BIRTHDAY POST BECAUSE I JUST HAVE TO \o/
the useless things (what matters the most)
ot5; pg; ~2,000w
Kibum doesn’t love any of them.
Warning: done in 15 minutes between Biology notes at 3 a.m., so POINTLESSNESS. It burns my eyes, so be careful with yours. this is based on this interview, by the way, just in case you are lost :D
“Just for the record,” Kibum announces, looks sleepy and annoyed, “I don’t love you.” Silence, and, “Any of you.”
The other four dozing boys look up from their cereals and toasts, and Taemin pauses his hand mid air as he is about to drink his glass of milk. Minho blinks slowly and puts down his spoon, and Jonghyun rubs the back of his head, confused and thinking, ‘well, this is awkward’. Jinki folds his newspaper and puts it aside, on the other chair they never use, frowning all the way.
“Oh,” he says, tilts his head to the side, and Kibum snorts, loud and cynical, “Okay?”
“Good,” he snaps, looks even angrier, and the youngest chokes on his drink. He rolls his eyes and turns to the door, snatches his coat-no, Jonghyun’s, or maybe Minho’s, because the sleeves look slightly bigger and longer, stomps his sneakers to the floor. “I’m going out.”
“Just make sure you have no-,“ Jinki starts, but the loud voice of the slammed door stops him.
+
The next day is more relaxing since they have less or no schedule, but no less tense, thanks to Kibum’s irate mood. He seems distant and constantly on edge, winces every time any of them touches him, intentionally or not. Even a brush of skin for less than a second makes him glare, makes them squirm uncomfortably.
On the third day, Jonghyun snaps.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Taemin, who is doing his homework at the opposite side of the living room, looks like he is going to faint. Kibum stops clicking his laptop, but he doesn’t spare a glance to his so-called best friend either. He just stares into a blank space on the screen, expressionless. At least he doesn’t look like he is about to snap to him, so the older boy sits down beside him. “What’s wrong with you,” he asks, softer and slower, the anger in his eyes dims. He unconsciously raises a hand to fiddles with the edge of his shirt, like he has always done tons of times before, but then.
“Don’t,” Kibum whispers, and the tip of Taemin’s pencil breaks, flies to the other side of the table. The snapping sound slaps Jonghyun on the head, and in three seconds, he is mad again.
“Fine,” he stands up, the couch under him moves backward as he pushes it hard, but Kibum doesn’t budge. Jonghyun breathes loudly, his fists tight, and the youngest is afraid that he is going to punch Kibum; he almost cries in relieve when Jinki’s cheerful voice greets them from the front door. Jonghyun breathes again, louder, lower, but rather than pissed, he looks hurt. Like he wants to cry, betrayed. “Fine, Key.”
Kibum doesn’t flinch when Jonghyun bangs the door to his bedroom. He doesn’t answer when Jinki walks in and asks, a tone of authority in his question, about what’s happening. He doesn’t move when Jinki follows Jonghyun, throws a worried look to him, but doesn’t bother to go to him. Even when Taemin scurries up to the manager’s bedroom, scared look on his face, he doesn’t seem to notice. He doesn’t seem to care.
+
It’s the fifth day, and none of them is brave enough to talk. Maybe not scared, not a coward, but more thoughtful. It’s the fifth day, and Minho thinks being thoughtful can go to hell.
“Kibum,” he knocks the door softly, but he pauses when he sees his back. There are tears, and sobs, and chokes words, and he can’t move his feet.
“Kibum,” he says again, more rushed, and he runs to the bed where the older boy is crying, slumped shoulder and shaking. “Kibum,” he shushes him, envelopes him with his long limbs and presses his face to his own chest, harder and deeper and, “hey, it’s okay,” he says, even though he has no idea what is wrong. What is right, or what is he doing. He doesn’t know how to fix it, but he knows he has to, so he says, “Hey, everything’s going to be alright.”
Kibum pulls him closer, buries his face and wets his shirt, murmurs a repeated, “I’m sorry.” What for, he wants to ask, you don’t have to, he wants to assure him, but he can’t bring himself to speak. All he knows is that Kibum is crying, and it’s wrong. It doesn’t seem to be right for him, not at all, so he wraps his arms around his neck, tighter. Just stop.
He pushes him away in the end, shaking his head with closed eyes, so Minho leaves. He doesn’t sleep though, tosses and turns, Kibum’s tears burn at the back of his head. Jonghyun’s snores remind him of the weak ‘I’m sorry’s, and when he closes his eyes, they echo in his mind. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
+
No one expects Taemin to be the one who finally talk, but maybe it does make sense. He always has a definite impact to the older ones, so maybe he can melt the cold atmosphere at the dorm, can make Kibum stays at home more, and not going out, around and about, visiting his friends’ home or God knows elsewhere. Maybe he can stop whatever is it that is happening, or so the others hope.
He is eating silently at the kitchen, scooping bit by bit the yoghurt from his cup, and the fridge beside him is opened. Taemin is watching the television, or at least pretend to, and the room is silent. He takes a deep breath, prays a little, before, “Snacks make you fat.”
He can feel Kibum stops, can feel the gaze. He fumbles with the remote, changes the channel. Some girl is crying loudly, and he wants to throw the remote in his hand to the screen. Shut, shut, shut, “I know,” Kibum answers fondly. He hasn’t heard that tone since Kibum burst out, and even though he always complains that he is not that young anymore, Hyung, he can’t deny that he misses it. A lot, the familiarity and more.
“I,” he starts again, and he thinks, I miss you, I’m worried about you, what is wrong with you, what is wrong with us, what’s happening right now, “I think this woman is annoying.”
Kibum chuckles, and he can hear the fridge is being closed. “Yeah,” he agrees, and when Taemin looks to the kitchen, Kibum is walking to the couch, to his side, flopping down to the space beside him. There’s distance, but he is there. “Yah, change it.”
Taemin laughs a little, a bit hopeful, maybe delusional, but he changes the channel happily. The woman does annoy him anyway, what’s up with the wheezing noise?
+
In the end, Jinki speaks up.
“Hey,” he sits down at the floor beside the single couch where Kibum is biting his nail, eyes fixed to the television. He hugs his knees, pressed up to his chest, like he builds a barrier between him and the other four, who sit at the long sofa on the other side of the room. Jonghyun looks unfazed, though he keeps glancing, Minho looks worried, and Taemin seems calm, even offering the popcorn he makes to him, which Kibum just gives a small smile at.
Jinki comes home to that, sighs, and decides to do it himself. He has waited, for maybe too long, but he does it to give time. To calm him down, to make everything clearer and easier for all of them. He maybe is clumsy, but he doesn’t get that second place during his high school career from cheating. So he nudges Kibum’s leg, grinning. “What’s up.”
Kibum blinks, but doesn’t turn. Jonghyun scoffs, but Jinki simply smiles. To the point.
“I don’t get it, you know,” he tells him, voice understanding, though he knows himself that he has no clue, though he is telling him that he is clueless, that, “Whatever it is you’re trying to tell us, I don’t get it. I think,” he signs his shoulder towards the other members, who don’t pay any attention anymore to the television. Not like any of them paid attention before, but still, “none of us gets it.”
Kibum bites his nail, clip, clip, and he presses his chin to his knees. Jinki crosses his legs, looks up to stare him at the eyes, though Kibum’s not looking at him. He knows that he understands, that he knows.
“I don’t know either,” he finally sighs, gives up, and the other four holds their breath, listens, “I mean. I don’t think it’s a big thing. This big, anyway. You know,” he snorts, though his eyes look like they want to let out tears instead, “the interview we did? Where I said, either honestly, bluntly, or stupidly, that I don’t think of you as family? Or,” he gulps, glassy eyes, and Jinki presses a palm to his foot, calming. Kibum smiles, breathes, “or even my close friend?”
None of them answers, and they wait, wait, until, “I hear, or read, rather, about our fans’ reactions. Funny, I think,” he laughs softly, and Taemin puts down his bowl of popcorn, a soft clank sound, “because they think I’m lying. Fake, all this time. I don’t,” he pauses, stops, and the others stare at him.
“Kibum,” Minho starts softly, breaks the silence, and his eyes are honest and caring, and Kibum wonders where he has been, “it doesn’t matter what they think.”
“Well, it surely matters to me,” his smile is bitter, and his words are shaky. Jonghyun sits up, looks at him with an unreadable expression, and Kibum is scared. All of them are scared, of changes, of truths, of what’s coming, “I mean, is it wrong? For me to think of you as a member? Does it mean I don’t love you? I’m not sure anymore. So I,” he laughs again, lower and shadier, more strained, “I say that to, I don’t know, make sure? That I think of you as a co-worker, and not more, not less.”
It is silent, then, like none of them expect that answer, and Jinki opens his mouth to say, “Kibum, I do-“
“You,” Jonghyun suddenly breathes, sounds exasperated, but he has a smile on his face, and he looks relaxed. He looks relieved, and as he walks to Kibum, as he takes his hand and grips it tight, as he presses his nose to Kibum’s hair, he looks thankful. “You worried about the most useless things.”
Minho laughs, Taemin grins, Jinki sighs knowingly, and Kibum sobs to his knees, his hand grips tighter, but none of it matters, because they. They miss him, and it’s all he needs to feel his heart again. “I do, don’t I?”
+
“Just for the record,” Kibum looks up from his magazine, “I don’t love you.”
Jonghyun turns his head from the fridge, hand pausing mid air with a carton of orange juice in his hand. Taemin stops muttering Physics formulas under his breath, stops preparing for his big test that day. Minho frowns over his script, slightly shocked, but Jinki just takes his jacket from the chair beside Kibum and bends down to kiss the top of the younger boy’s head.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, gentle, and Kibum laughs, Jonghyun grins, Taemin giggles, Minho smiles, and Jinki says, confident, “We love you though.”
And he can’t bring himself to give a damn about his fans, sorry to say, because this, all of this; it’s all of this that matter the most.
A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KIM KIBUM! You were, and still are (though sharing the place with your Jjong) my bias in SHINee :’D I hope you keep your honesty and fierceness, and be prettier and more awesome and perfect ♥
/crawls back to my notes and homework ;______; cheer me up with comments? ♥
ot5; pg; ~2,000w
Kibum doesn’t love any of them.
Warning: done in 15 minutes between Biology notes at 3 a.m., so POINTLESSNESS. It burns my eyes, so be careful with yours. this is based on this interview, by the way, just in case you are lost :D
“Just for the record,” Kibum announces, looks sleepy and annoyed, “I don’t love you.” Silence, and, “Any of you.”
The other four dozing boys look up from their cereals and toasts, and Taemin pauses his hand mid air as he is about to drink his glass of milk. Minho blinks slowly and puts down his spoon, and Jonghyun rubs the back of his head, confused and thinking, ‘well, this is awkward’. Jinki folds his newspaper and puts it aside, on the other chair they never use, frowning all the way.
“Oh,” he says, tilts his head to the side, and Kibum snorts, loud and cynical, “Okay?”
“Good,” he snaps, looks even angrier, and the youngest chokes on his drink. He rolls his eyes and turns to the door, snatches his coat-no, Jonghyun’s, or maybe Minho’s, because the sleeves look slightly bigger and longer, stomps his sneakers to the floor. “I’m going out.”
“Just make sure you have no-,“ Jinki starts, but the loud voice of the slammed door stops him.
+
The next day is more relaxing since they have less or no schedule, but no less tense, thanks to Kibum’s irate mood. He seems distant and constantly on edge, winces every time any of them touches him, intentionally or not. Even a brush of skin for less than a second makes him glare, makes them squirm uncomfortably.
On the third day, Jonghyun snaps.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Taemin, who is doing his homework at the opposite side of the living room, looks like he is going to faint. Kibum stops clicking his laptop, but he doesn’t spare a glance to his so-called best friend either. He just stares into a blank space on the screen, expressionless. At least he doesn’t look like he is about to snap to him, so the older boy sits down beside him. “What’s wrong with you,” he asks, softer and slower, the anger in his eyes dims. He unconsciously raises a hand to fiddles with the edge of his shirt, like he has always done tons of times before, but then.
“Don’t,” Kibum whispers, and the tip of Taemin’s pencil breaks, flies to the other side of the table. The snapping sound slaps Jonghyun on the head, and in three seconds, he is mad again.
“Fine,” he stands up, the couch under him moves backward as he pushes it hard, but Kibum doesn’t budge. Jonghyun breathes loudly, his fists tight, and the youngest is afraid that he is going to punch Kibum; he almost cries in relieve when Jinki’s cheerful voice greets them from the front door. Jonghyun breathes again, louder, lower, but rather than pissed, he looks hurt. Like he wants to cry, betrayed. “Fine, Key.”
Kibum doesn’t flinch when Jonghyun bangs the door to his bedroom. He doesn’t answer when Jinki walks in and asks, a tone of authority in his question, about what’s happening. He doesn’t move when Jinki follows Jonghyun, throws a worried look to him, but doesn’t bother to go to him. Even when Taemin scurries up to the manager’s bedroom, scared look on his face, he doesn’t seem to notice. He doesn’t seem to care.
+
It’s the fifth day, and none of them is brave enough to talk. Maybe not scared, not a coward, but more thoughtful. It’s the fifth day, and Minho thinks being thoughtful can go to hell.
“Kibum,” he knocks the door softly, but he pauses when he sees his back. There are tears, and sobs, and chokes words, and he can’t move his feet.
“Kibum,” he says again, more rushed, and he runs to the bed where the older boy is crying, slumped shoulder and shaking. “Kibum,” he shushes him, envelopes him with his long limbs and presses his face to his own chest, harder and deeper and, “hey, it’s okay,” he says, even though he has no idea what is wrong. What is right, or what is he doing. He doesn’t know how to fix it, but he knows he has to, so he says, “Hey, everything’s going to be alright.”
Kibum pulls him closer, buries his face and wets his shirt, murmurs a repeated, “I’m sorry.” What for, he wants to ask, you don’t have to, he wants to assure him, but he can’t bring himself to speak. All he knows is that Kibum is crying, and it’s wrong. It doesn’t seem to be right for him, not at all, so he wraps his arms around his neck, tighter. Just stop.
He pushes him away in the end, shaking his head with closed eyes, so Minho leaves. He doesn’t sleep though, tosses and turns, Kibum’s tears burn at the back of his head. Jonghyun’s snores remind him of the weak ‘I’m sorry’s, and when he closes his eyes, they echo in his mind. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
+
No one expects Taemin to be the one who finally talk, but maybe it does make sense. He always has a definite impact to the older ones, so maybe he can melt the cold atmosphere at the dorm, can make Kibum stays at home more, and not going out, around and about, visiting his friends’ home or God knows elsewhere. Maybe he can stop whatever is it that is happening, or so the others hope.
He is eating silently at the kitchen, scooping bit by bit the yoghurt from his cup, and the fridge beside him is opened. Taemin is watching the television, or at least pretend to, and the room is silent. He takes a deep breath, prays a little, before, “Snacks make you fat.”
He can feel Kibum stops, can feel the gaze. He fumbles with the remote, changes the channel. Some girl is crying loudly, and he wants to throw the remote in his hand to the screen. Shut, shut, shut, “I know,” Kibum answers fondly. He hasn’t heard that tone since Kibum burst out, and even though he always complains that he is not that young anymore, Hyung, he can’t deny that he misses it. A lot, the familiarity and more.
“I,” he starts again, and he thinks, I miss you, I’m worried about you, what is wrong with you, what is wrong with us, what’s happening right now, “I think this woman is annoying.”
Kibum chuckles, and he can hear the fridge is being closed. “Yeah,” he agrees, and when Taemin looks to the kitchen, Kibum is walking to the couch, to his side, flopping down to the space beside him. There’s distance, but he is there. “Yah, change it.”
Taemin laughs a little, a bit hopeful, maybe delusional, but he changes the channel happily. The woman does annoy him anyway, what’s up with the wheezing noise?
+
In the end, Jinki speaks up.
“Hey,” he sits down at the floor beside the single couch where Kibum is biting his nail, eyes fixed to the television. He hugs his knees, pressed up to his chest, like he builds a barrier between him and the other four, who sit at the long sofa on the other side of the room. Jonghyun looks unfazed, though he keeps glancing, Minho looks worried, and Taemin seems calm, even offering the popcorn he makes to him, which Kibum just gives a small smile at.
Jinki comes home to that, sighs, and decides to do it himself. He has waited, for maybe too long, but he does it to give time. To calm him down, to make everything clearer and easier for all of them. He maybe is clumsy, but he doesn’t get that second place during his high school career from cheating. So he nudges Kibum’s leg, grinning. “What’s up.”
Kibum blinks, but doesn’t turn. Jonghyun scoffs, but Jinki simply smiles. To the point.
“I don’t get it, you know,” he tells him, voice understanding, though he knows himself that he has no clue, though he is telling him that he is clueless, that, “Whatever it is you’re trying to tell us, I don’t get it. I think,” he signs his shoulder towards the other members, who don’t pay any attention anymore to the television. Not like any of them paid attention before, but still, “none of us gets it.”
Kibum bites his nail, clip, clip, and he presses his chin to his knees. Jinki crosses his legs, looks up to stare him at the eyes, though Kibum’s not looking at him. He knows that he understands, that he knows.
“I don’t know either,” he finally sighs, gives up, and the other four holds their breath, listens, “I mean. I don’t think it’s a big thing. This big, anyway. You know,” he snorts, though his eyes look like they want to let out tears instead, “the interview we did? Where I said, either honestly, bluntly, or stupidly, that I don’t think of you as family? Or,” he gulps, glassy eyes, and Jinki presses a palm to his foot, calming. Kibum smiles, breathes, “or even my close friend?”
None of them answers, and they wait, wait, until, “I hear, or read, rather, about our fans’ reactions. Funny, I think,” he laughs softly, and Taemin puts down his bowl of popcorn, a soft clank sound, “because they think I’m lying. Fake, all this time. I don’t,” he pauses, stops, and the others stare at him.
“Kibum,” Minho starts softly, breaks the silence, and his eyes are honest and caring, and Kibum wonders where he has been, “it doesn’t matter what they think.”
“Well, it surely matters to me,” his smile is bitter, and his words are shaky. Jonghyun sits up, looks at him with an unreadable expression, and Kibum is scared. All of them are scared, of changes, of truths, of what’s coming, “I mean, is it wrong? For me to think of you as a member? Does it mean I don’t love you? I’m not sure anymore. So I,” he laughs again, lower and shadier, more strained, “I say that to, I don’t know, make sure? That I think of you as a co-worker, and not more, not less.”
It is silent, then, like none of them expect that answer, and Jinki opens his mouth to say, “Kibum, I do-“
“You,” Jonghyun suddenly breathes, sounds exasperated, but he has a smile on his face, and he looks relaxed. He looks relieved, and as he walks to Kibum, as he takes his hand and grips it tight, as he presses his nose to Kibum’s hair, he looks thankful. “You worried about the most useless things.”
Minho laughs, Taemin grins, Jinki sighs knowingly, and Kibum sobs to his knees, his hand grips tighter, but none of it matters, because they. They miss him, and it’s all he needs to feel his heart again. “I do, don’t I?”
+
“Just for the record,” Kibum looks up from his magazine, “I don’t love you.”
Jonghyun turns his head from the fridge, hand pausing mid air with a carton of orange juice in his hand. Taemin stops muttering Physics formulas under his breath, stops preparing for his big test that day. Minho frowns over his script, slightly shocked, but Jinki just takes his jacket from the chair beside Kibum and bends down to kiss the top of the younger boy’s head.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, gentle, and Kibum laughs, Jonghyun grins, Taemin giggles, Minho smiles, and Jinki says, confident, “We love you though.”
And he can’t bring himself to give a damn about his fans, sorry to say, because this, all of this; it’s all of this that matter the most.
A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KIM KIBUM! You were, and still are (though sharing the place with your Jjong) my bias in SHINee :’D I hope you keep your honesty and fierceness, and be prettier and more awesome and perfect ♥
/crawls back to my notes and homework ;______; cheer me up with comments? ♥