fic: ask, receive (2/3)
Title: ask, receive (2/3)
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Jonghyun/Key, background '91-line, EXO maknae-line
Notes: This is... still a 100% gratuitous AU, ft. Kibum the nonprofit worker and Jonghyun the popstar. 8812 words.
Kim Kibum wins a date with pop idol Kim Jonghyun. This is not a rom-com. AU.
part 1
part 2
part 3
Kibum manages to avoid Nicole for twelve hours, almost a new record, before the rhythmic banging is back at his door, the trill of her voice high even through the wood. “Kibum, I want you to know that I am very upset with you right now and the only explanation I will accept for your blatant disrespect of my feelings is that you went home with-”
Kibum groans and rushes to pull the door open, shushing her. “Nicole, I have neighbors,” he hisses. “Please do not spread false rumors about me in my apartment building.”
Nicole elbows past him, dusting the snow off her hood. “Should’ve thought of that when you didn’t call me last night,” she sniffs. “You’re lucky I had to have breakfast with my mom this morning, or else I would’ve been here at the crack of dawn.”
“Yes,” Kibum says as he closes his door, “please, Nicole, come into my house. Get snow everywhere. Make yourself at home. Help yourself to my chocolate while you’re at it, why don’t you.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Nicole has a handful of M&Ms when Kibum sits down next to her, resigned to the fact that he will never have control of his own life ever again, and is picking out all the brown ones when she turns to him and demands, “So? How was it?”
Kibum hesitates, not sure how to tell her. “It was good,” he says cautiously. “He’s really-nice. The food was good. He gave me his number.” This last part he says quickly and casually, but also loudly and too pleased, wanting Nicole to hear it.
Nicole, ever the perfect best friend, shrieks, and M&Ms fly everywhere.
“Nicole!” Kibum yelps. “I’ll be cleaning those out of my couch for ages!”
Nicole is suddenly bearing down on him, one hand fisted in the collar of his sweater, eyes terrifying. “I am going to kill you,” she says, sounding positively thrilled. “There is only one way you can survive, and that is to tell me everything. Now.”
“I didn’t ask for it!” Kibum puts up his hands defensively, as if he is being blamed for something. Nicole’s grip on his sweater tightens, impossibly. “We just-we had dinner and I was being an idiot and talking for forever and then he gave me his number. Must have been my charm.”
He ducks his head, letting the smile spread across his face. He’s still feeling a little giddy-when Jonghyun had asked for his phone in the car on the way back to his apartment last night after a brief but intense staring contest where Kibum had said he was fine taking the bus home but Jonghyun insisted, he’d handed it over absentmindedly, not thinking anything of it. The next second, Jonghyun’s phone was emitting a truly appalling sound and when Kibum looked over, Jonghyun had a decidedly satisfied look on his face, both phones open in front of him.
“I added you on Kakao Talk too,” he’d said, as if it were normal for internationally renowned 26-year-old pop idols to give Kim Kibum their phone number. “Let’s hang out again some other time; this was fun.”
“Oh my God,” Nicole says wonderingly. “I should kill you now and save everyone the trouble.”
“And deprive you of the ability to be queen of gossip for the next few months?” Kibum raises his eyebrows at Nicole, who looks torn between her responsibility to the greater good and her responsibility to herself. “Anyway, it’s really not a big deal, he’s just a regular guy.”
Nicole moans a little, finally letting go of his shirt. “Just a regular guy,” she mutters. “Honestly, this is wasted on you. You know, if you really don’t want his number, you could always just give it to me!”
The eyebrow waggling she gives him is comical, and Kibum pretends to think about it for a whole five seconds before sticking his tongue at her. “Not a chance,” he says, grinning.
Nicole pouts. “It’s wasted on you. You’re not even going to do anything with it,” she points out.
The smile Kibum gives her this time is beatific. “What are you talking about? I’m going to sell the information online and retire into obscurity a very rich man.”
--
As it turns out, Kibum is glad he didn’t sell Jonghyun’s personal contact information online for a profit come Monday morning. He is sitting at his desk tiredly reading over this fiscal year’s operating plan for what feels like the fifteenth time, second cup of coffee at his elbow, when their secretary, Sulli, knocks.
“Kibum-sunbae?” she asks. There is a strange hesitant quality to her voice that makes Kibum look up, years of conditioning making him dread the worst.
“Ye-es?” he responds slowly, not sure he wants to know.
“There’s a-package for you at the front,” she says, and this time her eyes dart down and she licks her lips. “You, um, you need to sign for it.” Her voice rises to a hint of a question at the end of this last statement, and Kibum stands up.
“Okay,” he says, rounding the desk. “What is it?” Everyone in the office seems to be craning their necks a bit at the commotion at the front, though the ones who sit outside Kibum’s office start rather obviously when he walks out. Kibum stares at each and every one of them, waiting until he has made eye contact before communicating with his eyebrows, I have all of your financial information and I will ruin you personally if I have to. That seems to do the trick, if the sudden flurry of productivity is any indication.
“You just really have to see it.” Sulli, who seems to have made up her mind on letting Kibum reach his own decision on this package, says this firmly.
Heart sinking a little, Kibum cautiously eyes their mailman, who raises a cheerful hand as they near. Taemin is not even pretending to be discreet-he is leaning in the doorway of the break room, blatantly staring. Jongin peeks out from behind him, though it is unclear whether he is there of his own volition or because Taemin is physically blocking his ability to exit.
“Hey, Kibum.” Minho, who always looks like he just walked out of either a romantic comedy or a middle-aged office lady’s wet dream-that is, tall, handsome, and in a mailman’s outfit-smiles at him. “I’ve got a pretty hefty package for you here, if you could just sign.” This is when he brings out the giant envelope from where it had been conveniently placed out of Kibum’s line of sight behind Sulli’s desk.
Kibum stops in his tracks.
Minho waves his electronic clipboard at him encouragingly, as if trying to persuade a small animal of his harmlessness. Sulli, that traitor, takes his elbow and leads him forward. He numbly signs where he is told to, and then, with a parting wink from Minho the cliché, he is left with a gigantic envelope easily as tall as him were he to stand it on his side, and questions whose answers he is pretty sure he doesn’t want to know.
There is a sound from the doorway of the break room that sounds like someone plotting his ultimate downfall by public humiliation. Sure enough, when Kibum looks over, Taemin has his iPhone out and pointed right at him. Say cheese, he mouths, and Kibum gives him the finger, propriety be damned. Jongin and Sulli both look a bit scandalized.
“Wow, hyung,” Jongin says to break the silence, sounding kind of excited. At the look Kibum shoots him, he quickly changes tack. “I mean. Wow. Hyung.”
“Can you open it already,” Taemin huffs. “The time limit on this video is running out.”
Kibum regains his voice. “What if it’s anthrax?” he whispers fearfully. “Or-or, what if someone hates us a lot and sent us a gigantic naked photo of JYP?” When even Sulli looks at him askance, he knows he is being particularly stupid. He takes another breath. “Okay,” he says, trying to psych himself up.
Sulli helpfully offers her chair to him and he sits down in it, dragging the envelope around the desk with him. It’s not very heavy, which doesn’t quite assuage his anthrax-or gigantic naked JYP-concerns. The front of the envelope is disarmingly unhelpful, with nothing more than his name and work address and a P.O. box for the return address. Running his hands along it, he finds the corner of the envelope and starts to tear.
After a minute of tearing, Kibum looks up to at least ten pairs of eyes on him. In addition to Sulli, Taemin, and Jongin, the majority of Accounting and Communications has gotten out of their seats, some pretending to get coffee from the break room but most just blatantly crowded behind him or peeking over Sulli’s desk, waiting with what sounds like bated breath. He manages to rip the top off the envelope and grab the edge of whatever is inside, which feels like a giant piece of paper.
The unwieldy size of the damn thing makes him struggle to pull it out, and he eventually settles for just grabbing it lengthwise and standing up, letting the envelope slide off and onto the floor. Unsurprisingly, he is an idiot and grabbed it so that the back is to him. There is a sound that sounds very much like someone dropping a cup of coffee onto Jongin’s shoes, and Jongin’s ensuing yelp.
“What is it?” he calls out in the general direction, shaking it a bit. “Can someone help me turn this around?”
Sulli rushes to help him, just as everyone around him bursts out in surprised but excited chatter. When Kibum sees the front of the piece of paper, which turns out to be a check, he suddenly understands the need to drop a cup of coffee.
It is a gigantic check almost the size of him for ten million won, cheerfully made out to The SHINE Project.
“Oh my God. I think I need to sit down,” he says weakly. Sulli hurriedly pushes out her chair again, propping the check up against her desk. This starts the mass exodus of people who come up to look at it and then Kibum curiously, as if he has any better understanding of the situation than them.
“Oh, sunbae, I think there’s a note.” Sulli points to the annoyingly neon green slip of paper at his feet that had also fallen out of the envelope.
Curious, he picks it up and flips it over. There are three lines of cheerful scribble in English on it, and Kibum squints at it for a few uncomprehending seconds before the words register, though it somehow does not do anything to make the situation any clearer.
Yo!
Dinner was great!
★ KJH ★
Kibum puts his head in his hands, and admits defeat.
After a few minutes of wallowing, he slowly gets up.
“I,” he announces at 10:43AM, “am going to take my lunch break now.”
The minor crowd that has gathered at Sulli’s desk parts to let him pass, neon green note still crumpled in his hand. Kibum would feel like Moses if he didn’t actually know his life was a huge joke.
He walks upstairs to the storage room where they keep physical copies of their press releases and old tax forms and sits at the desk Taemin put there for when he wanted to be really mean to Jongin. He takes out his phone, and calls a number he never thought he would use.
After a few seconds of ringing, Jonghyun’s somewhat breathless voice comes on over the phone.
“Hello?”
“You psycho-oh my God-” is all Kibum is able to get out before he is laughing helplessly, not caring that he probably sounds insane, that he just called up Kim Jonghyun in what is probably the middle of filming or some other idol nonsense for the sole purpose of telling him he’s a psycho for donating ten million won to his nonprofit.
Jonghyun waits patiently for Kibum to be done. “So,” he says, voice as smooth over the phone as it was in real life. “I take it this means you got it then?” The pride and excitement in his voice is unmistakable, and Kibum gets the distinct impression that if Jonghyun were a dog, his tail would be wagging very excitedly right about now.
“Of course I got it,” Kibum says, tipping his chair back and loosening the top button of his button-down. He runs a hand through his hair, euphoria making him feel kind of inebriated. “I can’t believe you did this. I-honestly, I don’t know whether I should thank you or if I should file a restraining order.”
“Please not the restraining order. My manager would hate that,” Jonghyun deadpans. “Anyway, you mean this isn’t what you expected? Isn’t it why you went to dinner with me in the first place?” His words make Kibum wince a bit, but the tone he uses is gentle and teasing, and Kibum decides Jonghyun is just giving him a hard time to be mean.
“You do this for all your fans?” Kibum wonders. “What am I still doing with a job then?”
Jonghyun laughs. “Who knows?” he asks, amused. “You should probably quit right now and devote your life to worshipping me full-time. Anyway, listen, I gotta run-I’m in the middle of filming a talk show. But you should text me! Bye!”
With these last words, said rather imperiously, Jonghyun hangs up on Kibum.
Kibum’s fingers hesitate over the keypad for a second before typing a quick message and pressing send before he can properly regret it, or even ask himself what it is he thinks he’s doing.
So demanding… ╥╥
--
Kibum takes the rest of that day off work-he can’t really afford it, especially not at this time of the year, but it wasn’t as if anyone in the office was going to deny him anything at that point. Even Taemin had looked sincerely admiring, a feat he hasn’t achieved since college.
Jonghyun somehow wrangles a late dinner and drinks out of him that night and they spend more than half the night in tears of laughter, knees knocking as they sit crowded around a table too small for two in the corner of the kind of dive bar Kibum’s only pretended to outgrow. Jonghyun, it turns out, is not quite the sheltered idol princess Kibum thought all idols were, and instead possesses a wicked sense of humor combined with a hilariously over-inflated ego just begging to be needled.
The owner kicks them out at one in the morning, looking cross but amused. Kibum supposes they probably do look a little silly-Kibum in the neon high-top sneakers he wears whenever he isn’t at work and by-now crumpled blazer, Jonghyun with a pair of douchebag Ray Bans perched on his head and an ugly fisherman’s sweater, trying not to look famous despite the obvious multiple-digit price tag on everything he is wearing.
There is a surprisingly number of people out on the streets, considering the fact that it’s a Monday, but maybe not considering the fact that they chose a dive bar in one of Seoul’s hippest new neighborhoods. Jonghyun catches a pair of beautiful girls in dark lipstick eyeing him, looking torn between approaching him and keeping their cool, and winks at them; Kibum rolls his eyes and elbows him, until one turns an appreciative eye onto him as well.
“We could have some fun tonight,” Jonghyun says after a low, long whistle, jerking his chin towards them. He raises his eyebrows suggestively, but his tone is light and he turns away from them on his own accord. The arm he throws around Kibum’s shoulders surprises him at first, and he wonders if Jonghyun is tipsier than the four beers would have otherwise suggested, but the contact isn’t unpleasant and Kibum is a notorious cuddle-hog, so he lets it stay.
“I’m not really into that, I have to say,” Kibum responds dryly. “It’s also a Monday. I got to play hooky today but best believe my boss is going to make my ass work overtime tomorrow to make up for it.”
“Real tough,” Jonghyun drawls in false sympathy, bobbing his head. “Try being in variety show tapings from seven ‘til midnight, and then we can talk.”
“Try working overtime crunching numbers,” Kibum shoots back, jabbing his elbow into Jonghyun’s side.
Jonghyun seems to consider this even as he steps out into the street to hail a cab, letting his arm fall from Kibum’s shoulders. “Nah,” is his final verdict as a taxi slows to a stop in front of them. “I’d much rather crunch numbers than be forced to recount the mostly fabricated story of my first love for five different networks.” He holds the door open for Kibum, tipping his head, that easy, open smile on his face. “Wanna share a cab?”
Kibum considers it for a second, then slides in. “Only if you’re paying,” he says decidedly, settling back into the seat.
“So disrespectful,” Jonghyun grouses as he gets in, but when Kibum looks, the smile still isn’t gone. “People would kill to be in your position, you know.”
“What’s the fun in respectful?” Kibum asks, stretching his legs out and yawning. This incites no response from Jonghyun other than a snort, and they sit in shared, comfortable silence after they each give the driver their addresses.
The cab is overly warm, even for the nippy late-winter weather, and Kibum finds himself nodding off to the dulcet tones of top 100 radio that the driver is playing. It feels like only a few minutes have passed when Jonghyun nudges him gently. “This you?” he asks, jerking his head towards the window. Behind him is Kibum’s apartment building, neat and compact.
“Ah, yeah,” Kibum says, palming the sleep in his eyes away. “Thanks. Oh, right, here, let me-”
Jonghyun closes a hand around the money clip Kibum is trying to extract from his pocket, shaking his head. “Only if I’m paying, right?” He grins, bright even in the dim lighting of the cab’s backseat.
“Oh, come on, I didn’t mean that-I was supposed to treat you today,” Kibum protests, though he lets himself be pushed out of the cab by Jonghyun.
“Wait a second please,” Jonghyun tells the cab driver as he follows Kibum out, slipping him a bill so discreetly Kibum is impressed in spite of himself. “Tell you what,” Jonghyun says, leaning into Kibum a little once they’re outside, hand on the doorframe of the car. “You should come to my birthday party. It’s in a few weeks. If you get me a really good birthday present, we’ll call it even.”
He winks at Kibum at that, biting his lip in an exaggeration of coyness, and hops back into the cab even before Kibum can close his mouth and summon up a properly polite thanks-but-no-thanks.
--
Kibum pays for his night of indiscretion the following week in spades, almost kissing Jongin when he starts coming in every other hour with a fresh cup of coffee for Kibum. The ensuing horror on his face is almost worth it, almost as much as Taemin somehow managing to show up behind Jongin immediately afterwards to steer him away, gently berating Kibum for manhandling his intern.
“Who would want to manhandle Jongin anyway,” Kibum grumbles. Jongin flashes him a kind of kicked-puppy look at that, and Kibum bares his teeth at him. Jongin hurriedly shuffles in the opposite direction of Kibum’s office to do some very important stapling, Taemin following so closely he’s almost stepping on the backs of his shoes.
He is surprised to find by the end of the next week, once his workload has lessened considerably, that Jonghyun has somehow finagled his way into the regular rotation of people he texts when he needs to complain about work, about a recent scandal involving his favorite basketball player, or to send a picture of the freak pair of chopsticks he got with his takeout once.
Jonghyun is extremely diligent about responding and prone to sending inane selcas of him doing terribly mundane things, to the point that if Nicole didn’t keep emailing him links to Jonghyun’s latest performances or show appearances, Kibum would almost be able to believe Jonghyun was just another one of his college friends, working a mildly-trendy white-collar job in some fancy high-rise, available every weekend to unwind over morning drinks at the latest brunch place.
In any case, he most decidedly is not, and there are some times when Kibum is made all too aware of this fact. The first time, he gets an email from Jonghyun with a new number followed by a ‘>< sorry!’; his phone had, apparently, been stolen by an intrepid makeup assistant who was quickly replaced, though the phone and the number had to be discarded. Not that Jonghyun told him any of this, of course-he only found out because Nicole had emailed him almost immediately afterwards with a link to the news.
All in all, Kibum very adamantly does not have the time to be a playmate for a bored idol, so of course he finds himself becoming fast good friends with Jonghyun, who, though not an especially trusting person, seems to trust Kibum unequivocally. Kibum, who is impatient but generous with his friendships, is charmed by Jonghyun in more than just a friendly way, loathe as he is to admit it. There’s a healthy amount of attraction that sustains his investment in the friendship, though even Kibum doesn’t want to think about his expectations. No one is more surprised that the friendship manages to last past those first few weeks than Kibum, though no one is more delighted than Nicole.
Kibum ends up bringing her along to Jonghyun’s birthday party-to be fair, if he hadn’t, he’s pretty sure he would’ve been excommunicated and/or mysteriously disappeared. Nicole had a lot of friends, and a lot of favors to call in.
They are greeted at Jonghyun’s apartment door after a short taxi ride by a flash and a whirring sound. Jonghyun’s grin is borderline maniacal behind the Polaroid camera, and he waves the picture he just took in Kibum’s face obnoxiously, even as Kibum makes a halfhearted snatch at it. The thump of the bass, which had been muffled on their elevator ride up, is much more noticeable, making Kibum suddenly feel much too sober for what the music seems to dictate.
“Hi!” he says, enthusiastically enveloping Kibum in a one-armed hug. “Glad you could come! Where’s my present?”
Nicole is barely able to contain her laughter at that, and Jonghyun turns to her, million-watt smile in full effect even as he collects the package Kibum holds out for him. “I’m Kim Jonghyun,” he says with a light touch of the easy swagger Kibum had thought was part of his act but that had turned out to be 100% genuine.
Nicole takes the proffered hand and the Polaroid from Jonghyun’s other hand. “I know,” she says, all cheek, and Kibum can tell Jonghyun is impressed. “I’m Nicole.” Kibum had never met someone whose smile actually lit up his or her whole face until he’d met Nicole, whose face seemed to be made for smiling.
“Wow,” Jonghyun responds, lingering on the handshake. “Is this your infamous friend, Kibum? Wish you’d gone on the date instead of this guy.” He winks at Nicole, who pulls her hand away with a laugh.
“If only,” she says ruefully, before flashing her ring. “I’m set to be married next year. Should’ve gotten to me sooner.”
“If only,” Jonghyun repeats with a dramatic sigh. Then he turns around, ushering them in. “Welcome to my apartment! Come on in! Food is in the kitchen! So are drinks!”
The hand on Kibum’s elbow is firm as it steers him down the hallway and into the main area of Jonghyun’s apartment. “Wow,” he can’t help saying appreciatively. Jonghyun’s apartment is large and open and undeniably nice, decorated in mostly blacks and grays with subtle but blinding hints of neon. They have entered into a small living room area where a group of four impeccably dressed women in their late twenties have congregated, wineglasses with red lipstick stains in hand. Nicole lets out a sound of surprise and bounds over to one of them; pretty soon she is exchanging hugs and cooing her admiration along with everyone else in the group, which seems to have taken Nicole in as one of their own.
“Nicole works in PR,” he says by way of explanation for Jonghyun, whose eyebrows have more or less disappeared under his bangs and is looking more and more impressed by the second. “She knows a ton of fashion bloggers.”
“She could be one herself,” Jonghyun remarks lightly, steering Kibum further along and waving goodbye to Nicole as they pass her. Their next stop is the kitchen, which is small but looks to be outfitted with every stainless steel kitchen accessory created in the past three years. There’s a table shoved against the back wall that seems to have little sandwiches on one side and pizza on the other, and rows of wine and champagne in between. The few people in the kitchen, all of whom kind of look alike, huddle closer together at any little noise, as if afraid that someone might approach them. At the sound of Jonghyun and Kibum’s entrance, they look up briefly, wave a vague and disinterested hello at the pair of them, and then return to their conversation.
“My manager made me invite them,” Jonghyun mutters under his breath to Kibum, as he loops around them to snag a glass and fill it with wine for Kibum. “I have no idea who they are. Come on.”
Kibum laughs dutifully, takes the wineglass, and follows him out of the kitchen into a larger, second living space, where most of the party seems to have congregated. There’s a DJ table against the right wall, and a small bar against the left wall. The lights are soft and dimmed to enhance maximum attractiveness, though it wasn’t as if most of the people in Jonghyun’s living room needed any help in that area. Kibum spots at least two actresses whose last movies he’d cried over, and three artists whose entire discographies he definitely has on his workout playlist. A sunroom off the far end of the room has a line of fairy lights strung around the inside of it, giving the room and everyone inside an ethereal glow.
Kibum feels a little as if he’s been transported to an alternate universe where everyone is polished, attractive, and either mildly or very famous. If he were anyone else, he probably would’ve felt hideously out of his league but, for better or for worse, Kibum’s always had a penchant for the glamorous and the absurd, and this is the kind of situation in which he’s always done the best. All of the friends he made in college were high-achieving big city kids who were effortless at everything they did and who never seemed to want for anything, the beneficiaries of private school educations and absent parents with high expectations.
Kibum, on the other hand, had a country background he was fiercely proud of, an accent he gave up out of necessity but still tended to slip into when excited, and an all-encompassing love for all things tasteful. His first year of college, he’d always felt frustrated he was coming up short, but he was whip smart and spoke well, and he hadn’t worked so hard just so he could be mediocre. Jinki, the only boy he had time to date in college, once said Kibum tended to turn into a charming, attractive, and efficient version of himself in strange social situations. He’d been trying to call Kibum cold, but Kibum had just taken it as a recommendation.
Besides, the hand Jonghyun curls around the back of Kibum’s neck is friendly but just slightly possessive, and while Kibum isn’t trying to entertain any outlandish fantasies about their blossoming friendship, it is flattering nonetheless.
“Be cool,” Jonghyun advises him playfully, tugging at the collar of Kibum’s button-down. “And if you turn out to be an extremely conniving gossip magazine columnist, I commend you on doing an incredible job and you deserve whatever scoop it is you get.”
Kibum laughs, shoving him. “I’m not even going to honor that with a response,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It’s kind of insulting that you think I would have time to fool naïve idols into scandals.”
“This is why I like you,” Jonghyun says with relish, taking Kibum’s wineglass out of his hands and taking a long sip of Kibum’s wine, eyes challenging and never leaving Kibum’s. “I have never met someone so difficult to impress. Come over and meet my friends.”
--
Kibum, apparently, passes Jonghyun’s weird birthday test with flying colors, if the casual hand on Kibum’s knee by the end of the night and the enthusiastic thanks text the next morning is any indication. All of Jonghyun’s friends seemed to like Kibum well enough, and by the end of the night Kibum had been asked to be in two selcas and had been roped into performing the latest SNSD single, dance included, with CN Blue’s Jonghyun, which he’d only known because Nicole told him later on their way home.
Either way, Jonghyun settles much more comfortably and decidedly into Kibum’s social life, as if he were holding back a little before, and seems well on his way to becoming a permanent fixture. Besides the obvious issue of Jonghyun being incredibly famous, he also maintains a busy and fairly unpredictable schedule, but they still manage to make the time to meet up for drinks every other week or so. A few weeks in, Kibum just forwards him the email invitation to Jinwoon’s birthday, which Jonghyun promises he’ll try to make.
Nicole almost breaks his hand squeezing it when he brings it up.
“Is it a date?” she whispers excitedly, reaching over to clutch at his arm, upsetting her coffee cup in the process. This earns her a disapproving look from a waitress that Nicole doesn’t see, so the waitress turns her glare on Kibum instead. “Is this going to be your official coming out statement? I will even forgive you for not telling me earlier, I understand the pressures of having a famous boyfriend. It must be very hard on you.”
“No,” Kibum says emphatically, righting the coffee cup and smiling apologetically at the waitress who is now sighing rather audibly as she cleans up the puddle of coffee on the table. “We are friends, Nicole. And besides, I don’t even know if he’ll come. He’s busy.”
What Kibum doesn’t say is that he really hopes Jonghyun will, but it is an inconvenient, selfish desire. This business of being friends with someone so famous was taking its toll on Kibum already, as gracious and embarrassed as Jonghyun has been about it all. Kibum still receives the odd email through his work account every once in a while, some sycophantic, some threatening. He’s learned to ignore them all by now, amazed and made more than a little uncomfortable by the ardent nature of their fantasy. Most surprising is Jonghyun himself, and how much determined effort he seems to be putting into maintaining their friendship, and how much it seems he values the normalcy of their friendship despite the extraordinary history of it.
So, of course, Jonghyun does come, albeit fifty minutes late and halfway through dessert, cheerfully making his apologies and wishing a happy birthday to Jinwoon, who looks bemused even as he accepts the card Jonghyun pulls out from underneath his jacket, corners slightly bent. Nicole shoots increasingly meaningful looks at Kibum that Kibum categorically ignores.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Jonghyun says, squeezing himself in between Kibum and Woohyun, who widens his eyes comically at Kibum over Jonghyun’s shoulder. “There was a wardrobe malfunction during taping.” He rolls his eyes good-humoredly, raising his shoulders in mock-defeat. “What can you do? Also, my manager wants you to know that he likes you even if you turned out to just be using me for my fame, and that our date will be airing on TV next week.”
Even though Kibum groans and tries to shush him once he could tell where it was going, Jonghyun’s voice seems to grow especially loud around the word date, and there’s the minutest lull in conversation that follows it. The looks Nicole are giving him have grown so intense, Kibum would be afraid of her crawling across the table to shake him if it weren’t for the careless arm Jinwoon has around her waist. Woohyun coughs on Jonghyun’s other side, muffling what sounds like an incredulous laugh.
“Please try ruining my professional and social reputation more,” Kibum hisses at Jonghyun, mortified. He shrinks back into his seat, throwing a desperate glance at Woohyun to please not say anything. “I have spent a very long time trying to purge that from my memory. And now you are reminding me again that my mother is probably going to watch me go on a date with a pop star my fourteen-year-old cousin wants to marry on public television.”
Jonghyun fixes him with a disparaging look over his shoulder. “The other day,” he intones solemnly, despite Kibum’s frantic protests, “my manager told me a group of fans on the Internet created a fan community dedicated to the two of us. Someone has written fanfiction where CN Blue’s Jonghyun kills me because he is jealous of our relationship.” He pauses significantly, that attention-seeking, cocky bastard, well aware that everyone around the table is now giving them their full attention. Woohyun is laughing so hard on Jonghyun’s other side that he is in danger of falling off the side of the table. Kibum glares at him, meanly hoping that he chokes. “And I read it.”
This is too much. Kibum lets out a sad, soft shriek, and pulls his hat down over his eyes, even as everyone else bursts out in laughter, reaching over Kibum to pat Jonghyun sympathetically on the shoulder. Jonghyun, on his other side, is solemnly accepting everyone’s condolences, even as Nicole and Jinwoon, the traitors, pull up the story and start passing their phones around, encouraging everyone in a dramatic reading.
“I hate you,” he says dispassionately to Jonghyun from under his hat. “And I regret everything. You are the most depraved person I have ever met, and you have ruined me.”
Jonghyun, cackling now, throws an arm around Kibum’s shoulders. “Cheer up,” he says, and Kibum doesn’t have to look at him to know he is beaming. “Our fan community has over three hundred members! We’re way more popular than mine and my manager’s community.”
Kibum makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and clutches at his hair, sinking even further down in his seat. “You are a very weird, very sick human being,” he informs Jonghyun sadly.
“And you can’t afford to go bald,” is, unfortunately, all Jonghyun has to say to that. The hand that pulls Kibum’s away from his head is absentminded and gentle.
When Kibum looks up, he catches Nicole watching them, a soft and strange expression on her face. For whatever reason, it makes Kibum more uncomfortable than her exaggerated, meaningful ones, no less because of the hint of both pity and yearning that he sees. Whatever it is, it steels his resolve; Kibum hates being on the receiving end of pity, even if he doesn’t quite understand why. He shakes off the arm Jonghyun had slung over his shoulders so easily, as if it were natural for it to be there, determined to show Nicole just how little it all matters.
--
Taemin schedules an office-wide screening of the MNet ‘Date with an Idol’ segment featuring Kim Jonghyun the Monday after it airs, complete with email invitations he made the new intern compose on his first day there. Jongin had been offered, and accepted, a full-time position just the week before in a joyous ceremony that had included both ice cream cake and apple cider toasts, even though Taemin had made him order and pick up his own cake. His new position as Communications Coordinator, from what Kibum could tell, consisted of many of the same tasks he’d done when he was Taemin’s intern, except now he was salaried and had an official email signature.
“This is really unnecessary,” Kibum tries to tell the new intern Oh Sehun, who seemed kind of weird but is mostly inoffensively quiet, as he attaches clipart to the email invitation Taemin assigned him to write. “You don’t really have to listen to what Taemin says. I’m higher up than him, anyway.”
“Yes, he does,” Taemin says cheerfully, choosing that moment to walk by with a cup of coffee and a binder tucked under his arm. “And Sehun’s my intern, so it doesn’t matter your position. Carry on, Sehun.”
“You really don’t have to,” Kibum whispers urgently as Taemin walks away, leaning over the side of Sehun’s cubicle to impart upon him the severity of the issue. “It’s not too late to stop, Sehun, you can make a difference.”
Sehun clicks ‘send’ dispassionately, and Kibum watches in despair as it is sent out to the entire office, including the executive director and the board of trustees. Somewhere far away on his desk, his own phone vibrates with the incoming message. “My parents want me to go to business school overseas,” is all Sehun has to say for himself when Kibum looks at him, feeling betrayed.
Two and a half hours later, people begin trickling into the conference room clutching their respective lunches. Taemin and Sehun are busy setting up the projector that budgets and proposals are supposed to be shown on. Kibum again seriously considers getting Taemin fired for misuse of office equipment, for corruption, something. Jongin, who’d frog-marched him to the conference room five minutes earlier, obviously under Taemin’s orders, sits down next to him, Pocky sticking out of his mouth. Kibum kicks his chair out of frustration and somewhat misplaced anger and Jongin nervously scoots a little further away.
“Welcome,” Taemin says a minute later, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “As we all know, our very own Kim Kibum was featured on MNet’s ‘Date with an Idol’ just yesterday. To commemorate the occasion, I thought it’d be fun to watch the episode together!” He beams at the collected SHINE employees, who all seem motivated to cheer, including their executive director, who is leaning against the wall and eating pasta salad out of a Tupperware container. Kibum resists the urge to throw the pencil sharpener at Taemin’s face when he makes Sehun dim the lights.
The segment, which turns out to be 42 minutes of humiliation, is more or less as bad as Kibum worried it might be. The MNet staff had apparently thought it appropriate to include a flowery pink border and insert prerecorded oohs every seven minutes. They actually slow-mo their arrival at the café, complete with background drama OST music, and Kibum puts his head down on the conference room table, counting very slowly backwards from a hundred. Taemin snickers like a madman and innocently offers Kibum the popcorn he specially keeps in his desk for occasions like this.
By around minute 35, Kibum’s brain has decided it has transcended embarrassment, and he finally unfurls his spine, sitting back to watch the program with the level of fascination all reality television seems to dictate. Everyone, including Kibum, laughs at the dessert scene where Jonghyun feeds Kibum cake and Kibum flutters his eyelashes in response, looking appropriately tart-ish.
The last two minutes, to Kibum’s surprise, consists of a camera positioned just under Jonghyun’s face at the most optimally unattractive angle. “Send a video message to Kibum-sshi,” prompts the booming, jovial voice of the overhead narrator.
Kibum watches Jonghyun laugh sheepishly, scratching his head, and tries to swallow around the uncomfortable, expectant feeling in his throat. “Ah,” video-Jonghyun says, squinting and focusing on some distant point, “uh, hey, Kibum. What’s up!” He throws up a V-sign and cracks that lopsided, too-wide smile that makes Kibum want to smack the dorky look off his face. “Dinner was lots of fun. I have to say, you weren’t anything like what I thought you would be. Oh, that’s a good thing, I promise.” He punctuates this with a laugh that’s still just a touch awkward, a last vestige of old insecurities even the shiny idol machine couldn’t quite iron out. The camera shifts, until Jonghyun is staring right into it which, while still isn’t really a good look for him, does force Kibum to acknowledge, yet again, the unfair reality of Jonghyun’s attractiveness. “Thank you for supporting me, and I hope you will continue to do so in the future. Let’s hang out again soon!” He flashes a thumbs-up just as the video fades away.
That stupid-, Kibum finds himself thinking affectionately, unfortunate emotion blooming low in his throat. He is immediately horrified with himself.
By the time Taemin flicks the lights on again after a rousing round of applause and more than a few wistful sighs from their collected co-workers of all genders, Kibum has already left the room and locked himself in his own office where, alone, he is forced to come to the unhappy conclusion of his completely unnecessary attraction to Kim Jonghyun, the best new friend he has made in a while, all-around delightful asshole, and pop idol extraordinaire.
“I just want to help refugees and go to conferences to get free things,” he tells his phone sadly. And then, because his life is a joke, it vibrates with the force of an incoming message-from Jonghyun, of course.
--
“I can’t believe I’ve known you for so many months and you’ve never invited me to your place before,” Jonghyun says, kicking his feet up to rest on Kibum’s coffee table, despite Kibum’s explicit ‘please don’t put your feet up on my coffee table or I will be forced to break them.’ He sounds kind of miffed, even as he accepts the beer Kibum hands him. “I can’t believe it took a screaming mob of teenage girls for us to reach this level in our friendship.”
Kibum snorts, rolling his eyes. “It was hardly a screaming mob, Jonghyun,” he says dryly, taking a seat beside him on his couch. They had been coming out of the movie theater after seeing the latest superhero movie when a girl and what seemed to be her entire extended family approached Jonghyun, who had just had a comeback last week, for autographs and photos. Though Jonghyun had politely signed everything they shoved his way, including the side of a still-greasy tub of popcorn, the ensuing crowd had been a little too much to handle. He’d made his excuses while Kibum flagged down a cab for the two of them, giving the driver his address before he had time to wonder how appropriate it was. “Besides, don’t you have, like, late-night dance practice or something? Aren’t idols not supposed to have free time because they’re too busy operating as a cog in the corporate entertainment industry machine?”
Jonghyun cracks up at that, coming dangerously close to spilling his beer on Kibum’s couch. “I paid those dues a long time ago,” he says, amused. “Where do you even get this stuff?”
Kibum pulls a face. “Nicole,” he says evasively, not wanting to own up to the fact that he’s spent way more time than necessary, or healthy, reading fan accounts about Jonghyun. “Don’t you ever get tired of that?” he asks. At Jonghyun’s puzzled look, he elaborates, “You know. The…mobs.”
Jonghyun shrugs. “I kind of enjoy it,” he says. “Not like that, wipe that smirk off your face, Kibum. I mean, it’s a small price to pay, right? I really love what I do. Besides, better screaming mobs than no screaming mobs, you know what I mean?”
Kibum thinks about what Nicole had told him about Jonghyun’s first failed boyband endeavor, and wonders, suddenly, if Jonghyun still keeps in touch with his old bandmates. “I guess,” he finally says. “Personally, I fall on the no screaming mobs side of that argument. But then again, the nonprofit industrial complex isn’t really all that sexy. We don’t usually get mobs, just the odd protest.”
“How come?” Jonghyun asks, tilting his head. He leans over to pull another beer from the six-pack Kibum had placed on the coffee table, throwing his arm up. It comes to rest perilously close to being behind Kibum’s head. Kibum tries to ignore that annoying, now familiar, twinge of attraction, exasperated at himself with the inconvenience of it all. He’s twenty-five with a mostly sensible career path, for God’s sake, he’s not even Jonghyun’s targeted demographic.
“Oh, you know,” Kibum says, shrugging. “The refugee thing. And, well, the gay rights thing.”
“Ah, right.” Jonghyun hums, taking an absentminded sip of his beer.
Ah, right. The flippancy of Jonghyun’s tone makes Kibum’s head hurt, that choking feeling of expectation back in his throat. Jonghyun has been surprisingly nonchalant about everything and for Kibum, who has gotten defending his choice of career to people without unnecessarily outing himself down to a science, it has left him feeling a little high and dry.
“How come you never asked?” Kibum bursts out, immediately regretting it.
“Asked about what?” Jonghyun turns to look at him, puzzled expression on his face.
“You know,” Kibum struggles to explain in the least damning way. “Me. The gay rights thing. Everyone always does.”
Jonghyun coughs into his fist, that awkward laugh again. “Uh, I don’t know. I figured it didn’t mean much. And even if it did, it’s not like I care either way. What, did you think I would?” There’s an indignant, challenging lilt in his voice when he looks Kibum square in the eye.
“No,; Kibum says, rolling his eyes and pushing at Jonghyun’s knee with his own. “It’s just, you know, people always ask.” Here, he hesitates before continuing-he’s always hated this part of coming out, hates the rhetoric of coming out in general. Since college, he’s never bothered to make his sexual proclivities a secret, but since he never made a big deal out of it, people always assumed about him, as if all gay men were supposed to look or act a certain way. It was insulting and Kibum hated it, hated both when people thought he was and when people thought he wasn’t. “And I don’t think it’s important-well, it shouldn’t be important-but you’re my friend and I’m not ashamed. It’s not a secret. So, well. I like men. I’m gay.”
He raises his chin in defiance, though he carefully keeps his gaze ahead, refusing to look at Jonghyun. It’s not that he’s particularly worried, but over the years he’s learned to prepare for the worst.
Next to him, Jonghyun sighs. His hand comes up to rake through his hair, still not saying anything. Kibum tenses, feeling disappointment rise up like bile in his throat. He hates this part-the uncertainty, the brief flash of feeling unsafe, even in his own home.
Just as Kibum is ready to break the silence, figuring he’d given Jonghyun enough time to storm out in disgust, Jonghyun slides over on the couch, knocking his shoulder into Kibum’s. Kibum stares at the suddenly insignificant space between his knee and Jonghyun’s and swallows, palms clammy.
“I figured.” There is something in Jonghyun’s voice that forces Kibum to look at him and, when he meets his honest, open gaze, Kibum is struck by the earnestness of his expression.
“Um,” Kibum says, trying to keep his tone light and having it crack instead. “Oh. What? I don’t-”
“You don’t what?” Jonghyun asks softly and, impossibly, inches closer.
Kibum opens his mouth-to say something, to do damage control, to laugh. What comes out is an entirely unattractive croak. He snaps it shut, watching in wonder as Jonghyun’s eyes follow the action.
“I’m going to,” Jonghyun says and stops, gesturing between them. He seems to think better of it when Kibum just widens his eyes at him, and does it.
The first press of Jonghyun’s mouth against his is hesitant, as if unsure as to whether Kibum would let him; the hand that comes up to palm the juncture of his neck and shoulder less so. And Kibum has to dig deep to dredge up shock-surprise, he has in spades, but the confidence with which Jonghyun kisses him confirms what he’d always suspected, that this was only the natural conclusion to all of that underlying tension.
Even so, Kibum should know better. He really should. There are more than enough reasons why this is a bad idea, and the whole extremely-popular-pop-idol thing isn’t even the top reason on the list. “I shouldn’t,” is all he can manage when Jonghyun pulls away, worry creasing his forehead, before he chases that mouth those two inches back.
Kissing Jonghyun is a wonder in and of itself. Their noses bump when Jonghyun changes the angle of his head, and it sends a shiver down Kibum’s spine, blatant yearning curling low in his stomach. He slides a searching hand up Jonghyun’s front, marveling at the solid muscle, clutching at the soft fabric of Jonghyun’s shirt. It’s selfish, all of this, almost unbearably so-but Kibum has never been good at not wanting. Jonghyun opens his mouth slow and cautious under Kibum’s, as if he’s been thinking about it for so long he too is scared of going too fast. But that would be ridiculous, it really would be-there is nothing Jonghyun is better at and loves more than what he does, and Kibum has always known that even their friendship was a luxury.
But the hand that slides up his neck is possessive, that familiar action suddenly meaningful, the fingers stroking at the short, buzzed hair at the nape of Kibum’s neck careful. When Jonghyun gently but firmly pushes Kibum back into his couch cushions, he lets him.
What surprises Kibum the most is how easily it all comes. How little effort he has to put in for the most satisfying responses-he lightly scratches his fingers through Jonghyun’s hair, pulling a little at the ends, and Jonghyun hums low in his throat. He stops kissing him for one breathless second to turn his face into Kibum’s palm, chasing the sensation up his wrist. Even the open-mouthed kisses Jonghyun presses to Kibum’s collarbone, biting lightly at the thin skin, seems natural. But in the end, these were all, Kibum supposes, in that realm of possibility he couldn’t let himself imagine.
Jonghyun is the one to pull away, though Kibum would like to think he helped.
“I have to go,” Jonghyun says, panting a little. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I have a performance tomorrow.”
“Um,” Kibum says, mind scrambling to catch up. The hand still underneath his shirt is proving to be a significant roadblock, so he sits up, letting it fall. “Right,” Kibum continues as he pushes up from the couch, flushing and nodding vigorously.
“Right,” Jonghyun echoes, tripping a little as he follows Kibum to the door, where he crowds Kibum against the wall. His hands disappear under Kibum’s shirt again, warm against his sides. “Hey.”
“Hi,” Kibum says, a little stunned still, hands coming up to grasp at Jonghyun’s shoulders. “Don’t you, um, have to go?”
“Yeah,” Jonghyun says, smiling, but doesn’t make any attempt at moving.
“Well,” Kibum says after a pregnant pause, feeling flushed and a little tongue-tied, neither of which he is used to. “You should go then.”
Jonghyun laughs at that, burying his face in Kibum’s shoulder as he does. “Okay, okay,” he finally says, teasing lilt in his voice. “I’ll go if you want.”
He steps back, hands up, and Kibum feels bereft. He pulls on his shoes, and then the snapback Kibum had gotten him for his birthday a month earlier. With his sunglasses tucked into his shirt pocket, he looks like a normal 27-year-old man Kibum could date. It is the polish, the practiced motion with which Jonghyun tucks his professionally styled hair under his hat, that reminds him, again, who Jonghyun is.
Jonghyun lets himself out and Kibum, in bed hours later, can still feel his hand from when it fisted itself in his hair for one last bruising kiss.
>>>
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Jonghyun/Key, background '91-line, EXO maknae-line
Notes: This is... still a 100% gratuitous AU, ft. Kibum the nonprofit worker and Jonghyun the popstar. 8812 words.
Kim Kibum wins a date with pop idol Kim Jonghyun. This is not a rom-com. AU.
part 1
part 2
part 3
Kibum manages to avoid Nicole for twelve hours, almost a new record, before the rhythmic banging is back at his door, the trill of her voice high even through the wood. “Kibum, I want you to know that I am very upset with you right now and the only explanation I will accept for your blatant disrespect of my feelings is that you went home with-”
Kibum groans and rushes to pull the door open, shushing her. “Nicole, I have neighbors,” he hisses. “Please do not spread false rumors about me in my apartment building.”
Nicole elbows past him, dusting the snow off her hood. “Should’ve thought of that when you didn’t call me last night,” she sniffs. “You’re lucky I had to have breakfast with my mom this morning, or else I would’ve been here at the crack of dawn.”
“Yes,” Kibum says as he closes his door, “please, Nicole, come into my house. Get snow everywhere. Make yourself at home. Help yourself to my chocolate while you’re at it, why don’t you.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Nicole has a handful of M&Ms when Kibum sits down next to her, resigned to the fact that he will never have control of his own life ever again, and is picking out all the brown ones when she turns to him and demands, “So? How was it?”
Kibum hesitates, not sure how to tell her. “It was good,” he says cautiously. “He’s really-nice. The food was good. He gave me his number.” This last part he says quickly and casually, but also loudly and too pleased, wanting Nicole to hear it.
Nicole, ever the perfect best friend, shrieks, and M&Ms fly everywhere.
“Nicole!” Kibum yelps. “I’ll be cleaning those out of my couch for ages!”
Nicole is suddenly bearing down on him, one hand fisted in the collar of his sweater, eyes terrifying. “I am going to kill you,” she says, sounding positively thrilled. “There is only one way you can survive, and that is to tell me everything. Now.”
“I didn’t ask for it!” Kibum puts up his hands defensively, as if he is being blamed for something. Nicole’s grip on his sweater tightens, impossibly. “We just-we had dinner and I was being an idiot and talking for forever and then he gave me his number. Must have been my charm.”
He ducks his head, letting the smile spread across his face. He’s still feeling a little giddy-when Jonghyun had asked for his phone in the car on the way back to his apartment last night after a brief but intense staring contest where Kibum had said he was fine taking the bus home but Jonghyun insisted, he’d handed it over absentmindedly, not thinking anything of it. The next second, Jonghyun’s phone was emitting a truly appalling sound and when Kibum looked over, Jonghyun had a decidedly satisfied look on his face, both phones open in front of him.
“I added you on Kakao Talk too,” he’d said, as if it were normal for internationally renowned 26-year-old pop idols to give Kim Kibum their phone number. “Let’s hang out again some other time; this was fun.”
“Oh my God,” Nicole says wonderingly. “I should kill you now and save everyone the trouble.”
“And deprive you of the ability to be queen of gossip for the next few months?” Kibum raises his eyebrows at Nicole, who looks torn between her responsibility to the greater good and her responsibility to herself. “Anyway, it’s really not a big deal, he’s just a regular guy.”
Nicole moans a little, finally letting go of his shirt. “Just a regular guy,” she mutters. “Honestly, this is wasted on you. You know, if you really don’t want his number, you could always just give it to me!”
The eyebrow waggling she gives him is comical, and Kibum pretends to think about it for a whole five seconds before sticking his tongue at her. “Not a chance,” he says, grinning.
Nicole pouts. “It’s wasted on you. You’re not even going to do anything with it,” she points out.
The smile Kibum gives her this time is beatific. “What are you talking about? I’m going to sell the information online and retire into obscurity a very rich man.”
--
As it turns out, Kibum is glad he didn’t sell Jonghyun’s personal contact information online for a profit come Monday morning. He is sitting at his desk tiredly reading over this fiscal year’s operating plan for what feels like the fifteenth time, second cup of coffee at his elbow, when their secretary, Sulli, knocks.
“Kibum-sunbae?” she asks. There is a strange hesitant quality to her voice that makes Kibum look up, years of conditioning making him dread the worst.
“Ye-es?” he responds slowly, not sure he wants to know.
“There’s a-package for you at the front,” she says, and this time her eyes dart down and she licks her lips. “You, um, you need to sign for it.” Her voice rises to a hint of a question at the end of this last statement, and Kibum stands up.
“Okay,” he says, rounding the desk. “What is it?” Everyone in the office seems to be craning their necks a bit at the commotion at the front, though the ones who sit outside Kibum’s office start rather obviously when he walks out. Kibum stares at each and every one of them, waiting until he has made eye contact before communicating with his eyebrows, I have all of your financial information and I will ruin you personally if I have to. That seems to do the trick, if the sudden flurry of productivity is any indication.
“You just really have to see it.” Sulli, who seems to have made up her mind on letting Kibum reach his own decision on this package, says this firmly.
Heart sinking a little, Kibum cautiously eyes their mailman, who raises a cheerful hand as they near. Taemin is not even pretending to be discreet-he is leaning in the doorway of the break room, blatantly staring. Jongin peeks out from behind him, though it is unclear whether he is there of his own volition or because Taemin is physically blocking his ability to exit.
“Hey, Kibum.” Minho, who always looks like he just walked out of either a romantic comedy or a middle-aged office lady’s wet dream-that is, tall, handsome, and in a mailman’s outfit-smiles at him. “I’ve got a pretty hefty package for you here, if you could just sign.” This is when he brings out the giant envelope from where it had been conveniently placed out of Kibum’s line of sight behind Sulli’s desk.
Kibum stops in his tracks.
Minho waves his electronic clipboard at him encouragingly, as if trying to persuade a small animal of his harmlessness. Sulli, that traitor, takes his elbow and leads him forward. He numbly signs where he is told to, and then, with a parting wink from Minho the cliché, he is left with a gigantic envelope easily as tall as him were he to stand it on his side, and questions whose answers he is pretty sure he doesn’t want to know.
There is a sound from the doorway of the break room that sounds like someone plotting his ultimate downfall by public humiliation. Sure enough, when Kibum looks over, Taemin has his iPhone out and pointed right at him. Say cheese, he mouths, and Kibum gives him the finger, propriety be damned. Jongin and Sulli both look a bit scandalized.
“Wow, hyung,” Jongin says to break the silence, sounding kind of excited. At the look Kibum shoots him, he quickly changes tack. “I mean. Wow. Hyung.”
“Can you open it already,” Taemin huffs. “The time limit on this video is running out.”
Kibum regains his voice. “What if it’s anthrax?” he whispers fearfully. “Or-or, what if someone hates us a lot and sent us a gigantic naked photo of JYP?” When even Sulli looks at him askance, he knows he is being particularly stupid. He takes another breath. “Okay,” he says, trying to psych himself up.
Sulli helpfully offers her chair to him and he sits down in it, dragging the envelope around the desk with him. It’s not very heavy, which doesn’t quite assuage his anthrax-or gigantic naked JYP-concerns. The front of the envelope is disarmingly unhelpful, with nothing more than his name and work address and a P.O. box for the return address. Running his hands along it, he finds the corner of the envelope and starts to tear.
After a minute of tearing, Kibum looks up to at least ten pairs of eyes on him. In addition to Sulli, Taemin, and Jongin, the majority of Accounting and Communications has gotten out of their seats, some pretending to get coffee from the break room but most just blatantly crowded behind him or peeking over Sulli’s desk, waiting with what sounds like bated breath. He manages to rip the top off the envelope and grab the edge of whatever is inside, which feels like a giant piece of paper.
The unwieldy size of the damn thing makes him struggle to pull it out, and he eventually settles for just grabbing it lengthwise and standing up, letting the envelope slide off and onto the floor. Unsurprisingly, he is an idiot and grabbed it so that the back is to him. There is a sound that sounds very much like someone dropping a cup of coffee onto Jongin’s shoes, and Jongin’s ensuing yelp.
“What is it?” he calls out in the general direction, shaking it a bit. “Can someone help me turn this around?”
Sulli rushes to help him, just as everyone around him bursts out in surprised but excited chatter. When Kibum sees the front of the piece of paper, which turns out to be a check, he suddenly understands the need to drop a cup of coffee.
It is a gigantic check almost the size of him for ten million won, cheerfully made out to The SHINE Project.
“Oh my God. I think I need to sit down,” he says weakly. Sulli hurriedly pushes out her chair again, propping the check up against her desk. This starts the mass exodus of people who come up to look at it and then Kibum curiously, as if he has any better understanding of the situation than them.
“Oh, sunbae, I think there’s a note.” Sulli points to the annoyingly neon green slip of paper at his feet that had also fallen out of the envelope.
Curious, he picks it up and flips it over. There are three lines of cheerful scribble in English on it, and Kibum squints at it for a few uncomprehending seconds before the words register, though it somehow does not do anything to make the situation any clearer.
Yo!
Dinner was great!
★ KJH ★
Kibum puts his head in his hands, and admits defeat.
After a few minutes of wallowing, he slowly gets up.
“I,” he announces at 10:43AM, “am going to take my lunch break now.”
The minor crowd that has gathered at Sulli’s desk parts to let him pass, neon green note still crumpled in his hand. Kibum would feel like Moses if he didn’t actually know his life was a huge joke.
He walks upstairs to the storage room where they keep physical copies of their press releases and old tax forms and sits at the desk Taemin put there for when he wanted to be really mean to Jongin. He takes out his phone, and calls a number he never thought he would use.
After a few seconds of ringing, Jonghyun’s somewhat breathless voice comes on over the phone.
“Hello?”
“You psycho-oh my God-” is all Kibum is able to get out before he is laughing helplessly, not caring that he probably sounds insane, that he just called up Kim Jonghyun in what is probably the middle of filming or some other idol nonsense for the sole purpose of telling him he’s a psycho for donating ten million won to his nonprofit.
Jonghyun waits patiently for Kibum to be done. “So,” he says, voice as smooth over the phone as it was in real life. “I take it this means you got it then?” The pride and excitement in his voice is unmistakable, and Kibum gets the distinct impression that if Jonghyun were a dog, his tail would be wagging very excitedly right about now.
“Of course I got it,” Kibum says, tipping his chair back and loosening the top button of his button-down. He runs a hand through his hair, euphoria making him feel kind of inebriated. “I can’t believe you did this. I-honestly, I don’t know whether I should thank you or if I should file a restraining order.”
“Please not the restraining order. My manager would hate that,” Jonghyun deadpans. “Anyway, you mean this isn’t what you expected? Isn’t it why you went to dinner with me in the first place?” His words make Kibum wince a bit, but the tone he uses is gentle and teasing, and Kibum decides Jonghyun is just giving him a hard time to be mean.
“You do this for all your fans?” Kibum wonders. “What am I still doing with a job then?”
Jonghyun laughs. “Who knows?” he asks, amused. “You should probably quit right now and devote your life to worshipping me full-time. Anyway, listen, I gotta run-I’m in the middle of filming a talk show. But you should text me! Bye!”
With these last words, said rather imperiously, Jonghyun hangs up on Kibum.
Kibum’s fingers hesitate over the keypad for a second before typing a quick message and pressing send before he can properly regret it, or even ask himself what it is he thinks he’s doing.
So demanding… ╥╥
--
Kibum takes the rest of that day off work-he can’t really afford it, especially not at this time of the year, but it wasn’t as if anyone in the office was going to deny him anything at that point. Even Taemin had looked sincerely admiring, a feat he hasn’t achieved since college.
Jonghyun somehow wrangles a late dinner and drinks out of him that night and they spend more than half the night in tears of laughter, knees knocking as they sit crowded around a table too small for two in the corner of the kind of dive bar Kibum’s only pretended to outgrow. Jonghyun, it turns out, is not quite the sheltered idol princess Kibum thought all idols were, and instead possesses a wicked sense of humor combined with a hilariously over-inflated ego just begging to be needled.
The owner kicks them out at one in the morning, looking cross but amused. Kibum supposes they probably do look a little silly-Kibum in the neon high-top sneakers he wears whenever he isn’t at work and by-now crumpled blazer, Jonghyun with a pair of douchebag Ray Bans perched on his head and an ugly fisherman’s sweater, trying not to look famous despite the obvious multiple-digit price tag on everything he is wearing.
There is a surprisingly number of people out on the streets, considering the fact that it’s a Monday, but maybe not considering the fact that they chose a dive bar in one of Seoul’s hippest new neighborhoods. Jonghyun catches a pair of beautiful girls in dark lipstick eyeing him, looking torn between approaching him and keeping their cool, and winks at them; Kibum rolls his eyes and elbows him, until one turns an appreciative eye onto him as well.
“We could have some fun tonight,” Jonghyun says after a low, long whistle, jerking his chin towards them. He raises his eyebrows suggestively, but his tone is light and he turns away from them on his own accord. The arm he throws around Kibum’s shoulders surprises him at first, and he wonders if Jonghyun is tipsier than the four beers would have otherwise suggested, but the contact isn’t unpleasant and Kibum is a notorious cuddle-hog, so he lets it stay.
“I’m not really into that, I have to say,” Kibum responds dryly. “It’s also a Monday. I got to play hooky today but best believe my boss is going to make my ass work overtime tomorrow to make up for it.”
“Real tough,” Jonghyun drawls in false sympathy, bobbing his head. “Try being in variety show tapings from seven ‘til midnight, and then we can talk.”
“Try working overtime crunching numbers,” Kibum shoots back, jabbing his elbow into Jonghyun’s side.
Jonghyun seems to consider this even as he steps out into the street to hail a cab, letting his arm fall from Kibum’s shoulders. “Nah,” is his final verdict as a taxi slows to a stop in front of them. “I’d much rather crunch numbers than be forced to recount the mostly fabricated story of my first love for five different networks.” He holds the door open for Kibum, tipping his head, that easy, open smile on his face. “Wanna share a cab?”
Kibum considers it for a second, then slides in. “Only if you’re paying,” he says decidedly, settling back into the seat.
“So disrespectful,” Jonghyun grouses as he gets in, but when Kibum looks, the smile still isn’t gone. “People would kill to be in your position, you know.”
“What’s the fun in respectful?” Kibum asks, stretching his legs out and yawning. This incites no response from Jonghyun other than a snort, and they sit in shared, comfortable silence after they each give the driver their addresses.
The cab is overly warm, even for the nippy late-winter weather, and Kibum finds himself nodding off to the dulcet tones of top 100 radio that the driver is playing. It feels like only a few minutes have passed when Jonghyun nudges him gently. “This you?” he asks, jerking his head towards the window. Behind him is Kibum’s apartment building, neat and compact.
“Ah, yeah,” Kibum says, palming the sleep in his eyes away. “Thanks. Oh, right, here, let me-”
Jonghyun closes a hand around the money clip Kibum is trying to extract from his pocket, shaking his head. “Only if I’m paying, right?” He grins, bright even in the dim lighting of the cab’s backseat.
“Oh, come on, I didn’t mean that-I was supposed to treat you today,” Kibum protests, though he lets himself be pushed out of the cab by Jonghyun.
“Wait a second please,” Jonghyun tells the cab driver as he follows Kibum out, slipping him a bill so discreetly Kibum is impressed in spite of himself. “Tell you what,” Jonghyun says, leaning into Kibum a little once they’re outside, hand on the doorframe of the car. “You should come to my birthday party. It’s in a few weeks. If you get me a really good birthday present, we’ll call it even.”
He winks at Kibum at that, biting his lip in an exaggeration of coyness, and hops back into the cab even before Kibum can close his mouth and summon up a properly polite thanks-but-no-thanks.
--
Kibum pays for his night of indiscretion the following week in spades, almost kissing Jongin when he starts coming in every other hour with a fresh cup of coffee for Kibum. The ensuing horror on his face is almost worth it, almost as much as Taemin somehow managing to show up behind Jongin immediately afterwards to steer him away, gently berating Kibum for manhandling his intern.
“Who would want to manhandle Jongin anyway,” Kibum grumbles. Jongin flashes him a kind of kicked-puppy look at that, and Kibum bares his teeth at him. Jongin hurriedly shuffles in the opposite direction of Kibum’s office to do some very important stapling, Taemin following so closely he’s almost stepping on the backs of his shoes.
He is surprised to find by the end of the next week, once his workload has lessened considerably, that Jonghyun has somehow finagled his way into the regular rotation of people he texts when he needs to complain about work, about a recent scandal involving his favorite basketball player, or to send a picture of the freak pair of chopsticks he got with his takeout once.
Jonghyun is extremely diligent about responding and prone to sending inane selcas of him doing terribly mundane things, to the point that if Nicole didn’t keep emailing him links to Jonghyun’s latest performances or show appearances, Kibum would almost be able to believe Jonghyun was just another one of his college friends, working a mildly-trendy white-collar job in some fancy high-rise, available every weekend to unwind over morning drinks at the latest brunch place.
In any case, he most decidedly is not, and there are some times when Kibum is made all too aware of this fact. The first time, he gets an email from Jonghyun with a new number followed by a ‘>< sorry!’; his phone had, apparently, been stolen by an intrepid makeup assistant who was quickly replaced, though the phone and the number had to be discarded. Not that Jonghyun told him any of this, of course-he only found out because Nicole had emailed him almost immediately afterwards with a link to the news.
All in all, Kibum very adamantly does not have the time to be a playmate for a bored idol, so of course he finds himself becoming fast good friends with Jonghyun, who, though not an especially trusting person, seems to trust Kibum unequivocally. Kibum, who is impatient but generous with his friendships, is charmed by Jonghyun in more than just a friendly way, loathe as he is to admit it. There’s a healthy amount of attraction that sustains his investment in the friendship, though even Kibum doesn’t want to think about his expectations. No one is more surprised that the friendship manages to last past those first few weeks than Kibum, though no one is more delighted than Nicole.
Kibum ends up bringing her along to Jonghyun’s birthday party-to be fair, if he hadn’t, he’s pretty sure he would’ve been excommunicated and/or mysteriously disappeared. Nicole had a lot of friends, and a lot of favors to call in.
They are greeted at Jonghyun’s apartment door after a short taxi ride by a flash and a whirring sound. Jonghyun’s grin is borderline maniacal behind the Polaroid camera, and he waves the picture he just took in Kibum’s face obnoxiously, even as Kibum makes a halfhearted snatch at it. The thump of the bass, which had been muffled on their elevator ride up, is much more noticeable, making Kibum suddenly feel much too sober for what the music seems to dictate.
“Hi!” he says, enthusiastically enveloping Kibum in a one-armed hug. “Glad you could come! Where’s my present?”
Nicole is barely able to contain her laughter at that, and Jonghyun turns to her, million-watt smile in full effect even as he collects the package Kibum holds out for him. “I’m Kim Jonghyun,” he says with a light touch of the easy swagger Kibum had thought was part of his act but that had turned out to be 100% genuine.
Nicole takes the proffered hand and the Polaroid from Jonghyun’s other hand. “I know,” she says, all cheek, and Kibum can tell Jonghyun is impressed. “I’m Nicole.” Kibum had never met someone whose smile actually lit up his or her whole face until he’d met Nicole, whose face seemed to be made for smiling.
“Wow,” Jonghyun responds, lingering on the handshake. “Is this your infamous friend, Kibum? Wish you’d gone on the date instead of this guy.” He winks at Nicole, who pulls her hand away with a laugh.
“If only,” she says ruefully, before flashing her ring. “I’m set to be married next year. Should’ve gotten to me sooner.”
“If only,” Jonghyun repeats with a dramatic sigh. Then he turns around, ushering them in. “Welcome to my apartment! Come on in! Food is in the kitchen! So are drinks!”
The hand on Kibum’s elbow is firm as it steers him down the hallway and into the main area of Jonghyun’s apartment. “Wow,” he can’t help saying appreciatively. Jonghyun’s apartment is large and open and undeniably nice, decorated in mostly blacks and grays with subtle but blinding hints of neon. They have entered into a small living room area where a group of four impeccably dressed women in their late twenties have congregated, wineglasses with red lipstick stains in hand. Nicole lets out a sound of surprise and bounds over to one of them; pretty soon she is exchanging hugs and cooing her admiration along with everyone else in the group, which seems to have taken Nicole in as one of their own.
“Nicole works in PR,” he says by way of explanation for Jonghyun, whose eyebrows have more or less disappeared under his bangs and is looking more and more impressed by the second. “She knows a ton of fashion bloggers.”
“She could be one herself,” Jonghyun remarks lightly, steering Kibum further along and waving goodbye to Nicole as they pass her. Their next stop is the kitchen, which is small but looks to be outfitted with every stainless steel kitchen accessory created in the past three years. There’s a table shoved against the back wall that seems to have little sandwiches on one side and pizza on the other, and rows of wine and champagne in between. The few people in the kitchen, all of whom kind of look alike, huddle closer together at any little noise, as if afraid that someone might approach them. At the sound of Jonghyun and Kibum’s entrance, they look up briefly, wave a vague and disinterested hello at the pair of them, and then return to their conversation.
“My manager made me invite them,” Jonghyun mutters under his breath to Kibum, as he loops around them to snag a glass and fill it with wine for Kibum. “I have no idea who they are. Come on.”
Kibum laughs dutifully, takes the wineglass, and follows him out of the kitchen into a larger, second living space, where most of the party seems to have congregated. There’s a DJ table against the right wall, and a small bar against the left wall. The lights are soft and dimmed to enhance maximum attractiveness, though it wasn’t as if most of the people in Jonghyun’s living room needed any help in that area. Kibum spots at least two actresses whose last movies he’d cried over, and three artists whose entire discographies he definitely has on his workout playlist. A sunroom off the far end of the room has a line of fairy lights strung around the inside of it, giving the room and everyone inside an ethereal glow.
Kibum feels a little as if he’s been transported to an alternate universe where everyone is polished, attractive, and either mildly or very famous. If he were anyone else, he probably would’ve felt hideously out of his league but, for better or for worse, Kibum’s always had a penchant for the glamorous and the absurd, and this is the kind of situation in which he’s always done the best. All of the friends he made in college were high-achieving big city kids who were effortless at everything they did and who never seemed to want for anything, the beneficiaries of private school educations and absent parents with high expectations.
Kibum, on the other hand, had a country background he was fiercely proud of, an accent he gave up out of necessity but still tended to slip into when excited, and an all-encompassing love for all things tasteful. His first year of college, he’d always felt frustrated he was coming up short, but he was whip smart and spoke well, and he hadn’t worked so hard just so he could be mediocre. Jinki, the only boy he had time to date in college, once said Kibum tended to turn into a charming, attractive, and efficient version of himself in strange social situations. He’d been trying to call Kibum cold, but Kibum had just taken it as a recommendation.
Besides, the hand Jonghyun curls around the back of Kibum’s neck is friendly but just slightly possessive, and while Kibum isn’t trying to entertain any outlandish fantasies about their blossoming friendship, it is flattering nonetheless.
“Be cool,” Jonghyun advises him playfully, tugging at the collar of Kibum’s button-down. “And if you turn out to be an extremely conniving gossip magazine columnist, I commend you on doing an incredible job and you deserve whatever scoop it is you get.”
Kibum laughs, shoving him. “I’m not even going to honor that with a response,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It’s kind of insulting that you think I would have time to fool naïve idols into scandals.”
“This is why I like you,” Jonghyun says with relish, taking Kibum’s wineglass out of his hands and taking a long sip of Kibum’s wine, eyes challenging and never leaving Kibum’s. “I have never met someone so difficult to impress. Come over and meet my friends.”
--
Kibum, apparently, passes Jonghyun’s weird birthday test with flying colors, if the casual hand on Kibum’s knee by the end of the night and the enthusiastic thanks text the next morning is any indication. All of Jonghyun’s friends seemed to like Kibum well enough, and by the end of the night Kibum had been asked to be in two selcas and had been roped into performing the latest SNSD single, dance included, with CN Blue’s Jonghyun, which he’d only known because Nicole told him later on their way home.
Either way, Jonghyun settles much more comfortably and decidedly into Kibum’s social life, as if he were holding back a little before, and seems well on his way to becoming a permanent fixture. Besides the obvious issue of Jonghyun being incredibly famous, he also maintains a busy and fairly unpredictable schedule, but they still manage to make the time to meet up for drinks every other week or so. A few weeks in, Kibum just forwards him the email invitation to Jinwoon’s birthday, which Jonghyun promises he’ll try to make.
Nicole almost breaks his hand squeezing it when he brings it up.
“Is it a date?” she whispers excitedly, reaching over to clutch at his arm, upsetting her coffee cup in the process. This earns her a disapproving look from a waitress that Nicole doesn’t see, so the waitress turns her glare on Kibum instead. “Is this going to be your official coming out statement? I will even forgive you for not telling me earlier, I understand the pressures of having a famous boyfriend. It must be very hard on you.”
“No,” Kibum says emphatically, righting the coffee cup and smiling apologetically at the waitress who is now sighing rather audibly as she cleans up the puddle of coffee on the table. “We are friends, Nicole. And besides, I don’t even know if he’ll come. He’s busy.”
What Kibum doesn’t say is that he really hopes Jonghyun will, but it is an inconvenient, selfish desire. This business of being friends with someone so famous was taking its toll on Kibum already, as gracious and embarrassed as Jonghyun has been about it all. Kibum still receives the odd email through his work account every once in a while, some sycophantic, some threatening. He’s learned to ignore them all by now, amazed and made more than a little uncomfortable by the ardent nature of their fantasy. Most surprising is Jonghyun himself, and how much determined effort he seems to be putting into maintaining their friendship, and how much it seems he values the normalcy of their friendship despite the extraordinary history of it.
So, of course, Jonghyun does come, albeit fifty minutes late and halfway through dessert, cheerfully making his apologies and wishing a happy birthday to Jinwoon, who looks bemused even as he accepts the card Jonghyun pulls out from underneath his jacket, corners slightly bent. Nicole shoots increasingly meaningful looks at Kibum that Kibum categorically ignores.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Jonghyun says, squeezing himself in between Kibum and Woohyun, who widens his eyes comically at Kibum over Jonghyun’s shoulder. “There was a wardrobe malfunction during taping.” He rolls his eyes good-humoredly, raising his shoulders in mock-defeat. “What can you do? Also, my manager wants you to know that he likes you even if you turned out to just be using me for my fame, and that our date will be airing on TV next week.”
Even though Kibum groans and tries to shush him once he could tell where it was going, Jonghyun’s voice seems to grow especially loud around the word date, and there’s the minutest lull in conversation that follows it. The looks Nicole are giving him have grown so intense, Kibum would be afraid of her crawling across the table to shake him if it weren’t for the careless arm Jinwoon has around her waist. Woohyun coughs on Jonghyun’s other side, muffling what sounds like an incredulous laugh.
“Please try ruining my professional and social reputation more,” Kibum hisses at Jonghyun, mortified. He shrinks back into his seat, throwing a desperate glance at Woohyun to please not say anything. “I have spent a very long time trying to purge that from my memory. And now you are reminding me again that my mother is probably going to watch me go on a date with a pop star my fourteen-year-old cousin wants to marry on public television.”
Jonghyun fixes him with a disparaging look over his shoulder. “The other day,” he intones solemnly, despite Kibum’s frantic protests, “my manager told me a group of fans on the Internet created a fan community dedicated to the two of us. Someone has written fanfiction where CN Blue’s Jonghyun kills me because he is jealous of our relationship.” He pauses significantly, that attention-seeking, cocky bastard, well aware that everyone around the table is now giving them their full attention. Woohyun is laughing so hard on Jonghyun’s other side that he is in danger of falling off the side of the table. Kibum glares at him, meanly hoping that he chokes. “And I read it.”
This is too much. Kibum lets out a sad, soft shriek, and pulls his hat down over his eyes, even as everyone else bursts out in laughter, reaching over Kibum to pat Jonghyun sympathetically on the shoulder. Jonghyun, on his other side, is solemnly accepting everyone’s condolences, even as Nicole and Jinwoon, the traitors, pull up the story and start passing their phones around, encouraging everyone in a dramatic reading.
“I hate you,” he says dispassionately to Jonghyun from under his hat. “And I regret everything. You are the most depraved person I have ever met, and you have ruined me.”
Jonghyun, cackling now, throws an arm around Kibum’s shoulders. “Cheer up,” he says, and Kibum doesn’t have to look at him to know he is beaming. “Our fan community has over three hundred members! We’re way more popular than mine and my manager’s community.”
Kibum makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and clutches at his hair, sinking even further down in his seat. “You are a very weird, very sick human being,” he informs Jonghyun sadly.
“And you can’t afford to go bald,” is, unfortunately, all Jonghyun has to say to that. The hand that pulls Kibum’s away from his head is absentminded and gentle.
When Kibum looks up, he catches Nicole watching them, a soft and strange expression on her face. For whatever reason, it makes Kibum more uncomfortable than her exaggerated, meaningful ones, no less because of the hint of both pity and yearning that he sees. Whatever it is, it steels his resolve; Kibum hates being on the receiving end of pity, even if he doesn’t quite understand why. He shakes off the arm Jonghyun had slung over his shoulders so easily, as if it were natural for it to be there, determined to show Nicole just how little it all matters.
--
Taemin schedules an office-wide screening of the MNet ‘Date with an Idol’ segment featuring Kim Jonghyun the Monday after it airs, complete with email invitations he made the new intern compose on his first day there. Jongin had been offered, and accepted, a full-time position just the week before in a joyous ceremony that had included both ice cream cake and apple cider toasts, even though Taemin had made him order and pick up his own cake. His new position as Communications Coordinator, from what Kibum could tell, consisted of many of the same tasks he’d done when he was Taemin’s intern, except now he was salaried and had an official email signature.
“This is really unnecessary,” Kibum tries to tell the new intern Oh Sehun, who seemed kind of weird but is mostly inoffensively quiet, as he attaches clipart to the email invitation Taemin assigned him to write. “You don’t really have to listen to what Taemin says. I’m higher up than him, anyway.”
“Yes, he does,” Taemin says cheerfully, choosing that moment to walk by with a cup of coffee and a binder tucked under his arm. “And Sehun’s my intern, so it doesn’t matter your position. Carry on, Sehun.”
“You really don’t have to,” Kibum whispers urgently as Taemin walks away, leaning over the side of Sehun’s cubicle to impart upon him the severity of the issue. “It’s not too late to stop, Sehun, you can make a difference.”
Sehun clicks ‘send’ dispassionately, and Kibum watches in despair as it is sent out to the entire office, including the executive director and the board of trustees. Somewhere far away on his desk, his own phone vibrates with the incoming message. “My parents want me to go to business school overseas,” is all Sehun has to say for himself when Kibum looks at him, feeling betrayed.
Two and a half hours later, people begin trickling into the conference room clutching their respective lunches. Taemin and Sehun are busy setting up the projector that budgets and proposals are supposed to be shown on. Kibum again seriously considers getting Taemin fired for misuse of office equipment, for corruption, something. Jongin, who’d frog-marched him to the conference room five minutes earlier, obviously under Taemin’s orders, sits down next to him, Pocky sticking out of his mouth. Kibum kicks his chair out of frustration and somewhat misplaced anger and Jongin nervously scoots a little further away.
“Welcome,” Taemin says a minute later, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “As we all know, our very own Kim Kibum was featured on MNet’s ‘Date with an Idol’ just yesterday. To commemorate the occasion, I thought it’d be fun to watch the episode together!” He beams at the collected SHINE employees, who all seem motivated to cheer, including their executive director, who is leaning against the wall and eating pasta salad out of a Tupperware container. Kibum resists the urge to throw the pencil sharpener at Taemin’s face when he makes Sehun dim the lights.
The segment, which turns out to be 42 minutes of humiliation, is more or less as bad as Kibum worried it might be. The MNet staff had apparently thought it appropriate to include a flowery pink border and insert prerecorded oohs every seven minutes. They actually slow-mo their arrival at the café, complete with background drama OST music, and Kibum puts his head down on the conference room table, counting very slowly backwards from a hundred. Taemin snickers like a madman and innocently offers Kibum the popcorn he specially keeps in his desk for occasions like this.
By around minute 35, Kibum’s brain has decided it has transcended embarrassment, and he finally unfurls his spine, sitting back to watch the program with the level of fascination all reality television seems to dictate. Everyone, including Kibum, laughs at the dessert scene where Jonghyun feeds Kibum cake and Kibum flutters his eyelashes in response, looking appropriately tart-ish.
The last two minutes, to Kibum’s surprise, consists of a camera positioned just under Jonghyun’s face at the most optimally unattractive angle. “Send a video message to Kibum-sshi,” prompts the booming, jovial voice of the overhead narrator.
Kibum watches Jonghyun laugh sheepishly, scratching his head, and tries to swallow around the uncomfortable, expectant feeling in his throat. “Ah,” video-Jonghyun says, squinting and focusing on some distant point, “uh, hey, Kibum. What’s up!” He throws up a V-sign and cracks that lopsided, too-wide smile that makes Kibum want to smack the dorky look off his face. “Dinner was lots of fun. I have to say, you weren’t anything like what I thought you would be. Oh, that’s a good thing, I promise.” He punctuates this with a laugh that’s still just a touch awkward, a last vestige of old insecurities even the shiny idol machine couldn’t quite iron out. The camera shifts, until Jonghyun is staring right into it which, while still isn’t really a good look for him, does force Kibum to acknowledge, yet again, the unfair reality of Jonghyun’s attractiveness. “Thank you for supporting me, and I hope you will continue to do so in the future. Let’s hang out again soon!” He flashes a thumbs-up just as the video fades away.
That stupid-, Kibum finds himself thinking affectionately, unfortunate emotion blooming low in his throat. He is immediately horrified with himself.
By the time Taemin flicks the lights on again after a rousing round of applause and more than a few wistful sighs from their collected co-workers of all genders, Kibum has already left the room and locked himself in his own office where, alone, he is forced to come to the unhappy conclusion of his completely unnecessary attraction to Kim Jonghyun, the best new friend he has made in a while, all-around delightful asshole, and pop idol extraordinaire.
“I just want to help refugees and go to conferences to get free things,” he tells his phone sadly. And then, because his life is a joke, it vibrates with the force of an incoming message-from Jonghyun, of course.
--
“I can’t believe I’ve known you for so many months and you’ve never invited me to your place before,” Jonghyun says, kicking his feet up to rest on Kibum’s coffee table, despite Kibum’s explicit ‘please don’t put your feet up on my coffee table or I will be forced to break them.’ He sounds kind of miffed, even as he accepts the beer Kibum hands him. “I can’t believe it took a screaming mob of teenage girls for us to reach this level in our friendship.”
Kibum snorts, rolling his eyes. “It was hardly a screaming mob, Jonghyun,” he says dryly, taking a seat beside him on his couch. They had been coming out of the movie theater after seeing the latest superhero movie when a girl and what seemed to be her entire extended family approached Jonghyun, who had just had a comeback last week, for autographs and photos. Though Jonghyun had politely signed everything they shoved his way, including the side of a still-greasy tub of popcorn, the ensuing crowd had been a little too much to handle. He’d made his excuses while Kibum flagged down a cab for the two of them, giving the driver his address before he had time to wonder how appropriate it was. “Besides, don’t you have, like, late-night dance practice or something? Aren’t idols not supposed to have free time because they’re too busy operating as a cog in the corporate entertainment industry machine?”
Jonghyun cracks up at that, coming dangerously close to spilling his beer on Kibum’s couch. “I paid those dues a long time ago,” he says, amused. “Where do you even get this stuff?”
Kibum pulls a face. “Nicole,” he says evasively, not wanting to own up to the fact that he’s spent way more time than necessary, or healthy, reading fan accounts about Jonghyun. “Don’t you ever get tired of that?” he asks. At Jonghyun’s puzzled look, he elaborates, “You know. The…mobs.”
Jonghyun shrugs. “I kind of enjoy it,” he says. “Not like that, wipe that smirk off your face, Kibum. I mean, it’s a small price to pay, right? I really love what I do. Besides, better screaming mobs than no screaming mobs, you know what I mean?”
Kibum thinks about what Nicole had told him about Jonghyun’s first failed boyband endeavor, and wonders, suddenly, if Jonghyun still keeps in touch with his old bandmates. “I guess,” he finally says. “Personally, I fall on the no screaming mobs side of that argument. But then again, the nonprofit industrial complex isn’t really all that sexy. We don’t usually get mobs, just the odd protest.”
“How come?” Jonghyun asks, tilting his head. He leans over to pull another beer from the six-pack Kibum had placed on the coffee table, throwing his arm up. It comes to rest perilously close to being behind Kibum’s head. Kibum tries to ignore that annoying, now familiar, twinge of attraction, exasperated at himself with the inconvenience of it all. He’s twenty-five with a mostly sensible career path, for God’s sake, he’s not even Jonghyun’s targeted demographic.
“Oh, you know,” Kibum says, shrugging. “The refugee thing. And, well, the gay rights thing.”
“Ah, right.” Jonghyun hums, taking an absentminded sip of his beer.
Ah, right. The flippancy of Jonghyun’s tone makes Kibum’s head hurt, that choking feeling of expectation back in his throat. Jonghyun has been surprisingly nonchalant about everything and for Kibum, who has gotten defending his choice of career to people without unnecessarily outing himself down to a science, it has left him feeling a little high and dry.
“How come you never asked?” Kibum bursts out, immediately regretting it.
“Asked about what?” Jonghyun turns to look at him, puzzled expression on his face.
“You know,” Kibum struggles to explain in the least damning way. “Me. The gay rights thing. Everyone always does.”
Jonghyun coughs into his fist, that awkward laugh again. “Uh, I don’t know. I figured it didn’t mean much. And even if it did, it’s not like I care either way. What, did you think I would?” There’s an indignant, challenging lilt in his voice when he looks Kibum square in the eye.
“No,; Kibum says, rolling his eyes and pushing at Jonghyun’s knee with his own. “It’s just, you know, people always ask.” Here, he hesitates before continuing-he’s always hated this part of coming out, hates the rhetoric of coming out in general. Since college, he’s never bothered to make his sexual proclivities a secret, but since he never made a big deal out of it, people always assumed about him, as if all gay men were supposed to look or act a certain way. It was insulting and Kibum hated it, hated both when people thought he was and when people thought he wasn’t. “And I don’t think it’s important-well, it shouldn’t be important-but you’re my friend and I’m not ashamed. It’s not a secret. So, well. I like men. I’m gay.”
He raises his chin in defiance, though he carefully keeps his gaze ahead, refusing to look at Jonghyun. It’s not that he’s particularly worried, but over the years he’s learned to prepare for the worst.
Next to him, Jonghyun sighs. His hand comes up to rake through his hair, still not saying anything. Kibum tenses, feeling disappointment rise up like bile in his throat. He hates this part-the uncertainty, the brief flash of feeling unsafe, even in his own home.
Just as Kibum is ready to break the silence, figuring he’d given Jonghyun enough time to storm out in disgust, Jonghyun slides over on the couch, knocking his shoulder into Kibum’s. Kibum stares at the suddenly insignificant space between his knee and Jonghyun’s and swallows, palms clammy.
“I figured.” There is something in Jonghyun’s voice that forces Kibum to look at him and, when he meets his honest, open gaze, Kibum is struck by the earnestness of his expression.
“Um,” Kibum says, trying to keep his tone light and having it crack instead. “Oh. What? I don’t-”
“You don’t what?” Jonghyun asks softly and, impossibly, inches closer.
Kibum opens his mouth-to say something, to do damage control, to laugh. What comes out is an entirely unattractive croak. He snaps it shut, watching in wonder as Jonghyun’s eyes follow the action.
“I’m going to,” Jonghyun says and stops, gesturing between them. He seems to think better of it when Kibum just widens his eyes at him, and does it.
The first press of Jonghyun’s mouth against his is hesitant, as if unsure as to whether Kibum would let him; the hand that comes up to palm the juncture of his neck and shoulder less so. And Kibum has to dig deep to dredge up shock-surprise, he has in spades, but the confidence with which Jonghyun kisses him confirms what he’d always suspected, that this was only the natural conclusion to all of that underlying tension.
Even so, Kibum should know better. He really should. There are more than enough reasons why this is a bad idea, and the whole extremely-popular-pop-idol thing isn’t even the top reason on the list. “I shouldn’t,” is all he can manage when Jonghyun pulls away, worry creasing his forehead, before he chases that mouth those two inches back.
Kissing Jonghyun is a wonder in and of itself. Their noses bump when Jonghyun changes the angle of his head, and it sends a shiver down Kibum’s spine, blatant yearning curling low in his stomach. He slides a searching hand up Jonghyun’s front, marveling at the solid muscle, clutching at the soft fabric of Jonghyun’s shirt. It’s selfish, all of this, almost unbearably so-but Kibum has never been good at not wanting. Jonghyun opens his mouth slow and cautious under Kibum’s, as if he’s been thinking about it for so long he too is scared of going too fast. But that would be ridiculous, it really would be-there is nothing Jonghyun is better at and loves more than what he does, and Kibum has always known that even their friendship was a luxury.
But the hand that slides up his neck is possessive, that familiar action suddenly meaningful, the fingers stroking at the short, buzzed hair at the nape of Kibum’s neck careful. When Jonghyun gently but firmly pushes Kibum back into his couch cushions, he lets him.
What surprises Kibum the most is how easily it all comes. How little effort he has to put in for the most satisfying responses-he lightly scratches his fingers through Jonghyun’s hair, pulling a little at the ends, and Jonghyun hums low in his throat. He stops kissing him for one breathless second to turn his face into Kibum’s palm, chasing the sensation up his wrist. Even the open-mouthed kisses Jonghyun presses to Kibum’s collarbone, biting lightly at the thin skin, seems natural. But in the end, these were all, Kibum supposes, in that realm of possibility he couldn’t let himself imagine.
Jonghyun is the one to pull away, though Kibum would like to think he helped.
“I have to go,” Jonghyun says, panting a little. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I have a performance tomorrow.”
“Um,” Kibum says, mind scrambling to catch up. The hand still underneath his shirt is proving to be a significant roadblock, so he sits up, letting it fall. “Right,” Kibum continues as he pushes up from the couch, flushing and nodding vigorously.
“Right,” Jonghyun echoes, tripping a little as he follows Kibum to the door, where he crowds Kibum against the wall. His hands disappear under Kibum’s shirt again, warm against his sides. “Hey.”
“Hi,” Kibum says, a little stunned still, hands coming up to grasp at Jonghyun’s shoulders. “Don’t you, um, have to go?”
“Yeah,” Jonghyun says, smiling, but doesn’t make any attempt at moving.
“Well,” Kibum says after a pregnant pause, feeling flushed and a little tongue-tied, neither of which he is used to. “You should go then.”
Jonghyun laughs at that, burying his face in Kibum’s shoulder as he does. “Okay, okay,” he finally says, teasing lilt in his voice. “I’ll go if you want.”
He steps back, hands up, and Kibum feels bereft. He pulls on his shoes, and then the snapback Kibum had gotten him for his birthday a month earlier. With his sunglasses tucked into his shirt pocket, he looks like a normal 27-year-old man Kibum could date. It is the polish, the practiced motion with which Jonghyun tucks his professionally styled hair under his hat, that reminds him, again, who Jonghyun is.
Jonghyun lets himself out and Kibum, in bed hours later, can still feel his hand from when it fisted itself in his hair for one last bruising kiss.
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