Work Text:
♥♥♥♥♥
It starts out like this — one day, during a meeting with the company executives about extending his contracts and future projects, Minho finally loses it.
“And is this all that I get to do?” Minho asks, as politely as he can manage. His eyes skim over the paper in his hands detailing activities they would be doing in the next year. The bundle contains four sheets, excluding the front and back covers, printed back-to-back. And among those eight total pages, Minho’s name only appears five times — one drama, one film, and three guest appearances on variety shows to promote said drama and film.
He tallies the others’ names he saw listed on the sheets. Jinki’s name appears 34 times, Kibum’s name 37 times, and even Taemin’s name 22 times — that boy isn’t even finished with military duties and he still had more things planned than Minho.
“Well, Minho-ssi, this is of course what we planned as of now. But throughout the year there might be more activities incoming. We’ve already got a couple emails regarding a magazine feature and a brand partnership for you,” replies one of them, an older lady with a strict expression. Distantly, Minho remembered she is one of the PR managers for their group. Seated beside her, a nervous intern with glasses is typing out their meeting minutes. “And another new email just came in regarding a film they want you to act in,” the intern adds.
A drama and a film. Fine. It’s not the solo album project he’s wanted for years. Nor the TV entertainment show that he wants. That’s fine. Two of those variety shows are Youtube shows, not even real TV shows. That’s fine.
His manager taps his arm. The red that he had been seeing before fades out. Minho relaxes the hand he had subconsciously been clenching. He breathes in, out, in, out, calming down his palpitating heart.
“The scheduled activities are of course subject to change. You can also add your own input to these, Minho-ssi,” the lady continues, clicking on her mouse. In front of them, the presentation slides change to the next one.
Act professional, Minho, he reminds himself, and puts on his best neutral expression for the next two hours.
♥♥♥♥♥
As soon as he comes home, Minho falls back against the door bonelessly, shutting it behind him. His hand grips his pants tightly, until his knuckles go white from the force of it. Minho sinks down until he is sitting on the ground, still in the doorway. He tilts his head back, thudding against the door with an audible bang. He does it again and again. He tips his head forwards, then back, hitting the door louder and louder each time.
MInho stops after ten hits, the back of his head pounding from the force he had exerted upon it. He looks up to the ceiling, staring at the light until it hurts, until his vision goes black at the edges. Then, he brings his hand down to untie his shoes. Minho pulls at the aglet with a shaky hand. It untangles easily. He repeats it for the other foot, pulling his shoes off once he is done.
He reaches forward to put the shoe back in the shoe rack. Minho takes the left shoe and slides it into the rack. Then he takes the right shoe. Except this time, his hand does the unexpected — it flings the shoe across the room, knocking a side table down with it. Minho lets out a noise that is a mixture of a shout and a sob, his voice trailing off miserably at the end.
A drop falls onto his pants, wetting the fabric. Minho touches his cheek and realises that he is crying. How pathetic, he thinks, but the tears still won’t stop.
Minho loves his members — don’t get him wrong — but sometimes, he gets jealous too. He never gets as much publicity as they do. And Minho gets it, or at least convinces himself that he does. Being an idol for 15 years means the public has seen him grow up. They know Minho since his cheeks were still chubby with baby fat. He doesn’t really need more things to promote himself, because everything he does is a guaranteed success at this point. But he can’t help but be envious. The other members all have solo careers, and Minho is still stuck as the pretty and talentless boy in the company’s eyes. At the very least — the bare minimum, really, because he has put the imaginary limbo stick on the ground and they still chose to dig a hole under it to pass through — all Minho wants is to be appreciated more. He wants the same opportunities that they get, too. He hates feeling left out like this, and he didn’t think he would still be overshadowed by the other members at age thirty-one. It leaves such a bitter taste in Minho’s mouth — all this jealousy, envy, insignificance.
I want to get away from all this, Minho’s mind shouts, I can’t take it anymore. It’s too much.
And that’s when the idea comes to mind. He could run away. Like, literally run away. He’s unimportant, right? The other members have thriving individual careers that can readily compensate for Minho’s loss. And as a group, they've coped with five people becoming four — certainly, four becoming three would be easier. Who would ever miss him?
Immediately, Minho reaches for his bag and digs through it for his phone. He unlocks it and finds his manager’s contact, showing the last messages they traded to each other. He types something out to his manager, something along the lines of feeling unwell and asking for a leave. A break of any duration is okay. A month would be nice, he adds. But a week is doable. It’s not like Minho will actually count the days out. He doesn’t intend on following anyone’s words now.
His manager responds five minutes later. Please don’t do anything stupid.
Too late for that, Minho thinks. He shuts his phone off and scurries to his bedroom. He grabs his laptop and turns it on, searching for his runaway destination.
♥♥♥♥♥
Off-season, Jeju is quite peaceful. During late summer, there’s the lack of tourists flocking the area. And the air is crisp and fresh, too. Minho feels like he can finally breathe again, finally free from the strenuous smog that blankets over Seoul. It's not too warm, and it's not too cold. Just the perfect temperature to wear a thin shirt and jeans without worrying about excessive sweat or being chilled to the bones.
It’s been a good 28 hours after he has turned his phone completely off. Ten hours since he had parked his car in the rental house. Nine since he had talked to the owner of the house — an old man in his seventies who is thankfully unacquainted with K-pop idols that debuted after H.O.T. The man chats with him, asking if he had a nice trip, if he's had lunch already. Minho answers yes to both — small talk is his expertise by now — and the man has since left Minho to his own affairs, not before making Minho promise that he will come over for dinner sometime soon.
In Jeju, Minho rents a house that overlooks the sea. He had driven two hours from the port to reach it — he had chosen a place that is furthest away from any of the tourist hotspots. It is secluded enough that he rarely sees people walking through the area, but it is still within reach of a supermarket and pharmacy. There's even a quaint-looking cafe nearby, it really is the perfect location. Not that he actually wants to go outside, of course. Minho thanks the gods for the invention of delivery apps, because Minho really does not want to step foot outside at all in the next week
It's truly miserable, but if Minho wants to be gloomy all week, then he will. There's no manager to oversee him, no company executives to reprimand him, no friends to be concerned for him. Minho's age starts with a three instead of a two and he can do whatever the hell he wants right now.
Hey, look at the bright side. At least if he stays inside, he has zero chance of being accidentally recognised by anyone.
♥♥♥♥♥
The first day passes by in a haze. It teases Minho with the hopes of catching a breather, but then it runs past him faster than the speed of light.
After he unpacked what meagre belongings he had packed in his suitcase, he sat down on the couch. He walks around the house, inspecting it. There’s a nice balcony upstairs. The bed is a twin-sized one topped with grey sheets. There is some soap and shampoo provided by the owners in the shower stall, and also a hairdryer by the sink. The wifi router is placed on the dining table, and the login details are taped on top of it. The kitchen has a glass-top induction stove and a microwave oven, alongside a coffee machine and coffee pods. Under the sink, there are some plates and cutlery in separate drawers. And the couch is a nice shade of cream. Quite comfy too, Minho notes, as he lays on it. He takes one of the decorative cushions and places that under his head. He goes for a nap. It’s been a weird day anyways, Minho thinks, a nap wouldn’t hurt anyone.
He wakes up hours later, still crumpled with sleep. There are tender lines across his arms left from the pillow he had been sleeping on. Outside the windows, he notes that it’s already dark outside. The wind ruffles the curtains back and forth. It blows two leaves inside the house, green and resembling a star. It occurs to him that it’s nighttime now. A look at the digital clock on the coffee table tells him it is 8 p.m., and a quick calculation tells him that he had been asleep for six hours.
In the back of his mind, he is disappointed at the loss of the sleep schedule he has dutifully stuck to over the past year. But would it even matter now? Who is going to check on him, anyways?
He forces himself to get up, though. The world spins for a quick second, and Minho has to hold onto the armrest of the couch for stability. But after that, he goes to the windows and closes them. He pulls the curtains over, too, blocking all light from entering. And then he flicks the light switch on, illuminating the room in its yellow glow.
There’s nothing else to do, now that it is late. He grabs the toiletries bag in his suitcase and heads to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth for precisely one minute, and washes his face for 30 seconds. He doesn’t even bother finding his sleep-clothes. He strips down to his boxers and simply falls on the bed, sleeping again, dreamlessly.
♥♥♥♥♥
The second day goes similarly as the first one. So does the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth day of his stay.
True to his word, Minho simply does nothing for the first few days. He wakes up, eats, watches a bit of television, showers, and sleeps again. He has lost track of what day it is. He arrived on Tuesday. Maybe it’s a Monday. But it still feels like a Saturday kind of day, though.
On the seventh day, he wakes up as usual — well, 'usual' isn’t the best word to use here, because the past week has been anything but that. There are birds chirping outside his window, and that’s what forces Minho to rise out of bed at 2 in the afternoon. The skies are grey today, he notes. Clouds hang over the sky, heavy, waiting for the perfect moment to let go and rain down upon the island. It sets a nice ambience, though, for Minho prefers rainy weather over sunny.
Today, he decides to start — in the loosest sense of word — his day properly. He finally goes outside, pulling on the week-old pair of jeans that he wore when he came here alongside a hoodie. Minho takes his wallet and keys from where it laid on the kitchen island, and heads outside to the convenience store, pulling his hood over his head.
At the store, Minho takes his time browsing the aisle. He walks through one aisle and picks up instant noodles and eggs, coffee creamer and a litre-bottle of soda. And a six-pack of beer, too, because why not. He heads over to the fridge section and snags a premade sandwich. The cashier at the till looks bored when he comes to pay for his things. The price amounts to a number that Minho thinks is slightly overpriced. That’s alright, he supposes. It’s a nice trade-off for some anonymity while on the run in Jeju.
As the automatic doors of the convenience store opens for him, the skies begin to trickle. It splashes miniscule droplets down to the Earth, wetting the black hoodie that he is wearing in multiple blobs and splotches. I should’ve brought an umbrella, he thinks, as he pulls the bag of groceries closer to him. Minho picks up his pace, taking longer strides, passing by the row of neat houses to reach his own.
When he arrives back at the house, he takes off his shoes and sets the bag down. Minho tugs the damp hoodie over his head and off, throws it haphazardly on the backrest of a dining chair. He walks over to the drawers in the bedroom where he has stowed away the rest of his clothes. He pulls his jeans off next, swapping it for a pair of comfortable shorts.
Once he is done changing, Minho goes to the kitchen with his bag of groceries in tow. He sets some water in a pot to boil and adds his instant noodles in, along with the soup packet it came with. He cracks an egg in there for good measure — this is likely the healthiest thing he has eaten in over a week, because for the past few days he has only been munching on some sugary cereal until the box was emptied. He makes a cup of coffee too, as he waits for the noodles to soften to his liking.
When both are done, he brings them with him as he heads over to the patio, to the table and chair that overlooks the backyard. Minho sits on one of the chairs, leaning back against it. He takes the cup into his hands. It’s warm and soothing — just what Minho needs to fully unwind.
Minho prefers rainy weather more than anything. It brings with it some sort of calm, as the pitter patter of the rain against the roof can be heard. He likes the way it cools down the air, making it the perfect temperature for Minho to be able to relax and stay indoors. The scent of petrichor floods his nose, and he sighs blissfully, shoulders relaxing even more against the chair.
Gods, the past week has felt simultaneously so long yet so short. Arriving in Jeju felt like it had happened either yesterday or a year ago, no in between. Minho grabs his chopsticks and starts eating his food, all while gazing at the beige sand and blue sea in the distance.
Yes, this really is what he needed — this secretive vacation that he is taking, some sort of escape from the dissatisfactions of idol life, even if it had been such an immature thing for Minho to do. Everyone deserves to make some stupid decisions once in a while, right?
♥♥♥♥♥
Unsurprisingly, it is Kibum who finds him first.
To be honest, Minho already had a bad feeling brewing in his gut the entire morning. He had tossed and turned in bed since last night and had woken up early because of that, with the sun shining from the windows and making the bed too warm for his liking. He had decided to shake off the feeling by going for a jog, with his mask and cap equipped — there may not be a lot of people around, but it never hurts to take precautions. But the feeling had remained, staying even after he had completed 3 whole laps around the neighbourhood. It worsened when he showered, thoughts clouding up his mind like the fog steaming up on the glass divider between the sink and the shower stall. It lingered even when he was sipping on his decaf iced coffee, sitting on the couch made for four while flipping through the pages of the book he brought along — the third book he has read since he arrived here, the other two being finished just yesterday.
His doorbell rings, precisely at 10.45 in the morning. The first ding echoes through the house, but Minho doesn’t rush to the door yet. He simply stares at it, as if challenging the doorbell to ring once more — and it does. On the second ding, Minho lowers the volume of the television. He gets up, tugging up the elastic waistband of his sweatpants, and heads towards the door. The bell rings a third time, and that’s when he opens the door.
Kibum is here.
And that’s when it finally washes over Minho. Minho feels like he is one second away from short-circuiting. Thoughts run through his mind, too fast for him to make out any coherent one — Kibum is here, he has found Minho, Minho will be in such deep trouble, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
He does the only logical thing he can. He shuts the door again, slamming it closed with a sound that’s definitely impolite. He twists the key and locks the door, before turning his back and pushing his body against it, as if the lock wasn’t enough to make sure Kibum can’t enter.
“Yah, Choi Minho! Are you just going to leave me here?! I drove all the way to Jeju for you and you dare lock me out?!” Kibum shouts. He bangs on the door hard enough that Minho can feel it rattle beneath him. But he doesn’t do anything after that. Minho hears him sigh, and then it is all quiet on the other side.
Distantly, Minho thinks this feels familiar. He feels like he has been transported back in time to when he was still in middle school living with his parents, like when he gets into an argument with his mother over chores or school, and over this idol dream of his. He recalls the times he would storm up to his room, the one shared with his older brother Minseok, and not come out until he felt guilty enough to apologise — or until he needed to use the bathroom, but that was an exception. Perhaps she was right all along, that this really was not meant for him.
“Minho, are you still there?” Kibum asks.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” Minho replies, because it really is the least he could do now. Kibum really is the first non-stranger he has talked to ever since running away. There’s no doubt his phone would be flooded with messages and missed-call notifications when he eventually opens it, which he is not brave enough to do yet.
“Minho-yah, talk to me, please?. Or at least reply to us. You’ve been gone for almost two weeks — Jinki’s worried sick, and manager-hyung doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to lie about your whereabouts anymore,” Kibum says, after a long moment. He sounds tired, and Minho can guess that his face mirrors his voice — a little sullen, a little dull, a little upset.
Almost two weeks. Precisely twelve days. That’s how long they took to be able to find Minho. He doesn’t know if he should be proud of hiding so well, or if he should be disappointed that it took them this long.
Minho sighs. There really is nothing else he can do right now. Kibum is here, and one option is to open the door for him. The other option is to still keep the door locked. But this is Kibum that Minho is dealing with — Minho is certain that if he doesn’t open the door in the next hour or two, Kibum might just break a window to get inside. He can be as stubborn as Minho is, even if he does not admit it himself.
He finally caves in. “If you promise not to tell anyone about me, I’ll let you in.”
“I promise you, I came alone and I told nobody that I found where you were staying.”
Minho stands back up, then. He twists the key and the door is unlocked. He pushes the door ajar, peeking from the slight opening. True to his word, Kibum is indeed alone. Minho is reminded of the fact that it’s not yet noon, which according to Kibum's internal clock means the sun practically hasn’t even risen yet.
Minho’s heart jumps at the thought. Kibum, who would basically murder anyone who chooses to wake him up before 1 p.m. on a day off, is here. He has driven from Seoul all the way here. That would mean that Kibum has been up since 7 in the morning at least. Which is why a soft, “How did you find me?” is what Minho manages to respond to Kibum with. Not the smartest thing to ask, he berates himself.
Kibum smiles. “Let me inside, and then I’ll tell you how I found you here.”
♥♥♥♥♥
As promised, Kibum doesn’t tell their managers of their whereabouts. He shows Minho the chat history between him and their manager, and Minho exhales with relief when he sees nothing regarding Minho’s current location.
“Trust me, okay? We haven’t reported you as a missing person yet, so don’t worry,” Kibum assures him. Minho can only laugh a little too loudly at his words.
Perhaps this is the adult version of hide-and-seek, Minho thinks. Their playing field has simply expanded. As children, their world was only limited to the houses they lived in. But as adults, their world grew to be as big as the universe is. Instead of hiding underneath beds or behind wardrobes, he gets to hide on a whole other island. Minho could even hide in a different continent, if he wanted to. There are no boundaries to how far he can go until he is found.
But the further away he goes, the more difficult he would be to find. He had settled on Jeju because somewhere deep down he did want to be found. He did want someone to finally catch him in this game he is setting up for them. Because maybe that would mean Minho was important enough for someone to put in that effort, and that could be more than enough validation for his importance. Because Minho genuinely thought nobody would find him in the end. And maybe the latter thought was even scarier — that no one would actually realise he has gone missing. That SHINee would continue on its merry way without Minho.
“So spill – how’d you find me?” Minho asks. He hands Kibum a tall glass of iced americano, but Kibum places it on the table instead, using a newspaper as his makeshift coaster. Minho has a cup of tea for himself, warm in between his palms. The condensate from the cold glass has already ruined the paper, forming a wet ring around the glass - distantly, Minho feels a tad disappointed, because he had not even read the papers yet before it was ruined.
“You had some of your login details saved on my laptop. I figured I’d try to login into some of your accounts to trace your location,” Kibum explains. And it’s kind of scary how he’s basically hacking into Minho’s accounts. Minho thinks he should really be more careful with his browsing history from now on.
“I got into your email and read booking details for the house. Then I found you,” he finishes, emphasising the last sentence by pointing at Minho.
He’s not sure if he’s glad that it is Kibum who finds him first. Not Jinki, not their manager, certainly not the police, but Kibum — Kibum, who would have berated him for this if it were to happen several years ago. Who would have cared less if Minho had gone missing all those years ago instead of in the present day. But instead, he simply caves in and lets Minho do whatever he had been doing. Even encourages it, because he doesn’t try to stop Minho at all. He barges in and breaks all of Minho’s plans, suitcase in tow as he loudly announces his presence is here to stay.
And Minho lets him do so.
♥♥♥♥♥
The thirteenth day of his stay goes like this:
Minho wakes up first in the morning. Beside him, as furthest away from Minho as possible, Kibum is still fast asleep. There’s only one bed in the house, pressed against the wall of the bedroom. Minho is sleeping on the side next to the wall, and Kibum is on the outer edge of it. He is leaning so far away that Minho worries he might just fall over. So he pulls Kibum by the arm to make sure he doesn't. But that seems to be the wrong thing to do. Because Kibum wakes up with a grunt, glaring at him. How ungrateful of him, Minho thinks.
“Did you have to wake me up?” He grumbles, pulling the blankets over his face.
And Minho decides to play along. He grins and snags the covers off of him. Kibum squawks indignantly, wrapping his arms around himself as a substitute for the blankets.
“Rise and shine, Kibummie! It’s a new day, today! Aren’t you excited?” Minho exclaims while sitting up, loudly and annoyingly. Kibum responds with some incoherent noise, this time covering his ears using the pillow.
Minho gets off the bed and walks over to the windows. He tugs the curtains apart, letting sunlight filter into the room. Kibum’s groan is even louder this time, and he has to resist the urge to laugh out loud.
“Alright, alright, you win. I’m up,” Kibum relents. He sits up on the bed, rubbing the remaining sleep out of his eyes. His hair is all mussed up, sticking out in every direction. But he looks so cute like this, when Minho catches him off-guard because he is not fully awake yet. He has to repress the soft feeling that bubbles up in his chest at the sight of Kibum, and has to stomp down the urge to say something else at this very moment.
“You better still be up after I’m done showering,” Minho says instead. Kibum grunts again, and he flops back onto the bed, finding his phone that was left charging overnight on the bedside table.
After he showers, Kibum is nowhere to be found in the bedroom. Minho walks out into the living room, and he spots Kibum in the kitchen. He is busy examining the fridge, tutting at the lack of food inside it.
“How did you even survive the past few days, Minho?” Kibum wonders aloud. Minho points to an empty box of cereal in the trash bin. And then again to a pack of granola bars on the kitchen island.
“It was good that I came here, huh? Otherwise, you would have starved to death!” And Minho smiles at that — food had truly been the last thing to occupy his thoughts. When stressed, he often forgets to eat. Kibum knows this just as much as he does. It’s nice that Kibum cares for him, even when his words imply otherwise. Minho’s learnt to pick apart what Kibum says over the years, so that he can find the affection hidden between his sharp words, and it has definitely paid off.
“What do you suggest we eat then, Kibum-ah?”
Kibum hums as he looks around again. There’s still some packs of unopened instant noodles. Maybe chips, too. They could have that. Minho’s eaten only those over the past few days now, one more time won’t hurt. Or they could also buy something from the store. But he doesn’t quite feel like going outside, though.
“What about ordering some food?” Kibum suggests. Minho’s stomach rumbles in response. They both laugh, and Minho embarrassedly rubs his neck.
The food order is placed, and it arrives half an hour later. Kibum unpack the food boxes and lay them out on the coffee table. Minho takes two clean plates from the cabinet, as well as some cutlery. They scoop it onto their plates and eat as they watch television. There’s a historical drama playing on the screen now. Minho glances at it from time to time, not quite watching but not not watching either. He’s still able to keep up with the conversation between the characters. Kibum recites a line that the male lead says during a cheesy scene — the one that replays the same scene but from multiple different camera angles for emphasis.
“I would rather die than not be with you,” Kibum says, just as dramatic as the actor does. He has a hand on his chest, as if clawing at his heart. He’s also got the most pained expression that he can manage to put on. “But my father does not allow us!” Minho copies the female lead in a high pitch. His hand has to reach out for the male lead in the scene, showing how he is so close yet so far from her. And Minho also changes his expression into something funnily desperate, dropping some water on his cheeks to make it look as if he had been crying. Kibum breaks the moment by singing along terribly to the OST, altering his voice to be really ugly on purpose. It makes Minho laugh loudly, slapping Kibum’s knee as he does so.
After the meal, Minho cleans up after them. He disposes the takeout boxes and sets the dirty plates in the sink to be dealt with later. Kibum wipes down the table with a spare napkin. Then Kibum goes to the bathroom, presumably to freshen up and do his extensive skincare routine. Minho walks to the backyard, holding two cans of beer with — might as well indulge in some day-drinking while on holiday.
Kibum joins him a few minutes later. He has changed out of his sleepwear and into some shorts and a loose tee. The shorts hug his thighs very nicely, ending just above his knees and showing off his pale legs. It takes effort for Minho not to stare. But Kibum doesn’t seem to notice it — and if he does, he doesn’t comment on it. He takes a seat beside Minho, accepting the can of beer that Minho holds out to him.
“Thanks,” he says. Minho nods, cracking his own can open and sipping.
They stay like that, quiet amidst each other’s presence. Minho reads a book, continuing where he left off. Kibum takes some pictures of the backyard, scrolling through his phone afterwards. Minho reads out loud to him — he’s not sure if Kibum is listening along or not, but he doesn’t tell him to stop, so Minho keeps reading aloud until the pages thin out and the book is finished.
They decide to go out for dinner — well, it’s more like Kibum drags him out instead. There’s a family-run restaurant close by, and they go there. It sells Chinese food and it’s just what Minho and Kibum can both agree on eating. They order different dishes, noodles with black bean sauce for Minho and sweet and sour shrimp for Kibum. Minho sneakily takes a shrimp or two from his plate, munching and savouring the taste of it. Kibum catches him and grumbles, and he steals some of his noodles in turn.
After dinner, Kibum pulls him once again, this time towards the beach. “You chose to stay near a beach. So you have to make the most out of it,” Kibum retorts, when Minho complains about wanting to go home. They take their shoes and socks off, holding them by the laces as they walk across the sand. Minho runs until he reaches the waters, waves gently rolling back and forth across the beach. He walks a bit further until the water submerges his legs.
“Join me!” Minho shouts.
Kibum shakes his head. But before he can even open his mouth to reply, Minho is already running towards him. The shoes fall out of his grip and onto the dry sand as Minho pulls him by the hand. Kibum yelps as he steps into the water. “It’s cold, dummy!” But Minho simply laughs, splashing some more water onto him. Kibum cups his hand and pours the water onto Minho’s front in retaliation, and now it is he who shrieks instead.
They come back home when the moon is already high in the sky, saltwater in their clothes and hair, smiles spread wide across their faces.
♥♥♥♥♥
The night is cold, but the fire that Minho has set up in the backyard is nice and warm. It burns a bright orange, and from his peripheral vision he sees Kibum bring his open palm closer to it. But it is still not warm enough for Kibum, who has stolen one of Minho’s jackets that he hung on the hook behind the door. It looks good on him, Minho thinks — hell, Kibum can wear a potato sack and make that look good.
It’s at this moment, sitting beside the fire past midnight, stars scattered in the dark sky. The world around them is fast asleep, and Minho likes it that way. He especially likes it when it’s just him and Kibum — just the two of them in their own personal bubble. Kibum is sitting beside him on one of the foldable chairs that Minho had set out earlier in the day.
When Kibum holds his palms towards the fire again, Minho holds his wrist. He doesn’t know what overcame him, and Minho’s brain is screaming at him to let go, but he can’t — he is only a spectator at this moment, watching it unfurl in front of his eyes like a blooming flower. But Kibum lets him linger — indulging him, maybe, because Kibum has grown softer over time and allows things like these to happen sometimes.
“Ah, Minho. At thirty, you really are still crazy,” Kibum says, his tone light and airy.
“At midnight of all times! We’re not even drunk! We truly are crazy, aren’t we?” Kibum looks at him, and Minho looks back. And they both giggle. Without thinking, Minho leans towards him. Their shoulders knock against each other, and Minho turns to face Kibum.
Kibum moves towards him as well. A curious look is in his eyes, as if asking him, what comes next? In that sense, Minho realises he is the one with control here. If he chooses to come closer then Kibum will too, and if he pulls back then he will do the same. If Minho presses his lips onto Kibum’s-
That's where he draws the line. Greedy, greedy, greedy, Minho thinks.
He pulls back, restraining himself. His impulses had almost done it, and if Minho were weaker, he isn't sure he wouldn't kiss Kibum. Silence ensues and stretches out for a moment too long. And Minho isn't sure what's going on through Kibum's head right now.
"Minho-yah, look at me," he says. He doesn't sound particularly upset. Minho turns again to face him. If he looks closely, he can see the orange light of the fire reflected in Kibum’s eyes, the flame dancing along with the wind. How lovely, Minho thinks.
“May I?” Kibum asks. His voice is soft, almost a whisper. It’s soaked with wanting, innocent desire, and something like love. All Minho can do is nod and let him.
And in an instant, Kibum kisses him. He cups Minho's cheeks in his hands so he can't move away — not like Minho will do that, really. He kisses Minho slow, soft and gentle. He brings a hand up to Kibum's nape, fingers toying with the ends of his black hair. Minho's cheeks feel warm, flushed. Kibum can definitely feel the warmth against his palm, if the way he caresses his cheekbones with his thumb is anything to go by.
When they pull back, Minho is panting slightly for air. He is almost disappointed at how fast their kiss ended. He guesses it shows up clear as day on his face too, seeing how Kibum chuckles at him and puts his hand atop his, gently rubbing over the crest and troughs of his knuckles. It makes Minho’s heart flutter uselessly in his chest, especially when he looks up to find Kibum looking back at him too.
“Can you- can you kiss me again?” Minho asks.
Kibum laughs, sweet-sounding. Minho feels so enraptured in it even though he’s already heard his voice countless times. He leans in again, closer, until their breaths mingle and Minho’s going cross-eyed because of how near Kibum is to him.
He kisses Minho sweetly, with a sincerity and intensity that Minho never knew Kibum could muster.
“I love you a lot, Kibum-ah,” Minho says when they pull away. It slips out of him without a second thought, as if it’s the most natural thing for Minho to say. And in many ways it is — the love he has held for Kibum is practically rooted inside him, twisted and intertwined with the fibre of his being.
He should be scared, really. But he isn't. Everything that happened in the past three weeks has all led up to this very moment. All of his feelings had tumbled together, rolling and rolling until it had become one tangled incoherent mess. Minho's never been more certain in his entire life — that Kibum would surely feel the same, that this love that has been eating at Minho’s heart has also chewed through Kibum's.
But Minho’s heart still skips a beat at this very moment, his breath getting caught in his throat. Because Kibum smiles at him brightly and replies, “I love you too. Always have. Always will.”
♥♥♥♥♥
Morning finds Minho and Kibum in bed together, legs tangled under the sheets. Kibum is in his arms, warm and still soft with sleep. Minho stares at him — it’s not like he hasn’t seen Kibum, but this time it’s different. He wants to memorise every detail of his face. “Quit staring, creep,” Kibum says teasingly.
“But how can I, when you look so lovely?”
Kibum snorts loudly. “You big cheese,” he retorts. It loses all its meaning though, because his voice is filled with so much affection that contradicts the insult.
As always, Minho’s the one who gets out of bed first. He stands up and stretches his arms out, hearing his joints crack at the motion. He really is getting old, he thinks. Kibum does the same — he cracks his finger-joints and his wrists, and it’s like they’re showing off who is older between them. Minho rolls his neck and it clacks, just the effect that he wanted to have. Kibum winces a bit — he's always those hated neck-cracking noises. Minho does it one more time, just to rile him up, because he knows he is annoying like that.
They shower together, even though the stall was designed to be used for one person at a time. But they make it work. They’ve showered together before — living together in cramped dorms meant sharing the bathroom when they are running late. But Minho was forbidden to touch, then. Now, he lets himself wander. As water flows from his hair, across his back, down the curve of his butt and until it hits the floor, Minho simply lets himself look.
Kibum smirks, catching Minho out of his reverie. He shoves a bottle of shampoo into his hands. “Be useful, at least.”
Minho does as he’s told. He uncaps the bottle and squeezes a dollop of shampoo onto his palm, rubbing them together until it foams up. He lathers it gingerly onto Kibum’s head, scritching his scalp softly. He feels Kibum lean into his touch, so Minho continues, pressing a bit harder this time with the pads of his fingers. And then Kibum bends down to pick the shampoo bottle off the floor. Minho knows that’s his cue to switch. This time it’s Kibum who washes his hair, massaging his scalp so gently and nicely that Minho can practically feel the tension melting away. He pushes Minho so that he is the one under the shower. He rinses his hair, soap bubbles trickling down into the drain. And then Kibum gets the bottle of body wash and uses that too. He lathers Minho up first, and then himself, and then washes them off together. Minho never knew that a shower could feel this intimate, but Kibum is certainly teaching him many new things today.
They dry off with fluffy towels and change into some casual clothes. Kibum decides that they should have a proper breakfast — “Not just noodles, this time. They make my face puffy!” Kibum answers, when Minho suggests they eat whatever is available. They make a short trip to the convenience store again. Minho spots the same cashier that he saw when he came here last. Kibum picks up rice and eggs off the racks, Minho adds a box of apple juice into the basket because he can. And a box of seaweed snacks too, those are always nice to have with the rice.
Kibum whips up two plates of fried rice for them. It’s a simple meal, yet it tastes like the best thing Kibum has ever cooked for him. “You flatter me,” he says, when Minho tells him exactly that. But really — how can fried rice, the simplest and stupid-easiest dish to ever exist, taste this loving? Minho must indeed be going insane. Or maybe his taste buds have deteriorated in the past weeks. There’s no other explanation for it.
The day truly can’t get any better than this, Minho thinks. But it does. They stand side by side while doing the dishes, Minho washing them and Kibum drying them. Minho flicks some of the suds into Kibum, and Kibum yelps in surprise. He whacks Minho with the rag he was using to wipe the plates, and Minho flicks some more soap his way. They have some sort of childish fight, and by the end of it their clothes are wet but they are smiling. And Minho can’t resist himself, so he kisses Kibum, all wet and still donning pink rubber gloves. Kibum kisses him back, smiling. His hands wander under his shirt, and Minho gasps because his hand is so, so warm. He tugs those ridiculous gloves off of Minho’s hands, and pushes Minho on the counter, on the parts between the sink and the stove where it is dry. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he whispers, “I’ve got you now,” into his ears. He shudders at the sensation, hand uselessly gripping the front of Kibum’s shirt.
Kibum kisses him again. Their lips chase after each other — when Kibum tries to pull apart, Minho doesn’t let him, and vice versa. It makes Minho so giddy. It’s as if they are teenagers again, never experiencing such intense emotions before. And in a way, that is exactly the case — Minho’s never felt love like this before, never in the same way that he loves Kibum.
They kiss after that too, after all the dishes are spotless and placed back in their respective drawers. It’s all that they’ve been doing all day, as if they are making up for missed opportunities. Kibum kisses his lips, trailing down to his neck and his chest. His eyes go darker as he moves lower, lips teasingly brushing over his navel and his thighs. Minho lays there, pliant under his ministrations — what else can he do, in this moment that he thought would never have come?
They make love that night, slow and passionate. By the end of the night Minho’s mapped Kibum’s entire body out with his touch, learning about what Kibum likes in bed. Minho’s never felt better than he has right now, when they’re both enjoying each other as their bodies become one.
“I love you,” Kibum says, as they lay together on the bed, still sticky but neither caring much about it.
“I love you too,” Minho says back, body sated and heart content.
♥♥♥♥♥
Later on during the week, on a peaceful Thursday evening, the old man invites Minho over for dinner. Kibum, naturally, follows along.
The old man lives nearby, just five houses away. His house is similar to the one that he rents to Minho — a quaint house with white walls and a garden in the front, just the perfect size for two people. There are potted flowers in the front yard, an old but thriving orange tree in a corner, and sprigs of chives standing proudly in a neat line beside them. He sees Kibum’s eyes light up just by seeing the greenery.
The man greets them at the door, hands clasped behind his back as he lets them inside. After toeing their shoes off, Minho engages him in some polite conversation. “How are you finding Jeju?” The man asks. “Jeju is always a pleasant place to be at,” Minho replies. He excludes the fact that he’s been indoors for most of the trip — at first out of misery and then because of Kibum. A waste of time, maybe, but that’s exactly what he wants to do anyways. He’ll indulge himself in whatever he wants to do when he’s on vacation.
The old man’s wife prepares so much food for them. Minho’s mouth already waters at the sight of the filled dining table. There’s a spicy beef stew as a centrepiece and a pot of rice accompanying it. Smaller plates of side dishes are scattered around the table — there’s kimchi, cucumber salad, soy-braised potatoes, pan-fried zucchini, and egg rolls. She must have gone all out tonight, Minho thinks.
“Come and sit,” the old lady says, gesturing at the empty chairs. Minho and Kibum sit next to each other obediently. She scoops some warm rice into their bowls and tells them to dig in.
They talk about everything and nothing over dinner. “What do you do for a living?” The lady asks. “We are in a band together,” Minho says, appropriately vague. She nods, scrutinising him. “Were you two on television together? I swear I’ve seen you guys somewhere.” Kibum smiles at her words. Of course they’ve been on TV — they’re SHINee, after all. But she doesn’t have to know that. “Maybe that means our faces are generic,” Kibum jokes, and they laugh at his words.
After dinner, Kibum offers to help the man wash the dishes. In turn, the lady brings out a plate of cut-up fruit as dessert. She hands Minho a fork and tells him to help himself. He picks up a piece of pear and bites into it, savouring the sweet taste.
“He loves you, doesn’t he?” she says, smiling at Minho. Minho chokes on the fruit, coughing roughly. He looks over to her, but the lady’s expression is kind, laced with knowing. Minho can do nothing but admit the truth.
“He does. He does love me, I think,” Minho replies. He can feel the heat rise in his cheeks, his ears growing red. “And I love him too,” he finishes.
It feels odd to admit it to someone — let alone a stranger — that they love each other. It contradicts what he’s been told to do his entire life. That he should keep his private life a secret, unknown from the public. That he can only reveal flashes of it according to what the company approves. But this feels nice to do, exposing his feelings like this to the old lady who doesn’t even know that he’s famous.
“Such a beautiful thing it is, isn’t it,” the lady says wistfully, “to be young in love. I hope you guys can stay together for a long time.”
♥♥♥♥♥
“So why Jeju?” Kibum finally asks, as they walk back towards the rental house. The sun is just beginning to set, tainting the sky in hues of gold and magenta. Minho sees birds flying in their characteristic V-formation in the distance. And Kibum is holding his hand as they walk in the middle of the empty road, swinging their interlaced fingers back and forth.
Minho shrugs. “It’s far enough,” Minho starts, “I didn’t want to go too far, in case something urgent happens. But it’s not near enough that people can find me instantly, you know?”
Kibum hums in response. He knows Kibum is unconvinced — Kibum is smart like that, he just knows when Minho is not telling him the entire story. Minho glances at him. The light of the setting sun reflects against his skin nicely, Minho thinks. The way it makes his cheekbones glow golden, the way his eyes glimmer in the light. Kibum catches Minho staring, but all he does is grin. He turns to face Minho and finds his free hand, interlacing them together as well. He spins Minho once, twice, and they both laugh after, because this feels distantly like a cliche romantic movie. The kind that Kibum scoffs at for being dumb and unrealistic. The kind that Minho wants, deep down. This love feels simple, after so many years of pining, like the way those cheap rom-coms portray them to be.
Being with Kibum is the easiest thing Minho has ever done in his life.
“Are you enjoying yourself, then?” Kibum continues.
Minho thinks back over the time he has spent here in Jeju. Of that lonely first week he spent all cooped up in the house. Of that second week when Kibum has found Minho here amidst his escape, as he had demanded to be let into Minho’s plans. Of the current third week of his secret vacation, as he and Kibum kissed underneath the stars and in bed and everywhere else in that rental house, learning about each other more than Minho thought was even possible, even after 15 years of knowing Kibum. “I am, yeah,” Minho responds. “I enjoy it here. With you. A lot.”
Kibum grins, cheekily. He lets go of their hands, and Minho already misses the warmth of it. But then he replaces it by slinging an arm over Minho’s shoulder, pulling him so their sides are pressed together. It makes walking a bit difficult, as they stumble from left to right and then left again. Their house is just around the corner now. Just a bit more.
“I’m glad you enjoy it,” Kibum replies, his voice sincere. His eyes twinkle as he looks at Minho, and Minho can feel his fleeting gaze skim over his own face — his eyes, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips.
Kibum kisses him under the pink skies, his fingers tangled in Minho’s hair. If heaven were truly real, this must be the closest that Minho will ever get to reaching it.
He kisses him back.
♥♥♥♥♥
The curtains aren’t fully shut. There’s a car passing by nearby, its wheels resounding against the concrete road. Kibum is breathing softly behind him, his hair tickling Minho’s nape. He has an arm slung around Minho’s waist, the other one under his head. Kibum kisses his shoulder, gentle and butterfly-like.
It’s an ideal sleeping condition. But Minho can’t fall asleep. Not yet, at least.
“Bum-ah,” he calls out.
“Hm? What is it?” Minho shifts so he can face him. In the dark, Minho can’t make out the expression he’s wearing. But he guesses it must be a lot sleepy and a bit surprised. Kibum is not easy to read, but Minho’s learnt a lot over the years.
“I didn’t tell you yet. Why I left, why I chose Jeju.”
“And you don’t have to. I won’t force you to say anything, you know that, right?”
Minho shifts again so that he can lay on his back. Beside him, Kibum turns. This time he is the one facing Minho, expectant. “But I want you to know. So please, ask me again.”
He can feel more than see Kibum nod. “Then why did you choose Jeju?”
Minho inhales. Exhales. His hand searches for Kibum’s. When he finds it, he holds onto it. They fit nicely together, Minho thinks. It’s almost like they truly are destined for each other. Maybe they really are soulmates, or something along those lines, or something more. Because ‘love’ is such an understatement for what Minho feels for Kibum — it doesn’t even begin to describe it. All the care and worries, the highs and the lows, all this trust.
Trust. That’s what prompts Minho to say what has been floating around his head for the past weeks. He trusts Kibum with his secrets. He would entrust Kibum with his heart. He would even trust Kibum with his life.
“I had a meeting that day, about stuff we were going to do next year. I felt really angry because they didn’t spare me anything. I got so little compared to you guys — you, Jinki, Taemin. It felt like they were leaving me out on purpose.” Minho lets out the shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding. Kibum rubs his arm comfortingly, bringing him back to the present.
“I couldn’t stand the thought at all,” he continues, “It must mean I’m dispensable. That I was given practically nothing compared to you guys. It clawed at my mind so much. I had to leave everything behind, even if it was just for a short while.”
“And then you chose to escape to Jeju?” Kibum asks. This would have been one of those things that they would have fought over, if they were younger and less mature. Maybe it would be better if Kibum did get upset at him over this — this stupid decision of his to drop all his responsibilities and go incognito for almost a month now. But somewhere along the line, they’ve stopped fighting. Their jagged edges had softened and they had finally fit together, like long lost puzzle pieces.
And this time too, Kibum is not angry when Minho confirms him. “Yeah. And then I came here. You know the rest of the story.”
Kibum’s lips purse into a tight line. Minho wonders what he is thinking of now, what he thinks of Minho now.
“Why didn’t you tell us anything?"
Minho sighs. He brings his free arm up to cover his eyes. Somehow it feels safer that way, that he can’t see Kibum at all. It would feel less real, like he is talking to Kibum over the phone instead of side-by-side on the bed like this, hand holding each other’s.
“It felt silly, I guess. That I was jealous of you guys. I thought this was the better thing to do than talk,” Minho replies, condescending, as if mocking himself.
“It’s not silly if you get this worked up over it, Minho-yah,” Kibum reassures him. He feels the bed dip, and then Kibum is gathering him in his arms, resting his head over Minho’s own. He pulls at the arm atop his eyes, making him lift it off. Minho is forced to look straight into his eyes now. The dim moonlight is all that allows Minho to take a closer look at his lover’s face. He mindlessly tucks back a lock of hair that fell onto Kibum’s forehead. He places a peck upon Minho’s temple, soft and warm.
“I have something to tell you too, Minho-yah,” Kibum explains. “Jinki-hyung and I had the same meeting the day after you did. We both brought up why you had so little activities planned out too. We forced them to re-assess it. I have the updated list on my phone, if you’d like to see it.”
“You guys… did that for me?” Oh gods, Minho is not going to cry right now. He is absolutely not going to cry, even after hearing that the others cared too. That they would defend him when Minho struggled to defend himself. That they did stand up for him, had helped make it fairer for Minho.
“Of course! Minho, you’re really important to us — to me. Of course we would do that.” And Kibum explains it as if it’s common knowledge to them. It hits some kind of switch in Minho’s brain, because he finally tears up, the dam behind his eyes finally breaking.
“I really don’t deserve you,” Minho says, voice muffled from the emotions clogging his throat. He sniffles, and Kibum fingers comb through his hair comfortingly. Minho burrows closer, until he is pressing his face into Kibum’s chest, staining his silk pyjama top with his tears. And Kibum stays there — filling Minho's every thought, holding him, kissing him, being his.
“You do, Minho, you deserve us just as much as we deserve you. Never think you’re less than us again, okay? And at least tell me when you plan to run away again — I had to hear it from manager-hyung first! So unfair!” He teases. It makes Minho smile, still hidden away because his face is buried in Kibum’s front.
“Thank you, Kibum-ah. For standing up for me. For coming here. For being with me. For everything.”
♥♥♥♥♥
The next morning, their two suitcases are neatly lined up outside the door. Kibum takes them and loads them into the back of the car. The old man comes by, waving at Minho and greeting him amicably.
“I hope you enjoyed your stay here,” the man says, smiling.
“I did! Your house has definitely played a role in making our stay much more enjoyable.”
Minho returns the keys to the house to the man. He slides an envelope with it as well, filled with some extra money to show his gratitude. The man tuts, pushing the envelope back towards Minho.
“Aish, there really is no need!”
But Minho is insistent, so he tries again. “Please accept it as my thank you for allowing me to stay.” And the old man finally relents, accepting the envelope at last. Minho pumps an imaginary fist into the air at his success. The man bids Minho and Kibum goodbye, as he walks outside to the driveway.
In the driveway, Kibum is already waiting for him. Their items are all packed into the trunk of the car. He’s even made them some coffee, securely packed in two thermoses and placed in the cupholders of the car.
The drive will be a long one — it is two hours from the house to the port, and then another two hours inside the ferry, and additionally three hours from the port to his apartment in Seoul. “You drive first,” Kibum says, quickly opening the door on the passenger side of the car, escaping driving duty for the first leg of the trip back home. Minho laughs as he enters the car as well. “Switch with me when we get to Seoul, then.”
He lowers the car windows as he drives out of the parking space, bidding the man one final goodbye with a cheery wave before leaving the quiet little neighbourhood he had been staying in.
♥♥♥♥♥
“Never run away like this again, okay?” Kibum tells him, when they are seated in the ferry as they cross the sea. The boat is not too crowded today. They sit beside a window, as Kibum stares out at the sea and as Minho leans his head on his shoulder. Their hands find each other, hidden under the tote bag Kibum has on his lap.
“I won’t, I promise,” Minho assures. Kibum smiles at him, giving Minho’s hand a squeeze.
“Good. Because I’m always here for you, no matter what — never forget that.”
♥♥♥♥♥