How They Are ii
rating: NC - 17 (overall)
genre: au, romance
pairing: minho/key
length: chaptered
word count: ~2k wc
summary: in which minho and key fall in and out of love.
How They Are
A story by Yoonis
How they met
Minho reached for the stack of plastic cups the same time Kibum did. With his hand curled fully around Kibum’s fingers, he earned himself a smile from the then stranger. Minho remembers that day as though he read it or saw it in a movie.
He doesn’t remember the color of his contacts or the kind of shoes he had on, much to Kibum’s dismay. What he remembers most is how he felt. Rather, how Kibum made him feel.
--
Kibum interrupted Minho with a quick, “Wait.”
Minho squinted. “What.”
“That’s not how we met.”
Minho sighed. “Oh, you want the full version?”
Naeun nodded immediately. Minho, at any other time, would have appreciated the enthusiasm. For instance, if it were from Kibum. “What’s the full version?”
--
How they met (full version)
As kids, they were kind of romantic.
What that meant was that seven year old Minho made it his full time job to turn every empty shoebox into a snail safe haven for all the snails he could find in the area around his school, while six year old Kibum wrote what few words he could spell correctly on the back of Minho’s hand. Minho wanted to save the world. Kibum was a poet.
If either of them were to be asked about how they met, they’d tell you two different stories. This was Minho’s.
Well, more of like this was Minho’s mother’s version. Minho was a year old when they first stood outside of Kibum’s house (Minho tried to stand, but wobbled mostly, refusing to give in to societal norms, normal development, and just plain old gravity). The talk of the neighborhood was that the newcomers that moved into that house were just an attractive woman, her sister, and her only son. At the time, things like divorce and single parents were unheard of in Minho’s town. So they were talked about a lot. Minho’s mom rarely paid attention to that kind of stuff, so walking over to their house with Minho was borne out of the intention of being a friendly neighbor. It was also partly convenience, since their house was adjacent to theirs.
Their moms became instant best friends, setting their own friendship on default. When Kibum and Minho were around 11, their idea of spending time together was sitting quietly in front of the TV and not trying not to laugh out loud. Kibum did sometimes. Most of the time, they just sat there. Truthfully, Minho just didn’t trust the kid. His mom would call him an “odd little fellow” each time Kibum and his mother would retrieve back into their own bubble and for most of his childhood, Minho took that to heart. He didn’t want to be associated with the odd little fellow. he didn’t want to be associated with anything or anyone really. But the time that they became actual friends was after Minho had his 12th birthday party. This was one of the earliest memories Minho had of Kibum. What had happened was that Kibum hadn’t left after the last person left and the last slice of cake was kept in the fridge, and it was soon made clear to the both of them that it was because Kibum was going to sleep over.
“I am?”
“He is?” Both boys asked at the same time -- in Minho’s memory, it was the same time -- and both their mothers were looking at them, confused. As far as they were concerned, Minho and Kibum were the bestest of friends. In spite of the fact that Minho and Kibum went to different schools, spent 6 hours a week together and knew virtually nothing about each other - other than the fact that Kibum enjoyed cartoons that had more verbals jokes in them, whereas Minho was more of a slapstick kid himself.
Minho was blowing up the inflatable mattress inside his room when a freshly showered Kibum walked in, towel drying his hair. He sat on the foot of Minho’s bed, pulling the leg pants of the pajamas he borrowed from Minho up.
“We live right in front of you but somehow, getting me my own pair of sleeping clothes would have been too much trouble.” At first, Minho didn’t know if that was an open to a conversation. It would be the first one that they’d have that had some sort of potential to last more than 30 seconds.
Minho’s foot kept bouncing on the pedal of the inflator. “I guess borrowing my clothes makes the bonding experience more effective?”
Kibum’s brows drew together. “Does that make sense to you?”
Minho smiled, answering, “It really doesn’t,” the corners of his smile stretching his lips out further as Kibum replied quickly, “of course, it doesn’t.”
Kibum stood up and stretched his arms over his head, taking in the decor of Minho’s room. “They think we’re girls.” He browsed the blue wall paper with baseballs on it patterned like polkadots.
“Why do they think we’re girls?”
“Because they’re girls,” Kibum answered. “And they were friends right away. So they try to make their sons friends too, just like they would if we were their daughters. Like using each other’s clothes, slumber parties…”
Gradually, Minho’s foot paused on the pedal. “This is a sleepover.”
“They think it’s a slumber party.” Kibum fiddled the medal piece hanging from one of Minho’s trophies.
“Do you think it’s a slumber party?”
“Is this for baseball?” Comes the non answer from Kibum. Kibum pulls the medal from the neck of the trophy and wears it, looking down at his chest to admire the gold.
“It’s for soccer.” Minho pulled the nozzle of the inflator from the tube of the mattress and closed it immediately.
Confused, Kibum asked, “Then why do you have a baseball wallpaper?”
“They ran out of soccer balls.”
“Of course.” Kibum scoffed, pulling himself up until he was perched on Minho’s dresser. “There are a lot of you out there.”
Minho glanced at the clock above his desk when they didn’t say anything after that. The minute recorded the same number as when they began speaking. He pulled a sheet over the mattress and looked at the clock again when he was done. It increased a minute higher. How time flies.
Minho walked to his closet where he grabbed pillows that his mother had set aside for Kibum. While he did that, Kibum was choosing from the pillows on Minho’s bed without even consulting him first. He fluffed them and hugged them, deeming only two of Minho’s precious four pillows worthy of cradling his head for at least six hours. Minho watched him with his lips slightly parted, eyebrows low toward his lids. He was frowning almost, but he was mostly curious as to how Kibum could act the way that he did. He asked for no one’s permission and just did as he pleased, now plopping down on his inflatable mattress, turning his body side to side as he tested it for comfort. Minho placed the pillows he gathered on his own bed, neatly leaning them against the headboard.
“It’s too hard. There’s too much air.” Kibum stood up and located the tube, releasing the cap, his other hand pushing on the mattress slightly to release some air.
A thank you would have been nice. Minho thought. Then he did a double take when Kibum pointed a glare at him, blowing his fringe out of his eyes. “Excuse me?”
“Did I just say that out loud?”
Kibum managed to make the seconds feel like the longest kinds of infinities each time he just stood there without saying a word. It was around the 2nd or 3rd lifetime that passed through Minho (it honestly felt that way) that Kibum laughed, hugging his stomach, his little body leaning against the wall for support. “Oh my God, you’re an idiot.”
Minho frowned. “Hey, you can’t -”
Kibum sniffed, tripping over the excess fabric of his borrowed pajamas as he tried to stand back up. He quickly regained balance, palm still planted on the wall. “You wanna sneak in a beer?”
“What?”
“Beer.” Kibum was already heading to the door. “Where does your dad keep it?”
“Wait, wait,” Minho’s mind was moving much faster than his body or his mouth, but still miles behind Kibum as he opened the door. He looked over his shoulder, index finger pressed to his lips to silence Minho. He signaled Minho to follow him into the corridor. Minho was crouched over, his arm and hip pressed to one wall, progressing like a cat burglar behind Kibum who walked coolly, knuckles of his fingers grazing along the wall.
“Do you even know where you’re going?” Minho whispered.
Kibum shook his head, “Not a clue.”
Minho circled him the closer that they got to the kitchen. Minho pointed at the cabinet below the sink. “In there.”
It was difficult to make out Kibum’s expression through the dark. There was some light making it through the window, but it easily surrendered to the night. “Why would they keep it right there?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s so easy for you to take it it.”
“They trust me?”
Kibum tilted his head to the side. “Odd.”
The cabinet’s hinges creaked slightly and each time it did, Minho folded into himself as though he were being punched in the stomach. Kibum took out a bottle and quickly, the pair made it back to Minho’s room.
“1987. Shit, this is some good stuff.”
Minho was locking his door while Kibum sat on his bed. His heart was racing. He pressed his ear to the door, lips parted. What if they had heard him? They would take away his X-box and his freedom and not to mention his -
“You want some?” Kibum was holding out the opened bottle to him. There was a part of Minho that had rehearsed saying no to Kibum since the moment he proposed to steal alcohol from his parents. That part of him was getting smaller by the second. He proceeded toward the bottle, leaning in to sniff the mouth. “What are you doing?”
“Smelling it,” Minho explained simply.
“How does that help at all?”
Minho took the bottle. “It’s half the pleasure.”
“God, you’re weird.”
At first, Minho just tilted the bottle enough for the liquid to touch his lips. He licked them and couldn’t really gather anything from that. So he took a bigger sip this time, cringing when the alcohol hit his tongue and remains there.
That seemed to spike Kibum’s amusement. “Was that your first time drinking?”
“That stuff? Pretty much.” Minho walked to the bed and sat beside Kibum. Kibum easily made himself comfortable, resting on his side on the bed, taking another sip from the bottle.
“Do you not know what this is?”
“Not know what that is?” Minho pointed at the bottle. “The alcohol?”
“Yeah, but what’s it called?”
“Alcohol…?”
Kibum’s cheeks were flushed. Minho felt his getting warm too when Kibum smiled at him. “It’s wine.”
“Call it whatever you want. I still don’t like it.”
Kibum shrugged. “That’s what I thought too when I first had it.”
Minho brought his legs up and sat Indian style on the bed, leaning back against his palms. “How come you know so much about this stuff?”
“I lived in Europe for a bit when I was young.”
Minho squinted at Kibum. “You’re 11.”
“Younger then,” Kibum’s thumb traced the mouth of the bottle. “You want some more? You should have some more.”
Kibum had thrust the bottle into Minho’s hands that were mostly there to politely refuse the offer. Next thing he knew, he was dizzy and warm, and the wine tasted sweeter each sip he took. Minho wouldn’t remember much after that, just a lot of laughing and warmth. The following day wasn’t as amicable, especially when they both had to hop out of Minho’s bed in surprise when Kibum’s mom’s voice was coming through the door. Kibum tossed the empty wine bottle to Minho, who then tossed it back to Kibum.
“What are you doing?” Kibum panicked while they basically volleyballed the wine bottle back and forth across the bed.
“i can’t hold onto that!”
“Keep your voice down!” Kibum moved forward until his knees hit the side of the bed. “Just keep it under the bed for now. I’ll help you get rid of it tomorrow after school.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll see you then.”
Kibum walked to the mirror to check his reflection, shouting back to his mom, “Just a second!”
Minho’s brain was lost somewhere. It probably fell through his bed and hid next to wherever his sanity was. He chucked the bottle under the bed much too harshly, allowing the bottle to roll past the other side. Minho rounded the bed and kicked it light back under the bed just a split second before Kibum opened the door.
“Minho! Sorry to wake you boys, but we have to get to church.”
“It’s wine. Fine. Sorry. It’s fine.” Minho smiled. Was his room always this bright in the morning?
Kibum rolled his eyes and tugged on his mother’s hand. “Can we go now? I need to change.”
“Of course, baby. Minho, do you mind if Kibum returned this later instead. I’ll have it washed.”
“No problem at all,” Minho said, hands behind his back.
“Thank you. Alright, Kibum. We should be going. Bye, Minho.”
“Bye, Minho.” Then when his mom wasn’t looking, Kibum pressed his index finger to his lips like last night and winked.
*masterficlist | tumblr | twitter | comment here to be added
-- for linnhe, who has always been supportive of me and my writing. <3
genre: au, romance
pairing: minho/key
length: chaptered
word count: ~2k wc
summary: in which minho and key fall in and out of love.
How They Are
A story by Yoonis
How they met
Minho reached for the stack of plastic cups the same time Kibum did. With his hand curled fully around Kibum’s fingers, he earned himself a smile from the then stranger. Minho remembers that day as though he read it or saw it in a movie.
He doesn’t remember the color of his contacts or the kind of shoes he had on, much to Kibum’s dismay. What he remembers most is how he felt. Rather, how Kibum made him feel.
--
Kibum interrupted Minho with a quick, “Wait.”
Minho squinted. “What.”
“That’s not how we met.”
Minho sighed. “Oh, you want the full version?”
Naeun nodded immediately. Minho, at any other time, would have appreciated the enthusiasm. For instance, if it were from Kibum. “What’s the full version?”
--
How they met (full version)
As kids, they were kind of romantic.
What that meant was that seven year old Minho made it his full time job to turn every empty shoebox into a snail safe haven for all the snails he could find in the area around his school, while six year old Kibum wrote what few words he could spell correctly on the back of Minho’s hand. Minho wanted to save the world. Kibum was a poet.
If either of them were to be asked about how they met, they’d tell you two different stories. This was Minho’s.
Well, more of like this was Minho’s mother’s version. Minho was a year old when they first stood outside of Kibum’s house (Minho tried to stand, but wobbled mostly, refusing to give in to societal norms, normal development, and just plain old gravity). The talk of the neighborhood was that the newcomers that moved into that house were just an attractive woman, her sister, and her only son. At the time, things like divorce and single parents were unheard of in Minho’s town. So they were talked about a lot. Minho’s mom rarely paid attention to that kind of stuff, so walking over to their house with Minho was borne out of the intention of being a friendly neighbor. It was also partly convenience, since their house was adjacent to theirs.
Their moms became instant best friends, setting their own friendship on default. When Kibum and Minho were around 11, their idea of spending time together was sitting quietly in front of the TV and not trying not to laugh out loud. Kibum did sometimes. Most of the time, they just sat there. Truthfully, Minho just didn’t trust the kid. His mom would call him an “odd little fellow” each time Kibum and his mother would retrieve back into their own bubble and for most of his childhood, Minho took that to heart. He didn’t want to be associated with the odd little fellow. he didn’t want to be associated with anything or anyone really. But the time that they became actual friends was after Minho had his 12th birthday party. This was one of the earliest memories Minho had of Kibum. What had happened was that Kibum hadn’t left after the last person left and the last slice of cake was kept in the fridge, and it was soon made clear to the both of them that it was because Kibum was going to sleep over.
“I am?”
“He is?” Both boys asked at the same time -- in Minho’s memory, it was the same time -- and both their mothers were looking at them, confused. As far as they were concerned, Minho and Kibum were the bestest of friends. In spite of the fact that Minho and Kibum went to different schools, spent 6 hours a week together and knew virtually nothing about each other - other than the fact that Kibum enjoyed cartoons that had more verbals jokes in them, whereas Minho was more of a slapstick kid himself.
Minho was blowing up the inflatable mattress inside his room when a freshly showered Kibum walked in, towel drying his hair. He sat on the foot of Minho’s bed, pulling the leg pants of the pajamas he borrowed from Minho up.
“We live right in front of you but somehow, getting me my own pair of sleeping clothes would have been too much trouble.” At first, Minho didn’t know if that was an open to a conversation. It would be the first one that they’d have that had some sort of potential to last more than 30 seconds.
Minho’s foot kept bouncing on the pedal of the inflator. “I guess borrowing my clothes makes the bonding experience more effective?”
Kibum’s brows drew together. “Does that make sense to you?”
Minho smiled, answering, “It really doesn’t,” the corners of his smile stretching his lips out further as Kibum replied quickly, “of course, it doesn’t.”
Kibum stood up and stretched his arms over his head, taking in the decor of Minho’s room. “They think we’re girls.” He browsed the blue wall paper with baseballs on it patterned like polkadots.
“Why do they think we’re girls?”
“Because they’re girls,” Kibum answered. “And they were friends right away. So they try to make their sons friends too, just like they would if we were their daughters. Like using each other’s clothes, slumber parties…”
Gradually, Minho’s foot paused on the pedal. “This is a sleepover.”
“They think it’s a slumber party.” Kibum fiddled the medal piece hanging from one of Minho’s trophies.
“Do you think it’s a slumber party?”
“Is this for baseball?” Comes the non answer from Kibum. Kibum pulls the medal from the neck of the trophy and wears it, looking down at his chest to admire the gold.
“It’s for soccer.” Minho pulled the nozzle of the inflator from the tube of the mattress and closed it immediately.
Confused, Kibum asked, “Then why do you have a baseball wallpaper?”
“They ran out of soccer balls.”
“Of course.” Kibum scoffed, pulling himself up until he was perched on Minho’s dresser. “There are a lot of you out there.”
Minho glanced at the clock above his desk when they didn’t say anything after that. The minute recorded the same number as when they began speaking. He pulled a sheet over the mattress and looked at the clock again when he was done. It increased a minute higher. How time flies.
Minho walked to his closet where he grabbed pillows that his mother had set aside for Kibum. While he did that, Kibum was choosing from the pillows on Minho’s bed without even consulting him first. He fluffed them and hugged them, deeming only two of Minho’s precious four pillows worthy of cradling his head for at least six hours. Minho watched him with his lips slightly parted, eyebrows low toward his lids. He was frowning almost, but he was mostly curious as to how Kibum could act the way that he did. He asked for no one’s permission and just did as he pleased, now plopping down on his inflatable mattress, turning his body side to side as he tested it for comfort. Minho placed the pillows he gathered on his own bed, neatly leaning them against the headboard.
“It’s too hard. There’s too much air.” Kibum stood up and located the tube, releasing the cap, his other hand pushing on the mattress slightly to release some air.
A thank you would have been nice. Minho thought. Then he did a double take when Kibum pointed a glare at him, blowing his fringe out of his eyes. “Excuse me?”
“Did I just say that out loud?”
Kibum managed to make the seconds feel like the longest kinds of infinities each time he just stood there without saying a word. It was around the 2nd or 3rd lifetime that passed through Minho (it honestly felt that way) that Kibum laughed, hugging his stomach, his little body leaning against the wall for support. “Oh my God, you’re an idiot.”
Minho frowned. “Hey, you can’t -”
Kibum sniffed, tripping over the excess fabric of his borrowed pajamas as he tried to stand back up. He quickly regained balance, palm still planted on the wall. “You wanna sneak in a beer?”
“What?”
“Beer.” Kibum was already heading to the door. “Where does your dad keep it?”
“Wait, wait,” Minho’s mind was moving much faster than his body or his mouth, but still miles behind Kibum as he opened the door. He looked over his shoulder, index finger pressed to his lips to silence Minho. He signaled Minho to follow him into the corridor. Minho was crouched over, his arm and hip pressed to one wall, progressing like a cat burglar behind Kibum who walked coolly, knuckles of his fingers grazing along the wall.
“Do you even know where you’re going?” Minho whispered.
Kibum shook his head, “Not a clue.”
Minho circled him the closer that they got to the kitchen. Minho pointed at the cabinet below the sink. “In there.”
It was difficult to make out Kibum’s expression through the dark. There was some light making it through the window, but it easily surrendered to the night. “Why would they keep it right there?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s so easy for you to take it it.”
“They trust me?”
Kibum tilted his head to the side. “Odd.”
The cabinet’s hinges creaked slightly and each time it did, Minho folded into himself as though he were being punched in the stomach. Kibum took out a bottle and quickly, the pair made it back to Minho’s room.
“1987. Shit, this is some good stuff.”
Minho was locking his door while Kibum sat on his bed. His heart was racing. He pressed his ear to the door, lips parted. What if they had heard him? They would take away his X-box and his freedom and not to mention his -
“You want some?” Kibum was holding out the opened bottle to him. There was a part of Minho that had rehearsed saying no to Kibum since the moment he proposed to steal alcohol from his parents. That part of him was getting smaller by the second. He proceeded toward the bottle, leaning in to sniff the mouth. “What are you doing?”
“Smelling it,” Minho explained simply.
“How does that help at all?”
Minho took the bottle. “It’s half the pleasure.”
“God, you’re weird.”
At first, Minho just tilted the bottle enough for the liquid to touch his lips. He licked them and couldn’t really gather anything from that. So he took a bigger sip this time, cringing when the alcohol hit his tongue and remains there.
That seemed to spike Kibum’s amusement. “Was that your first time drinking?”
“That stuff? Pretty much.” Minho walked to the bed and sat beside Kibum. Kibum easily made himself comfortable, resting on his side on the bed, taking another sip from the bottle.
“Do you not know what this is?”
“Not know what that is?” Minho pointed at the bottle. “The alcohol?”
“Yeah, but what’s it called?”
“Alcohol…?”
Kibum’s cheeks were flushed. Minho felt his getting warm too when Kibum smiled at him. “It’s wine.”
“Call it whatever you want. I still don’t like it.”
Kibum shrugged. “That’s what I thought too when I first had it.”
Minho brought his legs up and sat Indian style on the bed, leaning back against his palms. “How come you know so much about this stuff?”
“I lived in Europe for a bit when I was young.”
Minho squinted at Kibum. “You’re 11.”
“Younger then,” Kibum’s thumb traced the mouth of the bottle. “You want some more? You should have some more.”
Kibum had thrust the bottle into Minho’s hands that were mostly there to politely refuse the offer. Next thing he knew, he was dizzy and warm, and the wine tasted sweeter each sip he took. Minho wouldn’t remember much after that, just a lot of laughing and warmth. The following day wasn’t as amicable, especially when they both had to hop out of Minho’s bed in surprise when Kibum’s mom’s voice was coming through the door. Kibum tossed the empty wine bottle to Minho, who then tossed it back to Kibum.
“What are you doing?” Kibum panicked while they basically volleyballed the wine bottle back and forth across the bed.
“i can’t hold onto that!”
“Keep your voice down!” Kibum moved forward until his knees hit the side of the bed. “Just keep it under the bed for now. I’ll help you get rid of it tomorrow after school.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll see you then.”
Kibum walked to the mirror to check his reflection, shouting back to his mom, “Just a second!”
Minho’s brain was lost somewhere. It probably fell through his bed and hid next to wherever his sanity was. He chucked the bottle under the bed much too harshly, allowing the bottle to roll past the other side. Minho rounded the bed and kicked it light back under the bed just a split second before Kibum opened the door.
“Minho! Sorry to wake you boys, but we have to get to church.”
“It’s wine. Fine. Sorry. It’s fine.” Minho smiled. Was his room always this bright in the morning?
Kibum rolled his eyes and tugged on his mother’s hand. “Can we go now? I need to change.”
“Of course, baby. Minho, do you mind if Kibum returned this later instead. I’ll have it washed.”
“No problem at all,” Minho said, hands behind his back.
“Thank you. Alright, Kibum. We should be going. Bye, Minho.”
“Bye, Minho.” Then when his mom wasn’t looking, Kibum pressed his index finger to his lips like last night and winked.
*masterficlist | tumblr | twitter | comment here to be added
-- for linnhe, who has always been supportive of me and my writing. <3