SHINee Secret Santa - air traffic
To: biiesh
From: Your Secret Santa!
Title: air traffic
Pairing: jonghyun/key, taemin/key (one-sided)
Rating: PG-15 (references to sex)
Summary: kibum starts to believe a boy and his pixie are really flying through the window every night-- maybe, just maybe, he isn't insane.
happy holidays, dear. totally unbetad and procrastinated on, so please forgive any grammatical errors and whatnot. the ending is lamesauce, but i tried to incorporate as much of your prompt as possible, i really did. it's weird and out there (and unique, hopefully?) and based on one of my favorite childhood stories, so i hope you enjoy.
o1.
Kibum holds his translucent umbrella out in front of him, bloated open like a dome, and lets the thick, warm droplets pound at the back of his skull. From behind the metal-rimmed plastic, the view of Seoul across the Han River is split into seven pieces, skyscrapers and lights dripping together like molten lava or water color. The bridge he’s walking on is a tunnel in open air; fog obscures the end and traps him inside the cracked pavement like a tube-it’s alright, because Kibum likes the taste of polluted condensation. He pokes his tongue out curiously and tastes the city moving further away.
There’s an alleyway two blocks from Kibum’s house that his grandma’s warned him about since he was three: an alleyway that leads into a dead-end brick wall. It’s kind of like an urban legend the children in the surrounding neighborhoods have made dares and games out of venturing into (but no one ever really tries). On the way back from school, Kibum doesn’t try anything like that; he holds onto his backpack straps and runs past the dank passage through the gaping puddles on the sidewalk-partly because he’s a good grandson, mostly because he doesn’t like the rain drenching his clothes (and it’s always raining these days).
o2.
Kibum’s wrenched out of sleep when he hears rapping at his door-his balcony door. His eyes snap open and close out of sleep like venetian blinds as he groans in confusion, in irritation. It’s a bat, he figures, rolling back over into his pillow. A fucking blind bat, he adds as the knocking grows more incessant, before he realizes the irony there. He growls and slides out of bed, hissing at the sudden cold, and grapples for the light switch. The knocking stops as soon as the soft light paints the room. Sighing heavily, he reaches forward to open the double doors and check if his little vampire’s roasted in the light filtering through the curtains.
“Freaking shit,” Kibum shrieks, because there’s a boy standing in his veranda, not a bat. He brings his hands up in fists and wonders why he doesn’t have a baseball bat in his room, but it’s just as well because the sunny-haired boy is grinning in a good way, not a psychotic way, and his eyes are rounded in just as much astonishment as Kibum’s in. A part of him-the part that really just wants to get back to his warm bed-is pretty sure he’s dreaming. Still, Kibum doesn’t lower his arms. “Who are you?”
The roguish boy’s charming smile splits his face even further, his voice is melodic (wind chimes, as pretentious as it is, are the only things Kibum decides he can compare it to, when he’s thinking about all of this in the far, far future) when he speaks. “Jonghyun, I’m Jonghyun.” He doesn’t give his last name, just digs his hands deeper into his pockets and throws his chest out proudly. “And this is Taemin.” Kibum’s wide eyes dart warily to the fist he slowly pulls out of his pocket and opens; he has to lean forward and squint before he sees a little wind-up doll fluttering weakly in the blonde’s palm.
“Um. Okay. I don’t-“
The toy in Jonghyun’s hand spins into a shower of gold and green light and grows to life-size before Kibum’s very eyes, landing gracefully on the cement tiles. It tilts its head and curves its pink lips up sweetly. There are large, lavender things sticking out of its back, like wings, though the left one is bent awkwardly, twitching rather than waving back and forth elegantly. “Annyeong~”
“Right,” Kibum blinks at the pair, and turns around, “well, I’m just going to go back to sleep, and maybe then I’ll actually wake up.”
But Jonghyun and Taemin show up the next few days, every night, even when Kibum knows he isn’t asleep. He starts to believe that a boy and his pixie are really flying through his window every night-maybe, just maybe, he isn’t insane.
o3.
Kibum’s taken to starting his homework later than usual and leaving his windows and balcony doors open during the frosty autumn nights. The dark haired boy’s almost done with his calculus when Jonghyun somersaults into the room through the window; Kibum’s tired eyes flicker to the alarm clock and it’s exactly midnight, like always. He closes his book and rolls over, making room on the bed. “Everything’s derivatives. Fuck derivatives.”
The youthful blonde plops down beside him cross-legged and throws him a smug look. “We don’t have those in Neverland.” Kibum knows Jonghyun thinks he’s from a perfect place called Neverland, and thinks he’s some kind of Peter Pan. Jonghyun tells him he wishes Kibum could come visit him in Neverland, but he can’t, because it’s behind the brick-wall in the alleyway and people like Kibum can’t get through. The other boy humors him- there are some things he can’t explain anyway that really seem like storybook magic , like how he can fly (but more so like the way Jonghyun smiles, the way his voice warms him up like hot chocolate and marshmallows, the way his every touch shoots sparks and fireworks across his veins).
Whenever Jonghyun is visiting it’s always loud. He’s cheerful and confident and like a curious little boy, constantly rummaging through Kibum’s things and tossing them around the room until Kibum nearly has a heart attack. The raven watches his door for his parents, ever since he decided to keep the boy who flies in through his balcony a secret, tries to shush Jonghyun even though he’s learned there’s really no point. He figures the blonde is around his age, or maybe a little older-18 or 19; he has that impish adolescence about him. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they play board games or watch DVDs, and sometimes Jonghyun just hovers over Kibum’s shoulder while he works late, asking him questions about foreign places and kings and scientific theories. Usually Taemin is with them, sometimes he isn’t and Kibum doesn’t know why.
“Where’s Tae?” Kibum notices the little pixie missing, frowning slightly. Today’s one of the day’s he isn’t there. He likes Taemin, he adores Taemin. He’s cute and funny and likes making fun of Jonghyun as much as Kibum does. He lets Kibum fuss over him, when he’s explicitly mentioned he hates people touching his smooth, chestnut hair (but not Kibum. Kibum’s allowed to comb it back and clip it with pink bows). But he doesn’t adore Taemin the same way he thinks the pixie adores him. And it makes him feel horrible for leading him on, makes the guilt curl in his stomach like a greasy parasite, because Taemin is so obvious and hopeful and Kibum takes advantage of it-he’s always liked attention.
“He’s resting,” Jonghyun supplies vaguely and nudges Kibum’s shoulder with his knee, before the other can catch the edges of his smile crumpling in. “Let’s do something, already,” he hugs one of the pillows.
Tuesday is Titanic day, so they pop in the movie and Kibum goes downstairs to make them some popcorn, extra butter and salt. They put it in between themselves on the bed, even though Kibum only ever eats the top, butter-soaked layer, and recite Jack’s and Rose’s lines by heart until Kibum’s head droops onto the blonde’s shoulder and he falls asleep.
o4.
Jonghyun turns his head to the pixie on his shoulder, confused. “Where do you think he went, Taemin-ah?” Kibum’s room is pitch-black and the curtains are drawn for the first time ever. He perches himself on the veranda railing, swinging his legs impatiently. The black metal shakes under him and Taemin grips onto his earlobe for dear life, eyes wide. “He can’t be walking around in the dark.”
“He could just be sleeping, you know. Why do you care so much?” the tiny brunette supplies, his tone just short of its usual cheeriness. Jonghyun shakes his head but refrains from knocking on the glass, because if Kibum is indeed asleep, waking him up isn’t a great idea. He knows the other enjoys his ‘beauty sleep’ (as many times as he’d assured Kibum that he was beautiful without it, anyway). He frowns, lost for what to do. It’s two hours past midnight and Kibum’s door is still locked.
Taemin coughs and shivers, wrapping himself in Jonghyun’s collar and jerking the boy out of his thoughts. Jonghyun sighs and pulls Taemin into his palm, cocooning him in warm fingers. “You need to rest. Let’s go.” Taemin watches Jonghyun’s eyes drop. Even as they soar away, Jonghyun looks back hopefully, but the lights don’t come on.
o5.
“What’s a happy birthday?” Jonghyun scoops more icing into his mouth, ignoring the cake, after Kibum makes him say “happy birthday” to him. Kibum stops twirling in his desk chair and looks up at him, sighing. He dips his finger into his birthday cake and dabs pink stuff on Jonghyun’s nose before getting up and moving to his bed.
“A birthday is the day you were born,” he explains, picking lint off his blanket and throwing it off the edge. “You celebrate getting older each year. I was out with friends last night,” he adds, chuckling. “Since I can finally drink now.”
Jonghyun’s frozen, spoon in midair. “But it was your birthday yesterday.” Kibum raises his eyebrows delicately. “Yeah, we’ve already established--” his breath hitches as the other boy’s spoon bounces off the floor and he looks up at Kibum with wide eyes and violently quivering lips; he looks horror-stricken. “Hey,” he gets up and goes to him, gripping his arm worriedly, frowning when Jonghyun jerks away abruptly. “What’s wrong?” His arm falls to his side awkwardly while he watches Jonghyun pretty much have a panic-attack.
Suddenly, the frightened boy jumps off the desk and pulls Kibum into a hug, crushing him to his chest. Kibum chokes for air, his stomach flip-flopping inside. He pushes Jonghyun away, rose-faced. “What-“
“I’m so sorry,” the light-haired boy tells him, wringing his hands together, his eyes wet. Kibum furrows his eyebrows in total confusion. “You’re growing up,” Jonghyun explains, whispering mournfully. “I’m sorry. That’s horrible. I’m sorry.”
All Kibum can do is stare in awe while Jonghyun shrinks into himself on the floor, silent and thoughtful. Was growing up really that bad?
o6.
Kibum likes Jonghyun. He may even be in love with him. It comes to him first thing in the morning, on the way to the bathroom, and he practices saying it out loud while he brushes his teeth and gargles, the confession minty-fresh on his tongue. He thinks about it all during school, and at the grocery store. He’s going to tell Jonghyun tonight, because all he knows is that the house is too empty and cold and the rain makes him claustrophobic when Jonghyun isn’t around. He’s going to tell him, and he hopes he doesn’t have to explain.
o7.
He does, and without much ado or romantic frivolity. Kibum’s the straight-forward type, so he prepares himself and says it just the way it is: “I like you, okay?” He waits for Jonghyun to turn away from his bookshelf and blink at him. “Me too, Kibum,” he sends him a scintillating smile, his eyes curving happily.
“No,” the raven puts his hands on his hips. “I like you, dumbass. Why are you ruining this?” He whines and wonders why his face is so stuffy and stupidly hot and why his tongue is so tied and why his heart is jumping like a race horse.
Understanding dawns on Jonghyun’s features and Key wants to slap a clammy palm to his forehead. The blonde crosses his arms and faces him. “You mean you love me,” he tells, not asks. “You told me there’s a difference.” Kibum’s eyes go wide for a split-second, and then soften alarmingly. There was a difference. He nods, biting a shy smile. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” Jonghyun’s charming smile returns and he pulls Kibum into his arms, coiling his arms around his waist. Kibum squeezes his arms out from between their chests and loops them over his shoulders, unused to Jonghyun taking control, so that their hearts are pressed together, pounding in tandem. He feels better when he realizes other’s is thrumming just as fast. “Me too,” Jonghyun smiles into his hair. Kibum sighs, relieved, and pulls Jonghyun closer, breathing into his neck. He’s happy Jonghyun knows what this means, for once.
o8.
Taemin sits in his small form on the window ledge like always, hiding behind the deep blue veils. He watches Kibum look at Jonghyun and Jonghyun touch Kibum in the ways he wished Kibum would look at him and he would touch Kibum. He’s not a fairy godmother, though, and he can’t cast wishes even with pixie dust. There’s jealousy, but vindictiveness is not in his nature, because he loves Kibum, but he loves Jonghyun too (just in different ways). So he just lets his heart shatter and fall, piece by piece.
o9.
It’s a Tuesday night, but it feels more like a lazy Sunday morning, and Kibum’s cocooned in his throw, poking his head off the edge of the bed. He looks down at Jonghyun on the floor, tracing patterns into the carpet thoughtfully, and decides to think a little himself-mostly about the perfect boy in front of him. They remain silent for a long while.
“You have a nice smile,” Jonghyun says before Kibum realizes he is smiling. When he focuses again, the blonde’s squinting and his face is inches away from his and Kibum just smiles harder, allows himself to forget how to breathe when he feels the other’s warm fingers tracing his upper lip with a childish curiosity that just doesn’t fit (but it’s Jonghyun, so it makes perfect sense). “Your lips are pretty.” He dips his head closer to Jonghyun’s, dangles off the bed, because his mouth is tingling and he has a hunch about what’s going on.
“Can I kiss them? Since you loved me now?” And Kibum laughs because he’s right, and because he’s very very happy. Moving his elbows to the edge of the bed, he rests his chin in his palm and raises his eyebrows. “Sure you can,” his voice lilts teasingly. “Do you know how?” He watches delightedly as Jonghyun’s features transform from eager to puzzled to indignant, and it’s just so cute he almost grabs him so he can shove their mouths together. Kibum is uncharacteristically patient now, though, and waits for Jonghyun to sit up and take his chin in one of his coarse hands.
“Okay,” the light-haired boy breathes to himself, running his fingers across Kibum’s jaw experimentally while the other just watches him intensely. The air feels forbidden. Jonghyun pouts his lips like he’s seen Will Turner and Peter Parker do and closes his eyes-they always close their eyes first (now he’s scared he might miss, but oh well, it’s now or never) before closing the distance between him and Kibum.
It’s too short--they pull away quickly, because there’s a shock against his lips and something white and gold and starry beneath his eyelids-but Kibum grins brighter than he ever remembers and leans in again.
Jonghyun rocks back onto his heels warily, fingers to his mouth. “I don’t feel-something’s wrong,” he frowns. Kibum’s heart drops to his stomach and he lowers his eyes, trying to hide his hurt. Jonghyun doesn’t notice, anyway. “I feel like,” he continues, blinking rapidly, “it’s my happy birthday.”
He leaves through the window shortly after, the curtains waving goodbye even hours after. Kibum hides under his desk as the sun comes up, put his head in his hands, and cries.
1o.
It’s been two weeks and Kibum’s beginning to give up hope when Jonghyun knocks on the window, even though it’s open. He looks worse for the wear- bruises, dishelved hair, and sunken eyes. Kibum starts, launching off his bed and pushing the frame higher, pulling the boy in eagerly. His hands are all over Jonghyun in a second, combing his wet bangs out of his eyes, fingers padding tenderly along his jaw. “Jonghyun.”
“Taemin’s gone,” he tells Kibum, hollow-voiced, leaning into him.
“He’s-you mean-God…” Kibum trails off, shaking his head. He leads Jonghyun to the bed and sits him down before pulling into his arms. Jonghyun nods, swallowing thickly. In the soft light of the room, the blonde’s eyes are wrung dry and speckled with tired, crimson lines. “It was heartbreak.” (And Kibum believes him, boy does he believe him, because he knows how it feels.) His heart stutters and bleeds with guilt.
Then Jonghyun’s lips are on his, pressing desperately, prying his pink lips apart. He gasps and clutches the front of Jonghyun’s shirt, hesitating between pulling him closer or pushing him away, before settling on closing his eyes and submitting. Jonghyun strokes their tongues together skillfully, and Kibum has no idea where he’s learned it or whether it’s something animalistic and innate, but all coherent thought disappears from his mind when Jonghyun coaxes him backwards. He wraps his arms around the blonde’s neck as he falls back onto the mattress, moaning softly when Jonghyun pulls his lips between his teeth and nibbles them like candy.
“Jonghyun,” Kibum whimpers against the kiss. He means to push him away but his body doesn’t listen to him, and he ends up pulling him down instead, crushing him to his chest possessively and locking his ankles behind his waist. He thinks this is unfair, that he’s taking advantage of Jonghyun’s grief, but then Jonghyun takes advantage of his position and rubs his knee between Kibum’s thighs. His fingers are mapping out the other boy’s collar ribs and going lower and Kibum’s too far gone to care.
11.
When Kibum wakes up, the sun is shining through the indigo curtains and Jonghyun is looking back at him with a pained smile. Kibum removes his arms from the other’s hips and places them on his face knowingly (the skin is flushed and warm and real; it’s not a dream). The boy beside him looks older, strangely. There’s something different.
“I can’t fly anymore,” Jonghyun’s eyes are on the wall behind Kibum’s shoulder. “I tried this morning. After, well…” He trails off softly, his face expressionless. Kibum’s chest clenches guiltily, but he waits for Jonghyun to go on. “I don’t think I can go to Neverland again.”
Kibum swallows a lungful of air. His lips curl up into an uncertain smile, and his eyes are stinging. “You don’t need Neverland. You can stay with me.” Desperate, hopeful; he’s pathetic but he doesn’t care.
“No, I know,” Jonghyun replies immediately, “I think it was supposed to be this way.” Smiling gently, the blonde trails his fingers up and down the pleasant ache in Kibum’s spine. “I can’t be a kid forever, after all.” Kibum’s breath catches in surprise; he stares at Jonghyun’s angelic smile and waits for the punch line or tears.
“But,” he lets Jonghyun fold Kibum’s hands in his and brings them to his lips, butterfly kisses on each knuckle, “we could be forever. Don’t you think?”
Kibum wants to curl into a ball and cry as relief spreads through his arteries, healing. He pushes at Jonghyun’s chest instead, laughing and letting his fingers linger above the other’s steady heartbeat. “I think you’re a sappy freak-where did you even pick that shit up from?”
Jonghyun makes an indignant noise in his throat and Kibum rolls over onto him, thumbing his pouting lips with a ridiculously satisfied smile. “My window’s always open for you.” And he kisses his very own Peter Pan, slow and careful.
From: Your Secret Santa!
Title: air traffic
Pairing: jonghyun/key, taemin/key (one-sided)
Rating: PG-15 (references to sex)
Summary: kibum starts to believe a boy and his pixie are really flying through the window every night-- maybe, just maybe, he isn't insane.
happy holidays, dear. totally unbetad and procrastinated on, so please forgive any grammatical errors and whatnot. the ending is lamesauce, but i tried to incorporate as much of your prompt as possible, i really did. it's weird and out there (and unique, hopefully?) and based on one of my favorite childhood stories, so i hope you enjoy.
o1.
Kibum holds his translucent umbrella out in front of him, bloated open like a dome, and lets the thick, warm droplets pound at the back of his skull. From behind the metal-rimmed plastic, the view of Seoul across the Han River is split into seven pieces, skyscrapers and lights dripping together like molten lava or water color. The bridge he’s walking on is a tunnel in open air; fog obscures the end and traps him inside the cracked pavement like a tube-it’s alright, because Kibum likes the taste of polluted condensation. He pokes his tongue out curiously and tastes the city moving further away.
There’s an alleyway two blocks from Kibum’s house that his grandma’s warned him about since he was three: an alleyway that leads into a dead-end brick wall. It’s kind of like an urban legend the children in the surrounding neighborhoods have made dares and games out of venturing into (but no one ever really tries). On the way back from school, Kibum doesn’t try anything like that; he holds onto his backpack straps and runs past the dank passage through the gaping puddles on the sidewalk-partly because he’s a good grandson, mostly because he doesn’t like the rain drenching his clothes (and it’s always raining these days).
o2.
Kibum’s wrenched out of sleep when he hears rapping at his door-his balcony door. His eyes snap open and close out of sleep like venetian blinds as he groans in confusion, in irritation. It’s a bat, he figures, rolling back over into his pillow. A fucking blind bat, he adds as the knocking grows more incessant, before he realizes the irony there. He growls and slides out of bed, hissing at the sudden cold, and grapples for the light switch. The knocking stops as soon as the soft light paints the room. Sighing heavily, he reaches forward to open the double doors and check if his little vampire’s roasted in the light filtering through the curtains.
“Freaking shit,” Kibum shrieks, because there’s a boy standing in his veranda, not a bat. He brings his hands up in fists and wonders why he doesn’t have a baseball bat in his room, but it’s just as well because the sunny-haired boy is grinning in a good way, not a psychotic way, and his eyes are rounded in just as much astonishment as Kibum’s in. A part of him-the part that really just wants to get back to his warm bed-is pretty sure he’s dreaming. Still, Kibum doesn’t lower his arms. “Who are you?”
The roguish boy’s charming smile splits his face even further, his voice is melodic (wind chimes, as pretentious as it is, are the only things Kibum decides he can compare it to, when he’s thinking about all of this in the far, far future) when he speaks. “Jonghyun, I’m Jonghyun.” He doesn’t give his last name, just digs his hands deeper into his pockets and throws his chest out proudly. “And this is Taemin.” Kibum’s wide eyes dart warily to the fist he slowly pulls out of his pocket and opens; he has to lean forward and squint before he sees a little wind-up doll fluttering weakly in the blonde’s palm.
“Um. Okay. I don’t-“
The toy in Jonghyun’s hand spins into a shower of gold and green light and grows to life-size before Kibum’s very eyes, landing gracefully on the cement tiles. It tilts its head and curves its pink lips up sweetly. There are large, lavender things sticking out of its back, like wings, though the left one is bent awkwardly, twitching rather than waving back and forth elegantly. “Annyeong~”
“Right,” Kibum blinks at the pair, and turns around, “well, I’m just going to go back to sleep, and maybe then I’ll actually wake up.”
But Jonghyun and Taemin show up the next few days, every night, even when Kibum knows he isn’t asleep. He starts to believe that a boy and his pixie are really flying through his window every night-maybe, just maybe, he isn’t insane.
o3.
Kibum’s taken to starting his homework later than usual and leaving his windows and balcony doors open during the frosty autumn nights. The dark haired boy’s almost done with his calculus when Jonghyun somersaults into the room through the window; Kibum’s tired eyes flicker to the alarm clock and it’s exactly midnight, like always. He closes his book and rolls over, making room on the bed. “Everything’s derivatives. Fuck derivatives.”
The youthful blonde plops down beside him cross-legged and throws him a smug look. “We don’t have those in Neverland.” Kibum knows Jonghyun thinks he’s from a perfect place called Neverland, and thinks he’s some kind of Peter Pan. Jonghyun tells him he wishes Kibum could come visit him in Neverland, but he can’t, because it’s behind the brick-wall in the alleyway and people like Kibum can’t get through. The other boy humors him- there are some things he can’t explain anyway that really seem like storybook magic , like how he can fly (but more so like the way Jonghyun smiles, the way his voice warms him up like hot chocolate and marshmallows, the way his every touch shoots sparks and fireworks across his veins).
Whenever Jonghyun is visiting it’s always loud. He’s cheerful and confident and like a curious little boy, constantly rummaging through Kibum’s things and tossing them around the room until Kibum nearly has a heart attack. The raven watches his door for his parents, ever since he decided to keep the boy who flies in through his balcony a secret, tries to shush Jonghyun even though he’s learned there’s really no point. He figures the blonde is around his age, or maybe a little older-18 or 19; he has that impish adolescence about him. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they play board games or watch DVDs, and sometimes Jonghyun just hovers over Kibum’s shoulder while he works late, asking him questions about foreign places and kings and scientific theories. Usually Taemin is with them, sometimes he isn’t and Kibum doesn’t know why.
“Where’s Tae?” Kibum notices the little pixie missing, frowning slightly. Today’s one of the day’s he isn’t there. He likes Taemin, he adores Taemin. He’s cute and funny and likes making fun of Jonghyun as much as Kibum does. He lets Kibum fuss over him, when he’s explicitly mentioned he hates people touching his smooth, chestnut hair (but not Kibum. Kibum’s allowed to comb it back and clip it with pink bows). But he doesn’t adore Taemin the same way he thinks the pixie adores him. And it makes him feel horrible for leading him on, makes the guilt curl in his stomach like a greasy parasite, because Taemin is so obvious and hopeful and Kibum takes advantage of it-he’s always liked attention.
“He’s resting,” Jonghyun supplies vaguely and nudges Kibum’s shoulder with his knee, before the other can catch the edges of his smile crumpling in. “Let’s do something, already,” he hugs one of the pillows.
Tuesday is Titanic day, so they pop in the movie and Kibum goes downstairs to make them some popcorn, extra butter and salt. They put it in between themselves on the bed, even though Kibum only ever eats the top, butter-soaked layer, and recite Jack’s and Rose’s lines by heart until Kibum’s head droops onto the blonde’s shoulder and he falls asleep.
o4.
Jonghyun turns his head to the pixie on his shoulder, confused. “Where do you think he went, Taemin-ah?” Kibum’s room is pitch-black and the curtains are drawn for the first time ever. He perches himself on the veranda railing, swinging his legs impatiently. The black metal shakes under him and Taemin grips onto his earlobe for dear life, eyes wide. “He can’t be walking around in the dark.”
“He could just be sleeping, you know. Why do you care so much?” the tiny brunette supplies, his tone just short of its usual cheeriness. Jonghyun shakes his head but refrains from knocking on the glass, because if Kibum is indeed asleep, waking him up isn’t a great idea. He knows the other enjoys his ‘beauty sleep’ (as many times as he’d assured Kibum that he was beautiful without it, anyway). He frowns, lost for what to do. It’s two hours past midnight and Kibum’s door is still locked.
Taemin coughs and shivers, wrapping himself in Jonghyun’s collar and jerking the boy out of his thoughts. Jonghyun sighs and pulls Taemin into his palm, cocooning him in warm fingers. “You need to rest. Let’s go.” Taemin watches Jonghyun’s eyes drop. Even as they soar away, Jonghyun looks back hopefully, but the lights don’t come on.
o5.
“What’s a happy birthday?” Jonghyun scoops more icing into his mouth, ignoring the cake, after Kibum makes him say “happy birthday” to him. Kibum stops twirling in his desk chair and looks up at him, sighing. He dips his finger into his birthday cake and dabs pink stuff on Jonghyun’s nose before getting up and moving to his bed.
“A birthday is the day you were born,” he explains, picking lint off his blanket and throwing it off the edge. “You celebrate getting older each year. I was out with friends last night,” he adds, chuckling. “Since I can finally drink now.”
Jonghyun’s frozen, spoon in midair. “But it was your birthday yesterday.” Kibum raises his eyebrows delicately. “Yeah, we’ve already established--” his breath hitches as the other boy’s spoon bounces off the floor and he looks up at Kibum with wide eyes and violently quivering lips; he looks horror-stricken. “Hey,” he gets up and goes to him, gripping his arm worriedly, frowning when Jonghyun jerks away abruptly. “What’s wrong?” His arm falls to his side awkwardly while he watches Jonghyun pretty much have a panic-attack.
Suddenly, the frightened boy jumps off the desk and pulls Kibum into a hug, crushing him to his chest. Kibum chokes for air, his stomach flip-flopping inside. He pushes Jonghyun away, rose-faced. “What-“
“I’m so sorry,” the light-haired boy tells him, wringing his hands together, his eyes wet. Kibum furrows his eyebrows in total confusion. “You’re growing up,” Jonghyun explains, whispering mournfully. “I’m sorry. That’s horrible. I’m sorry.”
All Kibum can do is stare in awe while Jonghyun shrinks into himself on the floor, silent and thoughtful. Was growing up really that bad?
o6.
Kibum likes Jonghyun. He may even be in love with him. It comes to him first thing in the morning, on the way to the bathroom, and he practices saying it out loud while he brushes his teeth and gargles, the confession minty-fresh on his tongue. He thinks about it all during school, and at the grocery store. He’s going to tell Jonghyun tonight, because all he knows is that the house is too empty and cold and the rain makes him claustrophobic when Jonghyun isn’t around. He’s going to tell him, and he hopes he doesn’t have to explain.
o7.
He does, and without much ado or romantic frivolity. Kibum’s the straight-forward type, so he prepares himself and says it just the way it is: “I like you, okay?” He waits for Jonghyun to turn away from his bookshelf and blink at him. “Me too, Kibum,” he sends him a scintillating smile, his eyes curving happily.
“No,” the raven puts his hands on his hips. “I like you, dumbass. Why are you ruining this?” He whines and wonders why his face is so stuffy and stupidly hot and why his tongue is so tied and why his heart is jumping like a race horse.
Understanding dawns on Jonghyun’s features and Key wants to slap a clammy palm to his forehead. The blonde crosses his arms and faces him. “You mean you love me,” he tells, not asks. “You told me there’s a difference.” Kibum’s eyes go wide for a split-second, and then soften alarmingly. There was a difference. He nods, biting a shy smile. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” Jonghyun’s charming smile returns and he pulls Kibum into his arms, coiling his arms around his waist. Kibum squeezes his arms out from between their chests and loops them over his shoulders, unused to Jonghyun taking control, so that their hearts are pressed together, pounding in tandem. He feels better when he realizes other’s is thrumming just as fast. “Me too,” Jonghyun smiles into his hair. Kibum sighs, relieved, and pulls Jonghyun closer, breathing into his neck. He’s happy Jonghyun knows what this means, for once.
o8.
Taemin sits in his small form on the window ledge like always, hiding behind the deep blue veils. He watches Kibum look at Jonghyun and Jonghyun touch Kibum in the ways he wished Kibum would look at him and he would touch Kibum. He’s not a fairy godmother, though, and he can’t cast wishes even with pixie dust. There’s jealousy, but vindictiveness is not in his nature, because he loves Kibum, but he loves Jonghyun too (just in different ways). So he just lets his heart shatter and fall, piece by piece.
o9.
It’s a Tuesday night, but it feels more like a lazy Sunday morning, and Kibum’s cocooned in his throw, poking his head off the edge of the bed. He looks down at Jonghyun on the floor, tracing patterns into the carpet thoughtfully, and decides to think a little himself-mostly about the perfect boy in front of him. They remain silent for a long while.
“You have a nice smile,” Jonghyun says before Kibum realizes he is smiling. When he focuses again, the blonde’s squinting and his face is inches away from his and Kibum just smiles harder, allows himself to forget how to breathe when he feels the other’s warm fingers tracing his upper lip with a childish curiosity that just doesn’t fit (but it’s Jonghyun, so it makes perfect sense). “Your lips are pretty.” He dips his head closer to Jonghyun’s, dangles off the bed, because his mouth is tingling and he has a hunch about what’s going on.
“Can I kiss them? Since you loved me now?” And Kibum laughs because he’s right, and because he’s very very happy. Moving his elbows to the edge of the bed, he rests his chin in his palm and raises his eyebrows. “Sure you can,” his voice lilts teasingly. “Do you know how?” He watches delightedly as Jonghyun’s features transform from eager to puzzled to indignant, and it’s just so cute he almost grabs him so he can shove their mouths together. Kibum is uncharacteristically patient now, though, and waits for Jonghyun to sit up and take his chin in one of his coarse hands.
“Okay,” the light-haired boy breathes to himself, running his fingers across Kibum’s jaw experimentally while the other just watches him intensely. The air feels forbidden. Jonghyun pouts his lips like he’s seen Will Turner and Peter Parker do and closes his eyes-they always close their eyes first (now he’s scared he might miss, but oh well, it’s now or never) before closing the distance between him and Kibum.
It’s too short--they pull away quickly, because there’s a shock against his lips and something white and gold and starry beneath his eyelids-but Kibum grins brighter than he ever remembers and leans in again.
Jonghyun rocks back onto his heels warily, fingers to his mouth. “I don’t feel-something’s wrong,” he frowns. Kibum’s heart drops to his stomach and he lowers his eyes, trying to hide his hurt. Jonghyun doesn’t notice, anyway. “I feel like,” he continues, blinking rapidly, “it’s my happy birthday.”
He leaves through the window shortly after, the curtains waving goodbye even hours after. Kibum hides under his desk as the sun comes up, put his head in his hands, and cries.
1o.
It’s been two weeks and Kibum’s beginning to give up hope when Jonghyun knocks on the window, even though it’s open. He looks worse for the wear- bruises, dishelved hair, and sunken eyes. Kibum starts, launching off his bed and pushing the frame higher, pulling the boy in eagerly. His hands are all over Jonghyun in a second, combing his wet bangs out of his eyes, fingers padding tenderly along his jaw. “Jonghyun.”
“Taemin’s gone,” he tells Kibum, hollow-voiced, leaning into him.
“He’s-you mean-God…” Kibum trails off, shaking his head. He leads Jonghyun to the bed and sits him down before pulling into his arms. Jonghyun nods, swallowing thickly. In the soft light of the room, the blonde’s eyes are wrung dry and speckled with tired, crimson lines. “It was heartbreak.” (And Kibum believes him, boy does he believe him, because he knows how it feels.) His heart stutters and bleeds with guilt.
Then Jonghyun’s lips are on his, pressing desperately, prying his pink lips apart. He gasps and clutches the front of Jonghyun’s shirt, hesitating between pulling him closer or pushing him away, before settling on closing his eyes and submitting. Jonghyun strokes their tongues together skillfully, and Kibum has no idea where he’s learned it or whether it’s something animalistic and innate, but all coherent thought disappears from his mind when Jonghyun coaxes him backwards. He wraps his arms around the blonde’s neck as he falls back onto the mattress, moaning softly when Jonghyun pulls his lips between his teeth and nibbles them like candy.
“Jonghyun,” Kibum whimpers against the kiss. He means to push him away but his body doesn’t listen to him, and he ends up pulling him down instead, crushing him to his chest possessively and locking his ankles behind his waist. He thinks this is unfair, that he’s taking advantage of Jonghyun’s grief, but then Jonghyun takes advantage of his position and rubs his knee between Kibum’s thighs. His fingers are mapping out the other boy’s collar ribs and going lower and Kibum’s too far gone to care.
11.
When Kibum wakes up, the sun is shining through the indigo curtains and Jonghyun is looking back at him with a pained smile. Kibum removes his arms from the other’s hips and places them on his face knowingly (the skin is flushed and warm and real; it’s not a dream). The boy beside him looks older, strangely. There’s something different.
“I can’t fly anymore,” Jonghyun’s eyes are on the wall behind Kibum’s shoulder. “I tried this morning. After, well…” He trails off softly, his face expressionless. Kibum’s chest clenches guiltily, but he waits for Jonghyun to go on. “I don’t think I can go to Neverland again.”
Kibum swallows a lungful of air. His lips curl up into an uncertain smile, and his eyes are stinging. “You don’t need Neverland. You can stay with me.” Desperate, hopeful; he’s pathetic but he doesn’t care.
“No, I know,” Jonghyun replies immediately, “I think it was supposed to be this way.” Smiling gently, the blonde trails his fingers up and down the pleasant ache in Kibum’s spine. “I can’t be a kid forever, after all.” Kibum’s breath catches in surprise; he stares at Jonghyun’s angelic smile and waits for the punch line or tears.
“But,” he lets Jonghyun fold Kibum’s hands in his and brings them to his lips, butterfly kisses on each knuckle, “we could be forever. Don’t you think?”
Kibum wants to curl into a ball and cry as relief spreads through his arteries, healing. He pushes at Jonghyun’s chest instead, laughing and letting his fingers linger above the other’s steady heartbeat. “I think you’re a sappy freak-where did you even pick that shit up from?”
Jonghyun makes an indignant noise in his throat and Kibum rolls over onto him, thumbing his pouting lips with a ridiculously satisfied smile. “My window’s always open for you.” And he kisses his very own Peter Pan, slow and careful.