Work Text:
i broke my camera
11:11
it’s late for you i know
11:11
sorry
11:11
but i broke my camera
11:12
kibum glances down at the canon eos500d. the lens is shattered, a big crack smacked right through the middle. it had taken him less then a millisecond for it to slip through his fingertips, then down onto the cobblestones by the théâtre des champs elysées, a sharp little sound of despair falling from his lips as kibum watches what he could call his most prized possession break.
he sees his reflection in gold-lined windows, paris winter bleeding down onto his knees as he scuffs them on stone, scrambling to pick up his camera with shaky hands.
“no,” kibum had bemoaned, “no, please no.” because he adores his camera, because he loves that camera and he tries, so so hard not to tear up when it doesn’t turn on.
yes, his mind informs him. yes, actually yes. kibum had held onto the broken thing tight, pressed it against his chest, and he’d waddled back to his hotel with the wind to blame for the moisture on his cheeks.
setting it down on the desk in his room, kibum’s laptop acts as a lamp as he scrolls through the memory card. the photos he’d saved, at least. he looks over at the broken camera with another mournful gaze and thinks long and hard about how much he’s going to miss it.
hey
13:53
can’t u fix it omg
13:53
kibum finds his phone with delicate fingers.
i looked it up and it’s expensive idk
13:54
i’m just
13:55
sad about it
13:55
it was my paris camera and i
13:55
this is stupid
13:57
kibum hates himself and he wants to crawl under his blankets and never move. he closes his laptop, the screen filled by a photo of he and jonghyun in bejing - when they’d gone together to see performance art and eat squid by the yellow river. jonghyun’s smiling so big and wide. a selca of kinds. kibum keeps all the photos of he and jonghyun in a folder on his desktop and he opens it more then he should. the mac closes with a thump.
he pushes himself away from his desk and takes his phone with him. it’s barely afternoon and he’s already had enough of the day, dark clouds setting over the city that make what he’s feeling only all the more applicable.
sorry i was going outside
13:58
ur not stupid omg
13:59
skype
13:59
kibum picks up the call as soon as it comes up. his voice is raspy and worn-thin, too heavy with french and light, delicate words thrown around a cafe early before the sun has time to rise.
“jonghyun.” he nearly chokes out, hating how weak he sounds, because kibum has been in paris for nearly four months now and he just broke his favourite camera and he misses seoul, he loves the city but he misses seoul and home and gopchang and the han river at night and he hates it, because he’d saved up for years for this paris trip and it’s not at all what he wanted it to be.
“kibummie. kibum. deep breaths.” jonghyun says, and it’s the first time they’ve spoken in over a week. it’s nothing compared to their morning brunches together, or the way jonghyun would just turn up to kibum’s tiny little itaewon loft and kick his feet up and put on a boring documentary they’d both be enamoured in by the end of.
“i know. sorry.” kibum isn’t good at this. he’s not good at distance and he thinks maybe he wants to be independent. but he craves it. he’s never been inclined toward anything before like he’s inclined toward jonghyun and it doesn’t make sense - doesn’t compute, that he needs this one thing he can’t have right now. “i miss korea.” he settles on, breathing in and out, just like he’d been told to do.
“i miss you too.” jonghyun replies softly.
“shut up.” kibum sniffles, unsure if he’s close to tears or there already. it’s mid afternoon in paris - storm clouds are settling over the seine and kibum has a broken camera and a big cavern in his heart that feels something like lovesickness.
jonghyun laughs, and he falls in love.
“it’s been a long time kibummie. you love paris, i know you do. it’s okay to miss home.”
why am i here, he asks himself, demanding to know. he shouldn’t be here, un-composed and emotional. he wants his resoluteness back, his resolve. maybe it blew away, like snow across the pavement of his courtyard. maybe it wasn’t there to begin with.
“i know.” he says. “i know.”
jonghyun takes a thoughtful pause, for both of them. “go to the opera, the ballet. something you love. cheer yourself up.”
“i’m running out of money.” kibum laughs, a little. he loves the city so much; paris is beautiful, but he wants to go home now.
“then come home.” jonghyun says, softer. even over skype, kibum can hear the strain in his voice. “come home to me.”
/
that evening, departing the dulcet tones of kibum's overpriced suite - he finds his favourite long coat and boots, leaving the streets by with heavy steps, he takes a cruise along the seine at night, and he sees the moulin rouge for the third time, he takes his broken camera and just holds it, somehow nostalgic.
and under the stars of france, the sky blinking back at him with glittery eyes, he decides he wants to bring jonghyun here one day, because paris is gorgeous in every little way, and he thinks about holding hands with his best friend as the lump in his chest dissipates and drinking coffee with him, sitting across the table and feeling so utterly peaceful he never wants to move. as he watches the river slip, move and grow, kibum handles the delicate camera in his lap and waits, refusing to stare at himself, instead, imagining jonghyun here with him, careful and soft.
the thought is so stupidly safe and kibum tucks it away and tells himself to never think about it again.
/
kibum’s favourite word in the french language is inoubliable, and it means unforgettable. he purchases a notebook, just a tiny little moleskin to write down the words he learns and the words he likes, but he finds that a larger portion of his french-language journalism comes from the skype messages he exchanges with jonghyun when the other is not working.
it’s such a pretty word
15:34
how do you pronounce it
15:35
he settles down at a tiny coffee store behind all the fashion boutiques he’d glanced and awed at, waiting for his to-go americano with a small quirk on his lips; the same expression he wears everyday when he speaks to jonghyun.
in-oo-blee-yah-ble
15:36
sounds fancy
15:37
it is
15:37
kibum turns his phone off, still smiling, and stands up to collect his coffee with warm eyes and a practised merci.
/
his last day in paris comes nearly a full two months earlier then he’d previously had planned. a combination of homesickness (missing jonghyun) and unforeseen budget issues (kibum’s obsession with haute couture) he’d booked a flight from paris to seoul on a whim, late and tired and i want to go home coursing through his bones.
he watches the sunrise over the seine, and thinks about calling jonghyun. he’s busy, his mind supplies, because jonghyun is always busy lately, always working always tired and kibum sends him a text later.
i booked a flight for tomorrow
9:21
i can take a cab from incheon
9:22
he doesn’t really bother to check for a reply, and leaves his phone, plugged in and charging while he steps out of the hotel alone, content on wandering around the city with no real objective for the rest of the day. paris is pretty enough to keep close forever, the buildings and the people and the eiffel tower.
he thinks he wants to remember paris, just the tiny things about it, the smell of coffee and bread and cigarettes and then again maybe it’s not about remembering paris but forgetting something else altogether.
he doesn’t know. he kinda maybe wants coffee.
/
sorry was sleep
7:32
he receives, the next day. kibum smiles into his phone, sat at the charles de gaulle airport, still some time left until he boards.
u really coming home?
7:33
kibum smiles a little wider then, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes. he’s very tired; paris, as slow and easy as it is, is a tiring city. kibum likes to take his time and see things, but he found himself scrambling last minute to make room for the overwhelming amount of stuff he could do in paris.
yeah
7:34
i’m at de gaulle now
7:34
fight 151
7:34
boards in an half hour or so
7:35
he taps his fingers against his phone and rests his head back against the paneling of the airport. the seats are quietly filling up around him, obscure passengers soon amassing for the 8:30am flight from paris to incheon.
i’ll be waiting for u
7:37
don’t take a cab
7:37
i miss u
7:38
i want to be the first thing u see in seoul
7:39
jonghyun makes it seem so easy. he makes it so easy to fall in love with. kibum knows he’s not trying, but it makes it so hard for kibum to get over someone he never should have been in love with to begin with.
he wonders if this was jonghyun’s plan along; or just another on-the-spot attack of random jonghyun affection. either way, his heartbeat begins to speed up, and he tries to wean himself off of the urge for coffee.
you really don’t have to
07:39
i’m fine
07:39
he pauses, but then waits for jonghyun to finish typing, and backspaces what he had written. i don’t want to be a burden. but then once he stops, jonghyun stops too and they just kind of sit there - thousands of miles apart with skype staring back at them, mocking.
kibum puts his phone down and breathes deep through his nose. a while passes.
i’m coming 2 incheon
07:56
international arrivals ok
07:56
i don’t have enough time to make u a sign but
07:57
kibum shakes his head at that, swallowing a laugh to avoid judgement.
shut up you idiot
07:58
no signs
07:58
i guess i’ll see you there
07:59
i can’t wait to see you, he nearly types. jonghyun’s message comes through first.
i guess u will. i can’t wait
08:00
the airport comes alive with the ‘could passengers on the 151 flight from paris to seoul please head to gate 29 for boarding’ announcement and kibum stands and tugs his carry-on saint laurent he’d spend a big majority of his paris food budget on.
plane’s boarding now
08:01
i’ll miss you
08:01
he sends it before he can regret it, and a reply comes sometime after, quiet.
have a good flight. come back safely
08:03
he stares at the message for a long time, wiping his thumb over the hangul and holding the phone pressed to close to his chest while he waits in line, the unsteady beating of his own heart rich in his ears.
/
he hears jonghyun before he sees him. which means jonghyun has seen him. kibum turns his head to the sound of that voice saying his name and nearly drops his luggage.
“hyung!” he manages, the korean word tasting like bad soju from all the french he’d swallowed lately. kibum spins, his world spins with him, as he meets jonghyun’s eyes across the terminal hall. still tiny, now with sakura pink tips instead of platinum blonde, jonghyun’s wearing a muscle tee and skinny jeans and he stuffs his phone in his pocket as soon as kibum sees him, launching across the terminal to throw himself in his best friend’s arms.
four months, and he’d missed him so, so much.
kibum makes a strangled noise as jonghyun laughs, big and deep and warm and broad, so securely muscular as he keeps the pair of them grounded, even with the incoming force of kibum hurling himself at jonghyun.
“i missed you. fuck.” he breathes, unable to control himself, regaining composure at every second he feels ground return to him once more. kibum can feel his metaphorical feet finding stable footing.
“i missed you too kibummie. i missed you.”
they stay like that for longer then acceptable by platonic friendship standards, but kibum refuses to move and it’s not like jonghyun as the heart to push him away. finally, kibum reminds himself what he’s doing, and his nimbly thin arms unloop from jonghyun’s neck and stay by his sides, shaky long fingers going to his luggage.
“here,” jonghyun beams, “i’ll carry one.” which is a godsend because kibum’s body aches from the twelve hour flight and he just wants to go to sleep.
“thank you so much.” he breathes, leaning his forehead delicately on jonghyun’s shoulder. weak, for just a second. stop this, his conscious demands then, get it together. kibum lifts his head and runs a hand through his hair. composure, he tells himself again. composure.
“how was the flight?” jonghyun asks, carefully looking kibum up and down. he makes a soft noise of incoherent groaning.
“m’ tired,” kibum says.
“come on.” jonghyun says, offering a smile. “you look like you could do with some rest.”
/
much to the protests kibum does not give, jonghyun cajoles him into staying at his place in hannam, simply because jonghyun believes that they need time to ‘catch up’ and his ‘my bed is comfier’ argument wins every time.
kibum knows it’s so bad, and that he should resist the sickening temptation, but he’s too jet lagged to complain about anything, just mumbling his agreement with whatever jonghyun had said.
anything he says sounds like bliss right now, and kibum is too fundamentally weak to protest when really, he should, because he’d spent months in paris, thinking about how much he loved jonghyun, and now he’s here, in jonghyun’s car and soon to be jonghyun’s apartment; like they always used to do.
oh no, he thinks weakly, head against the glass. oh no.
/
he spends his first two days back in seoul asleep. the haze of jet lag drags him down, and he’s too fond of sleep to ignore the random urge to just lie down and never get up.jonghyun, ever the gentleman, brings up his bags for kibum, buzzing him into the sleek hannam-dong building, even though kibum already knows the code by heart.
jonghyun leads a bleary kibum inside, energy drained and eyes heavy. his body hurts from paris and missing seoul and plane flights, and jonghyun’s warm hand on the small of his back feels like heaven.
“bedtime,” jonghyun says, a small smile fixed to his lips, the same charming little tilt that kibum falls in love with every time he sees. he thinks he’ll fall in love with jonghyun half asleep in his hallway, he’ll fall in love with jonghyun at dingy gas stations and 11am lotte mart runs because he’s kibum and jonghyun is jonghyun and he’s still filled to the brim with parisian romance.
jonghyun’s bed is comfier. his bedroom is filled with sheet music and not a lot has changed since kibum was here last; four months ago, laid down staring at the ceiling anxiously while jonghyun drove him to the airport, silence between the two until jonghyun had cried into the crook of kibum’s neck at the departures gate.
it’s a double futon; not even a real bed frame, but an expensive floor-bed par jonghyun’s aesthetic. indents in the wall leave room for tiny pot plants they’d bought together. kibum’s apartment might be his own, but it feels like coming home.
he lies down by the wall, unapologetic and keeps his paris clothes on - ripped jeans and a commes des shirt. he hears jonghyun wheel in his luggage and the door close and kibum eyes screw shut when he asks himself again, what am i doing.
/
jonghyun writes love songs. he wakes before the sun does and presses words into paper and runs his long fingers along the string of his guitar. sometimes kibum will wake up and hear them, soft and distant and the sound of jonghyun's voice floating up and over the apartment, burying itself in his life.
square set back and broad shoulders, kibum leans up on one elbow and just watches and jonghyun plays. he sings about heartbreak and heartache but most of all he sings about love.
about drowning. falling and falling and being caught and kibum wakes up to the sounds of a poet. do you love me like that, he wants to ask, because jonghyun sings so softly and so full and he's kibum's everything all at once.
kibum chooses not to ask. the sun hasn't yet risen. it's early - too early to be considered proper. his elbow aches a little, as he continues to lean intently against the worn old sheets tugged across the mattress.
this time, it's the piano. back turned, jonghyun can't see kibum rub at his eyes softly and suppress a yawn. doesn't hear the sheets rustle as kibum stirs quietly. all jonghyun knows is the music, and he pauses singing to scribble down a set of notes on the blank sheet music scattered about the apartment. kibum's throat aches for coffee, but it's far too early for jog downstairs and stride two blocks down past the riverside to the tiny little cafe they always go to for breakfast on the weekend.
he stares at jonghyun for longer then he should, but there’s soft trendrils of jonghyun’s keyboard masquerading through the air. It makes kibum think of how many songs jonghyun wrote sitting by the river's edge in yeouido, strumming his guitar as he soaked in the smell of the fresh summer grass.
he feels like it’s just punched him in the gut, and he stares at jonghyun’s shoulders for a bit before falling asleep again.
/
“d’you want some coffee?” jonghyun asks kibum, once he’d emerged from the bedroom some days later, smiling briefly, to which kibum can only bemoan.
“no, oh god. tea. i’ve consumed more coffee then i have blood. it’s unhealthy.” jonghyun laughs the most charming smile kibum has ever heard and ducks out of the room.
“tea it is then.”
kibum wakes himself up, still bone-tired from jet lag but less sick. he shakes his head and touches the sides of his cheeks, ready to exfoliate for years. when he wanders into the lounge room of jonghyun’s apartment, the other boy is brewing tea in a teacup and glancing out the window over hannam.
the han looks prettier in the spring then any other season, kibum thinks. it reminds him of the seine, and the way the sun sets over the bridges and fine architecture. the metallic lines of seoul are a little different, but he finds familiarity in coming home.
“you want me to drive you back?” jonghyun asks quietly as they sip their tea together. kibum can only nod. he’s much overstayed his welcome in jonghyun’s presence. he finds himself despising the idea of leaving - only increasing the need to go all the more. he’s scared, he thinks, he’s so scared of this and kibum wishes he wasn’t such a coward.
“i watered your plants every thursday.” jonghyun says, smiling. “i didn’t have time to dust. your succulents missed you.”
“they’re plants jonghyun, they don’t have feelings.” jonghyun pouts in response, hiding a laugh.
“well. i missed you.” he says instead, and kibum’s heart stops in his chest. he hides behind his tea, weak in the knees because he’s so in love with jonghyun that he can’t help it.
“you’re an insufferable flirt.” kibum informs jonghyun smoothly, going to sip at his tea again. he feels hungry, craving some form of japchae noodles. songpyeon. he misses korean food so much, he realises, and kibum’s stomach makes an ugly gurgle without his permission.
“hungry?” jonghyun raises an eyebrow, and kibum is bright red.
“we can stop off and get ddeokmanduguk, if you want.”
“please.” kibum says. please.
/
they eat at a bunsik place two blocks away from kibum’s place together, kibum giggling over jonghyun’s facial expressions as he blows on the soft dumplings. a few expats wander in, itaewon full of foreigners. sometimes, kibum speaks english to the waiters instead of korean, watching jonghyun’s brows furrow in confusion.
jonghyun asks kibum about his trip and kibum riddles off small little details about paris. jonghyun talks about a new artist sm had just signed. he can;t say much, he says, but kibum recognises that glint in his eyes. he’s excited. kibum promises to look out for a ‘taeyong’ in music stores when his solo mini drops.
they walk home in silence, the sun barely setting over the city. kibum can see the namsan tower from his doorstep, part of the reason he doesn’t have the heart to leave his place and find a hostel by the park where loud yonsei students play soccer and kibum likes to read.
jonghyun carries kibum’s luggage from his car and kibum realises with an embarrassing start that he’s been wearing the same clothes for almost three days. gross. jonghyun doesn’t seem to think so, tipping his head and beaming until his smile fades into little moons.
“text me. we’ll meet up with the others for meat sometime.” jonghyun says expectantly. kibum thinks he’ll shower first. make tea. put his plants on the balcony and let them drain, because no doubt jonghyun has overwatered his new zealand black fern like he always does.
he’ll put on an old forty-five that will make him think of paris and kibum will slowly bleed back into life in seoul. it sounds ideal enough that he believes this is okay and this is right.
“lunch. we can get k-barbecue in apujeong,” kibum laughs, loose and uneasy from sleep. “text jinki. we’ll catch up after i unpack.”
“sounds like a plan.” jonghyun smiles, and he looks beautiful underneath the dimmed light of itaewon. mysterious. “rest well kibum.” jonghyun says, and kibum waves his fingers for a second before he buzzes himself up and the door opens. when he looks behind him, jonghyun is already gone.
/
marie claire calls him, half an hour before he’s meant to be in bed, attempting to worm a sleep schedule back into his life. he’s brushing his teeth, and spits out what he can of the foam before he answers.
they wanted to know if he was still in paris; if he was available to meet them at the arc de triomphe eor for a morning shoot tomorrow. he’d laughed, and apologised.
“i’m back in korea,” he’d said. “my agent was supposed to call.”
thinking about modelling makes his head hurt, but he thinks that likes it enough to keep him afloat. enough to pay for his far-too-lavish four month paris escapes, yves saint handbags and handmade hermés leather bands.
he’ll text yesung in the morning. see if maps wants anything to do with him, or nylon, or even another, smaller studio. he puts his phone down and plugs it in by his hairdryer and finishes brushing his teeth, thinking about birds flying over rich french architecture in paris and the way cream cobbles and blotted skies had felt pressed against his clippy boots.
/
he sees sunyoung before he sees the rest of them. he’s not sure why he’s anxious; sending post cards and the rest. the occasional email. replying to taemin’s jabs on kakao with funny looking stickers. on his first day in paris, jinki had emailed him a singular link. 10 most pretentious things to do in paris. he’d snorted, still in the arrivals section of the airport, mooching off of the parisian wifi.
sunyoung’s been his coordi for two years, his friend for four. he’d met her while he was still on a gap-year that had somehow spanned across to what was his life now; modelling part time, small visits to bars in mapo-gu and eating kimbap with jonghyun when they both were hungry.
“oppa you look tired.” she says, but jonghyun knows it’s nothing close to an insult. he manages a tight smile, finding a seat in the tiny cafe. he sets down his yves saint bag by his feet and she eyes it with practised appreciation.
“new bag? no wonder you came home early. what’d that cost? a return ticket?”
kibum has to hide a playful glare. “i missed you too.”
she grins, and the light makes her skin shine. “you know i missed you oppa. i loved your postcard. next time, instead of sending me fragrance cards, just buy me the perfume. i fell in love with the narsisco rodriguez.”
“i’d be even broker then i am,” kibum laments, and sunyoung does laugh. he misses her laugh. he misses seoul. drip feeding, he reminds himself, drip by drop he’ll get used to loud busy fast korea. paris was so slow.
they’re playing trot music in the cafe, an old melody that kibum can sink easily into. the kind of old music jonghyun listens to, but on his cracked iphone and not a fancy record player. jonghyun might be old school, but he understands the convenience of spotify.
“when did your plane land?” sunyoung queries, their drinks arriving inbetween small snippets of obligatory small talk between distant friends. he spoke to sunyoung twice in paris, both times about work. once about his vogue shoot with balmain and the second about coming home early.
“three days ago. hyung picked me up. i-uh crashed at his for a bit.”
she raises a brow, and sips at her americano. the smell makes his heart twist, and he glances down at his green tea.
“jonghyun?”
“yeah.” he sounds hoarse.
she nods. “have you seen anyone else? i’m sure there’s quite a line for people that want to see you.” she’s probably not wrong, but kibum’s still stuck in the steady first gear of france, changing gears will take some time.
“just hyung. and you. i called yesung, to talk work. i’m…drip feeding.” kibum is being thoughtful again. he hides a smile.
“drip feeding.” she smirks. “figures hyung would see you first. he’d show it off too. ‘kibummie stayed at my house before he stayed at yours’ or ‘i picked kibummie because i’m his favourite’.” she laughs carelessly, into her coffee.
“it’s nothing like that.” he says, meek. sunyoung knows better.
“sure thing, oppa.”
/
eating with taemin is always a mess. a loud mess. he’s twenty two this year, kibum realises, and remembers him at sixteen, long hair in a pony tail hidden behind a now outdated hat and sunglasses, the oddest looking boy he’d ever seen in his life. taemin still climbs onto rooftops these days, albeit instead of watching the clouds like he used to, carries around a ski-mask and a set of spray cans and drags jongin around tagging street signs.
when he gets arrested, kibum had made all of their friends promise to never post bail. he doesn’t deserve their mercy.
they leave the meat grilling to minho, who studiously manages to keep the heat steady, attempting to fend off a picky taemin who tries to take jabs at the beef.
no, minho says with his eyes, bad taemin. kibum’s heart swells with longing.
“so hyung.” taemin says, mouth full of stolen beef. minho looks furious. “why’d you come back to seoul so early?”
he’s squashed in-between jonghyun, who’s scrolling through his phone with a hand on kibum’s knee, as if it was made to be there, and a silent jinki, glancing here and there at vague things in the restaurant.
minho and taemin sit opposite the three of them, far too elbow-y in the booth.
jonghyun looks up then, curious, and kibum ducks his head. “i broke my camera.” he says, leaving out the ‘i spent all my money on a handbag and couldn’t afford my lavish suite anymore’
taemin looks throughtful. “how’d it break?”
jonghyun looks at kibum like he’s asking if it’s okay for kibum to talk about it - like his 500d is a close friend recently passed away. if someone were to ask, he’d have to say it was an apt description of the situation.
“i dropped it in front of the théâtre des champs elysées.” he says, enunciating the french smoothly. minho looks mildly impressed. kibum’s always been the most worldy of them all - minho and jinki haven’t even left korea yet.
“that sounds fancy and french.” taemin’s nose wrinkles. “like those pretentious performance art shows you drag me to sometimes.”
he doesn’t even look guilty. “you liked the german ballerino,” he points out. “you said it was ‘kinda cool’.” he manages air quotes and everything, and taemin shrugs.
“it was cool.”
and that’s that.
jinki talks about his work in tv - he’s scriptwriting now, kibum discovers. taemin is still dancing, a backup dancer for one of those pretty new idol groups. he talks about enlistment until minho has a nervous glint in his eyes once it’s brought up, relaxing only when the subject changes to his business degree and then his soccer team on the side.
they squabble over meat and sides once minho has finished cooking, taemin flicking rice into minhos hair and kibum squawking in laughter when jinki unexpectedly initiates a food fight. he laughs low and heavy until it curls into his chest and he leans into jonghyun’s arm, slapping it furiously with his loud, carefree squeal of a laugh and he thinks yes, the thought takes root in his chest, and he hopes it stays there. yes, i am happy.
/
two mornings later, kibum receives a text from jonghyun.
come bed shopping with me
08:21
kibum was sipping tea then, scrolling through his laptop, deleting photos taken accidentally. he eyes the 500d sitting on his desk, the lens still split and he exhales before picking up his phone.
where and when
08:22
jonghyun’s reply is immediate
we can take the subway to apujeong
08:23
i’ll b at ur door in twenty
08:23
kibum swallows fondness, sends a small thumbs up emoji in reply and sets his laptop onto his coffee table, getting up to get ready.
/
jonghyun looks brighter today. it’s hard to put into words, but he does. maybe it’s the way he smiles at kibum when he ducks out of his apartment, blowing a stray hair out of his face, or the way he talks about his new title track and how he’d had the melody stuck in his chest for a while now.
“your skin is very shiny today.” he notes, which seems strange and odd on his lips, in hindsight, but jonghyun accepts the compliment prettily.
“thank you,” he murmurs. “new moisturiser.”
“you’ll have to get me a bottle.” he scrunches up his nose. “i don’t think paris agreed with my face.”
jonghyun tips his head. their train will be at the station in a few minutes now. an ajumma brushes past them to wait, too, and kibum sidles a little into jonghyun’s side.
his hyung takes his hand, softly, as if instinctive. it makes kibum shiver. it’s the cold of the station, he tells himself, and your raf simmons tee.
“everything agrees with your face kibum-ah. your face is very agreeable.”
he jabs jonghyun in the elbow, and hopes it gets the message across. they’re still holding hands when kibum gets on the train, anxious. he doesn’t know what it means.
/
“i just want a bigger bed,” jonghyun explains. kibum thinks his own bed is far too big. it feels empty. he remembers when jonghyun used to fall asleep on it, after eating too much samgak gimpap. their legs tangled. it feels right then. he doesn’t like sleeping alone.
the suite in paris had a king, but kibum spent most of his time napping on the chaise lounge by the window, the arm rests wrought from gold.
“your bed seems fine,” kibum says, as they wander around the futon store in the coex mall. he really should let jonghyun be jonghyun, but he doesn’t like things changing. kibum gets attached to tiny things. like jonghyun’s comfy futon and his lavender fabric softener.
“it’s too small. i can’t sit up and play guitar while you read poetry books and articles about abstract impressionism. sodam wants her futon back anyway,” jonghyun rubs the back of his neck, and kibum hates the way he feels light air coarse through him.
the way jonghyun applies kibum to every aspect of his life makes his heart stop in his chest, and he thinks why, why did i have to fall in love like this?
/
weeks pass then. slow, methodical weeks. kibum drip feeds. meets up with people he’d missed, catches up on descendants of the sun and downloads all of the no. 1 tracks he’d neglected in paris, choosing slow, 50s melodies instead.
he falls back into seoul life. goes to brunch with jonghyun every morning. it feels normal, normal again. kibum can’t forget paris, can’t forget the way it made him feel, because every time he looks into jonghyun’s eyes he sees the seine at night.
/
nothing changes until winter. taemin’s dj friend has a gig at a bar in what is more gyeongnidan then itaewon. void bar is big and not-so crowded. off beat. a bit more alternative.
jonghyun’s dragged along as moral support and kibum in turn, because jonghyun’s clingy and kibum can’t say no.
the set is good. nice. upbeat. taemin introduces them to the dj - chanyeol, and he and jonghyun talk about music before it gets boring and taemin demands they buy drinks.
chanyeol brings his friends to sit with them at the bar, and then there’s seven of them; chanyeol, his friends zitao and sehun, taemin and jongin, then jonghyun and kibum.
they pick a booth that’s far too small, and kibum’s pressed into jonghyun’s lap with a lemon mojito in his hands.
“cranberry vodka is a girls drink,” taemin whines, loud. “tell them jongin.”
kibum laughs. he doesn’t really know why. he is quite drunk. jonghyun’s far more sober, but kibum’s alcohol tolerance has always been higher then jonghyun anyway.
“did you like the show?” he asks jonghyun, curling into his neck. he’s always so pathetic once he’s been drinking. jonghyun eyes him with something strange and mysterious and he looks untouchable under the neon bar lighting, even though all of kibum seems to be touching jonghyun; he’s warm warm warm.
at half one, jonghyun says it’s time to go home. he leads a tipsy kibum out of the booth, detaching him like a koala, removing kibum’s lips from his neck.
he staggers, and jonghyun holds him up. he’s so strong. kibum feels like he’s drowning then, and clings to jonghyun to hold him up.
“lets go to the beach.” he mumbles into jonghyun’s neck. he’s so warm. when jonghyun leads him outside, kibum shivers, feeling exposed and drunk and clingy, needy. jonghyun takes off his big leather jacket and secures it around kibum’s shoulders.
it smells like him, oddly, but not.
“too cold for the beach.” jonghyun says, kibum leaning into him.
“i feel sick,” he moans, wiping his forehead. kibum stumbles some, and jonghyun goes to catch him. protective. he winds a possessive arm around kibum and the younger man leans into the touch. he craves it.
it burns his skin, jonghyun’s presence.
“i’m taking you home.” jonghyun declares, so kibum understands, and leads him away from the club to the sidewalk where they can call a taxi. kibum doesn’t move, startingly drunk.
he leans, back and then some, pulling jonghyun weakly toward him. he’s so drunk. it’s unbelievable. he doesn’t understand what he’s doing, only what he wants. he wants jonghyun.
carefully. kibum moves, he takes until he can’t think, and jonghyun stutters out his name. scared. kibum leans down and kisses him, drunk and hazy. he keens, at some point, because jonghyun’s mouth is hot. and he hopes, for a second that this, this is what they have.
and then he’s opening his eyes when jonghyun realises what they’ve done, pushing kibum away with wild eyes.
“h-how long?” jonghyun asks, hoarse, sober enough to speak, drunk enough to forget. how long have you wanted me?
“always,” kibum cries, “always,” and then proceeds to throw up on the street.
/
kibum falls into jonghyun’s bed, and he tries not to cry, drunk. the bed they’d bought together.
the one jonghyun plays guitar on, with his back against the wall and his notebooks laid out around him. he was right, of course, there is enough room for them both then, for kibum to fall asleep with his head on jonghyun’s outstretched leg, the sounds of softy acoustic guitar falling on eager ears.
it’s not as comfy as sodam-noona’s futon, that’s for sure, but kibum loves it just the same.
he’s drunk, and sleepy.
“hyung,” he calls, voice sticky with tears. jonghyun looks vacantly drunk, the kind of glassy eyes he wears when they go to violin performances together and he cries silently afterward, kibum teasing him in the back of the car.
“come to bed with me.” he says.
“that,” jonghyun runs a hand through his hair. “is a bad idea.”
it is. it is. it is. but kibum wants, and he’s never wanted so badly. he wants to pretend, for one night, just one, that maybe this is what they have and maybe this could be real.
“hyung please,” he pleads, and he wants to curl up and cry. if jonghyun were to say no, that’s what he would do. but jonghyun is inclined, just like kibum is inclined to nothing but jonghyun, and he slides into the covers beside kibum.
neither of them say anything, until kibum opens his mouth.
“you’re drunk, baby,” jonghyun interrupts the endearment hits kibum’s ears and he falls, deeper and deeper and deeper. “go to sleep.”
kibum tries not to cry. he falls asleep, his legs tangled with jonghyun’s and his lips on his throat, the sticky feeling of jonghyun’s arm around him, guiding him drunk down the sidewalk burned into his skin, his heart breaking a hundred times over.
/
he wakes up, hungover and panicked. oh, is his first thought, and then no, and then guilt. kibum untangles himself from jonghyun and stumbles home. he doesn’t even leave a note.
he sends a text, barely conscious.
sorry. work stuff. yesung called, he sends, and then he puts his phone away for a bit then doesn’t reply.
taemin calls him an hour later, on his home telephone and not his iphone. that’s strange enough to warrant kibum picking up the phone. he sounds hungover and lovesick when he answers. he is.
“hyung?” taemin says, voice still a little heavy. he sounds wrecked.
“t-taemin.”
“what happened with jonghyun hyung. last night?”
kibum swallows. “nothing. i don’t-“ he breathes in. “i’m not talking about it.”
taemin is silent. then, “i’m coming over.”
/
kibum swears he isn’t going to say anything to taemin. about anything. he swears. but his dongsaeng wanders in with omurice takeout and cheap soju and has kibum close to tears in the span of a few hours.
“why’d you go to paris hyung?”
kibum wants to burp. he’s very nearly wanting to curl up in taemin’s thin arms and sob. everything is bad right now and it’s all his fault.
he sniffles, instead. “i’ve always wanted to go.”
“normal people go on holidays to paris. you left for months. did something happen?”
kibum’s not drunk enough to confess his secrets just yet. taemin moves them to kibum’s bed, so he can lean his head against the back of the wall and think about how bad his hangover is going to be.
“nothing happened taeminnie. adult stuff.”
“i’m twenty one.” taemin scowls. kibum laughs.
“you’re still a baby,” he reminds their youngest. his head throbs with the feeling of being full of soju and full of food, and he wonders who will wipe the sweat off of his forehead as he throws up into the toilet. not jonghyun.
“stop changing the subject. what happened at the bar?”
“nothing,” kibum repeats. “nothing happened.” that’s the problem, that’s the entire thing. nothing happened.
taemin’s eyes go alive, like they do when he’s dancing. excited. he knows. oh god. he knows. kibum wants to cry.
“hyung,” he says, cautious. “hyung what happened?”
kibum breaks. “he doesn’t want me.” he sobs, into the white of taemin’s shirt, suddenly outstretching his hands to cling to something human. kibum feels pathetic, disgusting and pathetic and he doesn’t know what to do.
taemin’s hands run down his back, soothing. he waits a while before he speaks, letting kibum cry.
“hyung, are you in love with jonghyun-hyung?” taemin asks, and it hurts, it hurts so much and he sobs louder, curling into taemin’s embrace.
he’s never said it out loud, but he does now. “yes,” he cries. “yes.”
/
jonghyun doesn’t know what he did
12:32
u should answer his texts
12:32
hyung he doesn’t remember the bar
12:32
he says he remembers falling asleep with you
12:32
nothing else
12:33
just go see him
12:34
/
taking taemin’s advice is never a good idea. but kibum does. it takes him nearly a week, but he does.
“hi,” he says, to jonghyun, as soon as he sees him. he tucks his own hair behind his ears.
“i’m sorry.” is all he says. he doesn’t explain. jonghyun’s already nursing an americano when he sees kibum. he looks thoughtful for a long time.
“it’s okay, kibum-ah. taemin says something happened. i’m sorry, about whatever it is.”
he really doesn’t remember. kibum feels like throwing up. jonghyun looks exhausted.
“i’ve been ignoring you. it’s-it’s nothing. i-i just needed some distance. that was unfair of me. i’m sorry.”
“you don’t need to explain,” jonghyun smiles, so understanding, and then silence breaks out across the cafe and nothing.
kibum fiddles with his fingers, and he wonders why this all had to go bad.
“i’m a little tired of itaewon,” kibum admits, when jonghyun asks how he’s been. the smell of coffee isn’t making him sick anymore. usually, jonghyun shares in his drinking of tea, but not today.
he’s anxious. he hasn’t seen jonghyun in a while - their itaewon bar incident burned between the two. if jonghyun notices how awkward he is, he doesn’t say. kibum’s grateful, or maybe he’s just stupid.
“just move in with me,” jonghyun says, stirring his mug with a small shrug. kibum feels tiny here, the hongdae cafe almost overflowing with customers. he thinks about the solace of paris, and winter and just how inoubliable the city had been.
“there are such things as leasing contracts, jjong.” kibum reminds him resolutely, rubbing his temples and swallowing. it’s awkward, because he doesn’t know how to act, and he doesn’t know how jonghyun can be so casual.
do you even remember, he wants to ask, do you remember how you recoiled when i touched you, when i put my lips against yours? do you remember how scared you were. of me. of me?
“so buy out of it,” jonghyun shrugs. he grins then, dead gorgeous. kibum hates him, for being so stupidly perfect. “what could be better then living with me?” he asks, still smiling.
anything, kibum pleads with himself, fucking anything oh my god.
“i-i can’t. hannam is too expensive for me anyway. i’m thinking about a hostel or something.”
“bull.” jonghyun grumbles, mood dampened. “i won’t let you live in one of those college housing things. that’s not even liveable. you don’t even have to pay rent,” he says, imploring. jonghyun is saying too many things, most of them disgustingly nice and kibum can’t handle it. he sits up, delicately on his seat and ducks his head.
you’re too fucking nice to me. kibum pushes his plate of cake away from himself, suddenly lost his appetite for consuming food as a whole. jonghyun looks up at kibum expectantly.
“sodam owns the place. we’ll split for groceries and bills and whatever. you love cooking, my kitchen is huge and i never use it.”
kibum can’t. he closes his eyes.
“you don’t-“ he breathes in. ”it’s seriously fine. jjong, seriously-“
“kibum no.” why won’t he just drop it, kibum demands, heaving a breath. “it’s perfect, and you’re always at mine anyway.”
“can you just drop it, please.” kibum pleads.
“it’s a good idea i mean-“
“jjong.”
“but why-“
“jonghyun!” he yells, and every customer in the cafe turns to glance his way. oh no. now he feels even tinier. jonghyun physically recoils from him, like he was a snake, ready to strike. kibum feels tiny little tears pool in the corners of his eyes. he pushes his chair out, watching jonghyun’s hurt expression wrinkle up. fuckfuckfuck, he thinks grabbing his saint laurent and standing up.
“i-i-” he doesn’t know what to say. jonghyun opens his mouth but kibum thinks that his voice is just going to make everything worse and he just shakes his head no. every customer watches him as he leaves, and kibum wanders out of mapo-gu with his head down, as if every eye in seoul is staring at him and nothing else.
/
it rains for nine solid hours that thursday. kibum spends the day in bed, curled up in his own futon, the space disgustingly unfamiliar but somehow better then anything else. he leaves his phone in the sink and forgets about it, forgets about anything else but this big stupid ache in the pit of his chest.
he’s sure he’s receiving plenty of texts, asking about where he is, jonghyun apologising. kibum hasn’t looked at his phone in a while. it’s winter in seoul and he misses paris.
/
on the friday, when he’s cleaning his apartment up, he finds jonghyun’s leather jacket in the laundry. it doesn’t smell like lavender fabric softener, but the lemon stuff, the stuff that he knows taemin uses sometimes.
he doesn’t know why, but he cries about it. because he’d fallen in love with lavender scented fabric softener and it’s not there anymore. he falls asleep on his sofa with the leather jacket in his arms, and he feels more pathetic then he’s ever felt in his life.
/
two days later, after half a weak of sitting around and crying about everything, he gets sick. kibum feels his fever coming on, and it hurts. his nose hurts and his head is screaming at him. everything is blurry, he wants to curl up forever and never wake up.
after downing all of his flu medicine he can find, kibum staggers to the bathroom. finds his phone in the sink. his eyes are a little glassy, making everything kinda hard to see. he mashes the screen, keying his passcode in. kibum might just pass out.
he sends a text, to who he hopes is taemin. kibum can’t see, he can’t think.
help, he texts, im sick.
he places the phone back down, sneezes blood all over his fingers and makes a sound of sobbing disgust. he takes a towel with him to bed. everything is hot hot hot and hurt hurt hurt and he wants to feel better.
somebody opens his bedroom door, at some point. taemin, he thinks, come to fix him with bitchy comments and ‘i dont know how to make fucking soup’
“it hurts,” he moans, to what he supposes is taemin. the hand that comes to rest against his forehead in worry is unfamiliar-ly large for a taemin-sized hand. it’s probably the fever. kibum falls asleep then, sickness dragging him under.
/
he dreams about jonghyun.
“you changed your fabric softener!” he cries, to dream jonghyun, who only tries to sooth him, hold him in place.
“no!” he yells, “it’s not fair-!”
it isn’t. it isn’t fair.
/
when he wakes, the smell of juk is floating through the apartment and he doesn’t feel as on fire as he did before. just sick. his head pounds, and his nose is thick with what must be flem.
“your fever broke.” a voice says, dragging a hand through his hair. kibum blinks, eyes cracked with broken skin and tear stained cheeks. he hates being sick. he looks up, and he’s resting his head against jonghyun’s chest, a thick arm drawn around him. kibum is curled around himself, shivering.
“jjong-“ he stammers, expecting taemin. not this.
“shh,” jonghyun says, his hand stroking the side of kibum’s sweaty face. kibum wants to sob, his heart stopping in his chest. jonghyun is here, he’s here and it’s not okay. “you texted me two keysmashes at three in the morning. i was so worried.”
“b-but,” he croaks. i texted taemin, he wants to say. obviously, he did not. kibum hates his fever-induced haze, for everything.
he stops himself, screwing his eyes closed. his head pounds, and he wants to go back to sleep.
“taemin told me-“ jonghyun has to pause. “taemin told me what happened. that night.”
kibum winces, and tries to extract himself from jonghyun. it’s not very successful. he’s weak, barely awake, and the thermus that is jonghyun sears through him, all the way to the fingers curled in his shirt unconciously.
“you talk in your sleep, you know?” jonghyun laughs, uneasy, and kibum wants to go. be anywhere but here, having to come to terms with his overwhelming love for his best friend.
“you called out for me. twice. i had to break your fever, but you were crying and shaking.” jonghyun looks close to tears himself, and kibum screws his eyes shut, pushing it all away, willing this away.
“i’m sorry.” kibum says, hoarse. “i’ll get over it - i-i promise. i-“
jonghyun stiffens. “you really don’t know?” he cuts kibum off, quietly persistant. kibum’s a sniffly sick mess, and jonghyun’s hand is still running through his hair.
“i was scared. that night. because you were drunk,” jonghyun explains. “you were drunk and i didn’t want it to mean nothing.”
he takes his time. he sounds breathless, like it’s taken years of running for jonghyun to be here where kibum waits. “i didn’t want it to mean nothing because you’re everything to me.”
it’s kibum’s turn to cry. he can't stop the sob that escapes him as he pulls jonghyun into his arms, burying his face in jonghyun’s neck. the position is horrible and awkward, but it doesn't matter. nothing matters but the fact that jonghyun's arms are wrapping around him, too, and that jonghyun is saying kibum’s name into his ear, soft and longing.
he’s tentative and possessive, when he holds kibum, and jonghyun doesn’t speak for a while.
“you asked me-“ kibum starts, “you asked me how long. and i said always, hyung always.”
jonghyun’s half shivering, a sickly kibum in his arms. “it’s always been you, hyung. paris. everything.”
somehow, things begin to fall into place. little bits of insecurity have been filled in. everything comes full circle and it all fits. like the way kibum fits into jonghyun’s arms.
jonghyun kisses kibum’s forehead, pushing his hair away. he’s sweaty and sick, delirious and ready to pass out.
he finds sleep smothering him again, unconsciousness like a lapping tide taking kibum in and dragging him out. “it’s always been you,” kibum falls asleep saying, eyes littered closed. even unconscious, he can feel the heavy weight of jonghyun’s arms around him, and the feeling of his heart hurting in his chest.
/
kibum wakes up alone. jonghyun is pouring juk into bowls.
“here. my mother used to make it for me and noona when we had the flu. cured everything.”he feels a little more human after jonghyun spoon feeds it to him. his stomach full, but still weak he lies on his side for a while and tries to decide what’s real and what isn’t.
kibum hates, being sick.
jonghyun slides into bed with him again, holding a shivering kibum close to him. kibum hides his face in jonghyun’s neck, belonging nowhere else in the world.
“you’re gonna get sick too.” kibum whines, drowsy. he can’t wait until he’s better and he can finally kiss jonghyun without fear clawing up and down his throat.
jonghyun makes a grumbling sound. something like i don’t care. maybe he doesn’t. kibum kisses the side of jonghyun’s neck, burrowing in a little deeper, worming closer. jonghyun’s arms widen to accomodate him, then tighten again.
/
“i still have your jacket,” kibum reminds jonghyun, tilting his head in it its general direction on his sofa in the lounge room over.
“keep it.” jonghyun says, husky or hoarse or a lot of both. kibum thinks it might be his morning voice, or the beginning of kibum’s cold crawling up his throat.
“keep it so everybody knows you’re mine.”
definitely husky. and hoarse. both. it’s disgustingly attractive, and kibum shivers where he lay, in jonghyun’s embrace.
“yours,” he murmurs, agreeing. he falls asleep, not for the first time. when he closes his eyes, he’s content. and he dreams about paris. about paris and the louvre and the architecture, and the expensive suite they’d both fall asleep in. he dreams about taking jonghyun’s hand as they wander across bridges, and watch the sky sing.
they'll get there one day, kibum knows. they'll see paris together. right now, they're happy. he's happy.
“i love you,” jonghyun says into his hair.
“je t’aime,” kibum says back, i love you, winding their fingers together, as the sun sets over the seine.