversation Jinki would just smile and say, “I’m sure he’ll visit once he has time.”
Minho has considered walking out of the hospital and just sprinting to Kibum’s house but every night there would be someone sleeping next to his bed, may it be his uncle or his aunt or Taemin and he realizes that he can’t just disregard their efforts so quickly.
There were days when he would watch the door more than he did the TV that was positioned before his bed, thinking that any moment now, Kibum was going to knock and poke his head through with a witty line at the tip of his tongue.
A few weeks pass and Minho is finally healed enough to be discharged. The dull light of the afternoon spilled brightly over his bed as he got ready.
“I’m gonna bring the car around, okay, Minho?” His uncle shouts through the door of the bathroom.
“Okay.” Minho slips his shirt on, the feeling of the front fabric finally landing on his abdomen seemingly foreign to him.
When he steps out of the bathroom, one hand in his mop of hair, there’s a familiar set of shoulders and head of brown hair, back turned to him, waiting by the door.
“Kibum?”
There was a brief expanse of fear lining Minho’s thoughts for reasons he wasn’t certain of but when Kibum finally turns around with a smile assuring him that he wasn’t dreaming, Minho exhales in both surprise and relief.
“Hey.”
“Hi, what. Where were you?”
“What do you mean?” Kibum takes Minho by the arm as they walk out of the room and into the hallway.
“I mean, why didn’t you visit me? I was waiting for you.”
Kibum’s brows shoot to his hairline. “I was busy. I told your aunt that I’d be busy.”
“You didn’t even call.”
“I had homework and projects up to here, okay.” Kibum holds a hand past both their heads. “Busy, busy, busy.”
There was an itch in the back of Minho’s mind that was bothering him, an inkling of a feeling that the other boy was lying. If he was, it was of great effort because if Minho hadn’t known Kibum for long than he might have never guessed what with Kibum flashing his golden smile all the time, which was, for the most part, rather distracting.
“Do you hate me now?”
“What? No.” Minho shakes his head. “I could never hate you, Kibum.”
Minho could have sworn that he saw a tinge of pink dust the surface of Kibum’s pristine cheeks but he was quick to look away, hiding it with an awkward laugh. That’s when Minho’s heart suddenly thumped harder and he knew then how miraculous love was. It wasn’t much of a thought, but he found it genuinely magical when even with a new heart Kibum still managed to make it feel like his old one.
“Good. Coz I’ve got a surprise for you.”
---
“Ow, Kibum. Don’t pull my head back!”
“I’m not, just stop being so tall.”
Kibum walks behind Minho towards Minho’s room with Taemin, his hands around Minho’s head to cover his eyes and ready him for Minho’s surprise. Once in front of Minho’s door Kibum makes Minho promise to not open his eyes yet. And when Minho agrees for the first time, his voice bordering on bewilderment, Kibum retreats his hands to walk towards Minho’s door.
Minho hears the door creak open. “Okay, now.”
And when he opens his eyes his jaw hangs slack for several seconds before Kibum walks beside him to push it back up.
On his bed was a box of snickers and beside it lay a tracksuit with new shoes placed by the foot of his bed. And on the stand between his bed and Taemin’s no longer held his charger machine for his LVAD.
“You got me a TV.” Minho incredulously whispers, unable to look away from the black, sleek, television.
“Not just any TV.” Kibum hops over Minho’s bed, setting the tracksuit that was once laid gently askew, on his way to the TV. He holds out a remote control and turns it on. “It’s got cable too. And kick ass resolution and-well, you know. TV capabilities and. Are you crying?”
Minho’s eyes widen, shaking his head. And when he blinks he feels the tears falling from his eyes. He immediately wipes them with his hands, smiling at his damp palms. “I guess I am.”
“But I haven’t gotten to the best part yet!” Kibum walks over to Minho’s drawer, taking Minho’s hand in his in order to lead the taller male to the drawer with him. “Look.”
There was a picture frame of Kibum adorned with a signature. And on one corner a colorful beaded bracelet hung loosely, the one KIbum always wore. “See, now you have your snicker bars and you can jog and a TV and I’ll be here too. Sort of.”
Minho takes the frame in his hands, tracing his fingers over Kibum’s signature. “You just had to sign it didn’t you?”
“It made me feel like a celebrity.” Kibum beams.
Minho settles the frame back on the drawers. He steals a glance at the door and makes sure that no one was going to walk in before pulling KIbum close. “Or I could just keep you here.”
“Ack, get off me, psycho.”
They stand like that for a few more minutes and the longer that they do Minho realizes that Kibum’s grip grows increasingly tighter.
“I’ll never hurt you, Kibum.”
Kibum stiffens in his arms and he’s probably questioning what Minho’s saying. Minho isn’t quite sure either; it’s as if he’s speaking from somewhere else that’s a combination of his heart and his mind.
Then there was this sound that came out of nowhere. A familiar sound that Minho’s thinks he’s known forever and it’s pretty common so it made sense that he knew it but this was a rather weird place to hear it again unless-
Beep.
There it is again. Then it registers on him how Kibum’s wearing a backpack, something he found tacky as he had explained to Minho before. And Minho can only hope for the worst, at the same time hope that it isn’t so. He pulls away in an instant, Kibum blinking up at him in confusion and with one hand he aims for the hem of Kibum’s shirt.
KIbum’s hands fly on Minho’s. “Wait, no-“
Minho lifts up KIbum’s shirt, the other boy’s hands falling helplessly as his side as he allows Minho to stare at his pierced abdomen.
“Kibum.”
Kibum shoves his hands away and tugs his shirt down. He takes a few steps back, lower lip quivering.
“Is that.” Minho whispers harshly. “Is that why you were gone? Is that why you were busy?”
“Don’t hate me, Minho.”
“Hate you?” Minho places a step forward, the other boy retreating. “Kibum, I told you. I could never.” Minho heard his new heart shatter the cages of bones surrounding it, breaking and seething, his arms automatically going around Kibum.
The questions that race through his head are only rephrases of why and what can he do but he doesn’t voice them out because the answers were never going to come.
---
There was nothing left to do but make time a little less painful. Kibum had kept Minho’s LVAD-stuck it with him just because. He didn’t want anything else unfamiliar in him and if he needed something else metal to live in his skin he wanted something of Minho just to make it less cold and more real.
Seeing Minho free of the things he’s had to live with for so long was a lot more rewarding than Kibum had dubbed and every time Minho would smile at him Kibum can’t help but breathe normally, ignoring everything else in the world that wasn’t as beautiful as he was.
A few months pass and reality weighs on the both of them. Kibum was growing weaker with every beat, more feeble than the last. Minho doesn’t answer the questions. He doesn’t want to. They don’t matter. There was only Kibum and there were only new days to look forward too. Nothing else could come in the way of that. Maybe they both knew that this would never be as long lived at they both wanted. And it was an excruciating truth that just snuck up on them from under their beds, the monster in their closets left to fester.
“Now, I’m the robot.” It’s been six months, more or less, Minho lost count. Kibum’s losing strength quicker than they have ever predicted, now back in the hospital bed after having once again collapsed in the most unexpected of hours. And by the looks of Minho’s grief he sometimes wonders if it’s enough for him to die before Kibum does.
“That’s not funny.” Minho sniffs, eyes too worn out and puffy to cry again.
“It was funny when you said it.”
Minho silences Kibum with his lips, chaste and quick because they both know Kibum’s parents are somewhere in the hospital, calming themselves down in the chapel.
Minho squeezes Kibum’s hand hard, waits for the other boy to somehow sense his pulse and how much it’s hiccupping, but Kibum can’t really feel much apart from the needles and the brand new scar behind his bandage.
He’s praying. They both are. Kibum doesn’t pray much for anything or to anything. He never really wondered what was out there, what was there to believe in. But here, beside him, was Minho and having him exist was enough of a miracle for Kibum to believe that maybe there was a higher being out there that was kind enough to offer him some sort of happiness.
Even if it wasn’t time. Even if it was just a boy.
Kibum’s eyes are weighing greatly, dropping against the afternoon splash of light. With Kibum’s broken heart and Minho’s new one, both are equally as heavy in their chest, aching in the same place for one another.
That’s when Lee Jinki enters the room without knocking, no longer as polite, his lab coat nowhere to be found. It was as if he had literally ran to work from his home. Minho spins his head around, not letting go of Kibum’s hand whose grip was growing weak, fingers loosening.
Minho eyes a panting Lee Jinki. In his one hand was a clipboard, his other hand on his chest. He straightens up, the corners of his lips struggling for a smile.
Lee Jinki takes slow steps to the bed, a hand on Minho’s shoulder. He hands the clipboard to the younger boy who uses his spare hand to reach for it.
There was a lot of complicated wording on the clipboard and with every sentence his eyes devour the tighter he clutches at Kibum’s hand. The clipboard falls to the floor from his limp hand, now aiming for his lips. He didn’t need to read much else. And there wasn’t any other way to place the words on the clipboard. All Minho understood was that someone was listening. And his prayers were answered.
When Kibum’s eyelids flutter visions of blurry blue scrubs rise to his registrations, the sound of wheels, the feel of Minho’s rough pads squeezing his hand hard enough to bruise. Kibum doesn’t mind that to be the last thing he remembers before leaving.
But then Kibum hears his mother’s whimpers somewhere. Then there’s a tug of needles from his skin, more hand squeezing and a light brush of knuckles across his cheeks.
“Kibum.” Minho’s voice dissolves into husky tones, as if his throat was scratched and skinned. “Kibum, wake up.”
---
1 week later
“So, did you hit it yet?”
“Jjong, for fuck’s sake. I’m recovering from my surgery, can you just fuck off before Minho comes-ow, don’t touch my cut, shitdick!”
“I didn’t even add pressure!”
“Seriously, Jjong. I can’t feel stressed out during post op. I should have you banned.”
“So, you’re saying I make you feel stressed?”
“I’m saying that you could possibly be the death of me.”
“You know what they say, Kibum. When you’re feeling stressed, indulge in butt sex.”
“I think I have a scalpel in here somewhere.”
---
1 month later
“How can you hate jogging when you play volleyball?”
“Jogging is so boring, Minho. Can we just go somewhere and make out? I here we burn calories that way too.”
“But Taemin’s waiting for us in the park.”
“So is Jonghyun. You don’t see me making a fuss about it.”
---
2 months later
“So, Minho. Are you hitting that?”
“Jonghyun, get out of my room!”
“Kibum, just ignore him…”
---
3 months later
“Hey Jjong hyung!”
“Taemin? Hey. What are you doing here? Don’t you have a chess tournament today?”
“Minho hyung asked me to come over and tell you that he finally hit it!”
“Wh-what? Taemin…”
“I’m only the messenger hyung. I have no idea what this pertains to for I am merely an innocent boy.”
“He could’ve just texted me…”
“He wanted me to take a picture.”
“A picture of a what?”
“Your face when I tell you that you should probably change your sheets.”
Previous
Pairing: minho/key
Genre: au, drama, romance
Rating: pg - 13
Summary: wherein kibum and minho are heart patients.
Kibum almost chokes on his soft pretzel mid bite due to a hand slapping against his back. He leans forward, regaining his composure, coughing slightly as Minho, the backslapper, comes up from behind him and places both hands on his hips.
“What are you doing out here?” Minho allows his gaze to roam about the exit of the arcade before looking back at Kibum who was tentatively picking at the bits of his pretzel, refusing to look Minho in the eye. “Kibum?”
“Mm?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Kibum finally bites into his pretzel, still avoiding Minho’s eyes.
“Why are you being weird?”
“I’m not.” Kibum hears how much of a whiner he’s being at the moment. He tries not to dwell on it. Neither does Minho.
Minho exhales. “Whatever. Here.” He hands over a token for Kibum to reach. Kibum clips his pretzel in between his teeth in order to vacate his hands and reach for the token.
Kibum places it back in Minho’s pocket. The boy stares at Kibum’s hand then up at Kibum’s face. “I still have five of mine.”
“You don’t wanna play?”
Comprehension wasn’t Kibum’s friend today. Kibum knows what Minho means. Minho is talking about games in arcades and simplistic strategies to win, nothing more or less, yet Kibum, with all of his former thoughts gets caught in the middle of Minho’s sentence-the middle that didn’t exist until Kibum split Minho’s sentence apart just to get it in there. “No. I don’t wanna play.”
Kibum walks past a baffled Minho, discarding the pretzel in the first recycling bin he sees by the escalator. He hops on the step and wishes that Minho wouldn’t follow him out. Clearly, he wasn’t aware of the fact that not all of his wishes came true.
Minho’s by his side in an instant, his long legs stretching over the steps to get to him. “The fuck was that, Kibum?”
“I need you to stay away from me now.” Kibum provides monotonously. Minho, for the first time, doesn’t face Kibum with a smile.
“What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything, Minho. You’re perfect.”
Once on the last step of the escalator Minho finally takes hold of Kibum’s wrist, his fingers getting caught between the colorful beads of his bracelets, pulling him away from the landing and the other people proceeding to step off it.
“What’s going on with you? You’ve been off this whole morning.”
“Let go of my arm.” Minho doesn’t hesitate to loosen his grip, Kibum tugs away immediately. “Listen, I don’t feel so well. I’m going home. Just tell Jonghyun that maybe you guys can take a cab.”
“Kibum, what is this? Why won’t you talk to me?”
“I told you. I’m not feeling well.” Kibum bumps past Minho’s shoulder in order to walk away from the boy. Create a distance that doesn’t require them to share the same breath. He was swiftly aggravated with the idea of Minho and just his whole face. Kibum hated Minho’s face. So much so that he didn’t even turn back to see the levels of disappointment lining Minho’s features.
---
Minho finds Jonghyun where he last left him in the drum machine game, pounding away on the caricature drum set. Minho positions himself beside the screen in order to get the boy’s attention.
“Hey!” Jonghyun greets in between beats, never roaming his eyes away from the screen. “Where’s Kibum?”
“He left.” Minho shouts over the bass of the drum game, leaning against the machine.
Jonghyun’s rhythm is tarnished then, eyes going round as he faces Minho, arms falling loosely to his sides with the drumsticks, the game announcing his loss. “He what?”
“He left.” Minho repeats.
“What? But how are we--?”
“He said we should take a cab?” Minho suggests the same thing.
“Fucker.” Jonghyun shoves the drum sticks back in the holding place, shifting out of the seat while the next group of students that were in line dropped their tokens in the slot. “He didn’t say anything, just left?”
“He said he wasn’t feeling well.”
“What a liar.” Jonghyun groans. They walk out of the all too noisy arcade, past the shops and down the escalator. “Don’t worry about it, Minho. He gets these mood swings sometimes.”
“He’s really stupid. Your friend.”
Jonghyun snorts out a laugh. “He is. But he’s alright once you get past the stupidity. And the mood swings.”
“And the fact that he does what he does.”
“And his bracelets.”
“Yeah, what is it with him and those bracelets?”
“I dunno, man.” Jonghyun shakes his head and swishes his bangs to one side. “I’m not one to go about judging accessories. I just go with whatever floats his metaphorical boat.”
Minho laughs and holds onto Jonghyun’s shoulder. “Where can we get a cab around here?”
---
Kibum’s staring at Minho’s message later that night, blurring the words on the screen as he begins to stare at the spaces in between as opposed to the actual letters. Then his head hurts and he can’t concentrate.
Kibum finds solace in the dark. He thinks that this is where secrets should be spoken, where he can be a book with the pages wide open. But Minho’s message is still glowing from his phone and he can’t help but wonder what kind of sickening metaphor is being said to him. Maybe there was no metaphor. Maybe Kibum just lacked sleep.
He’s been sleeping for longer than he should though because of the meds and every time he skips them, which is partly what he’s trying to do so that he won’t be dependent of them, his eyes remain open for the rest of the night as if his eyelids were taped to his eyebrows.
His cellphone vibrates against his palm and he flips it open to read another message from the guy that he does not like, like.
Whatever it is if you think that im at fault im sorry kibum. please talke t me. Typos, did that mean that he was just as nervous as Kibum? And if that were the case would it lead to the conclusion that Minho liking Kibum back would not be an impossibility?
“Why am I even?” Kibum stretches on his back, his pillow rolling off the mattress only to be met with the floor. Without a plan in mind, and no need for one as he soon realizes, Kibum decides to stop being a pussy. He dials Minho’s number and waits for the ring and he will never admit how the first “Hello,” washes him over with so much ease it makes his pulse flip.
“Uhm. Hey. You.” Kibum makes a face in the dark.
“Are you okay?” There were no traces of antagonism in his voice when he speaks, just genuine concern.
“So, I was an asshole earlier.” Kibum shifts in his bed. “Honestly, I was just a little out of sorts, uhm. Things weren’t going very well for me during the beginning of the day and I didn’t mean to take my frustrations out on you, I swear.”
“Okay.” Minho answers after a few minutes. “Well, if I said anything or did anything-“
“No. You were. I mean. You’re great. I meant it when I said you were perfect.” Kibum cringes when he realizes what he’d just said and his heart beat becomes almost audible when the only reply he gets is Minho’s breaths. Kibum clears his throat. “Minho? Are you still there?”
“Yeah. Yes.”
“Uhm.” Kibum stares at nothing in particular, feeling less safe in his room and wanting to drown in his sheets, maybe stay there. And just as he’s about to ask whether Minho was about to go to bed he hears a faint beeping sound.
“Shit.”
“Minho?”
“I have to go.”
“Ok-“ the line comes in and Kibum gingerly shuts his phone, discarding it on the dresser before lying straight on his back, fixating his stare at the ceiling as he replays the conversation and it’s lack of connection to anything that Kibum finds comprehensive.
---
It’s not all that weird, is it? Okay, maybe it is. But Kibum hasn’t seen Minho in two weeks and so what if staring at his counter from the window outside of the grocery store made him seem a little mad. Drastic times call for drastic measures.
Kibum finally decides that he needed to do something about this sudden fallout. He can’t take it, the way his week screamed emptiness the moment Minho’s texts never reached him anymore. He checks his faint reflection on the surface of the glass, seeing the spots on the window that needs more cleaning, before placing his hands in his pockets and finally walking through the sliding doors. It was getting hot outside anyway.
He makes it inside the grocery store without Minho noticing him, instead busying himself with the customers. Kibum idly nabs himself a basket and places the first thing he can get his hands on inside. After his very impromptu plan he finally makes his way to Minho’s isle, right behind a boy who looks no older than Kibum.
The boy casts a glance at Kibum when he senses another person in line, eyeing his basket then back at Kibum’s face. Kibum notices the weary look in the boy’s eyes and decides to glare at him.
“What?” Kibum says with a roll of his eyes.
As soon as it’s the boy’s turn ahead of him Kibum tests his breath in his hands and pats on his fringe.
“Can I be honest with you?” Kibum is the first to speak as he finally reaches Minho’s counter, taking his basket and placing it on the counter.
Minho’s brows shoot to his hair line, lips pressed in a tight line. Kibum isn’t sure what to make of his reaction.
“Minho, I.” Kibum takes a deep breath as Minho’s lips part. He doesn’t look like he’s about to interrupt Kibum, but he looks slightly fearful of what Kibum’s about to say. “It’s been weeks. And I know things have been weird between us and I don’t do things like this. Really. But I don’t meet people like you very often which sucks since you get it. I mean, about this and us. You get it.”
The whole time Kibum started speaking Minho fixated his stare on the censor in his counter, counting the lights, the red dots that scan through the prices. He takes a deep breath, uses one hand to reach for the itch on the side of his nose caused by his overgrown fringe.
“I can’t talk right now.” Minho replies, avoiding Kibum’s eyes while taking in his hands the one item in Kibum’s basket.
Kibum’s out of breath in that moment, eyes stinging with threatening tears. He doesn’t blink until he’s out of Minho’s sight and walking out of the door.
“Kibum!” Minho calls after him. But Kibum’s past ashamed at this point. He’s never felt so useless in his life, so out of place like a single needle in a haystack just wanting to be found. “Kibum, wait up!”
Minho catches him in the parking lot, gripping his wrist but Kibum pulls his hand away with every intention of leaving without Minho seeing the hurt in his eyes. The other boy doesn’t give up easily, though.
“Kibum what the fuck? Why do I feel like I keep doing this lately?”
Kibum’s a few feet away from his car and he fumbles with his keys in the depth of his pocket. It slows him down and Minho is able to take hold of his wrists.
“Kibum, you forgot your milk-“
“Minho.” Kibum’s voice sounded strained, almost hesitant, but he pushes with it just to get it out of the way. Minho’s brows knit together at the sudden confession as his lips part in a semi scowl. “I know it’s ridiculous as fuck for me to like you. I know that, okay! You didn’t have to humiliate me like that or - just, whatever.”
“Wha-you came to me at work! What the hell do you expect me to do?” It registers on Minho how his voice was rather loud in the parking lot. His eyes bounce from the ground then back to Kibum’s face, calming himself down with hands planted behind his hips. “Last time you called-I didn’t deal with that the best way that I could and I’m sorry. You can hit me or fucking shove your foot down my throat if you want. I deserve it. I’m still trying to figure this all out and I-yeah. I should have called.”
Kibum struggles for a response, one that he doesn’t have to stutter out but it’s cold all of a sudden and he feels bare. He wants to run away again and possibly hide under the covers, away from Minho’s stare but he knows that scrutiny will haunt him for a long time.
“Minho!” Minho drops his hands and walks away from Kibum as he spins his heel and faces the direction of the voice.
“Hyung?” Kibum recognizes the Changmin guy from before, standing outside of the grocery store in an apron similar to Minho’s.
“You’re line’s filling up. I can’t handle all of these alone.”
“Yeah. I’ll be right in.” Minho turns to Kibum and starts to walk away. He’s about to say something, the same thing that he asks every time so Kibum decides to beat him to it.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Kibum asks and Minho smiles like a child.
“Nothing.”
“Good. You wanna hangout?”
---
“What are you on about, Kim? What is this?” Minho refuses to take a step further on what he cannot believe is Kibum’s lawn, laid elegantly in greens and pinks and all other garden-ish colors. Minho stays by Kibum’s car door as the other male pads along the graveled pathway leading towards his front door.
“My house?” Kibum provides as he glances at Minho over his shoulder. He cocks one brow upward; both eyes narrow as he spins on his heel and plants both hands on his hips. Minho’s on his way, carefully trotting along the gravel and skirting his eyes over the height of Kibum’s house. “Don’t worry. I’m not some sick psychopath that owns a cellar wherein you will be pushed into in five minutes time and murdered with incomprehensible paraphernalia.”
“That’s very specific.”
“Hm.” Kibum fishes for his keys in his back pocket, skipping his fingers over his phone. He checks his other pocket while Minho finishes staring up at the sides and other places of the exterior of the house that he can feast his wide, brown eyes on.
“Murder’s the last thing on my mind.” Minho absentmindedly adds. “From the looks of this place you’re probably gonna. I dunno. Drown me in luxuries.”
Kibum laughs briefly as he finally pushes the door open. “That’s a bad thing?”
“It can go both ways. I can turn greedy.” Minho whispers the last part, once again busy with skimming over the simplistic interior of what he only thought he could only see in magazines. “Jesus.”
Kibum’s striding over towards the different doors, hooking his hands around some of the columns as he takes a peek at the different rooms. “Mom? Dad?” He runs over the first three floating steps of their staircase, calling after his parents again. He gets no response and finally plops down on one of the white, curved couches. “Guess it’s just us.”
Minho’s too frightened of dirtying the floor with his scuffed up Chuck Taylors.
Kibum gets comfortable on the couch and for a minute he doesn’t realize that he’s alone. In the emptiness of the couch and the lack of Minho in it, he turns his head around to finally face the boy he was in search of, in the same spot where he left him earlier. Kibum frowns.
Minho’s just about certain that Kibum’s about to say something snarky like we have couches for a reason or Minho, just coz you have long legs doesn’t mean they won’t break like short ones if you stand there all day.
“D’you wanna see my room?”
Minho didn’t see that one coming, though. His eyes drop to his shoes, the laces somehow seeming to hold the answer to Kibum’s question.
Minho’s hesitation and abrupt flush of cheeks elicits a grin from Kibum. Kibum rises from the couch, palming the frame in order to hop off from the back. He walks over to Minho, leans in close when he’s just an inch away and Minho shuts his eyes closed. He’s not sure what he’s hiding from but it must be fucking scary. Whatever it was, it never came. Instead, Minho’s greeted with a nudge on his shoulder caused by Kibum’s as he proceeds to walk past him, towards what seems to be the kitchen area.
Minho pops one eye open and Kibum comes back with a refrigerator magnet with a pineapple shaped cover. He places it in Minho’s hand. Minho clutches onto the magnet, unsure of what Kibum was trying to do.
“If I try anything you have my full permission to use that.” Kibum tugs at the dip in his shirt and exposes his scar from when the metal pacemaker was set in his flesh. “Right here.” He draws an imaginary X mark with his forefinger. Minho hasn’t laughed that hard in ages.
“I’m not-“ Minho fights for air after calming himself down. “-gonna go easy on you.”
“I don’t expect you to.” Kibum scoffs.
Up in Kibum’s room it takes Minho five minutes of strolling and looking around before stretching beside Kibum on his bed. He notices how clean everything is, how partially devoid the room was of anything expected of Kibum. Minho always thought that Kibum’s room would be colored with stories and secrets. Instead all he gets is a white chasm, blank and completely unlike him. Except for the glow in the dark stars scattered across the ceiling, the yellowish green almost unseen against the white of the paint.
“My dad got them for me.” Kibum explains the origins of the glow in the dark stars. “He won them in one of those shooting booths in the amusement park near the mall? You’ve probably been there.”
Minho shakes his head. “I’ve never been to an amusement park.”
Kibum’s feline eyes widen. “No fucking way.”
“Yes fucking way.“
“How is that possible?”
“My parents never took me.”
“Why?”
“My heart. I knew early on. And they didn’t want me to have to go to a place where I’d only be limited to certain rides. They didn’t want me to feel neglected or discriminated or. You know. Whatever.”
“That’s pointless. It’s not like you don’t get that living in the real world. At least in amusement parks you’re blinded by cotton candy and cheap thrills. It’s a perfect mimicry of temporary happiness.”
“All happiness is temporary.” Minho’s feet are swaying from side to side, causing the mattress to shake slightly.
---
So maybe it took Kibum a lot longer to plan than he expected. But a few headaches from being cooped up in a tiny, ill lit space (such as the storage room in the grocery store where Minho worked) as he covers the ordinary, grocery push cart with greens and reds and yellows and blues just to make it seem similar to a ride in any typical amusement park, and planning the perfect schedule with Changmin to get the grocery store all to himself without people doing inventory was a small price to pay in comparison to the brightness of Minho’s smile the moment he takes sight of the finished product.
“Wait for it…” Kibum reveals the piece of rectangular carton he’s been keeping from behind his back and sticks it right at the front of the push cart, the word MinhoMobile written in bold, black letters across the surface, hand painted and imperfect. “Ta-da!”
Minho can’t help how his LVAD is beeping as a reaction to his excitement as if his ear to ear grin wasn’t enough of an indication. The best part was Kibum not knowing how this moment was probably the highlight of his gestures, how he probably didn’t mean for any of it to be romantic. And maybe, it wasn’t romantic. What was romance when faced with perfection?
Minho grips either side of the cart before hopping over and slipping into the center, struggling for a bit with his long legs to fit in the cart just right. When he’s snug and safe he leans back and feels the makeshift seatbelt (which was basically two leather belts and a necktie) digging into his shoulder blades.
“Safety first.” Kibum winks down at him as he pushes the cart towards the first aisle of cereal and chips.
Minho simply pulls on one of the belts and it detaches from the rest with a snap, material pooling behind him and slipping past the bars of the cart. Minho passes Kibum a sarcastic smile over his shoulder and the other male mirrors it.
“You ready for the ride of your life?”
“I’m ready for a line that’s less of a cliché than that.” Minho raises both his fists in the air as Kibum kicks at the ground animatedly, readying himself to run but instead of running Kibum anticlimactically pushes the cart with undemanding stride.
“The fuck?” Minho swerves his head around to raise a brow at Kibum.
“I don’t wanna get tired.” Kibum enlightens.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Minho flips his hair. “I thought this was the MinhoMobile, not the KibumIsSuchASuckyDriverMobile.”
Kibum ran and pushed and turned over the aisles that night, his sneakers squeaking against the newly cleaned floors, Minho’s fist pumping at the air like a child.
Kibum feels as if he’s finally done something right.
---
“How would your life be different?” Kibum asks as they finally exit the grocery store and sit by the sidewalk outside, the pavement cold and weaving thought the material of their jeans. Minho’s looking up at the night sky, the glittering powder of stars allowing them a peaceful conversation underneath black and white burn. “If you weren’t sick.”
“I would never think about quitting school.” Minho accompanies his admission with a light chuckle, like maybe if he doesn’t it’ll sound much more of a waste, like he’s trying to pass it off as an actual joke. “I’d, uhm. I would replace my charger machine with a TV. I’d eat five packs of Snickers and jog it off just coz I can.” Kibum notices the light smile playing on Minho’s lips, his eyes closing as he goes on. He’s there in that world that he’s describing and Kibum wishes he could bring him there. Somehow. “And then. And then you’d still be here. With me. On this sidewalk. Yeah. That’s just about right.”
And when Minho looks down, his eyes skirting over Kibum’s features, there’s a thump in his broken heart that’s no different than the rest except for the fact that it was caused by Minho’s stare. And of all the beats-that one beat in particular belonged to the boy whose eyes bore holes into his soul.
---
It’s not easy being friends with Kibum, that much Minho has confirmed. Being with Kibum was like being on a minefield, but in some small way it was worth it because their hearts beat in the same broken mold.
The first year of being on the list has finally past and Minho can’t find any other way to spend it wisely than by wasting it with Kibum and his lazy jokes. But on this one particular Wednesday fate has decided to pave pathway for the both of them.
“Jinki hyung, you wanted to see me?”
“Minho yah. Hey. Come in, come in.”
Minho ushers himself in, settling on the chair before Jinki’s desk.
“So.”
Minho’s smile is wobbly, but it’s resting on his lips, his hope evident in the way his palms are sweating with nervousness.
Minho had dreamed about this moment for months. But the way it all played out was different somehow. Jinki tells him of the news he’s been waiting to hear for half his life. There was a heart waiting for him. And people may never understand it, the way Minho’s isn’t as excited about the finish line as he is the starting point.
---
Kibum joins Taemin and the rest of Minho’s family on their couch, watching Minho excitedly pace in front of them. He announces the news and the roar of laughter and buckets of tears was much more than Minho could ever expect. Kibum and Taemin sandwich him into a hug while his aunt was being comforted by his uncle. Minho’s never really won anything in his life out of luck, this was close enough.
Kibum joins them for dinner once again that night, a never ending spiel of how happy he was spilling from his lips. But what was it, Kibum asks, that his food went stale at the initial landing of it on his tongue? Why couldn’t he ignore the question in his head about where this would leave them?
He knows that they’ll probably still talk, still be together, still breathe the same air but Kibum always thought that their bond relied on a source of pain, a line of suffering from Kibum’s chest to Minho’s. Kibum doesn’t say anything.
---
“What happened to your room?” Kibum kicks at the stray items of clothing, chess pieces and whatever else, lying on the floor of Minho’s room.
Minho’s in the process of picking some of the chess pieces up, pawns and queens gathered in his hands. “Taemin and I got into a fight.” He provides without sparing Kibum’s look of confused revulsion a glance.
“So he’s kind of like Katrina when he gets mad?” Kibum aids with the cleaning by grabbing a few shirts off the floor and stuffing them in Minho and Taemin’s shared closet messily.
“Who?”
“You know.” Kibum elbows the heaps of clothes slipping past his arms. “The hurricane.”
Jonghyun pops his aggravating little blonde fringe in sometimes and when it’s just him and Kibum he tends to torture his best friend by asking him the distasteful so, when are you gonna get yourself some Minho-ass? question over and over again, between commercial breaks, in the waiting room of Kibum’s monthly check up, from the other side of the cubicle of the bathroom (in this situation Kibum usually retorts with, “Don’t say Minho’s name and ass while touching your pencil dick, fucktard!”), and everywhere else they hangout. Prick.
However, denying himself of the obvious wasn’t helping him at all. He wasn’t really thinking of sex. He needed to take care of his baby steps first. Like holding hands, intimate brushes and whatnot. Then kissing.
Kibum invites Minho to his next volleyball game, a match that Dr. Lee wasn’t very supportive about when placing into consideration how Kibum’s heart wasn’t getting any better. But he’s known Kibum long enough to know that the boy wants what he wants and getting in his way wasn’t going to do any of them good.
Dr. Lee tries to go about the match by talking to Minho-asking the younger boy to maybe get Kibum to reconsider. And as Minho watches Kibum in the locker room, stretching his arm on the same side where his pacemaker was while staring at the mirror, he begins with a simple, “Jinki hyung told me something interesting today.”
Kibum smirks at him from their reflection on the mirror. “Lemme tell you something, Minho yah. I get it.”
Minho scratches the bell of his ear.
“You and Dr. Lee are close. Whatever. But he’s still a doctor. And doctors always say shit like you can’t do this or you can’t do that or you’re never gonna walk again. Guess what? As long as I can play, Imma help win my team a trophy.”
“Well, what about me?”
“What about you?”
“I worry too.”
Kibum shuts his locker closed and faces Minho’s solemn face. “I’m a big boy, Minho. I can take care of myself.”
“I know.” There’s a brief silence as they stare at one another from across the room. Minho’s the first to stir, slapping his hands on his knees before standing up. “Go, then. Kick the shit out of this game.”
Minho finds his way onto the stands, watching Kibum punch his emotions onto the innocent ball, flying over the net and missing the opposing team’s receiving block by a few centimeters, earning Kibum’s team a point, the first lead in the game and a chorus of applause from the students rooting for their school. Kibum returns the high fives of his teammates, his breathing shortened already. His gaze sweeps across the crowd until he finds Minho, the only person in the front row who remains calmly in his seat, his gaze familiar even at a distance, even after all of these months. Kibum feels naked on the court; he tears his gaze away in hopes of getting his senses back in order.
Kibum wins the first set but not without effort. He’s sweating and his left knee is giving into his determination and his drive, throbbing for him to take notice. Kibum shakes the pain away, stretching his limbs further as they huddle in before the next set. He hasn’t looked at Minho since the beginning of the game and when their team disperses, positioning back into their respective places on the court, Kibum risks a quick glance and finds Minho’s seat empty. And that’s when his knee folds in, his arm burning, his vision disappearing behind his lids.
---
Kibum wakes up to the sight of his mother reading a book by his bed side in the hospital, the room seemingly similar to the state of his room. She strokes his hair, offers him food as he asks about Minho. She tells him that Minho was coming much later and that he was again removed from the volleyball team. This time Kibum doesn’t even feel remorseful. He just wanted to sleep some more.
Minho comes at a later time, greeting his mother as he enters the room. He doesn’t speak the obvious, just sits by Kibum’s side and smiles. There was no need for apologies or explanations, words of encouragement. All Kibum needed was a smile and that was exactly what he got. Jonghyun comes a few hours after, bearing pillows and a bundle of Kibum’s favorite magazines. The three of them spend the rest of the night in the hospital just talking and throwing magazines and pillows at one another.
Kibum doesn’t realize he fell asleep until waking up the next morning, Dr. Lee next to his bed, scribbling on a piece of paper laid on his clipboard. He greets Kibum once he realizes the younger has woken up. Dr. Lee takes his temperature, blood pressure, pulse beats per minute, the usual. After a few more documented results Kibum is placed on a wheel chair and sent to the x-ray room.
A week later, Kibum is summoned into Dr. Lee’s stuffy office and is asked to make himself comfortable on the couch as opposed to the chairs opposite his desk. Dr. Lee accompanies him on the couch, his glasses riding low on the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep breath and clips his lips, pins them in a straight line.
“Something wrong, doctor?”
“It’s not what you would expect.” Dr. Lee replies in hushed tones.
Kibum shakes his head in question and Dr. Lee doesn’t prolong the silence.
“It’s about the list, Kibum.”
Kibum tilts his head to the right. “Okay.”
“In your papers have you. Uhm. Do you remember the clauses regarding priority?”
“…mmh. Not entirely.”
Dr. Lee releases a breath. “Okay, well. There are certain cases when the person in line for the new heart may be overseen. Like, Minho.”
Kibum visualizes red alarms going off in his head. “What are you-“
“Let me finish.” Silence. “Minho is next in line for the heart. But his operation is put on hold because, as stated in the priority clause, if the person after Minho, which is you, has been undergoing deteriorating levels in their condition, which you have…” Dr. Lee’s sentence ends in an almost whisper. “Then you will be prioritized for the heart.”
“But.” Kibum can’t seem to return Dr. Lee’s steady gaze, instead choosing to stare at things around him, the floor, the arm of the couch, the edges of his desk on the far end. Kibum even struggles to find his own voice. “He’s been waiting for months-years! He can’t afford to wait anymore.”
“No, Kibum. You can’t afford to wait anymore. Without the heart by the time you black out again, which will happen, I guarantee you, your heart will weaken even more and you’re going to be placed on an LVAD. And even then it’s not going to keep you alive for more than a number of months.”
Kibum rises from the couch, clutching at his shoulder where his pacemaker was working just fine. Was there a way for him to talk to God? Kibum has never been the most religious person out there but he needed some comfort and what was better comfort than religion where miracles were not just seen in fairytales.
He pushed the rewind button in his mind and he saw everything move backwards to the time he knew nothing but school and volleyball and Jonghyun and girls. Then he moves forward to when Minho first walked through the doors of the hospital, the way Kibum couldn’t see anything else but him.
---
Kibum was way past exhausted when he was finally told that he could go home. He wasn’t in the mood for much, feeling beaten up at all sides. He felt as if he had already lost something he never knew he was fighting and the more he claws for the surface the further away victory runs.
His mother holds him tightly by the shoulders as they walk up the stairs, leaving him in front of his door, a smile on her face before walking away. Kibum’s door was ajar, the small light spilling through the crack. With middling inquisitiveness he pushes the door open.
His white walls were covered with pictures and posters from magazines. They weren’t his old ones, they were new and with up to date movies, plastered on surfaces where they seemed appropriate. His mirror, which was once cracked was now replaced, polished and reflecting some of the light from the window.
But the best of all the sights in his room, the one that stole his breath was Minho, attaching the last of the magazine pages somewhere by his balcony sliding door, turning around slowly to face Kibum when he sensed someone open the door. He grinned at Kibum, placing the scissors and scotch tape atop the stack of magazines that he left by Kibum’s night stand.
“I just thought this place needed a bit of color. It was looking almost like a hospital room, to be honest.”
Kibum’s feet, no matter how shaky his joints are, fight for balance to run to Minho and in his state he turns to gelatin in the boy’s arms, clutching at his shirt to hoist himself up. Minho holds Kibum steady by the waist, still in the process of keeping him up when Kibum’s lips find his.
Kibum can’t figure it out yet-why the feel of Minho’s lips was painful yet beautiful. He holds onto the fabric of Minho’s shirt tighter and almost loses balance when he senses Minho’s palms against his sides, keeping him firmly in place. With his lips he coats Minho’s with kisses filled with promises and regret.
Kibum pulls away immediately, as if Minho’s lips burned. And with that small distance in between their faces they stare at each other wide eyed and nervous. Then Kibum’s eyes wander back to Minho’s mouth, his heart racing. Minho mirrors the half lidded gaze, one of his hands cupping Kibum’s cheek and catching a tear he never knew was there.
“What’s wrong?” His breath is warm in Kibum’s ear and he senses the way Minho’s wire is digging into his stomach.
“I’m so sorry, Minho.” Kibum says to the fabric of Minho’s shirt.
“Kibum, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry.” Kibum says again and both their grips tighten.
Kibum weakly pulls away, still clutching at Minho’s sleeves as Minho watches him closely, his own eyes beginning to burn at the sight of Kibum’s red pair. Minho slides his thumbs across Kibum’s cheeks, spreading the lines of tears away. Kibum’s fingers circle around his wrists and when his breathing evens he looks up.
“I’ve never kissed a boy before. Did I do that right?” Kibum asks through a tiny hiccup that makes Minho smile.
“Really? I thought you practiced with Jonghyun all the time.”
Kibum tries to reach for Minho’s hair, failing by a few inches when Minho playfully swerves away while taking hold of his wrist.
Minho captures Kibum’s lips again, catching KIbum off guard, slower this time, calmer, allowing them to savor each ounce of softness that they steal. “You did okay.”
Kibum buried his nose in the curve of Minho’s neck, hearing the other boy swallow hard when he swiftly grazes his bottom lip along his collar bone. “I just want you to know that for whatever its worth, you have been stealing so many beats of my literally broken heart that I’ve lost count.”
The beeping of Minho’s LVAD registers on both of them and both boys eye the machine. Kibum huffs. “You should get that fixed.”
“No.” Minho thumbs away the strands of Kibum’s fringe. “I like it when you can at least hear what you’re doing to me.”
Kibum finally notices the color in his room, the color on Minho’s cheeks-color, Kibum thinks, is so underrated. And he wanted Minho to see, feel, taste every color, every burn, every surge of excitement to its fullest. He wanted Minho wrapped up in long years and good intentions-unselfish acts. He wanted Minho is his life for much longer than it’s planning to last and Kibum, despite the decision he finds himself making in Minho’s arms, feels selfish.
---
Minho awakens in a hospital room, the inside of his throat feeling like sandpaper rubbing together.
“Hyung? Hyung?” It’s almost like an echo, the voices familiar but not registering as clearly. There’s scrambling., the light mixing the entire room into waves of ill shaped colors. “He’s awake! Someone! Nurse!”
Suddenly, people are by his side, white, tall, touching him, spreading his eyes open, placing objects in front of him for him to stare at. “Taemin-ah, call your father. Nurse, get me some water. Move, now.”
“Key…” Minho can’t be sure if he said it loud enough, or if his croak of a voice was only his imagination. He can’t make out how much of his senses were unadulterated and which parts were just pieces of a misled dream.
He reaches out but finds his joints rendered too weak. His arm falls back to his stomach and finding that it was rid of wires and belts, only a soreness caused by a stitch was the last thing he remembers before falling back into a slumber.
---
Minho stares hard at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, carefully discarding his hospital gown.
“No wires.” He says under his breath, fingers lightly dragging along the edge of is bandages where his abdomen was stitched. Then his hand trails to his chest, pressing ever so slightly just to catch a low thump.
“Minho yah?” His aunt’s voice reaches him. He snatches his gown and places it back on before walking out.
“I was in the bathroom.”
His aunt’s eyes return to a calm when he emerges from the door, placing himself back on his bed.
“Minho, the doctor said-“
“I know what he said. I’m sorry.”
She nods once before taking the seat next to his bed. The beep of the announcements and people in white walking past in the halls fills the space of silence between them. “I brought you soup.”
“They give us food here.”
“Don’t act like you’ve been eating it.” She retorts motherly. Minho smiles.
“Is uhm. Have you heard anything about Kibum?”
“No.” She shakes her head while in the process
of retracting the table in front of him. “He’s been busy, I guess.”
“Right. Yeah.” Minho quietly answers. “So, he hasn’t called or anything?”
She places the bowl of soup on the table, the aroma of spices spreading immediately. “Not that I know of.”
“Can I borrow your phone?”
“Why?”
“I wanna call him.”
“Minho.” She finally settles back on her chair. “Just work on getting better first. I don’t want you to have to worry about things like these until you’re better.”
“But I’m fine. Please. I just want to see him.”
“And you will.” She places a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Just, not now, okay?”
---
It was beginning to eat at his mind when everyone he asked about Kibum would dodge his question as if he were asking something personal. Even Taemin was of no help. During his recovery Jinki would come into his room every once in a while to check up on him and when the subject of Kibum would enter the conversation Jinki would just smile and say, “I’m sure he’ll visit once he has time.”
Minho has considered walking out of the hospital and just sprinting to Kibum’s house but every night there would be someone sleeping next to his bed, may it be his uncle or his aunt or Taemin and he realizes that he can’t just disregard their efforts so quickly.
There were days when he would watch the door more than he did the TV that was positioned before his bed, thinking that any moment now, Kibum was going to knock and poke his head through with a witty line at the tip of his tongue.
A few weeks pass and Minho is finally healed enough to be discharged. The dull light of the afternoon spilled brightly over his bed as he got ready.
“I’m gonna bring the car around, okay, Minho?” His uncle shouts through the door of the bathroom.
“Okay.” Minho slips his shirt on, the feeling of the front fabric finally landing on his abdomen seemingly foreign to him.
When he steps out of the bathroom, one hand in his mop of hair, there’s a familiar set of shoulders and head of brown hair, back turned to him, waiting by the door.
“Kibum?”
There was a brief expanse of fear lining Minho’s thoughts for reasons he wasn’t certain of but when Kibum finally turns around with a smile assuring him that he wasn’t dreaming, Minho exhales in both surprise and relief.
“Hey.”
“Hi, what. Where were you?”
“What do you mean?” Kibum takes Minho by the arm as they walk out of the room and into the hallway.
“I mean, why didn’t you visit me? I was waiting for you.”
Kibum’s brows shoot to his hairline. “I was busy. I told your aunt that I’d be busy.”
“You didn’t even call.”
“I had homework and projects up to here, okay.” Kibum holds a hand past both their heads. “Busy, busy, busy.”
There was an itch in the back of Minho’s mind that was bothering him, an inkling of a feeling that the other boy was lying. If he was, it was of great effort because if Minho hadn’t known Kibum for long than he might have never guessed what with Kibum flashing his golden smile all the time, which was, for the most part, rather distracting.
“Do you hate me now?”
“What? No.” Minho shakes his head. “I could never hate you, Kibum.”
Minho could have sworn that he saw a tinge of pink dust the surface of Kibum’s pristine cheeks but he was quick to look away, hiding it with an awkward laugh. That’s when Minho’s heart suddenly thumped harder and he knew then how miraculous love was. It wasn’t much of a thought, but he found it genuinely magical when even with a new heart Kibum still managed to make it feel like his old one.
“Good. Coz I’ve got a surprise for you.”
---
“Ow, Kibum. Don’t pull my head back!”
“I’m not, just stop being so tall.”
Kibum walks behind Minho towards Minho’s room with Taemin, his hands around Minho’s head to cover his eyes and ready him for Minho’s surprise. Once in front of Minho’s door Kibum makes Minho promise to not open his eyes yet. And when Minho agrees for the first time, his voice bordering on bewilderment, Kibum retreats his hands to walk towards Minho’s door.
Minho hears the door creak open. “Okay, now.”
And when he opens his eyes his jaw hangs slack for several seconds before Kibum walks beside him to push it back up.
On his bed was a box of snickers and beside it lay a tracksuit with new shoes placed by the foot of his bed. And on the stand between his bed and Taemin’s no longer held his charger machine for his LVAD.
“You got me a TV.” Minho incredulously whispers, unable to look away from the black, sleek, television.
“Not just any TV.” Kibum hops over Minho’s bed, setting the tracksuit that was once laid gently askew, on his way to the TV. He holds out a remote control and turns it on. “It’s got cable too. And kick ass resolution and-well, you know. TV capabilities and. Are you crying?”
Minho’s eyes widen, shaking his head. And when he blinks he feels the tears falling from his eyes. He immediately wipes them with his hands, smiling at his damp palms. “I guess I am.”
“But I haven’t gotten to the best part yet!” Kibum walks over to Minho’s drawer, taking Minho’s hand in his in order to lead the taller male to the drawer with him. “Look.”
There was a picture frame of Kibum adorned with a signature. And on one corner a colorful beaded bracelet hung loosely, the one KIbum always wore. “See, now you have your snicker bars and you can jog and a TV and I’ll be here too. Sort of.”
Minho takes the frame in his hands, tracing his fingers over Kibum’s signature. “You just had to sign it didn’t you?”
“It made me feel like a celebrity.” Kibum beams.
Minho settles the frame back on the drawers. He steals a glance at the door and makes sure that no one was going to walk in before pulling KIbum close. “Or I could just keep you here.”
“Ack, get off me, psycho.”
They stand like that for a few more minutes and the longer that they do Minho realizes that Kibum’s grip grows increasingly tighter.
“I’ll never hurt you, Kibum.”
Kibum stiffens in his arms and he’s probably questioning what Minho’s saying. Minho isn’t quite sure either; it’s as if he’s speaking from somewhere else that’s a combination of his heart and his mind.
Then there was this sound that came out of nowhere. A familiar sound that Minho’s thinks he’s known forever and it’s pretty common so it made sense that he knew it but this was a rather weird place to hear it again unless-
Beep.
There it is again. Then it registers on him how Kibum’s wearing a backpack, something he found tacky as he had explained to Minho before. And Minho can only hope for the worst, at the same time hope that it isn’t so. He pulls away in an instant, Kibum blinking up at him in confusion and with one hand he aims for the hem of Kibum’s shirt.
KIbum’s hands fly on Minho’s. “Wait, no-“
Minho lifts up KIbum’s shirt, the other boy’s hands falling helplessly as his side as he allows Minho to stare at his pierced abdomen.
“Kibum.”
Kibum shoves his hands away and tugs his shirt down. He takes a few steps back, lower lip quivering.
“Is that.” Minho whispers harshly. “Is that why you were gone? Is that why you were busy?”
“Don’t hate me, Minho.”
“Hate you?” Minho places a step forward, the other boy retreating. “Kibum, I told you. I could never.” Minho heard his new heart shatter the cages of bones surrounding it, breaking and seething, his arms automatically going around Kibum.
The questions that race through his head are only rephrases of why and what can he do but he doesn’t voice them out because the answers were never going to come.
---
There was nothing left to do but make time a little less painful. Kibum had kept Minho’s LVAD-stuck it with him just because. He didn’t want anything else unfamiliar in him and if he needed something else metal to live in his skin he wanted something of Minho just to make it less cold and more real.
Seeing Minho free of the things he’s had to live with for so long was a lot more rewarding than Kibum had dubbed and every time Minho would smile at him Kibum can’t help but breathe normally, ignoring everything else in the world that wasn’t as beautiful as he was.
A few months pass and reality weighs on the both of them. Kibum was growing weaker with every beat, more feeble than the last. Minho doesn’t answer the questions. He doesn’t want to. They don’t matter. There was only Kibum and there were only new days to look forward too. Nothing else could come in the way of that. Maybe they both knew that this would never be as long lived at they both wanted. And it was an excruciating truth that just snuck up on them from under their beds, the monster in their closets left to fester.
“Now, I’m the robot.” It’s been six months, more or less, Minho lost count. Kibum’s losing strength quicker than they have ever predicted, now back in the hospital bed after having once again collapsed in the most unexpected of hours. And by the looks of Minho’s grief he sometimes wonders if it’s enough for him to die before Kibum does.
“That’s not funny.” Minho sniffs, eyes too worn out and puffy to cry again.
“It was funny when you said it.”
Minho silences Kibum with his lips, chaste and quick because they both know Kibum’s parents are somewhere in the hospital, calming themselves down in the chapel.
Minho squeezes Kibum’s hand hard, waits for the other boy to somehow sense his pulse and how much it’s hiccupping, but Kibum can’t really feel much apart from the needles and the brand new scar behind his bandage.
He’s praying. They both are. Kibum doesn’t pray much for anything or to anything. He never really wondered what was out there, what was there to believe in. But here, beside him, was Minho and having him exist was enough of a miracle for Kibum to believe that maybe there was a higher being out there that was kind enough to offer him some sort of happiness.
Even if it wasn’t time. Even if it was just a boy.
Kibum’s eyes are weighing greatly, dropping against the afternoon splash of light. With Kibum’s broken heart and Minho’s new one, both are equally as heavy in their chest, aching in the same place for one another.
That’s when Lee Jinki enters the room without knocking, no longer as polite, his lab coat nowhere to be found. It was as if he had literally ran to work from his home. Minho spins his head around, not letting go of Kibum’s hand whose grip was growing weak, fingers loosening.
Minho eyes a panting Lee Jinki. In his one hand was a clipboard, his other hand on his chest. He straightens up, the corners of his lips struggling for a smile.
Lee Jinki takes slow steps to the bed, a hand on Minho’s shoulder. He hands the clipboard to the younger boy who uses his spare hand to reach for it.
There was a lot of complicated wording on the clipboard and with every sentence his eyes devour the tighter he clutches at Kibum’s hand. The clipboard falls to the floor from his limp hand, now aiming for his lips. He didn’t need to read much else. And there wasn’t any other way to place the words on the clipboard. All Minho understood was that someone was listening. And his prayers were answered.
When Kibum’s eyelids flutter visions of blurry blue scrubs rise to his registrations, the sound of wheels, the feel of Minho’s rough pads squeezing his hand hard enough to bruise. Kibum doesn’t mind that to be the last thing he remembers before leaving.
But then Kibum hears his mother’s whimpers somewhere. Then there’s a tug of needles from his skin, more hand squeezing and a light brush of knuckles across his cheeks.
“Kibum.” Minho’s voice dissolves into husky tones, as if his throat was scratched and skinned. “Kibum, wake up.”
---
1 week later
“So, did you hit it yet?”
“Jjong, for fuck’s sake. I’m recovering from my surgery, can you just fuck off before Minho comes-ow, don’t touch my cut, shitdick!”
“I didn’t even add pressure!”
“Seriously, Jjong. I can’t feel stressed out during post op. I should have you banned.”
“So, you’re saying I make you feel stressed?”
“I’m saying that you could possibly be the death of me.”
“You know what they say, Kibum. When you’re feeling stressed, indulge in butt sex.”
“I think I have a scalpel in here somewhere.”
---
1 month later
“How can you hate jogging when you play volleyball?”
“Jogging is so boring, Minho. Can we just go somewhere and make out? I here we burn calories that way too.”
“But Taemin’s waiting for us in the park.”
“So is Jonghyun. You don’t see me making a fuss about it.”
---
2 months later
“So, Minho. Are you hitting that?”
“Jonghyun, get out of my room!”
“Kibum, just ignore him…”
---
3 months later
“Hey Jjong hyung!”
“Taemin? Hey. What are you doing here? Don’t you have a chess tournament today?”
“Minho hyung asked me to come over and tell you that he finally hit it!”
“Wh-what? Taemin…”
“I’m only the messenger hyung. I have no idea what this pertains to for I am merely an innocent boy.”
“He could’ve just texted me…”
“He wanted me to take a picture.”
“A picture of a what?”
“Your face when I tell you that you should probably change your sheets.”
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