SSS 2010: for finnish_pirate
For: finnish_pirate
From: Your Secret Santa
Title: Fairy Dusts
Pairing: Jonghyun/Key
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 7337
Summary: Jonghyun’s voice can wake up fairies. Oh, and he has an obsession.
Do you believe in fairies?
Jinki doesn’t even falter in his seat when Jonghyun comes, stomping his feet, and throws his bag (that is only filled with two pencils, a pen, an eraser, and no book at all) on his table, making a loud bang across the classroom. He simply glances up from his book, a thick Biology dictionary that seems to be written in English, and ignores him. Jonghyun narrows his eyes and knocks the table. “Um, hello? Earth to Jinki?”
“Dinosaur to Jinki, more likely,” Jinki mutters under his breath, but Jonghyun kicks his shin under the table, makes him wince.
“Yeah well, this dinosaur is pissed,” Jonghyun takes his book away-okay, fuck, why the hell is the book so heavy? He puts it down on his own table and turns his chair, facing his so-called best friend. He wonders why he calls him that in the first place. Jinki pouts, but the younger just raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you seriously thinking that that is going to work on me?”
Jinki sighs in defeat, shrugging as he slumps on the table. “Everything is worth to try.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Jonghyun lowers his face to Jinki’s level, and Jinki stares at him. “I am pissed.”
“I get that part, kind of.”
“Well,” Jonghyun pulls back with a satisfied sigh, while Jinki holds the urge to roll his eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask why?”
Jinki straightens his back and folds his arms in front of his chest, looking mournfully at his book on the floor. “You will tell me anyway.”
“Right,” Jonghyun frowns again, his expression turns sour as he takes his bag and starts searching for something. After a minute or so, he looks like he finds something and pulls it out, slamming it to the table with an unnecessary force. Jinki looks down to the piece of paper, a red card with an elegant curve at the edge of it. He raises a hand then, hides a smile from his friend. Unfortunately, Jonghyun might be stupid, he might failed ten of fourteen subjects he has, but he is sharp, so he catches the small smile. “What, you know something?”
With a chuckle, Jinki folds his arms on the table, leaning forward a little, “You can say that.”
With wide eyes Jonghyun looks at the card in his hand, up to Jinki, card, Jinki, card, and, “Oh my God.”
“Surprise,” Jinki grins.
“Oh my God,” Jonghyun repeats, louder, and he suddenly has a pair of hands fisting Jinki’s front of sweater, shaking him. “I can’t believe this. I can-did you?”
Jinki seems pretty calm for a guy who has a furious best friend who is threatening to rip the front of his uniform, but Jinki is calm when they faced Chemistry test, so Jonghyun can’t take a guess. The older simply grins wider, his eyes crinkled as he answers, voice perfectly composed. “If you are guessing that I am the one who put it there,” he says cheerfully, “then no, because I don’t know your locker’s combination number.”
“Oh,” Jonghyun says dumbly, loosening his grip.
“I asked Minho to do it,” he continues with a beaming smile, and he thanks the God’s love for him as the bell rings before Jonghyun’s fist reaches his jaw.
“I can’t believe this,” Jonghyun groans for the seventh time during their lunch. Taemin just munches on his tuna sandwich happily, while Minho is typing on his computer, focus. Jinki is having a meeting with the rest of the council-Jonghyun is pretty sure that he is just scared that there will be no bell to save him again-and Jonghyun hates his life. Not a new feeling, but Jonghyun hates his life even more now.
Finally, finally, Taemin finishes his sandwich and throws his paper wrapper to the ground, “It can’t be that bad.”
Jonghyun groans, again, “I can’t believe this.”
“It’s just a date on the Christmas Eve,” Taemin pushes him, partly annoyed and partly playful, “It won’t be that bad.”
Jonghyun raises his face from his palms and stares at Taemin incredulously. Taemin shifts nearer to Minho. “Taemin,” Jonghyun says, “it’s a blind date on the Christmas Eve.” He turns to his palm, buries his face in them again. “Of course it will be that bad.”
“I think it depends on who you get?” Taemin sounds unsure, and Jonghyun slumps his shoulder.
“Exactly,” he lets himself slide even lower against the net behind him, his back hurting from the friction, “that’s the point. What if I get, I don’t know, that goofy-looking junior Jino? Or that bitchy senior Heechul? Or, God forbids, Jinki?” He shudders at the thought. “Oh my God, this is nightmare.”
Minho finally looks up from his laptop, snapping it shut quietly. He puts it aside as he says, “It’s your own fault anyway.”
Jonghyun puts his hands down. “Excuse me?” His voice is high from the feeling of betrayal, “Why is this my fault again?”
“Well,” Minho shrugs, taking his melon bread and rips the wrapper before he takes it to his mouth, muffles his next words. “Mouu yobsetior.”
Jonghyun blinks. “Huh?”
Minho takes his box of milk and gulps, repeats, “Your obsession.”
Taemin snorts, but Jonghyun’s face becomes red in a second. He takes his own bento and opens it, sticking his chopsticks to the sticky rice repeatedly, “I have no obsession.”
“Of course, Hyung,” Minho shrugs and takes a bite again. Jonghyun glares at him.
“No obsession, Minho.”
“I heard you, Hyung.”
“You are absurd,” Jonghyun takes the octopus-shaped sausage and chews it angrily, but Minho just looks at the side of the box of his milk, as if he is taking note of the nutrition he lets in to his body. Maybe he is.
Taemin moves closer to Jonghyun, taking the invitation card from Jonghyun’s pocket with an amused expression. “’Lonely on the Christmas Eve’? Why do they have to use this kind of lines?”
Jonghyun puts his bento down sadly, buries his face against his knees now, “I can’t believe this.”
So, Jonghyun is pretty sure he doesn’t have any obsession. Seriously, it’s merely even anything big, but his friends are all girls who secretly love to make his life miserable (or maybe not so secretly, because they seem happy to let Jonghyun knows that they love to make him hates his life, even a little proud), and the next thing he knows, he has an obsession. Jonghyun snorts at the thought, walking slowly along the corridor alone. Jinki is still in the meeting (“We are deciding on the pairing for that blind date you’re attending,” he tells him before he runs to the door as Jonghyun throws a shoe at his back), Taemin goes home early because he has a dancing competition that day, and Minho is. Well, Jonghyun is often at lost in where Minho is, because he comes and goes like he is anything but human. People gets used to it though, so Jonghyun simply sends a text that tells them that he is going home, and there he is, trying to open his locker.
When he manages to though, there’s a pink paper on top of his shoes, a small paper star is glued to the side. Jonghyun can’t help but to feel something in his stomach bubbling up as he takes the paper and reads it.
Fate is real. I heard you are going to that stupid blind date.
Jonghyun chuckles as he folds the paper and puts is in his back pocket, smiling like a fool while he puts on his shoes and ties it up. He doesn’t even realize that he is still smiling until he looks at his reflection against the mirror on the side of his bicycle. When he looks at the beaming expression he has, he presses his hand against his back pocket, and he thinks he is going mad because it seems warm. The paper, not his butt. His fingers are tingling, and his mind flies to the box in his drawer, locked safely, filled with papers that have stars on the edges.
Jonghyun sits on his bicycle. “Obsession, huh,” and he strides home.
Jonghyun has a crush.
It started sometime during March, when Jonghyun came back to school after a month. He got into a car accident, where his bicycle was almost hit by a truck. It didn’t, thankfully, but Jonghyun slammed his bicycle to the side, and while his body was hit by the iron at the side of the road, his old bicycle had flown and fell down the cliff. He received eighteen stitches along his shoulder blade, and there is an ugly long scar from the left side of his chest to the middle of his back now. He had to stay in the hospital and had a therapy for the whole month, and even then, he was supposed to stay at home for another month, a suggestion that he shrugged off.
He was back to school, and it didn’t seem to be more uplifting. If anything, it seemed to be more boring. He was not used to staying back when his friends were playing in the field, but Jinki had made sure that no one allowed him to even kick the ball. He sighed, almost frustrated, but he let it go because it was for his own sake anyway.
It was five o’clock in the afternoon, and he walked slowly, slightly limping, from the infirmary room to the locker room. The school was quiet, no sounds was made, which actually made sense because all club activities ends at three. He slept for too long, and the teacher didn’t have the heart to wake him up. Honestly, it was just him being a lazy ass, making excuses to miss the Math class he had, and not his back being a pain after four hours of sitting straight in class. It was painful, but he could manage it.
The locker room was empty, as he had expected, so he strode carefully to his locker, one hand against the wall as a support. He hated being looked at while limping, as if he is a weird creature that they have never seen, so he was kind of grateful that he went home at this hour. He should do this more often, he thought with a tired small laugh, as he opened his locker door.
A small paper flew from his locker, fell next to his right foot.
He stared at it for a moment, stunned and shocked, before he struggled to bend and take it to read it. He turned the red paper and looked at the star at the edge, frowning as he did so. He flipped it over and, there it was, small and round letters written across the paper.
Do you believe in fairies? They can heal you if you just believe.
That’s all. Nothing else, not a name, not an address, and he even doubted that it was meant for him if not for the healing part. The writing seems familiar, but his mind just refused to cooperate, so he had no idea who is the mystery man. It could be anyone, he supposed, and he saw no one as he looked around, searching for some clue of anyone, anything. He looked back to the paper in his hand, the words seemed to dance around his head and for an unknown reason, his head and stomach were spinning.
The paper lay on his lap during the journey home, warm against the fabric of his pants, against the tips of his fingers, and he touched at the star at the edge carefully. That was the first time he put the paper in his locked drawer, secured, and he couldn’t seem to put those words out of his mind.
It continued then, simple papers with a star at the edge, and simple sentences on it, such as supporting words for him to finally have the piece of rod moved from his back on the end of March, a congratulation for his first soccer match after the incident, a teasing remark when he failed eight instead of ten subjects like he used to. Even during his birthday on April, there is a box of condom beside his shoes with a ‘Happy Eighteenth, Big Boy.’ pasted on it, a gift that Jinki laughed, Minho stared, and Taemin giggled at. It is hidden behind his box of papers.
The person seems to know every detail of him, but he felt a little relief when none of his close friends know about those papers. The weird thing is, he doesn’t feel scared or annoyed with those simple notes. He doesn’t freak out, knowing that the person knows his locker’s combination, even though Jinki has told Minho to help him to change the numbers.
He actually waits for it, and when he whines that he hasn’t gotten a note for two whole months, his friends start to tease him relentlessly about his ‘obsession’. Jonghyun sighs, dejected. He isn’t normal, that’s for sure, he thinks as he plays around with the papers on top.
Jonghyun slaps his own mind for being too easily distracted, because suddenly two weeks has passed, and that blind date is right under his nose. He doesn’t even realize it if not for the oh-so-almighty Minho.
“Hyung,” Minho interrupts his babbling about his report card that was given earlier that day, and Jonghyun closes his mouth. “What are you going to wear tomorrow?”
Jonghyun opens his mouth again, blinking. “What?”
“Tomorrow, Hyung,” Taemin bounces on his seat, either from the excitement of what Minho is saying or from the fact that Jonghyun has stopped talking. “You know, for the blind date.”
The oldest blinks again, twice, before he curses loudly, muffled by the scarf around his neck and half of his face. “Damn,” he says, and Minho raises his eyebrows, “I totally forgot.” Minho exchanges an understanding look with Taemin, and Jonghyun hits their arm. “Don’t look like that.”
“Like what?” Jinki’s raspy voice reaches them then, and Jonghyun stands up from the floor, cleans his pants from the snow sticking to it. Jinki walks slowly to them, his body practically drowns in the two layers coat and three scarves wrapped around his neck. Taemin pulls down his scarf to reveal red cheeks and puffy nose, and Jonghyun snorts as the youngest of them all pulls it up again hurriedly. “Look like what?”
“A ‘of course you will forget after that obsession of yours gives you those love notes again’ look,” Minho answers flatly, and Jonghyun punches his shoulder.
“They are not love notes,” Jonghyun mutters bitterly, “and I don’t have any obsession!”
“Sure, sure,” Jinki waves a hand at them and immediately regrets it, because he quickly slips his hand to his coat’s pocket again. “Anyway, can we go inside? My dad has picked me up and, well, we are going to my home.”
“We are?” Taemin asks with a shining expression, because Jinki’s home before Christmas means tons and tons of food. Jinki laughs, ruffles his hair.
“We are,” he smiles, and Jonghyun looks at him with a distaste expression.
“So,” Taemin munches on his ginger cookie as he fumbles with his cellphone, “what are you going to wear tomorrow, Hyung?”
“Oh God,” Jonghyun mumbles to Jinki’s big turtle pillow, “please don’t remind me of that.”
“What,” Jinki kicks the door close with a tray with four cups of hot chocolate on it in his hands, concentrating on his balance. Jonghyun almost stands and claps for the fact that Jinki hasn’t fallen during his trip from the kitchen downstairs. Minho opens the door three seconds after the door is closed, a tray with four plates of cakes in one hand and a jar of colorful cookies in the other, and Taemin jumps to snatch the jar from him. Minho lets him and puts down the tray on the floor, sitting down beside it. Jinki lets out a breath of relief when he has managed to put the cups on his table, turns around with a grin. “What is happening tomorrow?”
Jonghyun glares at him with a ‘I can’t believe you’ expression while Minho takes some of the cookies, “The blind date, Hyung.”
Jinki’s expression seems to blank out for a moment, before something clicks and he claps his hands excitedly, “Oh, oh, oh, I remember!”
“Yay,” Jonghyun turns to the pillow again and mutters bitterly.
“Which reminds me,” Jinki jumps to his bag, hung on the door handle, and throws some of his stuffs out. He puts his books away, throws his pencil case to his bed only to hit Jonghyun’s calf, and some crumpled dirty papers to the floor. Jonghyun, rubbing his calf with a grunt, sits up and peers curiously at his friend’s back. Taemin puts his phone away, and Minho stops cutting his cake to even pieces.
“Ah,” Jinki pulls a small piece of folded paper out and raises it to the air, “here it is.”
“What,” Jonghyun asks, though he has a bad feeling about it. Jinki turns around and his smile looks devilish to Jonghyun.
“Your date is here,” he sings, and Jonghyun just wants the turtle pillow to gulp him down.
Name: Kim Kibum
Class: XI-C
Likes: -
Dislikes: -
Minho is the one who breaks the silence. “Isn’t this cheating?”
Jinki opens his mouth to answer but Taemin cuts, “He has no likes or dislikes?”
Jonghyun kicks Minho’s waist. “Aren’t you my friend?”
Jinki turns to Taemin, looks down to the paper again. “This guy sounds weird.”
“Gee,” Jonghyun folds his arms, “thanks guys. Big help.”
“I don’t know we have a Kim Kibum in our class,” Taemin looks up to Minho, who seems to have lost any interest in the paper. He moves from the circle around the paper on the bed to the floor, starts to eat his cake again.
“We have two,” Minho shrugs, and Taemin moves beside him to eat the cookies again. “One is called Key, and the other one is the basketball star.”
“Key’s real name is Kim Kibum?” Taemin stares at the older with wide eyes, and Minho just nods. Jinki looks at them curiously.
“You know this guy?”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know, both of them?”
“Yeah, we are in the sam-“
“Guys, guys,” Jonghyun butts in with an annoyed look on his face, hitting Jinki square on the face with his pillow. “Can we focus here? He is going to be my blind date!”
“I hope you get Key,” Taemin sighs with an adoring expression, his eyes wandering, “He is the nicest person ever, and his cooking skill is great.”
“He is obnoxious,” Minho protests.
“Yeah, but he is hot, too,” Taemin explains. Minho just looks defeated, and then he turns back to his cake, putting a big piece to his mouth.
Jinki scrunches up his face, his fingers on his chin as if he is thinking hard. “Why do I not know about any Kim Kibum?”
“I wonder why he has no likes or dislikes,” Taemins asks Minho, who simply shoves a piece of cake to Taemin’s mouth.
“I know his number if you want it,” Minho offers.
Jonghyun screams to the pillow, voice muffled into a strangled sound.
In the end, Jonghyun thinks maybe it will make it easier for all of them if he uses the number he has.
from: 010-2797-5588
to: kim kibum
21:42
hey, is this kim kibum?
He throws his phone away when it shows ‘Sent’ on the screen, unreasonably embarrassed. It feels weird, like a high school girl trying to text her crush to get his attention. He rubs his face repeatedly and thinks that maybe he should do something else other than waiting for the reply. Yes, yes, something else. He jumps and takes his towel, practically runs to the bathroom as he ignores his sister’s yell for him to shut up.
He thinks it works, kind of, because when he comes back to his bedroom, hair wet and warm from the shower, a can of soda in his hand, he has forgotten about the horrifying text. He even pushes his phone aside as he plops himself down to the bed, lets out a satisfied sigh. His cellphone vibrates then, and when he looks at the screen, there is two texts, one from a second ago, and the other from when he is still in the shower. The later one is from Jinki, telling him to come to his house tomorrow (Jonghyun rolls his eyes at that but replies that he is coming), and the other one is-
Fuck.
from: kim kibum
to: 010-2797-5588
21.38
who is this?
Okay, Jonghyun, you need to breathe.
from: 010-2797-5588
to: kim kibum
22.17
um, i’m kim jonghyun. your date tomorrow?
He is banging his head to the wall for telling his blind date that he is his blind date, oh my God, how stupid he could be, when the phone besides his thigh is vibrating again. He almost chokes on his tongue from how fast he moves and flips his cellphone open.
from: kim kibum
to: kim jonghyun
22.21
how do you know my number? and how do you know your date for tomorrow?
Crap. Damn Jinki and his cheating self.
from: kim jonghyun
to: kim kibum
22.23
um, my friend is one of the councils, so he told me. your friend minho is my friend too.
from: kim kibum
to: kim jonghyun
22.24
oh, what do you want?
What does he want. What does he want? He has no idea. Why did he text this person in the first place? Jonghyun feels like the soda he drinks to calm him down earlier starts grumbling in his stomach, threatening to come out. Okay, think, Kim Jonghyun. You don’t even know this person. Calm down and just reply it. Lungs, why aren’t you working?
from: kim jonghyun
to: kim kibum
22.34
i thought we can discuss about out date tomorrow?
That’s not so smart. Is it?
from: kim kibum
to: kim jonghyun
22.35
oh.
Totally not smart, but at least they text each other until past midnight.
Taemin straightens the front of his jacket, carefully not to touch his scarf. Jinki cleans his glasses with his pajama bottoms, and Minho is on the phone, making sure that the reservation is done. Jonghyun stares at his reflection in the mirror.
“Remind me again why none of you go for this blind date?”
Minho throws the phone to his bed, makes Jinki shrieks because that is his phone, and no one ever respect him as the oldest, even though he is the one that provides their base camp, or something. Jonghyun pushes him to the bed, and Taemin laughs when Jinki’s face hits the edge of the bed. “Except for the fact that all of us have a date today?”
Jonghyun groans. “I hate all of you.”
“Don’t worry, Hyung,” Taemin smiles sweetly, and Jonghyun hugs him tightly for being the only one who cares. “We will bring you your favorite cheesecake from the restaurant we’re going to.”
Jonghyun pushes him away.
Jinki rubs his red forehead, and though he has tears at the corner of his eyes, he is grinning widely. “I will tell Luna to make more spaghetti for you.”
Sounds good, but still. “I hate all of you.”
Ten minutes later, the big old clock at the floor below them makes a loud noise, signing that it’s already seven o’clock and Jonghyun probably needs to run to the station because it takes half an hour to get to the restaurant he reserves, and snow will not make his journey faster. But when he jumps from his seat, almost hits Taemin’s jaw in process, Jinki pulls him down. “You can use one of my drivers to go there.”
Jonghyun blinks rapidly that it’s a wonder he can still see Jinki’s grinning face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, I won’t need any of them anyway,” Jinki shrugs and pushes him to the door. When they reach the front door, a car with a driver inside is waiting for him, and it feels really weird after going everywhere by bicycle or train every day. Jonghyun turns to his friends and smiles weakly.
“Thanks, I guess,” he mumbles, and Jinki smiles back until he can’t see his eyes. Taemin jumps on his feet.
“Good luck, Hyung,” Taemin waves, and Minho hits his shoulder softly. Jinki makes a weird snorting noise.
“Your first date,” Jinki sobs, “I’m so proud of you!” The magazine he takes from the back of the front seat of the car manages to hit Jinki’s ass before he runs back to his house.
Jonghyun makes a mental note to himself to hit Minho and Taemin because even though they have already told him that Key, Kim Kibum, is hot, they didn’t tell him that he is this hot.
Key is ten minutes late, or Jonghyun is ten minutes too early, because he still feels dizzy from the way Jinki’s driver drives. He swears he is going to tell Jinki to fire him, and is playing around with the glass of candle in the middle of the table when the bell rings, telling him that someone comes, and he looks up naturally, only to see something that makes his breath hitches. The boy is looking around, his coat wraps his delicate body perfectly, his brown hair shines under the dimmed light of the restaurant. His figure is feminine, but more boney than delicate, with small waist and sharp hips, his shoulders’ bones jutted out beside his long neck, covered halfway by the soft hair. His legs are skinny, long and endless.
And just when Jonghyun gulps, Key turns around, eyes straight to him like he can hear Jonghyun’s mind, and-really, he feels cheesy and sappy and probably funny, because he thinks, or feels, all movements are stopped.
If his silhouette is gorgeous, Jonghyun really has no word to describe the perfection he is staring at. The hair is falling against his forehead, slightly covering his eyes; eyes which reflect the lights perfectly, the chocolate irises look so clear, even when surrounded with the darkness. His lips are parted, wet and shaped perfectly, and his cheekbones are high, cut under his slightly messy hair. His skin is pale, white and creamy.
When he blinks, Key is already in front of him, a small smile plastered on his face, and Jonghyun prays not to faint. “Hello,” his voice is velvety, smooth, slipping through his brain like liquid, “my name is Kim Kibum.”
Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, “My name is Kim Jonghyun,” he manages to squeak out, but Kibum doesn’t say anything about his weird voice, “Nice to meet you.”
To tell the truth, the dinner is not that bad. In fact, the dinner is great, almost perfect.
Key-or Kibum, as he tells him, is a talkative person. Jonghyun almost kisses the ground in gratefulness when Kibum puts his coat away, sits down, and starts talking, not letting any awkwardness to take place. He lets Jonghyun talks too, which Jonghyun is not very thankful for, because looking at Kibum talking is an funny, like watching a perfect statue moving, a weird yet enjoyable thing to see, and he just cannot stop staring. Kibum only smiles, amusement in his eyes, every time he stops talking, waits for an answer from Jonghyun, and Jonghyun just stares at him in a dreamy kind of way.
Suddenly though, when the appetizer comes, a waiter comes to their face with a worried expression.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and Kibum puts his fork down. “I don’t want this to happen, but this restaurant needs to be emptied now.”
Jonghyun chokes on his drink. “What?”
“Someone reserves the whole place,” the waiter tells them with a sorry expression, “so you two needs to, um, I’m really sorry, but you need to go.”
Kibum takes the napkin from his lap and glares at the waiter. “Are you chasing us away?”
The waiter gulps under the stare, looks down apologetically. Jonghyun really, really wants to hit his head with the bottle of wine on their table, or stab him with the knife in his hand, but he just sighs, sounding annoyed, and asks, “Are you going to return our money back?”
The waiter looks up, looks ashamed, “About that…”
Kibum cuts in, “You are going to give us our money back,” he snaps, and the waiter mutters thousands of apology as Jonghyun’s shoulders are slumped.
Three minutes later, they are outside the restaurant, trying to get a taxi.
When another taxi goes pass them, Kibum throws his arms to the air, curses, and turns to Jonghyun. “Let’s just walk, I think I saw a fast food restaurant nearby on my way here.”
Jonghyun nods slowly, careful, and it’s when they are walking side by side, snow starting to fall above them, Kibum lets out a disappointed sigh; that’s when Jonghyun scratches the back of his neck, says, “I’m so sorry,” with a soft voice. Kibum looks up, shocked, and Jonghyun continues, “I mean, for the restaurant. I guess I just want to impress you, so I cho-okay, the restaurant is Jinki’s idea,” he fixes himself when Kibum looks him with funny expression. “But, I agreed. So, yeah, sorry.”
Kibum stares at him for a few seconds, and Jonghyun shrugs as he puts his hands inside his pockets. The silence over them is thick enough that it can be cut, and suddenly Kibum pulls his arm. A couple, holding hands, pass by, and Jonghyun realizes that he is shorter than Kibum by a few centimeters.
Kibum tilts his head with a smile. “It’s not your fault, you know that,” he tells Jonghyun, presses his fingers to Jonghyun’s palm. It sends electricity, but he simply buries his face to his scarf. “I’m not mad, anyway.”
The touch makes him want to grip Kibum’s hand and to not let go forever, it’s maddening. Kibum tickles the heel of his palm with long nails, and Jonghyun bites his lip that little bit harder. And nope, Kibum’s smile doesn’t help at all.
“Fast food,” Jonghyun mumbles, and Kibum laughs. They end up eating french fries besides each other, laughing at the cheesy couples that they see from the window. Kibum hits him and buries his face at the crook of Jonghyun’s shoulder every time he laughs, thigh brushes against his, and looking from the jealous look of the cashier, Jonghyun can’t help but to think that they are just as cheesy as the couples they are laughing at.
From Kibum’s story about his life, Jonghyun can see that he is a little bit mad. But really, he cannot guess that he is not a little bit mad, but seriously crazy.
“Come on,” Kibum pulls his hand towards the opened train door, and Jonghyun can’t help but to follow the younger boy.
It is seriously a wonder for Jonghyun that he ends up sitting in an empty train, filled only with a couple of elderly and a mother with two children. All he remembers is asking Kibum what he wants to go after they finish eating, and though he has ready his heart to part and end this wonderful date, Kibum has grinned instead and pulls him by the hand. He pushes Jonghyun to a full bus, and as people alight and the bus becomes emptier and emptier, Kibum doesn’t move an inch. Jonghyun can ask, really, but the warmth of Kibum’s clothed hand against his own bare palm is more than enough to make him breathless, shuts him up. When they reach the bus stop, Kibum tugs his hand and pulls him to an unknown (at least for him) station and buys a ticket.
That’s when Jonghyun pulls away, as much as he doesn’t want to. “Where are we going?” Kibum simply grins and takes his hand again, and Jonghyun’s mind goes blank. He is pretty sure it is not healthy.
“So,” Kibum breaks his thought and Jonghyun snaps his head towards the younger boy. “Here we are.”
“We’re here?” Jonghyun asks, looking around him with a blank expression. Kibum laughs; he seems to do that often around him, or maybe he is just oversensitive over Kibum’s pretty, perfect laugh.
“That’s what I said,” Kibum answers.
Jonghyun never comes to the beach during Christmas Eve, but he must say that it is not that bad. Though beaches are always connected to summer, but he must admit that beach during winter is also beautiful. The dimmed light from the streetlight makes it even beautiful, as it distinguishes the yellow color of the sand and the white snows scattered around them. The ocean looks like they are sparkling, some from the stars and moon above it and some from the frozen snow among them. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks and the shore is mixed with the music and festive sound at the city nearby, and the houses near the cliff looks like they want to compete with the stars.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Jonghyun turns and there he is, the boy who he has only knows for less than five hours, being all gorgeous and perfect, with the shines from the moon and the streetlight reflected against all the edges of his face, the wind blows his hair to all kind of direction, the small smile that curves his lips upwards, his long wet eyelashes that stands up even more as he closes his eyes, and Jonghyun doesn’t believe in love, but this may be it.
“Yeah,” Jonghyun breathes, and he knows exactly that he is not talking about the scenery. “It is.”
“I have a crush,” Jonghyun tells Kibum, and Kibum’s feet stop playing with the water. He scoots closer to Jonghyun instead, looks at him with curious eyes. Jonghyun chuckles. “You seem interested.”
Kibum raises an eyebrow. “Can’t I?”
Jonghyun’s laughter becomes louder, and Kibum pushes his shoulder. “Okay, okay,” he lifts his hands in defeat, and Kibum sticks his tongue out. “I have a crush.”
“I get that part,” Kibum says.
“This-this crush is weird,” Jonghyun continues, and the other stares at him attentively. “I’m not saying that my crush is weird, but it’s more like, my feeling for him is strange. I don’t even know why I have a feeling for him, or her, but-“
“Wait, wait,” Kibum pushes his knees down, “You mean you don’t know his gender? What the hell?”
“Would you listen to me first,” Jonghyun pushes his legs away and Kibum grins, saying a simple sorry. Jonghyun takes a breath. “Okay so, it starts sometime on March, I think. I got this, weird paper, letter, and it has some sentences on it. I have no idea why, or what, or who, but that paper makes me, okay, this is the weird part, but it feels like the person who gives me the paper actually connects with me.”
Kibum looks dumbfounded, but he doesn’t tease or laugh. “Wow,” he simply says, and Jonghyun is the one who is laughing.
“I know,” Jonghyun looks away from him, stares right ahead to the ocean, and he can feel Kibum’s gaze at him. “Cheesy, sappy, you name it. But it’s,” Jonghyun sighs, shivers as the water licks his toes, “it just feels right, to keep them, to wait for them. I have no idea what love is, but maybe,” Jonghyun turns to Kibum, who looks at him with a relaxed face, “maybe it’s the closest thing ever.”
The waves’ sounds are loud against their ear, but Jonghyun can hear the soft breathing from Kibum, inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales, and it makes some kind of lullaby in his mind, makes him dizzy. Just before he closes his eyes, Kibum asks, “Do you still have it?” Kibum sounds shy, or afraid, or maybe it’s something entirely different. “Your crush, I mean.”
Jonghyun opens his half-closed eyes, black against brown, “No,” he answers, soft whisper just above the crash of the waves, “I don’t think I do.”
Kibum’s smile is worth all the things he has.
They are lying on the sand, fingers a millimeter away from each others’, when suddenly Kibum breaks the comfortable silence. “I have a crush.”
“Why do I get the feeling of déjà vu here,” Jonghyun teases, and Kibum chuckles.
“It’s a normal crush. I met him when I was new to the school. Or maybe not really meet, because we don’t even see each other,” Kibum laughs, and Jonghyun folds his arms against his chest.
“That’s not really normal,” he comments, and Jonghyun feels rather than sees Kibum’s smile.
“Maybe,” he continues, “I guess not. Well, I have a weak body-don’t worry, I had my medicines,” Kibum cuts himself when Jonghyun suddenly gets up to gives him his scarf. “I don’t need you scarf, so just use it for yourself. Anyway, I have a weak body, and it usually gets worse when I’m stressed, so during the first week of school, it’s usually worsened. I was sleeping at the infirmary, kind of, over the edge, maybe a little dreaming, but then suddenly someone comes from the window.
I woke up, of course, and instantly coughing like crazy, and that boy-well, I don’t know why, but he sang. I mean, what the hell, right, you don’t sing when someone is coughing, do you? But he did, and slowly, when my coughing stopped I realized how beautiful his voice was. It was like velvet, soft and smooth and great and, I don’t know, I think I was trapped by his voice. And just when I was about to sleep again, he stopped singing and,” Kibum pauses, turns to Jonghyun, who is looking at him with a content expression, “he said something.”
Waves, wind, crashes, “What did he say?”
Kibum smiles, and he lowers his voice, as if to impersonate someone, “’They say my voice can wake up fairies.’”
Jonghyun freezes, his eyes locked with Kibum’s, and Kibum’s breath is against his lips, their noses bump, and he has no idea why or how, but their legs are tangled. Jonghyun reaches out to Kibum’s hand, and as their fingers are linked, the bell somewhere far from there are ringing, Kibum says, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Crush.”
Kibum hates his life. He hates it that he has a weak body, that he cannot stand the cold, that he needs one thousand and one kinds of medicines just to go through the day. And he hates the fact that he cannot go through the first week of his school day without fainting or going to the infirmary, ever. What has he done during his before life, he has no idea. But he knows that probably whatever he did makes God hates him.
He feels like he is on the boat, shaking, and the wind is blowing his face, cold, cold, and he almost goes to sleep when suddenly there’s a crash from somewhere beside him.
He opens his eyes in a shock, his throat feels strained, and in less than a second, he is coughing like crazy. His throat is cry and it feels like the wall is peeling itself, and he can taste blood at the back of his tongue. Great.
“Oh crap,” he hears someone is talking, “shit, are you okay?”
Like hell I am, he wants to answer, but he just coughs even more violently instead.
“Shit,” he hears again, “okay, okay, wait-“
He has thought that whoever it is wants to call the teacher, or look for any medicine to cure him, but no. No, the freaking boy sings instead.
Kibum stares at the silhouette of the boy, staring at it in disbelief, his coughing doesn’t become any better, if not getting worse. He wants to scream, yell at the boy to shut up, but then his cough is constantly becomes softer, slower, and when it stops, that’s when he realizes. The voice is like velvet, soft and smooth and great and, he has no idea what has happened, but he thinks his is trapped by the voice, his mind slowly slipping and leaving him, his eyes closing and closing and-
The voice stops. The boy’s silhouette is also gone, or moved, right to the window besides him. The boy’s voice sounds distant, but Kibum can hear, every sound, everything. It’s almost too clear.
“They say my voice can wake up fairies,” the boy says, “and fairies can heal you, if you believe in it.”
When Kibum opens the curtain between him and the boy, he is gone.
The sun is up, he knows, and he is supposed to be ready from thirty minutes ago according to the loud beeping sound from his alarm, and the messages that keep coming to his cell phone, Jinki’s angry texts about how he is supposed to be at his house an hour ago, curious messages from Taemin about how his date went, and Minho’s worried texts.
But when Jonghyun rolls over, turning his body to his side with a groan, feeling of hard and ticklish sands against his back, sleepy eyes and a yawn at the tip of his tongue, he stops. Pauses, thinks, and all he knows about perfection, maybe it is all lie.
Because Kibum is there, his eyes closed but moving under his eyelids, eyelashes long and brushes against the skin of his cheeks. His mouth is parted, short and calm breathe coming out from it, warm air sweeps his own skin softly, gently. The sun rays fall against Kibum’s brown hair, reflected the colored shades on his bangs perfectly, and though it is messed up, turned into thousands directions, all he wants to do is running through his hand against it, caressing, just. All he needs to do is touching him.
His phone vibrates again, nudging the back of his neck from its place against the sands, but Jonghyun pushes himself closer to the other and puts his arms around the small waist, pulls his head down to kiss on the sharp collarbone, pale and glorious. Kibum sighs, maybe half-asleep, maybe totally awake, but all he cares about is the way Kibum’s small palms against his neck feels fitting.
“Whoa,” Jinki tells him after he finishes telling his story, and Taemin just looks at him with adoration in his eyes. “Seriously, whoa.”
“I know,” Jonghyun feels a little bit silly, grinning like an idiot like that, but it’s not like he can help it.
“So,” Minho shifts to Kibum, who is sitting beside him, “what happened after that?”
“Well,” Kibum shrugs, “he performed at the school’s festival, so I know his name, and after he got into that accident,” Jonghyun can feel him shudders, but he simply puts his palm against Kibum’s back, and the other glances at him. “I hacked into the school’s computer and get his locker’s combination, and started giving him those notes.”
Taemin beams, “That’s so sweet!”
“That’s a crime,” Minho accuses.
Jonghyun kicks his shin under the table, “Who are you friend with, the law or me?”
Jinki groans, “You get all the luck.”
He moves his legs, knee brushing against Kibum’s thigh, and thinks, maybe he does.
“Hey,” he says, and it sounds sugary sweet like the warmth of the sun kiss and Jonghyun breathes it in and out like it’s the only thing he does, “do you believe in fairies?”
They are at the rooftop, shadows behind their close body and across their face, their features and the curves, the sharps, their legs are dangling at the edge, and he links their fingers together just because the other is shaking, silent prayer on his lips. He smiles, presses his lips against his temple gently, smooth, smooth, and when Kibum turns his head, it’s two boys falling hard.
“I believe in you,” he mumbles, and Kibum laughs into his mouth, flawless.
From: Your Secret Santa
Title: Fairy Dusts
Pairing: Jonghyun/Key
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 7337
Summary: Jonghyun’s voice can wake up fairies. Oh, and he has an obsession.
Do you believe in fairies?
Jinki doesn’t even falter in his seat when Jonghyun comes, stomping his feet, and throws his bag (that is only filled with two pencils, a pen, an eraser, and no book at all) on his table, making a loud bang across the classroom. He simply glances up from his book, a thick Biology dictionary that seems to be written in English, and ignores him. Jonghyun narrows his eyes and knocks the table. “Um, hello? Earth to Jinki?”
“Dinosaur to Jinki, more likely,” Jinki mutters under his breath, but Jonghyun kicks his shin under the table, makes him wince.
“Yeah well, this dinosaur is pissed,” Jonghyun takes his book away-okay, fuck, why the hell is the book so heavy? He puts it down on his own table and turns his chair, facing his so-called best friend. He wonders why he calls him that in the first place. Jinki pouts, but the younger just raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you seriously thinking that that is going to work on me?”
Jinki sighs in defeat, shrugging as he slumps on the table. “Everything is worth to try.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Jonghyun lowers his face to Jinki’s level, and Jinki stares at him. “I am pissed.”
“I get that part, kind of.”
“Well,” Jonghyun pulls back with a satisfied sigh, while Jinki holds the urge to roll his eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask why?”
Jinki straightens his back and folds his arms in front of his chest, looking mournfully at his book on the floor. “You will tell me anyway.”
“Right,” Jonghyun frowns again, his expression turns sour as he takes his bag and starts searching for something. After a minute or so, he looks like he finds something and pulls it out, slamming it to the table with an unnecessary force. Jinki looks down to the piece of paper, a red card with an elegant curve at the edge of it. He raises a hand then, hides a smile from his friend. Unfortunately, Jonghyun might be stupid, he might failed ten of fourteen subjects he has, but he is sharp, so he catches the small smile. “What, you know something?”
With a chuckle, Jinki folds his arms on the table, leaning forward a little, “You can say that.”
With wide eyes Jonghyun looks at the card in his hand, up to Jinki, card, Jinki, card, and, “Oh my God.”
“Surprise,” Jinki grins.
“Oh my God,” Jonghyun repeats, louder, and he suddenly has a pair of hands fisting Jinki’s front of sweater, shaking him. “I can’t believe this. I can-did you?”
Jinki seems pretty calm for a guy who has a furious best friend who is threatening to rip the front of his uniform, but Jinki is calm when they faced Chemistry test, so Jonghyun can’t take a guess. The older simply grins wider, his eyes crinkled as he answers, voice perfectly composed. “If you are guessing that I am the one who put it there,” he says cheerfully, “then no, because I don’t know your locker’s combination number.”
“Oh,” Jonghyun says dumbly, loosening his grip.
“I asked Minho to do it,” he continues with a beaming smile, and he thanks the God’s love for him as the bell rings before Jonghyun’s fist reaches his jaw.
“I can’t believe this,” Jonghyun groans for the seventh time during their lunch. Taemin just munches on his tuna sandwich happily, while Minho is typing on his computer, focus. Jinki is having a meeting with the rest of the council-Jonghyun is pretty sure that he is just scared that there will be no bell to save him again-and Jonghyun hates his life. Not a new feeling, but Jonghyun hates his life even more now.
Finally, finally, Taemin finishes his sandwich and throws his paper wrapper to the ground, “It can’t be that bad.”
Jonghyun groans, again, “I can’t believe this.”
“It’s just a date on the Christmas Eve,” Taemin pushes him, partly annoyed and partly playful, “It won’t be that bad.”
Jonghyun raises his face from his palms and stares at Taemin incredulously. Taemin shifts nearer to Minho. “Taemin,” Jonghyun says, “it’s a blind date on the Christmas Eve.” He turns to his palm, buries his face in them again. “Of course it will be that bad.”
“I think it depends on who you get?” Taemin sounds unsure, and Jonghyun slumps his shoulder.
“Exactly,” he lets himself slide even lower against the net behind him, his back hurting from the friction, “that’s the point. What if I get, I don’t know, that goofy-looking junior Jino? Or that bitchy senior Heechul? Or, God forbids, Jinki?” He shudders at the thought. “Oh my God, this is nightmare.”
Minho finally looks up from his laptop, snapping it shut quietly. He puts it aside as he says, “It’s your own fault anyway.”
Jonghyun puts his hands down. “Excuse me?” His voice is high from the feeling of betrayal, “Why is this my fault again?”
“Well,” Minho shrugs, taking his melon bread and rips the wrapper before he takes it to his mouth, muffles his next words. “Mouu yobsetior.”
Jonghyun blinks. “Huh?”
Minho takes his box of milk and gulps, repeats, “Your obsession.”
Taemin snorts, but Jonghyun’s face becomes red in a second. He takes his own bento and opens it, sticking his chopsticks to the sticky rice repeatedly, “I have no obsession.”
“Of course, Hyung,” Minho shrugs and takes a bite again. Jonghyun glares at him.
“No obsession, Minho.”
“I heard you, Hyung.”
“You are absurd,” Jonghyun takes the octopus-shaped sausage and chews it angrily, but Minho just looks at the side of the box of his milk, as if he is taking note of the nutrition he lets in to his body. Maybe he is.
Taemin moves closer to Jonghyun, taking the invitation card from Jonghyun’s pocket with an amused expression. “’Lonely on the Christmas Eve’? Why do they have to use this kind of lines?”
Jonghyun puts his bento down sadly, buries his face against his knees now, “I can’t believe this.”
So, Jonghyun is pretty sure he doesn’t have any obsession. Seriously, it’s merely even anything big, but his friends are all girls who secretly love to make his life miserable (or maybe not so secretly, because they seem happy to let Jonghyun knows that they love to make him hates his life, even a little proud), and the next thing he knows, he has an obsession. Jonghyun snorts at the thought, walking slowly along the corridor alone. Jinki is still in the meeting (“We are deciding on the pairing for that blind date you’re attending,” he tells him before he runs to the door as Jonghyun throws a shoe at his back), Taemin goes home early because he has a dancing competition that day, and Minho is. Well, Jonghyun is often at lost in where Minho is, because he comes and goes like he is anything but human. People gets used to it though, so Jonghyun simply sends a text that tells them that he is going home, and there he is, trying to open his locker.
When he manages to though, there’s a pink paper on top of his shoes, a small paper star is glued to the side. Jonghyun can’t help but to feel something in his stomach bubbling up as he takes the paper and reads it.
Fate is real. I heard you are going to that stupid blind date.
Jonghyun chuckles as he folds the paper and puts is in his back pocket, smiling like a fool while he puts on his shoes and ties it up. He doesn’t even realize that he is still smiling until he looks at his reflection against the mirror on the side of his bicycle. When he looks at the beaming expression he has, he presses his hand against his back pocket, and he thinks he is going mad because it seems warm. The paper, not his butt. His fingers are tingling, and his mind flies to the box in his drawer, locked safely, filled with papers that have stars on the edges.
Jonghyun sits on his bicycle. “Obsession, huh,” and he strides home.
Jonghyun has a crush.
It started sometime during March, when Jonghyun came back to school after a month. He got into a car accident, where his bicycle was almost hit by a truck. It didn’t, thankfully, but Jonghyun slammed his bicycle to the side, and while his body was hit by the iron at the side of the road, his old bicycle had flown and fell down the cliff. He received eighteen stitches along his shoulder blade, and there is an ugly long scar from the left side of his chest to the middle of his back now. He had to stay in the hospital and had a therapy for the whole month, and even then, he was supposed to stay at home for another month, a suggestion that he shrugged off.
He was back to school, and it didn’t seem to be more uplifting. If anything, it seemed to be more boring. He was not used to staying back when his friends were playing in the field, but Jinki had made sure that no one allowed him to even kick the ball. He sighed, almost frustrated, but he let it go because it was for his own sake anyway.
It was five o’clock in the afternoon, and he walked slowly, slightly limping, from the infirmary room to the locker room. The school was quiet, no sounds was made, which actually made sense because all club activities ends at three. He slept for too long, and the teacher didn’t have the heart to wake him up. Honestly, it was just him being a lazy ass, making excuses to miss the Math class he had, and not his back being a pain after four hours of sitting straight in class. It was painful, but he could manage it.
The locker room was empty, as he had expected, so he strode carefully to his locker, one hand against the wall as a support. He hated being looked at while limping, as if he is a weird creature that they have never seen, so he was kind of grateful that he went home at this hour. He should do this more often, he thought with a tired small laugh, as he opened his locker door.
A small paper flew from his locker, fell next to his right foot.
He stared at it for a moment, stunned and shocked, before he struggled to bend and take it to read it. He turned the red paper and looked at the star at the edge, frowning as he did so. He flipped it over and, there it was, small and round letters written across the paper.
Do you believe in fairies? They can heal you if you just believe.
That’s all. Nothing else, not a name, not an address, and he even doubted that it was meant for him if not for the healing part. The writing seems familiar, but his mind just refused to cooperate, so he had no idea who is the mystery man. It could be anyone, he supposed, and he saw no one as he looked around, searching for some clue of anyone, anything. He looked back to the paper in his hand, the words seemed to dance around his head and for an unknown reason, his head and stomach were spinning.
The paper lay on his lap during the journey home, warm against the fabric of his pants, against the tips of his fingers, and he touched at the star at the edge carefully. That was the first time he put the paper in his locked drawer, secured, and he couldn’t seem to put those words out of his mind.
It continued then, simple papers with a star at the edge, and simple sentences on it, such as supporting words for him to finally have the piece of rod moved from his back on the end of March, a congratulation for his first soccer match after the incident, a teasing remark when he failed eight instead of ten subjects like he used to. Even during his birthday on April, there is a box of condom beside his shoes with a ‘Happy Eighteenth, Big Boy.’ pasted on it, a gift that Jinki laughed, Minho stared, and Taemin giggled at. It is hidden behind his box of papers.
The person seems to know every detail of him, but he felt a little relief when none of his close friends know about those papers. The weird thing is, he doesn’t feel scared or annoyed with those simple notes. He doesn’t freak out, knowing that the person knows his locker’s combination, even though Jinki has told Minho to help him to change the numbers.
He actually waits for it, and when he whines that he hasn’t gotten a note for two whole months, his friends start to tease him relentlessly about his ‘obsession’. Jonghyun sighs, dejected. He isn’t normal, that’s for sure, he thinks as he plays around with the papers on top.
Jonghyun slaps his own mind for being too easily distracted, because suddenly two weeks has passed, and that blind date is right under his nose. He doesn’t even realize it if not for the oh-so-almighty Minho.
“Hyung,” Minho interrupts his babbling about his report card that was given earlier that day, and Jonghyun closes his mouth. “What are you going to wear tomorrow?”
Jonghyun opens his mouth again, blinking. “What?”
“Tomorrow, Hyung,” Taemin bounces on his seat, either from the excitement of what Minho is saying or from the fact that Jonghyun has stopped talking. “You know, for the blind date.”
The oldest blinks again, twice, before he curses loudly, muffled by the scarf around his neck and half of his face. “Damn,” he says, and Minho raises his eyebrows, “I totally forgot.” Minho exchanges an understanding look with Taemin, and Jonghyun hits their arm. “Don’t look like that.”
“Like what?” Jinki’s raspy voice reaches them then, and Jonghyun stands up from the floor, cleans his pants from the snow sticking to it. Jinki walks slowly to them, his body practically drowns in the two layers coat and three scarves wrapped around his neck. Taemin pulls down his scarf to reveal red cheeks and puffy nose, and Jonghyun snorts as the youngest of them all pulls it up again hurriedly. “Look like what?”
“A ‘of course you will forget after that obsession of yours gives you those love notes again’ look,” Minho answers flatly, and Jonghyun punches his shoulder.
“They are not love notes,” Jonghyun mutters bitterly, “and I don’t have any obsession!”
“Sure, sure,” Jinki waves a hand at them and immediately regrets it, because he quickly slips his hand to his coat’s pocket again. “Anyway, can we go inside? My dad has picked me up and, well, we are going to my home.”
“We are?” Taemin asks with a shining expression, because Jinki’s home before Christmas means tons and tons of food. Jinki laughs, ruffles his hair.
“We are,” he smiles, and Jonghyun looks at him with a distaste expression.
“So,” Taemin munches on his ginger cookie as he fumbles with his cellphone, “what are you going to wear tomorrow, Hyung?”
“Oh God,” Jonghyun mumbles to Jinki’s big turtle pillow, “please don’t remind me of that.”
“What,” Jinki kicks the door close with a tray with four cups of hot chocolate on it in his hands, concentrating on his balance. Jonghyun almost stands and claps for the fact that Jinki hasn’t fallen during his trip from the kitchen downstairs. Minho opens the door three seconds after the door is closed, a tray with four plates of cakes in one hand and a jar of colorful cookies in the other, and Taemin jumps to snatch the jar from him. Minho lets him and puts down the tray on the floor, sitting down beside it. Jinki lets out a breath of relief when he has managed to put the cups on his table, turns around with a grin. “What is happening tomorrow?”
Jonghyun glares at him with a ‘I can’t believe you’ expression while Minho takes some of the cookies, “The blind date, Hyung.”
Jinki’s expression seems to blank out for a moment, before something clicks and he claps his hands excitedly, “Oh, oh, oh, I remember!”
“Yay,” Jonghyun turns to the pillow again and mutters bitterly.
“Which reminds me,” Jinki jumps to his bag, hung on the door handle, and throws some of his stuffs out. He puts his books away, throws his pencil case to his bed only to hit Jonghyun’s calf, and some crumpled dirty papers to the floor. Jonghyun, rubbing his calf with a grunt, sits up and peers curiously at his friend’s back. Taemin puts his phone away, and Minho stops cutting his cake to even pieces.
“Ah,” Jinki pulls a small piece of folded paper out and raises it to the air, “here it is.”
“What,” Jonghyun asks, though he has a bad feeling about it. Jinki turns around and his smile looks devilish to Jonghyun.
“Your date is here,” he sings, and Jonghyun just wants the turtle pillow to gulp him down.
Name: Kim Kibum
Class: XI-C
Likes: -
Dislikes: -
Minho is the one who breaks the silence. “Isn’t this cheating?”
Jinki opens his mouth to answer but Taemin cuts, “He has no likes or dislikes?”
Jonghyun kicks Minho’s waist. “Aren’t you my friend?”
Jinki turns to Taemin, looks down to the paper again. “This guy sounds weird.”
“Gee,” Jonghyun folds his arms, “thanks guys. Big help.”
“I don’t know we have a Kim Kibum in our class,” Taemin looks up to Minho, who seems to have lost any interest in the paper. He moves from the circle around the paper on the bed to the floor, starts to eat his cake again.
“We have two,” Minho shrugs, and Taemin moves beside him to eat the cookies again. “One is called Key, and the other one is the basketball star.”
“Key’s real name is Kim Kibum?” Taemin stares at the older with wide eyes, and Minho just nods. Jinki looks at them curiously.
“You know this guy?”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know, both of them?”
“Yeah, we are in the sam-“
“Guys, guys,” Jonghyun butts in with an annoyed look on his face, hitting Jinki square on the face with his pillow. “Can we focus here? He is going to be my blind date!”
“I hope you get Key,” Taemin sighs with an adoring expression, his eyes wandering, “He is the nicest person ever, and his cooking skill is great.”
“He is obnoxious,” Minho protests.
“Yeah, but he is hot, too,” Taemin explains. Minho just looks defeated, and then he turns back to his cake, putting a big piece to his mouth.
Jinki scrunches up his face, his fingers on his chin as if he is thinking hard. “Why do I not know about any Kim Kibum?”
“I wonder why he has no likes or dislikes,” Taemins asks Minho, who simply shoves a piece of cake to Taemin’s mouth.
“I know his number if you want it,” Minho offers.
Jonghyun screams to the pillow, voice muffled into a strangled sound.
In the end, Jonghyun thinks maybe it will make it easier for all of them if he uses the number he has.
from: 010-2797-5588
to: kim kibum
21:42
hey, is this kim kibum?
He throws his phone away when it shows ‘Sent’ on the screen, unreasonably embarrassed. It feels weird, like a high school girl trying to text her crush to get his attention. He rubs his face repeatedly and thinks that maybe he should do something else other than waiting for the reply. Yes, yes, something else. He jumps and takes his towel, practically runs to the bathroom as he ignores his sister’s yell for him to shut up.
He thinks it works, kind of, because when he comes back to his bedroom, hair wet and warm from the shower, a can of soda in his hand, he has forgotten about the horrifying text. He even pushes his phone aside as he plops himself down to the bed, lets out a satisfied sigh. His cellphone vibrates then, and when he looks at the screen, there is two texts, one from a second ago, and the other from when he is still in the shower. The later one is from Jinki, telling him to come to his house tomorrow (Jonghyun rolls his eyes at that but replies that he is coming), and the other one is-
Fuck.
from: kim kibum
to: 010-2797-5588
21.38
who is this?
Okay, Jonghyun, you need to breathe.
from: 010-2797-5588
to: kim kibum
22.17
um, i’m kim jonghyun. your date tomorrow?
He is banging his head to the wall for telling his blind date that he is his blind date, oh my God, how stupid he could be, when the phone besides his thigh is vibrating again. He almost chokes on his tongue from how fast he moves and flips his cellphone open.
from: kim kibum
to: kim jonghyun
22.21
how do you know my number? and how do you know your date for tomorrow?
Crap. Damn Jinki and his cheating self.
from: kim jonghyun
to: kim kibum
22.23
um, my friend is one of the councils, so he told me. your friend minho is my friend too.
from: kim kibum
to: kim jonghyun
22.24
oh, what do you want?
What does he want. What does he want? He has no idea. Why did he text this person in the first place? Jonghyun feels like the soda he drinks to calm him down earlier starts grumbling in his stomach, threatening to come out. Okay, think, Kim Jonghyun. You don’t even know this person. Calm down and just reply it. Lungs, why aren’t you working?
from: kim jonghyun
to: kim kibum
22.34
i thought we can discuss about out date tomorrow?
That’s not so smart. Is it?
from: kim kibum
to: kim jonghyun
22.35
oh.
Totally not smart, but at least they text each other until past midnight.
Taemin straightens the front of his jacket, carefully not to touch his scarf. Jinki cleans his glasses with his pajama bottoms, and Minho is on the phone, making sure that the reservation is done. Jonghyun stares at his reflection in the mirror.
“Remind me again why none of you go for this blind date?”
Minho throws the phone to his bed, makes Jinki shrieks because that is his phone, and no one ever respect him as the oldest, even though he is the one that provides their base camp, or something. Jonghyun pushes him to the bed, and Taemin laughs when Jinki’s face hits the edge of the bed. “Except for the fact that all of us have a date today?”
Jonghyun groans. “I hate all of you.”
“Don’t worry, Hyung,” Taemin smiles sweetly, and Jonghyun hugs him tightly for being the only one who cares. “We will bring you your favorite cheesecake from the restaurant we’re going to.”
Jonghyun pushes him away.
Jinki rubs his red forehead, and though he has tears at the corner of his eyes, he is grinning widely. “I will tell Luna to make more spaghetti for you.”
Sounds good, but still. “I hate all of you.”
Ten minutes later, the big old clock at the floor below them makes a loud noise, signing that it’s already seven o’clock and Jonghyun probably needs to run to the station because it takes half an hour to get to the restaurant he reserves, and snow will not make his journey faster. But when he jumps from his seat, almost hits Taemin’s jaw in process, Jinki pulls him down. “You can use one of my drivers to go there.”
Jonghyun blinks rapidly that it’s a wonder he can still see Jinki’s grinning face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, I won’t need any of them anyway,” Jinki shrugs and pushes him to the door. When they reach the front door, a car with a driver inside is waiting for him, and it feels really weird after going everywhere by bicycle or train every day. Jonghyun turns to his friends and smiles weakly.
“Thanks, I guess,” he mumbles, and Jinki smiles back until he can’t see his eyes. Taemin jumps on his feet.
“Good luck, Hyung,” Taemin waves, and Minho hits his shoulder softly. Jinki makes a weird snorting noise.
“Your first date,” Jinki sobs, “I’m so proud of you!” The magazine he takes from the back of the front seat of the car manages to hit Jinki’s ass before he runs back to his house.
Jonghyun makes a mental note to himself to hit Minho and Taemin because even though they have already told him that Key, Kim Kibum, is hot, they didn’t tell him that he is this hot.
Key is ten minutes late, or Jonghyun is ten minutes too early, because he still feels dizzy from the way Jinki’s driver drives. He swears he is going to tell Jinki to fire him, and is playing around with the glass of candle in the middle of the table when the bell rings, telling him that someone comes, and he looks up naturally, only to see something that makes his breath hitches. The boy is looking around, his coat wraps his delicate body perfectly, his brown hair shines under the dimmed light of the restaurant. His figure is feminine, but more boney than delicate, with small waist and sharp hips, his shoulders’ bones jutted out beside his long neck, covered halfway by the soft hair. His legs are skinny, long and endless.
And just when Jonghyun gulps, Key turns around, eyes straight to him like he can hear Jonghyun’s mind, and-really, he feels cheesy and sappy and probably funny, because he thinks, or feels, all movements are stopped.
If his silhouette is gorgeous, Jonghyun really has no word to describe the perfection he is staring at. The hair is falling against his forehead, slightly covering his eyes; eyes which reflect the lights perfectly, the chocolate irises look so clear, even when surrounded with the darkness. His lips are parted, wet and shaped perfectly, and his cheekbones are high, cut under his slightly messy hair. His skin is pale, white and creamy.
When he blinks, Key is already in front of him, a small smile plastered on his face, and Jonghyun prays not to faint. “Hello,” his voice is velvety, smooth, slipping through his brain like liquid, “my name is Kim Kibum.”
Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, “My name is Kim Jonghyun,” he manages to squeak out, but Kibum doesn’t say anything about his weird voice, “Nice to meet you.”
To tell the truth, the dinner is not that bad. In fact, the dinner is great, almost perfect.
Key-or Kibum, as he tells him, is a talkative person. Jonghyun almost kisses the ground in gratefulness when Kibum puts his coat away, sits down, and starts talking, not letting any awkwardness to take place. He lets Jonghyun talks too, which Jonghyun is not very thankful for, because looking at Kibum talking is an funny, like watching a perfect statue moving, a weird yet enjoyable thing to see, and he just cannot stop staring. Kibum only smiles, amusement in his eyes, every time he stops talking, waits for an answer from Jonghyun, and Jonghyun just stares at him in a dreamy kind of way.
Suddenly though, when the appetizer comes, a waiter comes to their face with a worried expression.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and Kibum puts his fork down. “I don’t want this to happen, but this restaurant needs to be emptied now.”
Jonghyun chokes on his drink. “What?”
“Someone reserves the whole place,” the waiter tells them with a sorry expression, “so you two needs to, um, I’m really sorry, but you need to go.”
Kibum takes the napkin from his lap and glares at the waiter. “Are you chasing us away?”
The waiter gulps under the stare, looks down apologetically. Jonghyun really, really wants to hit his head with the bottle of wine on their table, or stab him with the knife in his hand, but he just sighs, sounding annoyed, and asks, “Are you going to return our money back?”
The waiter looks up, looks ashamed, “About that…”
Kibum cuts in, “You are going to give us our money back,” he snaps, and the waiter mutters thousands of apology as Jonghyun’s shoulders are slumped.
Three minutes later, they are outside the restaurant, trying to get a taxi.
When another taxi goes pass them, Kibum throws his arms to the air, curses, and turns to Jonghyun. “Let’s just walk, I think I saw a fast food restaurant nearby on my way here.”
Jonghyun nods slowly, careful, and it’s when they are walking side by side, snow starting to fall above them, Kibum lets out a disappointed sigh; that’s when Jonghyun scratches the back of his neck, says, “I’m so sorry,” with a soft voice. Kibum looks up, shocked, and Jonghyun continues, “I mean, for the restaurant. I guess I just want to impress you, so I cho-okay, the restaurant is Jinki’s idea,” he fixes himself when Kibum looks him with funny expression. “But, I agreed. So, yeah, sorry.”
Kibum stares at him for a few seconds, and Jonghyun shrugs as he puts his hands inside his pockets. The silence over them is thick enough that it can be cut, and suddenly Kibum pulls his arm. A couple, holding hands, pass by, and Jonghyun realizes that he is shorter than Kibum by a few centimeters.
Kibum tilts his head with a smile. “It’s not your fault, you know that,” he tells Jonghyun, presses his fingers to Jonghyun’s palm. It sends electricity, but he simply buries his face to his scarf. “I’m not mad, anyway.”
The touch makes him want to grip Kibum’s hand and to not let go forever, it’s maddening. Kibum tickles the heel of his palm with long nails, and Jonghyun bites his lip that little bit harder. And nope, Kibum’s smile doesn’t help at all.
“Fast food,” Jonghyun mumbles, and Kibum laughs. They end up eating french fries besides each other, laughing at the cheesy couples that they see from the window. Kibum hits him and buries his face at the crook of Jonghyun’s shoulder every time he laughs, thigh brushes against his, and looking from the jealous look of the cashier, Jonghyun can’t help but to think that they are just as cheesy as the couples they are laughing at.
From Kibum’s story about his life, Jonghyun can see that he is a little bit mad. But really, he cannot guess that he is not a little bit mad, but seriously crazy.
“Come on,” Kibum pulls his hand towards the opened train door, and Jonghyun can’t help but to follow the younger boy.
It is seriously a wonder for Jonghyun that he ends up sitting in an empty train, filled only with a couple of elderly and a mother with two children. All he remembers is asking Kibum what he wants to go after they finish eating, and though he has ready his heart to part and end this wonderful date, Kibum has grinned instead and pulls him by the hand. He pushes Jonghyun to a full bus, and as people alight and the bus becomes emptier and emptier, Kibum doesn’t move an inch. Jonghyun can ask, really, but the warmth of Kibum’s clothed hand against his own bare palm is more than enough to make him breathless, shuts him up. When they reach the bus stop, Kibum tugs his hand and pulls him to an unknown (at least for him) station and buys a ticket.
That’s when Jonghyun pulls away, as much as he doesn’t want to. “Where are we going?” Kibum simply grins and takes his hand again, and Jonghyun’s mind goes blank. He is pretty sure it is not healthy.
“So,” Kibum breaks his thought and Jonghyun snaps his head towards the younger boy. “Here we are.”
“We’re here?” Jonghyun asks, looking around him with a blank expression. Kibum laughs; he seems to do that often around him, or maybe he is just oversensitive over Kibum’s pretty, perfect laugh.
“That’s what I said,” Kibum answers.
Jonghyun never comes to the beach during Christmas Eve, but he must say that it is not that bad. Though beaches are always connected to summer, but he must admit that beach during winter is also beautiful. The dimmed light from the streetlight makes it even beautiful, as it distinguishes the yellow color of the sand and the white snows scattered around them. The ocean looks like they are sparkling, some from the stars and moon above it and some from the frozen snow among them. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks and the shore is mixed with the music and festive sound at the city nearby, and the houses near the cliff looks like they want to compete with the stars.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Jonghyun turns and there he is, the boy who he has only knows for less than five hours, being all gorgeous and perfect, with the shines from the moon and the streetlight reflected against all the edges of his face, the wind blows his hair to all kind of direction, the small smile that curves his lips upwards, his long wet eyelashes that stands up even more as he closes his eyes, and Jonghyun doesn’t believe in love, but this may be it.
“Yeah,” Jonghyun breathes, and he knows exactly that he is not talking about the scenery. “It is.”
“I have a crush,” Jonghyun tells Kibum, and Kibum’s feet stop playing with the water. He scoots closer to Jonghyun instead, looks at him with curious eyes. Jonghyun chuckles. “You seem interested.”
Kibum raises an eyebrow. “Can’t I?”
Jonghyun’s laughter becomes louder, and Kibum pushes his shoulder. “Okay, okay,” he lifts his hands in defeat, and Kibum sticks his tongue out. “I have a crush.”
“I get that part,” Kibum says.
“This-this crush is weird,” Jonghyun continues, and the other stares at him attentively. “I’m not saying that my crush is weird, but it’s more like, my feeling for him is strange. I don’t even know why I have a feeling for him, or her, but-“
“Wait, wait,” Kibum pushes his knees down, “You mean you don’t know his gender? What the hell?”
“Would you listen to me first,” Jonghyun pushes his legs away and Kibum grins, saying a simple sorry. Jonghyun takes a breath. “Okay so, it starts sometime on March, I think. I got this, weird paper, letter, and it has some sentences on it. I have no idea why, or what, or who, but that paper makes me, okay, this is the weird part, but it feels like the person who gives me the paper actually connects with me.”
Kibum looks dumbfounded, but he doesn’t tease or laugh. “Wow,” he simply says, and Jonghyun is the one who is laughing.
“I know,” Jonghyun looks away from him, stares right ahead to the ocean, and he can feel Kibum’s gaze at him. “Cheesy, sappy, you name it. But it’s,” Jonghyun sighs, shivers as the water licks his toes, “it just feels right, to keep them, to wait for them. I have no idea what love is, but maybe,” Jonghyun turns to Kibum, who looks at him with a relaxed face, “maybe it’s the closest thing ever.”
The waves’ sounds are loud against their ear, but Jonghyun can hear the soft breathing from Kibum, inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales, and it makes some kind of lullaby in his mind, makes him dizzy. Just before he closes his eyes, Kibum asks, “Do you still have it?” Kibum sounds shy, or afraid, or maybe it’s something entirely different. “Your crush, I mean.”
Jonghyun opens his half-closed eyes, black against brown, “No,” he answers, soft whisper just above the crash of the waves, “I don’t think I do.”
Kibum’s smile is worth all the things he has.
They are lying on the sand, fingers a millimeter away from each others’, when suddenly Kibum breaks the comfortable silence. “I have a crush.”
“Why do I get the feeling of déjà vu here,” Jonghyun teases, and Kibum chuckles.
“It’s a normal crush. I met him when I was new to the school. Or maybe not really meet, because we don’t even see each other,” Kibum laughs, and Jonghyun folds his arms against his chest.
“That’s not really normal,” he comments, and Jonghyun feels rather than sees Kibum’s smile.
“Maybe,” he continues, “I guess not. Well, I have a weak body-don’t worry, I had my medicines,” Kibum cuts himself when Jonghyun suddenly gets up to gives him his scarf. “I don’t need you scarf, so just use it for yourself. Anyway, I have a weak body, and it usually gets worse when I’m stressed, so during the first week of school, it’s usually worsened. I was sleeping at the infirmary, kind of, over the edge, maybe a little dreaming, but then suddenly someone comes from the window.
I woke up, of course, and instantly coughing like crazy, and that boy-well, I don’t know why, but he sang. I mean, what the hell, right, you don’t sing when someone is coughing, do you? But he did, and slowly, when my coughing stopped I realized how beautiful his voice was. It was like velvet, soft and smooth and great and, I don’t know, I think I was trapped by his voice. And just when I was about to sleep again, he stopped singing and,” Kibum pauses, turns to Jonghyun, who is looking at him with a content expression, “he said something.”
Waves, wind, crashes, “What did he say?”
Kibum smiles, and he lowers his voice, as if to impersonate someone, “’They say my voice can wake up fairies.’”
Jonghyun freezes, his eyes locked with Kibum’s, and Kibum’s breath is against his lips, their noses bump, and he has no idea why or how, but their legs are tangled. Jonghyun reaches out to Kibum’s hand, and as their fingers are linked, the bell somewhere far from there are ringing, Kibum says, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Crush.”
Kibum hates his life. He hates it that he has a weak body, that he cannot stand the cold, that he needs one thousand and one kinds of medicines just to go through the day. And he hates the fact that he cannot go through the first week of his school day without fainting or going to the infirmary, ever. What has he done during his before life, he has no idea. But he knows that probably whatever he did makes God hates him.
He feels like he is on the boat, shaking, and the wind is blowing his face, cold, cold, and he almost goes to sleep when suddenly there’s a crash from somewhere beside him.
He opens his eyes in a shock, his throat feels strained, and in less than a second, he is coughing like crazy. His throat is cry and it feels like the wall is peeling itself, and he can taste blood at the back of his tongue. Great.
“Oh crap,” he hears someone is talking, “shit, are you okay?”
Like hell I am, he wants to answer, but he just coughs even more violently instead.
“Shit,” he hears again, “okay, okay, wait-“
He has thought that whoever it is wants to call the teacher, or look for any medicine to cure him, but no. No, the freaking boy sings instead.
Kibum stares at the silhouette of the boy, staring at it in disbelief, his coughing doesn’t become any better, if not getting worse. He wants to scream, yell at the boy to shut up, but then his cough is constantly becomes softer, slower, and when it stops, that’s when he realizes. The voice is like velvet, soft and smooth and great and, he has no idea what has happened, but he thinks his is trapped by the voice, his mind slowly slipping and leaving him, his eyes closing and closing and-
The voice stops. The boy’s silhouette is also gone, or moved, right to the window besides him. The boy’s voice sounds distant, but Kibum can hear, every sound, everything. It’s almost too clear.
“They say my voice can wake up fairies,” the boy says, “and fairies can heal you, if you believe in it.”
When Kibum opens the curtain between him and the boy, he is gone.
The sun is up, he knows, and he is supposed to be ready from thirty minutes ago according to the loud beeping sound from his alarm, and the messages that keep coming to his cell phone, Jinki’s angry texts about how he is supposed to be at his house an hour ago, curious messages from Taemin about how his date went, and Minho’s worried texts.
But when Jonghyun rolls over, turning his body to his side with a groan, feeling of hard and ticklish sands against his back, sleepy eyes and a yawn at the tip of his tongue, he stops. Pauses, thinks, and all he knows about perfection, maybe it is all lie.
Because Kibum is there, his eyes closed but moving under his eyelids, eyelashes long and brushes against the skin of his cheeks. His mouth is parted, short and calm breathe coming out from it, warm air sweeps his own skin softly, gently. The sun rays fall against Kibum’s brown hair, reflected the colored shades on his bangs perfectly, and though it is messed up, turned into thousands directions, all he wants to do is running through his hand against it, caressing, just. All he needs to do is touching him.
His phone vibrates again, nudging the back of his neck from its place against the sands, but Jonghyun pushes himself closer to the other and puts his arms around the small waist, pulls his head down to kiss on the sharp collarbone, pale and glorious. Kibum sighs, maybe half-asleep, maybe totally awake, but all he cares about is the way Kibum’s small palms against his neck feels fitting.
“Whoa,” Jinki tells him after he finishes telling his story, and Taemin just looks at him with adoration in his eyes. “Seriously, whoa.”
“I know,” Jonghyun feels a little bit silly, grinning like an idiot like that, but it’s not like he can help it.
“So,” Minho shifts to Kibum, who is sitting beside him, “what happened after that?”
“Well,” Kibum shrugs, “he performed at the school’s festival, so I know his name, and after he got into that accident,” Jonghyun can feel him shudders, but he simply puts his palm against Kibum’s back, and the other glances at him. “I hacked into the school’s computer and get his locker’s combination, and started giving him those notes.”
Taemin beams, “That’s so sweet!”
“That’s a crime,” Minho accuses.
Jonghyun kicks his shin under the table, “Who are you friend with, the law or me?”
Jinki groans, “You get all the luck.”
He moves his legs, knee brushing against Kibum’s thigh, and thinks, maybe he does.
“Hey,” he says, and it sounds sugary sweet like the warmth of the sun kiss and Jonghyun breathes it in and out like it’s the only thing he does, “do you believe in fairies?”
They are at the rooftop, shadows behind their close body and across their face, their features and the curves, the sharps, their legs are dangling at the edge, and he links their fingers together just because the other is shaking, silent prayer on his lips. He smiles, presses his lips against his temple gently, smooth, smooth, and when Kibum turns his head, it’s two boys falling hard.
“I believe in you,” he mumbles, and Kibum laughs into his mouth, flawless.