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“Any plans of going shopping?” Kibum asked, his voice sweetened with fake innocence.
“Hm? What for?”
“That bra you’re so clearly in need of.”
His deadpan delivery about Minho’s chest earned an outburst of laughter from Jinki and Taemin. Minho, on the other hand, only shook his head. He was about to retort, his mouth half open, a smirk on his lips, when the knock on the door halted them all into their professional selves.
“Yes?” Jinki looked at the others—neither of them expecting guests in the dressing room so soon after getting down the stage.
But when the door opened, it was clear what the Stray Kids members came for. “Congratulations on the win,” said Bang Chan, a quick exchange of pleasantries behind them.
“It was a close call.”
“Still.” He flashed a smile. “Very much deserved.”
“And we're happy to see you back, hyung,” Seungmin added, giving Jinki a thumbs up. “But be prepared—the next music show? Our win.”
A rich laughter erupted as the group began to make their way out of the room, Taemin threatening Hyunjin that they would fail, Bang Chan making sure they were all out.
All except one.
Once the door shut, Felix shuffled his feet. “I just wanted to say that you're my inspiration,” he said in Kibum's direction.
Although nice, his stance was unexpected. Kibum frowned, thinking that they were way past such empty statements.
But before he had a chance to question it, the boy added, “Honestly, your relationship gives me so much hope.”
Relationship? What relationship? Kibum blinked in confusion. The sudden revelation made him dizzy, and he wasn't in it alone—the silence that fell right after was proof of that.
“I know it’s not as open, but that's more than I’ve ever hoped for myself.” Felix looked at both Kibum and Minho, his bright smile undeniably full of hope. The two exchanged quick glances. Does he mean us?
“Wait, but they—”
Taemin got cut off by Minho wrapping his arm around Kibum's waist. “Thank you,” he said. “It must be tough, isn't it? Especially now, when your band got so big…”
“Actually—” Felix shuffled his feet again, not noticing Jinki's small groan. “That's somethin’ I wanted to talk to you about. I know you're flat out with the comeback and all, but would you be able to meet me? Just for a coffee, or something. It doesn’t have to be coffee, I hate coffee. I have a…a few questions, let's say. No pressure of course.” He waved his hands, his moves a bit too frantic. “If you don't have time, no worries, I fully understand, I get it's out of the blue and odd and—”
Kibum stole another glance at Minho, sensing that his friend's thoughts mirrored his own. He saw it in his eyes. If they have played along so far (all those few long minutes), they could've pushed it a bit further—after all, if one knew the hardships of living in a closet just because of being an idol, it was them.
“Sure.” Kibum nodded. “Just text me, and we’ll set the date.”
As soon as Felix left the room, Jinki vented out a much louder groan. “Horrible idea.”
“And what were we supposed to do?” Minho spinned on his heel, shedding his outfit as his voice went up. “Did you see his face? He's clearly stressed!”
“And you honestly think that lies are the solution?”
“I mean…” Minho hesitated. “He said ‘hope’. All he needs is reassurance. Remember when Kibum—?”
“No, Jinki’s right.” Kibum rubbed his face in frustration, giving Minho a short pat. They went too far. “That was a dumb idea. We should come clean when we meet him; he deserves the truth.” He sent Minho a tight smile, appreciating his stance despite all. They both wanted all the best for the younger idols, but pretending to be in a relationship was not the way. They were still able to comfort him without playing house.
“Oh, gee!” Taemin let out a sudden huff, blinking at them in relief. “Don’t do this to me! For a second, I thought I’d missed some details from SHINee lore.”
Kibum scoffed, imagining such a scenario. “Don't worry, honey , we’re not dating.”
“Phew.”
“And in fact,” he added, “I'm almost late for my date with Danny ‘cause of you. Any volunteers to give me a lift?”
***
Minho adjusted his seat, his arms crossed and feet jittering. Looking back, Jinki was right—what on Earth had he been thinking, pretending to date Kibum even for a second? Playing along for a variety show was one thing, but this? Madness. Pure madness.
Even if it made his heart blossom with warmth.
He groaned. “It's gonna be so awkward.”
“Better than leading him on,” Kibum countered, strangely adamant about the matter. “Just leave it to me.”
But as soon as Felix entered their private room in the café, Kibum's eyes lit up with the brightness of a thousand bulbs. “Thank you so much for your time,” said Felix, handing them two orange bags with Louis Vuitton's logo on the side. “This is for you.”
“That's way too expensive—”
Kibum dove into the package, a gasp torn out of his throat immediately.
“Not at all.” Felix seemed unbothered. “And, trust me, this—” he pointed at them. “This’s worth way more than that.”
With a heavy sigh, Minho gave up. On the way, he’d also lost his friend—Kibum bored into him with his eyes rounded up and lips pressed in a tight line. He wasn't going to take the lead, was he?
“Actually—” Minho was ready to take over, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Kibum squeezed his thigh, effectively stealing his voice.
“Actually,” Kibum picked up, “we’re more than happy to help you. But Ming’s right; you shouldn't have.”
His hand scorched Minho’s jeans, leaving a palm-shaped print. Clearly, Kibum had no idea what effect it had on Minho—or rather, what effect it had now, with Minho's brain entertained by a mere snapshot of a fantasy in which they were dating. He brushed his hair back. If he couldn't have Kibum in real life, he could at least enjoy a fake trial, no? A simulation, if one will. And if there was one person who would benefit from all of it, it would be Felix, and not him. What was wrong with that?
“So here's the thing,” Felix started after placing their orders. “I'm gay. I assume you figured as much.” Both of them nodded, giving him space to voice out his thoughts. “The industry is…as it is. So is Korea—homophobic. At least, compared to Australia. But seeing you two, I figured there's a chance for me too. Maybe you have a solution.”
He paused at the knock on the door. The waitress entered the room to serve them their drinks (Americano for Minho and Kibum, and a peach soda ice tea for Felix) and disappeared.
Once they were left alone, Kibum sighed. “I'm afraid there's no solution, really.”
“I know…” Felix tapped on his glass, his eyes downcast. “But if you two are happy, there has to be something.”
“If I may…” Minho wetted his lips. “Is there anyone in particular you think of, or just general curiosity…?”
“Chris.” Bang Chan . It made sense. “I don't think he knows, and I know that his orientation is not an issue, but—”
“But you're still scared.” Kibum finished Felix's thought with a bittersweet smile. “I get it.”
Minho looked at Kibum, a squeeze in his heart stronger than ever. He got it too. The part about fear. After all, how long had he been sidestepping his own feelings? Trying to ignore the unsettling prickle upon his skin, Minho crossed his legs, an ankle anchored with the knee, but Kibum's hand merely moved, sliding from his thigh to the shin.
As if it meant nothing.
And maybe it didn't; they had never shied away from skinship, not between each other, not between other members too. Yet, in this particular moment, Minho felt suffocated.
“In my opinion,” he said, glancing down at Kibum's hand, “the question is what is most important to you. Is it fame, the team, or your happiness? If it's the former, don't even bother with the risk. Not worth it.”
Felix looked at him, clearly surprised.
“Personally, I don't care about fame,” Minho said. “I care about doing what I like and SHINee as my team. But too many things can go wrong…”
As if understanding where he's coming from, Kibum picked up, “The times may be different, but for both better and worse. People are somewhat more accepting, but then social media is hell.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You should also remember that whatever your decision may be, you might never have a chance to properly come out.”
“Right.”
“Honestly, I'm fine in my glass closet, but…It's not always been that easy.”
Minho felt another squeeze. He didn’t need a reminder to know the type of insults aimed at Kibum, nor the amount of ‘faggots’ he had heard to describe the man. Without hesitation, he reached for Kibum’s hand.
“Thanks, babe ,” he heard Kibum's whisper, before he continued, this time towards Felix, “And the thing is…not everyone is fine with that.”
“With the closet?”
“With dating in secret. I guess, for Minho and I it's fine since both of us need to keep it low, but if you try to date an outsider…” Kibum laughed, his bitterness tinting the sound. “Let's just say, they may think it’s a choice.”
Minho rubbed his thumb over Kibum's skin. He knew all too well which boyfriend Kibum had referenced, and hoped to comfort his friend with the touch.
“Honestly,” Felix said, “what I'm scared of the most is the band. One, that they will suffer because of me, two, that making a move on Chris may cause a rift between us.”
“Yeah, that's the dilemma.” Kibum sucked on his teeth, slowly retreating his hand. “And the worst is, you will never know unless you do it.”
“What made you risk it, then?”
Kibum pressed his lips as if to evaluate his words. “I mean, look at him,” he said at last, his tone a few shades lighter. “It took me years to even figure out he isn't straight.” He laughed at Minho's exasperated gasp, adding quickly, “The last thing I wanted was to fall for a straight dude.”
“You thought I was straight ? You have to be kidding me!”
“ Babe .” Kibum looked at him, mischievous sparks in his eyes. “I thought you're taking the piss out of me when you came out. Your passing is so good, no one suspects.”
“Biphobia!” Minho roared with laughter as well. It was an odd break from all the heavy topics. “Plus, I didn't look like that back then!”
“Yeah, it was worse. And that constant yapping about sports? Football this, football that…”
“I was anxious around women!”
“Case in point. I had more experience with them than you. Me! In my eyes, you were just a scared virgin!”
Minho clicked his tongue, frowning at Kibum despite his teeth on display. “I swear, I hate you sometimes,” he grunted.
“ Please, honey. You love me.”
And for once, Minho didn't try to deny it. Looking in his eyes, it was even harder to lie to himself. He was head over heels for Kibum, waiting for a day the other man would notice. All he needed was a sign; a gesture that would show him it's not one sided—that special wink of an eye, a touch of a hand...He saw it so many times, directed at others, he knew exactly what to await.
Yet, it never came.
Minho held Kibum's stare, their knees touching, when the knock on the door brought them back to reality.
“Apologies for interrupting,” said the waitress, sneaking inside, “but lunchtime is over. If you wish to order more, please, use the dinner menu. Thank you.”
She left before they had a chance to say anything, leaving Felix bulging his eyes at his watch. “ Shoot , it's that late? I gotta run, we have an interview in an hour!”
“Okay, then let's go—” Minho moved to collect his belongings, but Felix raised his hand.
“You two should stay. For dinner. In fact, I insist—my treat.” He seemed truly grateful, leaving them alone, although he did mention he still had a couple of questions. They agreed to meet one other time.
Once it was just the two of them, Minho exhaled a sigh of relief. He hadn’t even realised how tense he was from the act until his toes finally relaxed in his shoes.
“We're in deep,” he murmured, more to himself than Kibum. He should've stopped him, he should've stopped himself. Now, the lies were deep enough to take new roots, and the worst was he couldn't tell whether he felt more excited or terrified about it.
“Are you mad?” Kibum's question sneaked upon Minho like a whisper of a siren. The man leaned his head against the wall, his eyes boring into Minho's soul.
“Would you apologise, if I am?” Minho asked, already anticipating the response, yet the heavy silence made him quirk an eyebrow.
“Yeah, dream on.” Kibum leaped into the chair on the opposite side, his face hidden by the menu. Minho followed suit, his eyes glancing across the options as he took a deep breath.
“We should come up with a cohesive story,” he said. “If we're still doing this, that is.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno…Timeline?”
“After the military.”
“Who did the first move?”
“You. Obviously.”
“What? Why me?” Minho frowned, putting his menu down.
“Because you're obsessed with me. Keep up. Don't you read Twitter?”
Minho rolled his eyes on what Kibum smirked. But behind his annoyance, Minho felt a line of sweat dripping down his spine. “I forgot you're a tsundere cat,” he tried to cover his nerves.
“And you're a Golden Retriever, it all lines up.” Kibum looked at him, his soft chuckle matching the wrinkles around his eyes. “Jokes aside, I don't think we need a whole script, Mister Actor. I love being prepared like any other, but going with the flow will seem the most natural. Just speak from the heart. Or something ,” he added quickly, clicking on the bell to call the waitress.
***
Kibum opened his phone with a groan. “It seems we're being stood up.”
After a week, they had made plans with Felix for an exhibition—just them and art before a heavy talk. But as the meeting came closer, Felix texted them about a sudden change of plans.
“He promises a lunch in two days, if that's fine with us,” Kibum read outloud, sitting next to Minho. “Technically, I'm meeting Danny, but if we finish by 6, it should be fine. You?”
“Sounds good.” Minho stretched his legs out, pointing his toes up and down. “What about now? Fancy buying the tickets?”
“Why not. We're already here; it'd be a waste.” Kibum brushed his jeans down and checked his face—the museum window made a verdict that he didn't look too bad. He brushed a hair off of his lips, and when he glanced up, he noticed Minho staring at him. For a second, their gazes crossed, a moment before Minho turned on his heels, heading towards the ticket counter.
“Let's go,” he said, pulling his baseball cap over his face.
The exhibition they chose was right up Kibum’s alley—colourful, thought-provoking and inclusive, in the most subtle way. Kibum wondered whether Minho was able to catch all the nods and references too, but somehow he didn't think of asking. Instead, he peeked over, watching his friend lost in his thoughts. He knew Minho was a visual person above all, and yet, while seemingly captivated by the art, he stopped by each label, reading it in order to understand artists’ intentions.
Admirable.
“What do you think?”
“I like it.” Minho smiled at Kibum, their faces close as they leaned towards one of the labels. The piece was a looped recording of a beach, a double exposure flickering snapshots of an artist's daily life with his boyfriend. Domestic. Heartwarming. Something that Kibum yearned for whenever lying in bed on his own.
He straightened his back, his eyes still on Minho. “Remember that time you posted A-yo's rainbows on Insta?”
“What about it?”
“When I saw it, I thought it’s nice to be you. You post a selfie in the Pride collection, and they call you an ally. Me? I can eat a banana and become a cocksucker.”
“Bum…”
“No, it's fine.” He took a deep breath. “We're past the point I care. It's not like they are wrong, either, no?” He tried to smile, although crooked, and Minho pressed his lips, clearly lost at words.
“Don't think about it now,” he said at last, his hand on the small of Kibum's back. “We're here to enjoy ourselves.”
The gentle nudge he gave Kibum sent a thrill up his spine, but before the sensation had a chance to reach the end of his nerves, Minho withdrew his hand. He shoved it into his pocket and turned towards the next room, leaving Kibum's mind buzzing like a swarm of bees.
If Kibum didn't catch it before, now, he was even more aware of his friend’s presence—of his smile and walk, of the floral note of his cologne and that fresh scent of a fabric softener, too. He even noticed Minho taking pictures of the gallery and art of course, but often making sure that Kibum was in the frame too. Kibum followed closely behind, his gaze tracing the small curls at the nape of Minho’s neck, and while still taking snapshots of pieces he liked the most, he now started to ensure Minho was somewhere in the picture too.
“Art, huh?” Minho smiled at him, putting his glasses up his nose, while Kibum sent his selfie to Danny, thinking that this—his day with Minho—felt more like a date than anything he had done with Danny thus far.
***
Minho loved museums. Like Alice entering the other side of the mirror, he found it magical to experience other people's creation. It let him have a glimpse of the artists’ worlds, their views and inspirations, allowing him to learn about different ideas and absorb them deep into his pores. He loved the beauty of art, how it opened his eyes to other dimensions, to worlds he would never have seen otherwise. But this time was different; he was unable to focus.
He looked at all the expressive paintings and sculptures, at the breathtaking shapes and meanings, pondering about each. And yet, Kibum's figure shone the most, stealing his attention like a splash of colour in a sea of beige. His eyes persistently on his friend's back, Minho strolled the place, oddly happy with the fact that it was just the two of them. No Danny Koo around, nor Felix or SHINee members this time, only them and the murmur of the art. With his heart as light as butterflies wings, Minho paused at the painting of a man's torso, a smile teasing his lips as a particular pout came to his mind. Kibum did it whenever he was deep in his thoughts, and now it was Minho who found himself drifting away, lost in that memory. He hadn’t even noticed when Kibum stepped closer, now standing to his left.
“What do you think our first date would be like?” Mischief danced in Kibum's eyes, his stance fixed on the painting as if they were discussing the technique of the strokes only.
The question caught Minho off guard, but he closed his eyes and let his imagination take over, envisioning them together—scenes he’d dreamed of countless times. “Would there even be a date?” he mused after a moment. “I mean, we know each other so well that the line’d be a bit blurred, don't you think?”
“Oh, honey .” Kibum laughed. “No. No, no, no. You have to take me on a date.” He sauntered into the next room, his soft scoffs leaving a trail in the air.
Minho was left with his heart racing, his answer laced with a whisper of hope, “Sure, just let me know when.”
He knew it was meant to be a joke, a part of preparation for their charade, yet, his whole body shivered, a rush of blood bursting his nerves. He followed his friend into the next exhibition. For some time, there was only silence between them, a meaningful hush between insignificant glances, and a brief brush of their arms at the coincidental meet.
“Y’know, you can hold my hand,” Kibum said, his voice a wind chime despite its low tone. “Around Felix, I mean. Not in public, of course, but in the car or—
“...What about a kiss?”
Minho licked his lips. The words meant as a joke, turned heavy on his tongue, glass marbles rolling through his mouth. The silence stretched as their gazes locked. Minho considered taking it back, bursting into a laugh to lighten the mood, but it was too late; Kibum's expression was a mask, his pupils a deep sea of black.
“It would be excessive,” he finally replied. Minho watched him turn away, his scoff sounding somewhat less sincere than before. He was poised to press the issue, to reach for his chance, but Kibum showed him his hand, a red, round candy in the middle of his palm.
“Want one?”
Minho gaped. It was a cherry candy, its taste vivid in his memory despite the years that had passed since he last tasted it. Sweet. Sour. The perfect mix to make him dizzy.
“What? You don't like it?” Kibum was about to take his hand back, when Minho stopped him, the candy landing inside his pocket.
“No, I love it. It's my favourite.” He grinned, wrapping his arm around Kibum’s neck and leading him to the exit. He might’ve missed the opportunity to gather new ideas, but the cherry orb pulsated in his palm, the memory of the taste seeping through his every pore.
***
“You sure it's a good idea?”
“What?”
“You and Minho.”
Kibum frowned. It was only Jinki and him in the practice room, both of them lounging on the floor. The other two had already left, and so had the dancers, making the space feel oddly small.
“Why not?” he asked, standing up. He could feel the old man's eyes glued to his back, even though he truly didn't understand. There was no harm in what they did, not for now, at least. Hadn't they helped Felix gain some confidence? Wasn't that the whole purpose?
“I know.” Jinki stayed on the floor, his words tense at the edges. “About your crush.”
Kibum felt as if splashed with a bucket of ice water. “Wha—?”
“Jjong told me.”
“That motherf—”
“It's playing with fire, don't you think?”
Kibum sighed, rubbing his forehead. “It's been years. Who cares? I don't ‘crush’ on him anymore.” He looked Jinki in the eyes, hoping that his friend—no, his leader —could see he meant it. “It’s fine, really.” He understood where Jinki was coming from, but there was nothing to be worried about. “I don't feel anything romantic for him anymore, and hell would have to freeze over before that ever happens again.”
But the longer he stared into Jinki's eyes, the more uncomfortable he had felt.
The next meeting with Felix turned into a proper dinner, the three of them grilling their meat in another private room. Kibum leaned against his chair, his hand in Minho's tight grip, and the sizzling of the grill filling the space.
“Weren't you worried when coming out?” Felix turned the portion of his meat, his eyes set on Kibum.
“Not really.” His eyes drifted to Minho, recalling the time he had dropped the bomb on his members without thinking. “And if I was, I have no memory of that.”
“You went kinda defensive, if I remember right. ‘Either accept me as I am or fuck you’.” Minho laughed, bringing Kibum's hand to his lips. But he didn't kiss it—it was only a sham, smoke and mirrors to make Felix believe their act.
“Yeah. Sounds like me.” Kibum shrugged, locking his eyes with Minho, who smirked in response.
“Do you remember Taem's reaction?”
“Oh god.” Kibum turned to Felix with an eye roll. “That boy was so excited about meeting his first gay person that he spent the whole weekend researching about it.”
“And then, was a walking LGBT encyclopedia for the next two months.”
“Sounds nice.”Felix chuckled.
But Kibum rushed to correct him, “More like, embarrassing.” He laughed as well. “Well, the times were different. No one expected you to know at least one gay person, let alone accept them, no questions asked.”
He reached for his drink, the golden hue of the Manhattan reflecting the flames. Thinking about it now made him truly grateful for how indifferent, but at the same time supporting his bandmates were.
“So how did you know?” asked Felix. “That you want to get together?”
Kibum looked at Minho, curious. He was strangely antsy about the kind of story Minho made up, his hand in Minho's covering in sweat.
“I just…I just knew.” Minho cleared his throat, looking back at Felix. “I felt that pull towards him for years, but I guess it wasn't until the military when I realised I can't live without him.” He smiled, a sad edge stopping it from reaching his eyes. “Like…sure, obviously, we will always be in each other's lives as SHINee, but when he ghosted me, it hit me. It was not enough. I needed him. I needed him to be with me.”
The whole world became a blur for Kibum, only Minho still sharp in the periphery of his vision. He wondered whether it was a line from a show he had yet to see, or whether Minho prepared the lie on the spot. Whatever he did, it was working—he was such a magnificent actor to the point that Kibum started to believe it.
“I guess we’re soulmates, that's all,” added Minho, squeezing Kibum’s hand. “Whether friends or lovers, we belong to each other.”
And as the rest of the night spread through time, those words rang in Kibum’s ears without pause, warming him like a promise of a summer's day on a cold winter's night.
After they parted ways with Felix, it was still early—Kibum had plans with Danny, and he hoped he would make it on time. He was barely ready for this date, be it physically or mentally, his mind filled with everything they had said to the Stray Kids’ member. He glanced at Minho, who drove him back home, pondering whether his friend felt the same.
“Today was tough, huh?”
Minho chuckled with a nod. “It felt like…how to say it?”
“Interrogation?”
“Was going to say ‘interview’, but that fits even better.” He parked his Mini Cooper with a smile, his fingers tapping against the wheel. “So, you and Danny…” He cleared his throat. “What are the plans?”
“Dunno. We're meeting his friends in the club, I guess.” Kibum frowned, thinking whether he should even call it a date. Sure, they may end up kissing, or exchange a few suggestive texts, but that would be it. Otherwise, he would just sit with other queers, being called ‘man’ or ‘bro’ way too many times.
“Do you want me to stay with the babies?”
Minho's question took Kibum off guard, but the sincerity of it was obvious. “No need,” he said. “But thanks.”
That was sweet of him.
Before his heart could betray him, Kibum reached to unfasten the seat belt, only to find out that the buckle didn't work—he struggled with it for a moment, clicking and pulling, all without success.
“Here, let me.” Minho took his hands off the steering wheel and leaned forward, unlocking the safety belt in one try. “It's a bit broken.”
Their fingers still touched, faces only inches away, when Kibum murmured a low, “Thanks”, the darkness of the car making it hard to breathe. The lights of the dashboard reflected on Minho, his eyes a bluish hue. Kibum couldn't stop staring—the hazelnut locks framed the perfect face.
“Did you mean it…?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“What?”
“About soulmates.”
It was hard to tell the passage of time. Minho looked at him as if searching his face, his eyelashes a shadow against his cheeks. It didn't take long, Kibum knew it, but after what had felt like an eternity, Minho responded, “You told me to speak from the heart.” His hot breath swept Kibum's skin. “And so I did.”
Kibum nodded, slowly, every movement deliberate. For reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, those simple words stirred such a chaos within him that the flow of his blood turned upside down. Feeling a surge of weakness, he let his gaze drift down to that sweet mole just below Minho’s lip, a small dot that beckoned for his attention.
Without thinking, he leaned in, the distance closed. His lips grazed the mole, a brief peck that peppered a tingling sensation across his mouth. He said, “Thanks, ‘boyfie’,” in the softest way possible, but just as he was about to open the door, Minho’s gentle pull drew him in, igniting a kiss that took him by surprise.
At once, time slowed down. Minho's breath mingled with his own, and Kibum's heart raced in response. As if anchoring him in place, Minho's hand slid to the back of Kibum's neck, his fingers tangling in his hair, grounding him in the moment. It was sweet and electrifying, the gentle pressure of his lips sending every inch of Kibum's skin into a buzz. He was lost in the rush of emotions, his want rising at the warmth of Minho’s body. It felt right, so undeniably right, as if the missing piece of his life was finally placed.
But then, Minho froze, his eyes resembling a well of loss. “I'm sorry,” he said, turning his head right away. He started the car before Kibum could utter a single word, the engine hum filling the air—a bittersweet signal that this was his moment to leave.
Confused and heartbroken, Kibum stumbled out of the car, Minho’s parting words, “I hope you will have fun,” a poison to his heart.
***
Minho groaned, entering his flat. His skin a liquid fire, his hard-on pressed to his jeans like a cry for help, he tumbled inside his bedroom, tugging on the button of his jeans. He was conflicted. The feelings tore at him and the heat of desire gnawning, building up like a pressure cooker inside him. While he wanted to celebrate the kiss, to relive it as much as he could, the nagging guilt tugged at the edges of his consciousness—was it right to want this? Was it right to feel himself with Kibum in his mind?
As his hand moved hesitantly around his jeans, his heart raced, and all he could think of was Kibum’s lips. Kibum's lips pressed to his. Kibum's lips a plush pillow. Kibum's lips parted for him, and Kibum’s lips eager to deepen the kiss. He gasped. His memory ran wild, his breath hitched. Just as he dove into his underwear, pre-cum wetting his fingers, his other hand rediscovered the candy in his pocket; a small cherry one he had got from Kibum in the museum.
His guilt trickling down with every move of his hand, he unwrapped the gift and raised it above his eyes. The glossy red shone in the dimness of the lights. Clearly, Kibum had no memory of the brand, no understanding what it had meant for Minho. How could he, if it's been over a decade? Yet, Minho could taste it without actually taking it to his mouth—the sweet, the sour and…
And the spice.
Slowly, Minho rolled his tongue around the orb, gliding it around its edges. It was exactly how he'd remembered the flavour, the round shape and the sugary delight. He shut his eyes close, the memory flooding his mind. It was so long ago, just him, Kibum and Jonghyun drinking in the dorm, drinking more than they should've. They were alone, and Kibum got tipsy, roguish and handsy. God knows where he'd taken it from, he brought a pack of Pepero, dipped it in the alcohol, and put it between his teeth. Minho watched him leaning towards Jonghyun, making the man bite the other side. ‘For the practice,’ he had said. ‘They will make us do it anyway.’ But he didn't play the Pepero game with Minho, oh no. With him, he had found that random candy, a small marble of cherry taste he had put inside his mouth, tossed a few times around with his tongue, and then showed it between his teeth. It had a rhythm, a dance. He leaned toward Minho, an imp with glowing eyes, a tongue in his cheek. ‘Open your mouth,’ he had said, mischief lingering in those short glimpses of his tongue. And so Minho did. Dizzy with the alcohol, dizzy from the vision of Jjong and Kibum's lips almost brushing against each other, he opened his mouth, ready to reach for the candy, but instead Kibum grabbed his chin and, towering over him on his knees, slid the candy inside Minho's mouth, the tip of his tongue brushing his own. It lasted no longer than a second, just a quick lick and a wave of a cherry bomb, yet, Minho never had felt as aroused as at that time, their eyes locked the whole time.
Now, as the memory reached all his nerves, he clenched his fist, rolling his hips. That fleeting contact had ignited something deep within him, something he hadn’t been able to get rid of ever since, but as he’d finally been able to taste Kibum’s lips, he felt lost in a sense of guilt. Each stroke felt like an echo of their kiss, a stolen pleasure that felt both blissful and wrong. He could almost hear Kibum’s voice in his head, teasing and playful, urging him to give in. His smile. His eyes sparkling with mischief. The sweetness of his laughter, his small gasps when running overlapped with the sultriness of the photoshoots. His waist, his gaze, his being…
“God, Kibum…” he whispered, gasping at the sensation. Guilt coursed through his veins. He hadn’t meant for it to turn into this, hadn’t intended to reduce their shared moment to mere physicality. Yet, the tension inside him throbbed insistently, overpowering his sense of right and wrong. The pleasure was rising, insistent and real.
He bit his lip to stifle a moan, eyes squeezed shut, shame flooding his thoughts. Each pulse of pleasure reminded him of Kibum, what they could have been, and it felt like such a violation—yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Instead, he saw more; imagination obscuring the reality, a fantasy riding him towards the edge, and him laying spread open, the dark eyes setting him still.
As he approached the peak, the conflict roared within him: a deep, desperate longing against an equally passionate guilt. Every fiber of his being screamed Kibum’s name, intertwining with his desperate need. He came.
A brief explosion of ecstasy, Minho collapsed onto his bed, panting and spent, his heart racing with a swirl of satisfaction and regret. As reality settled in, the weight of his actions came crashing down. It was heavy on his chest, as he found himself staring at the ceiling, feeling more alone than ever. How could he ever face Kibum again after this moment of selfishness? After what felt more wrong than right, but at the same time righter than wrong?
As the last bit of thea cherry candy melted onto his tongue, Minho promised himself to never again give in to his weakness. The problem was, he knew he was lying even at that very moment. He would. Anytime and anywhere.
As soon as he has a chance.
***
“Bye-bye!”
“See you around!”
Kibum slid into the passenger seat, his lips bent into a smile. His heart was light after another lively and laughter-filled dinner with Felix, but the moment his gaze landed on Minho in the driver's seat, the semi-darkness spread its veil without a warning, the electric aftertaste of the meal turning into a different kind of tension. He licked his lips. As the streetlights flickered past, casting shadows across Minho's face, Kibum couldn't help but steal more glances. He saw the intensity of Minho's jawline, a sternness that made his heart race. Why the hell did he have to blurt out that apology right after the kiss? It had cut through the air like a knife, taking all the joy Kibum had felt from it.
“Are you okay?” Minho’s voice broke the silence, low and hesitant. Kibum wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer that.
“Yeah, fine,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. The weight of the unspoken felt crushing though, a creeping sensation that left goosebumps on his arms.
With a hint of hesitation, he took his phone out, the time still early on the clock. He couldn't understand why he had tortured himself with setting a date with Danny right after faking it with Minho; it was as if he had set himself up for failure. Danny was a perfect man, after all—there was something so unapologetically honest and handsomely unbashful about him that drew Kibum in. Yet, as the time passed, every kiss they shared, which was nice, was…just that . Nice. There was no fire in it, that would make Kibum yearn for more, and although he truly appreciated Danny's loud personality, he started missing the more peaceful moments, ones akin to a lazy afternoon spent in silence with a favourite person by your side.
He closed his phone with a sigh. How come Danny and Minho were so similar in the core, yet so different? How come, all the ‘bro’ and ‘man’ started to tap on his patience, while Minho drove him crazy the way he couldn't wait for more?
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Minho’s voice came again, this time with an urgency in it, a plea. “You’ve been quiet.”
Kibum opened his mouth, unsure of what to say. “It's been nice with Felix today…”
“It was.”
“He seems so sure now. You think he will do the move?” He leaned against the headrest, his eyes on Minho's hands.
“Maybe. If so, I hope he won't regret it.”
“I hope he won't back it off.”
Minho’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles pale in the harsh glow of the dashboard lights. The car entered Kibum's street, the silence hanging between them like a thick fog. Although the engine stopped, Kibum stayed in the car, all the questions pushing down on his lips. But, the fear of shattering the fragile peace made him swallow those thoughts down.
“You know,” he started instead. “Sometimes I think it was easier back then. No labels required, not owning anything to anyone…You were either gay or straight, depending on people’s belief.”
“And how was that easier?”
“Maybe you're right. Maybe it's not.” They laughed, a surpassed chuckle against the stillness of the night. Kibum looked at Minho, searching his eyes, but all he could see was the soft smile he loved on Minho so much. “I'm gonna go,” he whispered. When he reached for a seatbelt, Minho moved forward, ready to help.
It didn't work. Again.
“What's wrong with it?” He frowned, pulling it sharp, but Minho laughed, peeling his fingers off one by one.
“It's broken. I told you.” He clicked the buckle, the belt giving off at last, and Minho's warm breath brushed the skin of Kibum's cheek. Suddenly, the air was thick again, charged, as if the car itself was holding its breath.
Their eyes locked. “You were really convincing today, you know that?” He brushed Minho's hair from his eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. “That ‘boyfriend’ gig? You got it all down.”
“And so do you,” said Minho, his hand prodding the seat. “If not even more.” His finger touched against Kibum's thigh, a spark inciting a flame.
Before he could think of consequences, Kibum leaned in, Minho meeting him halfway. Their lips collided in what was a longing kiss from the start. It spilled all over, drowning them in the passion that Kibum had simmered in for way, way too long. He gasped, his mouth open wide. Minho's hand now grazed his leg, his tongue a sweet cherry taste. Intoxicated by it, Kibum cradled Minho's face and pulled him even closer, now yearning for much, much more.
“Give me a sec,” he pulled back, his phone out to quickly type down, ‘ Sorry, feeling a bit weird. Can we meet some other time? ’ And as he put his phone down right away, the fire in Minho's eyes reflected his own.
***
Minho followed Kibum to his apartment, their fingers laced together as they stepped inside. The dogs immediately bounded toward them, Comme-des letting out a gentle woof when Kibum overlooked him at first.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Kibum said. “Papa’s a little busy right now.”
“You’ll get all the love you want later,” Minho promised, bending down to scratch Garçons' ear. As he stood upright, Kibum looked at him, his eyes darkened and shimmery. He stretched his hand, a gentle touch against Minho’s, and led him to the bedroom, each step resonating in silence.
The door clicked shut. A soft glow of moonlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, Kibum’s face glowing with what Minho hoped to be a desire. He took a deliberate step closer. His heart hammered in his chest as he cupped Kibum’s face with a gentle determination, their lips met in another kiss, testing the waters.
“I want it,” said Kibum, as if reading his mind. “All of it.” His fingers brushed against the fabric of Minho's tee, trailing down to the hem. It soon landed on the floor, freeing Minho's skin to Kibum's gaze, and Minho took his time to unbutton the other man's shirt. He stepped backwards, their eyes locked, until he hit the edge of the bed, and—mesmerised—watched Kibum undress.
He was an art piece.
Minho's breath hitched at the way the fabric slid down Kibum's shoulders, Kibum hovering above him with a stern gaze. The bed creaked under his knee. Minho reached for Kibum's lips and they melted into each other, Kibum responding with a softness that drove Minho wild. They fit perfectly, their breaths mingled and bodies curved like two pieces of a puzzle. It was like unwrapping a gift, layer by layer, breath by breath. Minho traced the curve of Kibum's spine with his fingertips, planting kisses down his neck. The salt on his skin left the sweetest aftertaste. As Minho's fingers grazed Kibum through the delicate fabric of his boxers, a tension coiled within him, filling his stomach to the brisk. It pooled inside his chest, it pooled inside his mind. He took them both between his hand, smiling at Kibum’s soft hiss, and stroking them without a rush.
“God, you're beautiful.”
He lay Kibum beneath himself, enthralled by the sight of his own tan over the man's thigh. So pale. Such a striking difference. Minho leaned to pepper that skin with kisses, his breath in rapid gasps. They were each other opposites, yes, but Minho knew colour theory well enough to know that when in presence of its opposite, one shines the most.
He took Kibum into his mouth, smiling at another audible reaction. No, they were not opposites, he concluded. They were complementary.
He paused. A soft whimper escaped Kibum's lips—an involuntary sound that resonated through Minho like a siren's call. It was a mix of desire and vulnerability, something he had never thought to hear from Kibum. Not for him. Not in a million years. He was captivated by the power it held on him.
“Are you prepped…?” he asked, not sure whether he wanted to know the answer.
But when Kibum shook his head, a soft groan followed by, “We…we don't sleep with each other,” Minho knew the relief that swelled in him was full of happiness.
“Condoms? Lube?”
“The nightstand. Left side.” Kibum pointed at it, barely opening his eyes.
When Minho looked at him again, Kibum was soaked in moonlight, making him realise that this man was made to be worshipped. He leaned down to pay homage to all the curves and angles that he had admired from afar, his lips moving from the collarbone to the hips. He saw Kibum willing to move, to take over the control, but he wasn't ready to give it up—he wanted Kibum to feel adored, to understand how deeply he craved him.
He turned Kibum around, Kibum's cheeks perking up at Minho's fingers inside him. It was enchanting. Seeing it, Minho couldn't get rid of the thought of how much he would love to eat Kibum—to eat him whole, inside out. But not today, he decided. Today, he wished to see Kibum's face the whole time, to record each of his reactions even more than that list of way kinkier things he had in mind.
So when he finally slid inside, Kibum’s soft moan a song to his ears, their faces aligned. It felt like a culmination of every glance and touch they'd shared, their bodies moving together, like waves. Ebbing and flowing, Minho thrust with deliberate slowness, wanting for it to stay above pure lust. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and whispers, each gasp and moan a strumming chord.
He was in no rush. Everything about Kibum was worth worshiping—the curve of his lips, the way his dark hair fell over his forehead. His body—every line, every angle was a perfection, and Minho knew that. And if Kibum was a living art, he wished to become his only curator. Someone, whom Kibum would fully entrust.
The morning light broke inside, sunbeams of a gold and pink hue stretching in. Minho stirred awake, not sure whether he had slept at all or if everything was just a dream. But as he turned on his side, watching Kibum’s peaceful expression, both of them broke into lazy smiles.
“Mornin’.”
“Morning…” Kibum caressed the sides of Minho’s face, and then pinched them gently albeit firmly, and placed a first kiss of the day. It was short and soft, still laced with the sleep-like quality, just a touch of the lips in the morning haze. “I'm gonna grab us some water,” Kibum murmured, reluctantly pulling away.
Minho watched him slide into his shorts, his own smile concealed behind the pillow. The sheets still smelled of their love, a thick scent of longing and desire. When he was left alone, he stretched, his chest heavy with anticipation. He wanted to check the time, but as his phone was dead, he reached for Kibum’s only to regret it all at once.
“Hope you feel better today, man,” said the message below the clock. “Can't wait for our next date ♡”
The notification stabbed a dagger into Minho's heart, an ice-cold bucket of reality forcing him back to the shelter of their friendship. He locked the screen, the black surface flashing his own grimace. Minho sat up, his hand running through his hair, as he tried to shake off the wave of possessiveness that threatened to rise within him. That wasn't him. He had no rights.
And yet, although Kibum could date whomever he wanted, Minho wasn't ready to share.
“Here.” The door opened. “I brought you some snacks.” Kibum frowned, almost immediately picking up a change in the air.
The words tumbling out before he could rein them in, Minho rubbed his face. “I guess we got carried away, huh?”
It felt like a defense mechanism, a reflex against vulnerability. He chuckled, doing his best to sound as light as possible, despite his heart an open wound.
Something shifted in Kibum's eyes as well, his soul's shutters falling down. “God.” He laughed. “We totally did. What do you call it? Method acting?” He looked away, bubbling further, his tone a cheerful chip, “I have to say, though, you got into the role of a boyfriend way too well. You should get an award for that, you know?”
His smile shone bright against the dim of his eyes, something that was the last thing Minho wanted to see. He was trapped between a want to express himself and a familiar urge to retreat into emotional safety. But it was too late; Kibum already shrank into himself, while Minho had found Danny a threat he couldn't escape. He got up to put on his clothes, their eyes met in a passing.
“Maybe we should tell Felix the truth,” he said. “Not to fall into overacting again.”
“Yeah,” Kibum nodded. “One more dinner and you'd think we're married.” The cold breeze brushed over the brightness of his tone, chilling Minho to the bone.
***
The sweet aroma of roasted coffee beans filled the air as Kibum rubbed his temples, his elbows on the table. He couldn't run away from the memories of the other night, everything so vivid as if happening right now. The hussle of the café, although a white noise to his thoughts, did nothing to shield him from the overpowering regret—if he could, he would've pushed Minho on, confronted him then and there. Yet, at that very moment he had lost himself, too fragile to see through the surface of his own emotions.
Sunlight danced through the windows, Kibum repeating his own words in his mind. What was the point of the act? Wasn't it clear what he had wanted? He had let Minho guide him, something he rarely did; he had let him take care of him, see the layers of his soul he had never shown to others. Was Minho blind enough to think it was just a pretense?
But as he bit his lip, he realised that Minho would never sleep with a man if he didn't mean it. Not like that. Not with a friend, not because of the heat of the moment. Surely, he was a good actor, but he was anything but cruel, and what Kibum saw in his eyes was…was love .
He groaned, clearly conflicted. When he opened his eyes again, he noticed he wasn't alone.
“Shit. I mean— hi .” Kibum shook his head at Danny’s wide smile.
“Wassup?” The man took the seat opposite to Kibum. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“I mean, it's an SM building, so— Oh , you were joking.” Kibum huffed, taking a sip of his iced Americano. “Yeah, it's been a while…”
“Hope you're feeling better?”
“Yes, and…Ah, god, I didn't mean to ghost you, okay? I just—” He rolled his eyes, suddenly wishing for Danny to fall into his never ending stream of blabbering. But no. For once, when he needed it, Danny sat quietly, giving him space to talk. “Listen, I have to apologise. I should’ve been honest with you from the get-go. I didn't feel sick, but things got complicated, and I didn’t handle it well. I just…Ugh, I don't think it's gonna work.”
“Oh, I see.” Danny blinked, surprised but not hurt.
Not sure why, it was now Kibum who spurted out whatever popped in his mind, “I just don't think it's fair to keep seeing you,” he said, “when I'm not sure about things. You. Us.”
He felt as if he was about to curl up and die, but Danny’s eyes softened, his chuckled light. “Dude, it's fine. I get it. And don't you worry about me. In fact, if you want to chat sometime in the future, I’m here. No hard feelings.” He stood up, collecting his things, reading the air better than Kibum. “Let's stay in touch, okay? See you around, My Sheep bro.”
As Danny walked toward the entrance, Kibum felt a weight lift off his chest. He moved his eyes from Danny in a fervor of texting, only to meet with another pair of eyes peering right through him.
Minho had to see that. Danny and him. To hear that. At least partially. He had just exited the queue, a coffee in his hand, his eyes wide open, and Kibum's heart sped up to a speed he never thought was possible. Without a word, Minho took Danny's seat, his hands firm on the cup.
“He seemed okay.” He pointed at the doors, and Kibum nodded.
“He's gonna be okay. I know he talked to other people, too.”
Minho smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He opened his mouth only to close them right after, the cup almost squished under his grip.
“Listen, I—”
“About yesterday—”
They looked at each other. “You go first.”
Kibum scoffed, shifting in his seat. “Okay, listen. I don't regret it. Maybe you got carried away, maybe you're just an amazing actor, but I'm not. I…I wanted it. Fully. All of you.”
“Me too.”
“And I don't want it to be a fling, or whatever.”
“Me neither.” Minho leaned in slightly, his skin nearly brushing against Kibum’s. “I don't want to share, though.”
“Good.” Kibum's cheeks grew hot. “I guess we're clear, then.”
“Then we can stop pretending.” A soft smile crept onto Minho’s lips as his eyes sparkled with relief and affection.
“Pretending?” Kibum couldn't help but smile back, his eyebrow now arched. “So would you rather stop, or…or maybe turn the act into the truth?”
He propped on his hand, watching Minho thinking, the man's contemplative expression obviously fake.
“Whatever you prefer.”
“I prefer anything, as long as it's with you.”
Kibum broke into a nervous chuckle, half sheepish, half amused. “We should've figured out what to tell him sooner.” What were they supposed to say, even? ‘Sorry, Felix, for all the lies’? ‘Thank you, Felix, for making it happen’? “Gee, it's all your fault.” He groaned, playfully punching Minho's arm.
“Wha—? How—?” Minho roared, his cackle that awful croak of an old toad. “You know what? Nevermind. Not my fault you looked so good in my bed.”
Kibum rolled his eyes, just as Felix entered the café, flashing a charming smile.
“Thanks for waiting,” he said, sliding at the seat across from them. “So? What did you want to tell me so badly?”
The two exchanged quick glances, Minho rubbing the back of his neck like a guilty child. Kibum gestured, his eyes pleading with his boyfriend to take the lead.
Without success. “How was your weekend? All good?” Minho shifted, fully ignoring Kibum’s insisting stare.
“Yeah.” Felix's smile was bright. “I think I've made up my mind.”
“You did—?”
“Really—?”
“All thanks to you.”
Kibum felt his sweat pearling behind his ears. He was genuinely pleased for Felix, even though uncertainty gnawed at him. If one thing he was sure of, was that Felix deserved to figure things out way sooner than them, whatever the outcome. “That's...that’s awesome,” he managed, feeling like a fraud.
“But what happened?” Felix frowned, his eyes darting between the two. “You're not as touchy as usual. Is this why you called me?”
In that instant, Kibum understood. As Minho and he had got together, the need to perform had faded, their overreacting lost in a tether between their hearts. He shook his head, warmth blossoming in his chest. He linked fingers with Minho. “More like the opposite,” he said softly, Minho sending him a wink. “It may sound strange, but we’re together now. And before you say anything, we owe you an apology.”
As Kibum began to explain the tangled web of half-truths and lies they had spun, he felt a weight lift off. Without the façade they had created for Felix, he realized, he and Minho would have remained lost in a tangle of pretense, unable to embrace the truth of their feelings.
Minho nodded, too, a smile spreading across his face as he fiddled with the cherry candy he had now been carrying all around. “I guess,” he said, his voice turning almost teasing, “it was the truth we had wrapped into a lie.”
“So if you need any advice ever again,” added Kibum, “maybe look for it from someone else.”