#and so then I decided to make the b story The a story but then it wound up being like. 50/50 anyway lamo | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

katrinawritesthings · 2 years

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minkey/jongtae; b-side; PG-13

Picture this. You're key and you have a boring office job and you are trying to flirt with your cute secretary and have a nice casual vanilla office romance love story except your absolute Gremlin of a witness protection client keeps cockblocking you by calling you and telling you that not only did someone from his past recognize him but it was his ex boyfriend and now they're fucking again and on top of that he keeps bothering you to tell him about your crush that he keeps cockblocking you from

While he waits for the papers to print he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and frowning at the machine. Taemin is mumbling sad little words into the phone, sad little words about how lonely he is. Kibum feels a pang of guilt in his chest. He doesn't deserve this bullshit. He casts his mind around for something to distract Taemin. He casts his eyes around with it and glances out of his office window just in time to see adorable Minho glancing in. Minho notices him noticing and quickly looks away, pretending to be very invested in his work, and Kibum smiles. He's so. Cute. Then he frowns. He sounds like someone that likes tall boys, Taemin was saying to him. He hates that. He hates that Taemin has formulated an opinion about him and the kind of boys that he likes just from their mostly one-sided phone conversations. He puffs up his lips, then un puffs them because he doesn't want Taemin to hear that he's pouting. “He's not even that tall,” he says.

The handsome secretary that sits at the desk positioned neatly between Kibum’s office and three others smiles at Kibum as he steps out of the elevator. Kibum smiles back because he knows that handsome Minho doesn't smile at any of the other three when they show up to work. He knows this because he's watched from his office window. He knows that he's the only one that Minho smiles at and he also knows that he's the only one that Minho steals glances at through the day.

He smiles his best coy little flirty smile, one that says 97% “Hello fellow workplace acquaintance it's nice to see you” and 3% “It would be nice to suck your dick sometime in the future.” One with just the tiniest hint of a flirt, just so that handsome Minho will kind of feel like he's interested but won't be sure.

“Afternoon, Kibum,” Minho says and his voice is just. So deep and rich and warm and kind and lovely that Kibum feels it in his heart. He walks up to the desk, resting his hand on it, tapping his fingernails lightly but loud enough to click audibly as he smiles down at the secretary. Like always, Minho's eyes glance down to his nails, his fingers, his big hands. Minho likes his big hands. That's another thing that Kibum knows.

“Hey,” he says, polite and friendly and interested, turning his body so his chest presses up against the edge of the desk, leaning forward a little bit. He props his elbow on the desk, his chin in his hand, his other hand still clicking away on the surface. He makes sure to smile in just the right way that his eyes almost turn into little crescents, almost makes his dimples stand out. “Did you catch the Puppy Bowl last night?” he asks.

“Of course,” Handsome Minho says. He leans forward too, eagerly, fingers twirling a pen casually on his desk. “the little spaniel with The brown ears?” he prompts, and Kibum immediately melts at the memory. This time, he lets his smile turn his eyes into crescents and divot his cheek, just so Minho knows that it was because of something that he said.

“Adorable,” he agrees. “and those two little toy poodles that wouldn't leave each other alone? My favorites. And--your team won the big game after, right?” he asks. He's pretty sure that they did. He didn't actually watch the game - - he can't stand sportsball-- but he did make sure to check the scores after for Handsome Minho’s favorite team. He needs to take at least some interest in Minho’s hobbies if he wants to keep flirting with him everyday and actually get it to lead somewhere.

“Yeah, they did, they--” Handsome Minho starts, but they're interrupted by the muffled sound of a ringing. While Minho looks at the phone on his desk, confused, Kibum looks up and around at his office window. The light on the phone on his own desk is on. Sighing quietly, Kibum hikes the strap of his bag more up over his shoulder.

“That’s me,” he says, walking to his office door and pulling out his keys as he goes. Handsome Minho gives him a smile, a little disappointed, mostly understanding and supportive, and waves quietly.

Jamming his key into his door, Kibum shoulders it open and kicks it shut behind him. He barely just got in; according to his clock, his shift officially started a whole two minutes ago. He doesn't know which one is calling him but he does know that it better be important. Someone better be, like, dying or something.

He dumps his bag on the floor, grabs the phone, sandwiches it between his face and his shoulder, and slumps down into his chair; he wiggles his computer mouse with his other hand so the screen saver will go away and he can pull up the client file. Before he can even open the program, they start whining into his ear and he figures it out immediately.

“Hello, this is Kibum, Department of--”

“Kibummie, I'm miserable,” is the slurred groan that comes from the speaker. “I'm miserable and lonely and everything sucks, Kibummie.”

“Taemin,” Kibum sighs into the phone.

He deflates in his chair, rubbing his free hand over his face. He sees the file come up on his computer screen between his fingers but he doesn't bother to look at it. He already knows. Real name Lee Taemin, fake name Dylan Lim, real age 27, fake age 24. Originally from Seoul, moved to Las Vegas when he was 14, currently positioned in Los Angeles, minimum security. Been there for 3 years. Working as a dance choreographer for a local theater group. 2 Absolute Gremlins of dogs.

Entered into Witness Protection because he testified in court against a man caught trying to smuggle several kidnapped persons out of the back of a building. A building that Taemin just happened to be walking behind because he saw a cute stray cat slink back there and a man that just happened to be connected to the mob and was subsequently bought out of prison a week after Taemin helped put him in there.

Known to, on increasingly more frequent occasions, get drunk and call his assigned officer to whine about all of his problems.

“This is an emergency line,” Kibum snaps.

“I'm in an emergency of having the worst life on the planet,” Taemin snaps back at him. Kibum rolls his eyes and leans forward so he can put his forehead in his hand. Already he can tell that Taemin is in a fucking mood of all moods. From his office window, he sees handsome Minho already stealing a glance at him. He smiles tiredly and lifts two fingers from his forehead to wave before he puts his head on his desk.

“Wine or vodka?” he asks blandly. If Taemin is only vodka drunk then he'll pass out soon, and--

“Wine,” Taemin says, “and listen,” he adds as Kibum turns to silently scream into his elbow. “I'm sad and I'm miserable and I miss my friends and my new friends here just left for a Vegas vacation all week and I couldn't fucking go with them because if I do I'll get murdered and they just laughed at me when I suggested going to Reno instead and Jinki from work that's been teaching me Korean because I'm sad and gay and tired of having to pretend that I don't speak my first language, Jinki from work has started having his private phone calls in Japanese around me instead of Korean and I still can't tell him that I speak fucking Japanese also so I can still understand him and I still know all of his private business and-- did you know that he has to go to court next week? Because his friend’s girlfriend’s dad is an abusive shithead? Do you want to know all of the details to that case because I can fucking tell you and I hate it and I hate lying to him so much and it's awful and I'm miserable and I want to go home but I can't go home because I'll be murdered and....”

He keeps whining, and Kibum lets him. He's a nuisance but Kibum does understand that he is literally the only person that Taemin can talk to about this. Well, technically, one of four, but Kibum knows that he's Taemin’s favorite. Probably because he still calls Taemin by his real name instead of his fake name. He's not supposed to, but the drunk whining wore him down. And maybe he has a little bit of a soft spot for booger boy. At any rate, Kibum will know if he gets another call, an actual emergency call, and Taemin will be too drunk to remember to be mad when Kibum hangs up on him to answer it. Instead, he organizes his desk and plugs his headphones in so he doesn't have to hold the phone.

Taemin goes on for a while, blubbing out all of his problems and his worries and everything that annoyed him today. He starts repeating himself pretty soon, so it's kind of a light drunken grumpy monologue for him, Kibum has to admit. It almost makes up for how he looked up the time difference from Los Angeles to where Kibum’s office is in New York to call him as soon as he got into work.

“You really shouldn't be this drunk this early in the morning,” Kibum interjects once in the middle of Taemin telling him a third time about Jinki from work. True, Kibum’s shift starts at 2, but Taemin is 3 hours behind. He had to have started drinking around 10 in the morning to be this drunk by now.That's too early.

“Fuck you,” Taemin says, and then keeps talking.

Eventually, like always though, he talks himself out and starts just making little whiny pouty noises into the phone. Kibum glances at the time; a little over half an hour. A little less than average. Sitting up, he leans back in his chair and looks at the rows upon rows of holes in the ceiling tile above him as he speaks.

“How you feeling, champ?” he asks gently.

Taemin replies with more sad, slurred little noises and a pouty mumble of, “Lonely, Kibummie.”

“I know, bub,” Kibum says soothingly. “Last time I checked, they're still trying to tie down a source for the contacts to the guy that's looking for you. Go take a nap and then order some pancakes from somewhere and watch that scary movie that you like so much,” he says. That always cheers Taemin up.

“Texie chainsaw massakie?” Taemin asks, voice tiny.

“Sure,” Kibum says. If that's the first movie that came to Taemin’s mind, then sure. “And drink some water too so you don't get hungover at like 4 in the afternoon,” he adds. “And this weekend go out dancing at that one club like you like.” Taemin likes clubs. It's dark and it's loud and no one asks him about his past so he doesn't have to lie about it. And he gets to dance. It's good for him all around.

“Kibummie,” Taemin whines. “I like you.”

“Thanks, booger boy,” Kibum smiles. “Don't call me for at least a month.”

And when he hangs up, Taemin doesn't immediately call back, and Kibum does immediately rub his hands over his face and scream quietly in the back of his throat. What a fucking start to his shift. He hasn't even checked all of his work emails or anything yet.

When he does, though, he finds one from Minho. It's a link to a cooking video with a message, “this made me think of you : ) maybe you can try this recipe soon??”

And this, at least, is something that today has given him that he's grateful for.

“You ever think about, like, having kids someday?”

It's a bold question to throw at someone that he's been flirting with for the better part of 4 months, Kibum knows, but he's still playing up the “politely interested and only a little bit overly friendly co-worker” angle, so he's pretty sure it's fine.

Adorable Minho takes it pretty easily, in any case, smiling at Kibum from his desk. He's turned sideways in his chair so he can face Kibum’s open office door, and Kibum has rolled his own chair closer to his doorway so they can talk. They're both taking a snack break to eat a pair of cupcakes that Kibum brought in. They're from the recipe that Minho sent him last week. It's Monday now and Kibum is a little bummed that he didn't think to bring them in on Tuesday instead, but he also doesn't mind looking too eager. They're really good. And Minho has a little smudge of frosting under his nose that he is incredibly pleased with.

“I sure have,” Minho says. “I love kids. I want to adopt, like, a soccer team’s amount of them.” He runs his fingers through his hair, long and black, and then gets it caught in his tiny ponytail. Kibum doesn't try to fight to his smile as Minho blushes, fixes his ponytail, looks away, takes a bite of his cupcake, looks back. “I know that's too many though, so, realistically, probably 3?” he says.

“Cool, cool,” Kibum says, nodding. “Same, actually. Well-- I was going to start with two, and then see if I could handle that, and then maybe get a third.” he sighs dreamily just thinking about it. He's over the moon about being a daddy one day. He loves kids, how they're so tiny and sweet, so eager to learn and soak up information and figure out how to be a human, and--

“I love how eager they are to learn,” adorable Minho says dreamily. “I really want to be a parent so I can help them figure out how to be little tiny humans.”

Kibum knows that soulmates aren't real, but he also knows that he just felt warmer & gayer in his heart than he ever has for a single human person. He can't fathom how perfect adorable Minho is.

He keeps that to himself, though, because he's having fun with their light flirting and he's pretty sure that Minho is also. And he really wants Minho to be the one to ask him out first, not the other way around. He just continues the conversation, smiling his cutest smile and running his fingers through his hair every so often to make sure that adorable Minho doesn't forget about his hot gay undercut, until he has to pee.

He announces this easily, glancing quickly over his computer to make sure nothing new has come up since they've been talking, and then stands up. Stretching his arms over his head, he tells Minho that he'll be right back and makes sure to smile at him over his shoulder as he walks towards the hallway.

“Don’t get lost,” Minho calls after him. It's not the most romantic thing he could have said, and it didn't really make sense, but it was still cute, and Kibum still bites his lip. He heads to the bathroom, does his pee, washes his hands, checks his hair in the mirror, messes with his eyebrow scar to make it look extra sharp and pointy. Nice.

When he comes back, he means to spread his arms and flutter his fingers to demonstrate himself and announce how he didn't get lost, but adorable Minho speaks before he can do any of those things.

“Oh, hey-- you got a call,” he says, pointing with his thumb to Kibum’s office. “Apparently it wasn't urgent, because they didn't choose to redirect to me. They just left you a message.”

“Oh,” Kibum says, glancing at his phone. Damn. “Bad timing,” he grins, shrugging at Minho, who grins and shrugs back. “Thanks for the heads up,” he says. It sucks that he can't flirt some more, but even a non-urgent call still needs to be paid attention to. He's the lifeline for all of his clients.

He closes his office door when he steps in and slaps his headphones over his ears. Before he listens to the message, he checks who it was from-- Taemin.

Kibum sighs in the back of his throat and rolls his eyes at the ceiling. It hasn't even been a week. He slaps the button on the phone that will start playing the message for him tiredly. Better to get it over with soon.

“Hi! Kibum, uh, hi, yeah, wow. You know I didn't know you actually had an answering machine? I think this is the first time I've had to leave a message for you, haha.”

Well, Kibum thinks, raising his eyebrows blandly. He doesn't sound drunk. Maybe he actually has something important to say for once.

“I know you told me not to call you for at least a month,” Taemin continues. Kibum snorts quietly. Look how well that turned out. “But I, um. I went out dancing? Like you said? On the weekend, and last night, I, um. I don't know, it's probably not a big deal, but I felt like I should tell you anyway, um-- someone recognized me? Like, someone at the club? I mean-- I say someone, I really mean, like, he's an ex-boyfriend, but,--”

Kibum bangs his knee hard as he jolts up straight. Fuck. It actually is important. He skips listening to the rest of the message in favor of just calling Taemin back right then.

“Uh, hello?” is the reply that he gets.

“Taemin, hey, it's--”

“Kibummie, hey,” Taemin says, and it sounds like there's a smile on his face on the other line. “Hey, you called me back quick,” he says.

“What? Yeah,” Kibum says distractedly. He's pulling up all of the information on Taemin’s past contacts on his computer. Honestly, he's almost excited about this. Nothing interesting ever happens to him on this job. “I was only away from my office for a little bit,” he says. “Listen--”

“You have your own office?” Taemin asks eagerly. “Cool, that's like, fancy, isn't it? Hey-- I just realized that you called me for once? Feels weird, doesn't it?”

“Taemin--”

“I mean, not, weird weird, I mean, I kind of like it, you know, you calling me, feels nice to be, I don't know, feels like I'm a cute babe that you met at a coffee shop and I gave you my number and now--”

“Taem-- are you--? What--? Quit flirting with me,” Kibum says, baffled almost out of his urgency. Taemin’s hesitant but increasingly smooth and confident tone has completely blindsided him. What the fuck. “I already,” he starts, and then blushes, and then finishes anyway, “have someone that I've been flirting with.”

“Ooooh,” Taemin hisses heavily. Kibum puts his face into his hands. Why the fuck did he even say that. He thinks he likes sober Taemin less than drunk Taemin. Drunk Taemin is only ever interested in himself. “My aloof witness protection officer has a crush?” Taemin asks, almost coos the words into the phone. “What's he like? Is he cute? Is he tall? I bet he's tall, you sound like someone that--”

“Dylan,” Kibum snaps sharply.

“Don't fucking call me that, asshole, you promised,” Taemin snaps back even sharper.

“Focus then,” Kibum tells him. “You said someone recognized you?” He wants to get back to the important stuff. The witness protection stuff. The Taemin might get murdered stuff. The as far away from Kibum and any crushes that he might have as possible stuff.

“Oh, right, yeah,” Taemin says. There's a quiet smack noise like a palm on a forehead. “Yeah, um, my ex-boyfriend, Jonghyun,” he says.

“How ex?” Kibum asks. He types the name Jonghyun into his computer and frowns when nothing comes up. “Like, how long ago?” he clarifies.

“Uh, like, 2 years before I had to disappear?” Taemin says. “5 years ago? We met in college, when I was a sophomore, and he was a senior. He was an anthropology major, and he'd go out to excavation sites sometimes, and when he came back he'd always have a super dark tan, and he let me feel up his big beefy muscles, and he told me to hold his hands because they hurt after all of that digging....”

Taemin keeps going on, a dreamy note to his voice. Kibum lets him monologue with only a roll of his eyes, instead focusing on looking up a Jonghyun anthropology major at Taemin’s college in Vegas. He doesn't really find anything, but he wasn't really expecting to. He's not research, he's just resource direction. He opens up a request for investigation document instead, copying over all of Taemin’s information into the relevant areas and then adding in what he knows already about Jonghyun.

“Oh, and you know, he said that his Professor met the guys that found that Egyptian mummy, with the mummy juice? That everyone wanted to drink? He talked a guy that talked to those--”

“Why did you two break up?” Kibum interrupts. “ Any bad blood, or was it mutual, or?”

“Oh,” Taemin says, and he sounds disappointed. Not because Kibum interrupted him, but because of the content of his question. “We actually didn't really want to break up? We had to because of, you know, life stuff.” There's a pause and a rustle of cloth like he's shrugging. “We still hung out sometimes, though, before. You know.”

He trails off, voice little, almost like it is when he's winding down after one of his drunk rants. Kibum feels bad for the poor baby, but not as bad as he would have felt if it wasn't a mutual breakup. That probably rules Jonghyun out as a direct threat, but he's still a loose contact that needs looking into.

“And when you met at the club, what happened there?” he asks.

“Uhhhh,” Taemin sighs, and blows a big puff of air through his lips. “I was at the bar, and he was at the bar, and he was like, ‘Oh, hey, Taemin, I haven't seen you in forever, is that you?" and I was like, ‘No, my name's Dylan, I don't know a Taemin,’ but, like. Obviously he knew I was lying and obviously he recognized me, and he kept asking about it, and I--”

“And you shut him down and told him to stop bothering you and left the club,” Kibum says, pressing his clenched fist into his forehead because he knows, somehow, in his soul, that that isn't the truth.

“Well,” Taemin says, a little squeak of a word. “He started talking to me in Korean, really gently, and it made me feel. Really really really. Nostalgic. And.”

“Taemin,” Kibum says accusingly, disappointed.

“I mean, I told him not to, and I told him to call me Dylan, but I also. Got a table with him and talked to him. For a little bit.” he whines his words into the phone, pleading, desperate, like he's begging Kibum not to be mad at him. “I didn't tell him anything about what happened, we only talked about him, and, like, yeah, maybe he looked really worried and kind of suspicious, but. I'm lonely, Kibummie.”

Kibum sighs loudly and rubs his hands over his face. A mess. That's what Taemin is.

“Tell me at least you didn't give him your number,” he says.

“No, but I got his,” Taemin says. “I haven't texted him yet but--”

“Delete it,” Kibum orders. Taemin tries to protest, but Kibum cuts him off. “Promise me you'll delete it, Taemin,” he says. He knows that Taemin knows it's for his safety. He knows that Taemin isn't interested in getting murdered. He knows that Taemin isn't interested in getting anyone else murdered, either. Taemin is quiet on the other line for a long time, but then he groans quietly in the back of his throat and ends it with a heavy, sharp sigh.

“Fine,” he mumbles. At his agreement, Kibum breathes a little easier. That's one less thing that he has to worry about.

He fills in the rest of the information about what happened in the document, then slaps the print button and sends a quick email to tell the research nerds that they have a job coming up.

Then he frowns. He sounds like someone that likes tall boys, Taemin was saying to him. He hates that. He hates that Taemin has formulated an opinion about him and the kind of boys that he likes just from their mostly one-sided phone conversations. He puffs up his lips, then un puffs them because he doesn't want Taemin to hear that he's pouting.

“He's not even that tall,” he says.

“Wanna watch scary movies with-- what? Who? Oh, your crush?” and now, suddenly, Kibum can tell that Taemin is smirking. He rolls his eyes. What a turnover.

“He's only, like, an inch taller than me,” Kibum says. “If that.” The printer spits out the last page and he grabs them all, tapping them together on the desk to straighten them out.

“Yeah, okay, but, how tall are you?” Taemin asks as Kibum opens his desk drawers in search of a paperclip. “Relativity has nothing to do with it. If he's tall, he's tall, and you're thirsty.”

“Fuck you,” Kibum snaps. He doesn't need or want Taemin’s opinion. “How tall is your Jonghyun, huh?” Taemin can't talk about him being into tall boys if this big beefy muscle boy Jonghyun exists.

“He's not, he's tiny, he's baby, he's miniscule, he's small,” Taemin says. Immediately his voice has that dreamy softness to it again. “He's little, he's 5’7, he's itty--”

“What-- 5’7 is, like, average,” Kibum frowns. From the way Taemin was gushing, he was imagining a real tiny babe, not just an average human.

“No, you don't understand,” Taemin says seriously. “You have to see him to understand. He's so little. He's so tiny. He's a little pocket boy.”

“Sure dude,” Kibum says, shaking his head. He probably shouldn't have even mentioned Jonghyun in the first place; Taemin is sounding too enamored. “Don't forget to delete his number, okay?” he reminds Taemin gently but firmly. “Gotta go file some paperwork. You okay on your own?” he asks.

“Yeah, I got dance practice in a little bit anyway,” Taemin says. He sounds disappointed to end the conversation, but he doesn't protest. “Bye, Kibummie. And, thanks.”

“Later, booger boy,” Kibum says, tapping to end the call right after. He takes a moment to lean back in his chair and rub his face, then gathers up his stack of papers, pulls off his headphones, and stands up.

Adorable Minho is standing up as well, when he steps out of his office, reaching for something high on a shelf between Kibum’s office and the one next door. When he turns around, and they're standing closer together than usual, Kibum’s first thought is that the one inch that Minho has on him puts him at the perfect height to drop a kiss onto the tip of his nose.

And that thought makes him blush violently, so instead of saying something smooth and flirty, he just pushes the paperwork into Minho's hands, mumbles, “Can you get this to research for me thanks,” and scuttles back into his own office, slamming the door behind him.

When Kibum was standing in front of his closet this morning, debating on whether or not it would be worth it to wear his 3 inch platform shoes, he's glad that he decided that the answer was yes. Now he gets to look down at lovely Minho, just a little bit, down into his lovely big brown eyes.

And Minho gets to look up at him, which, if Kibum is reading his expression correctly, lovely Minho is enjoying immensely. Every time Minho looks down at the floor shyly and then back up to continue the conversation, his eyes stop for a split second on Kibum’s nose before he remembers and lifts them the rest of the way up to meet Kibum’s. And every time he does that, he blushes the tiniest hint of pink.

Kibum knows that he's definitely smirking right now, but he can't find it in himself to stop. He has no problem with lovely Minho knowing how cute he thinks he is. He's leaning up against the left side of his office doorway, legs crossed, one arm crossed over his stomach, other hand playing with his shirt collar. Minho is leaning on the opposite side of his doorway, comfortable except for his blush. Kibum is very comfortable due to that blush.

Especially after last night, when they were on their first date and Kibum was a flustered mess. He's disappointed in himself for that-- he spent so much time doing his makeup and picking out his perfect outfit that he forgot to think of anything to say or practice being cool and suave-- but he's making up for it now by being the one to make Minho blush. And it's not like last night was bad or anything. Quite the opposite-- it was the best first date that Kibum has ever been on. And he's been on a lot.

“How's your arm?” he asks, reaching out to touch just under the bruise on Minho's bicep. They both fell a couple of times each last night in the ice skating rink, but only one fall was bad enough for a bruise. And the bruise wasn't even that bad-- certainly barely enough of a tender spot to justify Kibum's touch-- but he doesn't see Minho complaining.

Instead, Minho pushes his shirt sleeve up, and in the process of doing so, brushes Kibum's hand.

“It's okay,” he says as casually as he can with a giddy smile threatening the corners of his lips. “It's already fading.” he lets his sleeve and his hand fall, but Kibum catches his hand playfully. Just for a second.

“Good, I'm glad,” he says.

“Mmm, I don't know,” lovely Minho says. “I was kind of hoping to ask you to kiss it better.” His blush fiercens to a vibrant pink, but at the same time, he manages a confident, flirty smile. Kibum is impressed. He's not sure that he would have been able to pull off that line. He bites his lip, using the action as a few extra seconds to think up something cool to say. It also earns him Minho’s eyes looking down to his mouth, which is a bonus he's happy to accept.

“I was going to offer to kiss it better last night,” he starts. It's the truth, besides the part where he's not mentioning how as soon as he had that thought he went as red as a tomato and skated away very fast. “But I didn't think you were the kind to kiss on the first date,” he finishes.

“That's why I didn't ask you,” lovely Minho chuckles. “I thought you wouldn't want to kiss on the first date.”

“Oh, well,” Kibum grins. Seems like they were both wrong. “My lips are free right now,” he offers boldly. He even lifts one finger from his collar to trace along his bottom lip. Just like he predicted, Minho follows that movement with his eyes closely before he looks back up.

“Well, I mean, if you insist,” he says smoothly. He pushes off of the wall and steps forward, into Kibum's space, close and handsome and adorable and lovely. Kibum catches a whiff of his cologne as he leans in and just for a moment, he regrets his decision to be tall today. The next moment, Minho kisses him.

It's perfect, obviously, the soft press of lovely Minho's mouth against his setting off fireworks in his head, his chest, his stomach. This is it. This is what he's been craving for almost a whole year. He played the long game and it definitely paid off.

He transfers his hand from his collar to Minho's, holding him close so he can't break the kiss too soon. They can pull apart a little bit, to readjust, to add in some soft little pecks between longer, warmer presses, but he doesn't want Minho to leave his personal bubble just yet. He doesn't share his bubble with many people and he wants this moment to be extra--

His phone rings.

It doesn't startle them out of their kiss, but it sure does stop them, a long second of pause, of realization, between them before they're both moving away. Kibum tilts his head back against the doorway, sighing heavily towards the ceiling, while lovely Minho tilts his head down, leans forward so the top of his head presses against Kibum's chest. That's nice, at least, and Kibum pats his head gently, fixes up his little ponytail, and slips into his office, closing the door sadly behind him.

That sadness turns into a sharp flare of annoyance when he sits down and reads the name on his screen.

Taemin.

Kibum sighs rough in the back of his throat. Of all of the fucking people. And he hasn't called for a while, either. At least five months, if Kibum is remembering right. He's going to have so much to whine on and on about. With a heavy air of resignation, he taps the answer button and slips his headphones on.

“What do you want, drunky?” he drawls.

Not very professional, but, whatever. His mouth still feels tingly.

“Hey-- oh-- what--? Um,” Taemin says. “Kibummie?” he asks.

“Who else?” Kibum asks, already snappish. What does that even mean. Of course it's him.

“I thought,” Taemin says. “Isn't your shift over?” he asks.

“No, I have another hour,” Kibum says. Another hour to listen to this asshole talk about nothing. Though, he doesn't sound drunk and whiny, though that just makes Kibum suspicious. “Were you trying to call someone else?” he asks. One of his other agents? “Why?” he asks.

“Um,” Taemin says. There's a pause, and then a sigh, and then, in a small, guilty voice, he says, “So you wouldn't be mad at me?”

“Too late for--” Kibum starts, and then he stops. Stops, squints, leans forward in his chair and puts his elbows on his desk. “Why would I be mad at you?” he asks softly. “What did you do?” He swears to fucking christ.

“What?” Taemin asks and his voice is way higher than it was a second ago. “Nothing, I didn't-- too late for what?” and there, his voice is too friendly, too conversational, too curious. Kibum breathes in a slow breath through his nose and out through his mouth.

“Taemin,” he says warningly.

Taemin makes a lot of noises, nonsense noises, the beginnings of words and little dismissive puffs of breath and unintelligible little sounds, and then he stops and swallows audibly. His voice is muffled like his hand is over his mouth as he says, “Remember when you told me to delete Jonghyun's number?”

“Taemin!” Kibum shouts.

“No listen I can explain.” Taemin scrambles the words into the phone, tripping over them in his haste to get them out. “Kibummie, listen, please,” he whines. All Kibum has in response to that is another long, heavy breath out of his nose. Taemin takes that as permission and continues: “I did delete his number, I really did, but then I met him at the club again and--”

“Why did you go back to the club?” Kibum interrupts. What the fuck?

“What do you mean why did I-- Was I just supposed to not go clubbing anymore? You're the one that always tells me to go clubbing.”

“Well, not at that club!” Kibum drops his face into his hands. He cannot fathom what the fuck was going on in Taemin's head. “You were supposed to delete his number and then remove yourself from any situation where you know you might run into him again.”

“Well, I didn't,” Taemin says, like that's that and Kibum shouldn't have anything else to say about it. He certainly does, but Taemin keeps talking before he can get a word in. “Anyway, he was there, and he was like hey, how come you didn't text me, and I didn't like tell him why, obviously, but then he still wanted to talk, and then so I was talking to him, and--”

“Tell me,” Kibum says, rolling his chair back but leaning forward to put his forehead on his desk. “Tell me you did not take him back to your place.” He needs Taemin to tell him that he isn't an absolute disaster and a mountain of paperwork. He needs this more than anything.

“Well,” Taemin says in a tone of voice that makes Kibum sigh yet again, a long breath of air out of his mouth and onto the carpet. “Not the first night,” Taemin says. “And, actually,” he adds, brightly, like anything he's going to say is going to dig him out of this hole, “ever since we started fucking a couple of months ago I've only ever gone over to his house.”

"Oh my god," Kibum mutters. He drags himself back up straight in front of his computer and jams hard on his mouse and keyboard to bring up his email. “You're awful in every way." Just on the other side of his office window, lovely Minho is at his own computer, long fingers tapping away at the keyboard instead of brushing through Kibum’s hair. Awful.

"I'm lonely, Kibummie," Taemin whines. "I'm lonely and it's hard.”

And then he's off, just the same as always, going on and on about how lonely he is and how hard it is and how somehow this works as an excuse to put himself and Jonghyun and whoever the fuck else in danger. How somehow this works as an excuse to be an absolute cockblock.

Kibum tunes him out with years of practice. He goes through the process of emailing the investigation department, emailing their research department, emailing the relocation department. He doesn't think Taemin will actually need to be relocated, but that's not really his decision to make. He hopes that once all of this is figured out and it gets to all of the higher-ups that they agree with him and let Taemin stay. If he's this bad now, Kibum doesn't want to know how hard having to disappear again will be for him.

As he works methodically through his emails, he catches little mumbles through his headphones.

"He promises he's never talked to anyone else about me.... do you know how hot it is when a cute boy whispers your real name in your ear after 3 years of white people calling you Dylan.... And now Jinki from work is worried about me and I know he has a crush on me and I kind of really like him too but how would I ever even get close to him anyway.... I've always said I liked being alone but I didn't mean like this....”

"Done,” Kibum says. He clicks send on the last email as he says it, then thunks his elbow on his desk and his chin in his hand with a sigh. god. Taemin is so much to deal with every time.

“He has the most soothing-- what?” There's a sort of scrambling noise on the line like Taemin is startling himself up right. “Done with what?” he asks.

“With contacting all the people to fix your mistake,” Kibum grumbles. He would have figured that would be obvious.

“Oh-- but-- I wasn't done,” Taemin says blankly. “I didn't get to the part where you would get mad at me yet.”

Kibum takes a moment to hear those words, and then to repeat them in his head and listen to them. Then he takes a moment to try to comprehend what the fuck Taemin just said to him. It doesn't work.

“Excuse me?” He asks. “There's more?”

“Um,” Taemin says, and then, very fast, all at once, like he thinks the Band-Aid approach is best for the situation, he says, “Last night Jonghyun told me that some guys were asking about me and they said they were from college but he didn't recognize them and he told them he hasn't seen me but apparently they were like really insistent and also super big and intimidating and--”

“Lee Taemin I am going to murder you with my own fucking bare hands,” Kibum hisses into the phone. He hates Taemin he hates Taemin so fucking much. Shoving at his desk, he rolls his chair to his office door and slams it open.

Lovely Minho jumps about a mile at the noise, big brown eyes wide and mouth popped open in surprise. Kibum doesn't even get to appreciate the look. Instead, he bites out, “Choi, get me ground intervention, right now,” and slams his door shut again.

“No no no no no,” and Taemin sounds panicked suddenly, urgent on the line. “No no no no, we don't-- we don't need ground intervention, what's ground intervention? Kibummie it's fine, really, I don't--”

“Yes we do,” Kibum snaps, “because you are an awful little goblin with no self-preservation skills and an absolute disregard for the lives of the people around you.”

He waits for Taemin's reply, but it doesn't come. All he gets is silence. Silence and the occasional rustle or shuffle.

He slaps open his email again to send updates to the other departments, chewing on the insides of his cheeks so he doesn't grind his teeth. Finally, as he's reading over his message to check for spelling, Taemin gives him a reply.

“That's not fair.”

Kibum hesitates with his fingers poised over the keyboard. That was a tone of voice that he's never heard from Taemin before. Quiet, steady. Angry.

No. Not angry.

Hurt.

He finishes looking over his emails and sends them. Watching the little loading icon circle away, he leans back in his chair, folding his arms. Then he unfolds them and rubs his hands over his face, sighing slowly. Remorse bubbles inside of him, just a little bit, in his stomach.

No. Not a little bit. A lot. On top of everything that Taemin has been dealing with, he didn't need that too.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I'm sorry.”

There's more silence, and then, “Kibummie?”

“Yeah, booger boy?”

“How come you were mad at me before I even said anything?’

“Oh, that.” And in spite of the atmosphere, in spite of the urgent situation, in spite of himself, Kibum laughs. Just a small, quiet chuckle. He turns to look out of his office window at lovely Minho. Minho is on the phone, speaking quietly but urgently to whoever's on the other line. Ground intervention, hopefully. The little ponytail at the back of his head bobs when he speaks. Adorable.

Kibum sighs, but not in an annoyed or angry way for once. Just in a tired, resigned way, shakes his head, and says, “Remember I told you about the cute boy that I was trying to flirt with?”

“Mm?” Taemin hums. The little sound, simple as it is, is the audio equivalent of a puppy hopefully perking his ears up, excited, intrigued. It makes Kibum chuckle again. Taemin isn't so bad.

“You interrupted our first kiss,” he sighs into the phone.

“Noooooo,” Taemin wails. Kibum has trouble believing that it's sincere. He can hear the smile curving up his mouth as he says it and, less assumptive, he can also hear the laugh that Taemin doesn't quite stifle all of the way at the end. “Your tall boy?” he asks eagerly.

“He's not that tall,” Kibum huffs. Minho is not that tall and Kibum is not thirsty.

“I bet he is,” Taemin grins back. Kibum opens his mouth to protest, but Taemin cuts him off. “What's he like?” he asks. “What was your first date like? How come you're having your first kiss at work? Does he work with you-- Wait, is he Choi? The one you were just talking to? Is he your secretary? Kibummie, that's so scandalous, oh my god. What does he smell like?”

“Can you? Like? Calm the fuck down? Hello? Mind your own business,” Kibum says. He's not really upset or anything, though. He smiles the words out with his cheek in his hand. He forgot how interested Taemin was in his love life the last time they talked. At least this time, he's not embarrassed about it.

“Absolutely not,” Taemin says, and the chipper tone of his voice says that he means it in the most gremliny way possible. “Tell me,” he demands. “Tell me what he's like.”

“Fine,” Kibum says. It's not like they don't have a couple of minutes to spare until he gets a call or an email back. He looks out of his office window again.

Lovely Minho is typing something now, focusing on his computer screen, not even glancing down at his fingers every few seconds like Kibum has to do. Kibum has been on a roller coaster of emotions in the past couple of minutes, but he still does feel soft and gay in his heart as he takes a second to calm down and just look. At his new. Boyfriend.

Just thinking the word makes a vibrant blush rise up in his cheeks, over his nose, out to his ears, down his neck. Boyfriend. He has a fucking boyfriend. Hell fucking yeah. No matter what happens today, he is Kim Kibum and he has a boyfriend.

“He's so cute,” he sighs. He doesn't even mind how dreamy he sounds, doesn't even mind the soft little coo Taemin puts into his headphones. “He's so adorable and handsome and he's a babe,“ he continues. “He has long black hair and his lips are, like, round? Like, a circle? Like a Pokéball? He doesn't have any piercings but his earlobes are so cute. His voice is, like, super super super deep, but his laugh is so high. He likes my yaoi hands. Fuck you,” he adds when Taemin snorts. He will not be made fun of for his yaoi hands.

Taemin makes an innocent little noise, so Kibum lets him get away with it and continues, “He's so kind? We went to an ice skating rink and there was this kid that kept falling down and he kept helping them back up. And we went to get dinner beforehand and he left like a $50 tip. And he's always so gentle, like, when he wants to be, because he's also really good at bickering with me? Which is wild, to consider, that we were bickering on our first date, but we were, and it was so fun. And he kind of has a lisp? It's real soft, and when he only does it when he's excited, and it's so cute, and I want to tell him how cute I think it is, but I think he's embarrassed about it? And I don't want to make him self-conscious about it, so I guess I'm going to wait until we know each other better before I bring it up. Plus he-- Oh, wait.”

“Hmm?” Taemin says, a little pout of a noise. “Don't stop, that was all so cute.”

“He sent me an e-mail,” Kibum mumbles, looking over to it. “Probably about ground intervention. I gotta check.”

Unsurprisingly, Taemin pouts even more at that news. He starts mumbling again about not needing it, but Kibum ignores that to read the email. It's simple, short:

hey I made a few calls and you should be getting another email from ground intervention pretty soon. They also said they might send someone up here but if they don't they'll call you.

Also hey, um. Not to go off topic during a serious situation, but. When you slammed open that door and called me Choi and gave me an order like that?? That was uh. Pretty uh. Pretty hot 👀

“God he wants to be on my dick so bad,” Kibum mumbles. He meant mostly to say that to himself, but Taemin still gasps like that was the juiciest thing he's heard in 10 years and then hisses boi! so loud that it just sounds like a burst of static in Kibum's headphones.

“You need to elaborate on that right now immediately!” Taemin says, borderline yells, his eagerness pitching his voice up at least a whole octave.

“I most certainly do not,” Kibum replies, not as firmly as he would like to. Honestly he would love to keep gushing about his new boyfriend. He really shouldn't, though, so he drags his focus back to where it needs to be. Pulling up all of his files on Taemin and his case, he says, “What I need to do is make sure that you tell me every single thing that Jonghyun told you last night so I can tell the other agents.”

“Man,” Taemin whines. “Fine.”

They really shouldn't be doing this here.

Kibum sits down hard, pulls perfect Minho down with him even harder. The force of it sends his rolly chair back until they thump into the printer, the cheap plastic rattling in a way that would concern him if he gave a shit about anything other than Minho's hands in his hair. Minho's mouth on his mouth, Minho's chest pressed so hard against his is like he's trying to become part of him, Minho's dick very much obvious through his pants when Kibum runs his hand up his leg.

Perfect Minho can't get in his chair with him, can't fit, but by this point they're so wild to touch each other that he tries anyway. One of his knees lands on the chair next to Kibum’s leg and the other bangs against the armrest. His hand slaps against the printer, the muscle in his forearm flexing in the corner of Kibum’s eye. The fingers of his other hand cup Kibum’s head gently, so, so, so tenderly compared to the desperation of the moment that Kibum feels his breath leave his lungs even as perfect Minho turns his face up to angle their kiss better.

Every time he kisses Minho it feels like the first time. Not in a physical way, not even really in an emotional way, but just in some way in his heart that makes sense to him and him only. Their mouths press flush together and break apart and then press together again and every single time it reminds him of exactly how he felt 2 weeks ago when he wanted to keep perfect Minho in his personal bubble with him forever.

They definitely should not be doing this here. Definitely not here in the office, door wide open, perfect Minho absent from his desk, three other agents liable to get up from their very serious jobs at any moment and find them. At least one other agent is very liable to hear them through the wall, especially when Kibum reaches underneath this chair and slams the adjustable height all the way up so Minho doesn't have to bend so much to kiss him, so it can be easier, deeper, harder. He feels like he might have broken something in his chair doing that, and by extension, someone might have heard him break his chair, but-–

“Fuck,” perfect Minho whispers, and the way the curse spills from his lips is enough to have Kibum forgetting that anything else in the world exists at all.

Minho isn't shy about cursing. He curses more than Kibum does, curses for fun, so it's not anything new. It's not nothing Kibum has never heard before. But he's never heard it in this context before. Never heard it as a soft breath, a sharp hiss, so close to Kibum’s mouth he could have swallowed it, so deep, almost rough, which is something Kibum never expected to come out of him. It sends shivers down every nerve in his body and Kibum honestly has no idea how he's supposed to resist that.

His dick certainly doesn't resist it, hard under his pants, getting more and more uncomfortable by the second, by the drag of perfect Minho’s hand down his body. Minho fumbles with the hem of his shirt, gives up, switches to the hem of his pants, hooks his fingers into his belt loops. He can't do much from this position but Kibum gets his intent anyway and copies him. Keeping one hand in Minho's perfect hair, he tries to go for Minho's zipper.

Tries being the main word there; this all started so fast, from flirting at Minho's desk to kissing against the wall to where they are now, and Kibum is too flustered, too desperate, almost fucking shaking at this point with how much he wants perfect Minho that he can barely get his hands to work right.

Minho's hand covers his for a moment; Kibum thinks he's going to help out, but instead, Minho pushes his hand back to his chest.

“I want-- you first,” he breathes, and, “Oh my god,” Kibum whispers and then, “Oh my god,” again when perfect, perfect, perfect Minho actually sinks to his knees right there.

They absolutely should not be doing this right here, right now. Kibum isn't really one for sentiment, but he usually wants his first time with a new babe to be special, extra wants that now with perfect Minho. He wants them to take their time, go on a few more dates, a bed and nice clothes and maybe some candles if he's feeling fancy. He doesn't want their first time to be rushed, a sloppy quickie in the fucking office of all places, but also.

But also.

But also, perfect Minho looks so fucking gorgeous on his knees, between his legs, huge brown eyes looking up through his bangs, swollen, flushed lips parted, wet pink tongue dragging through the seam. Maybe. Maybe a quick blowie wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it would actually be very very very good. Maybe he reaches down and gently, carefully, tugs perfect Minho’s hair free of it's tiny little pony tail. Maybe the eager smile that plays over Minho's mouth is the hottest thing he's ever-–

His phone rings.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Kibum hisses. Perfect Minho practically deflates, his sigh is so big and long. He presses his face into Kibum’s thigh and shakes his head. Kibum screams very quickly in the back of his throat and then slides his hand out of Minho’s hair. Pushing him up and away gently, he makes apologetic shooing motions with his other hand.

Minho falls dramatically backwards, flopping his long body out over Kibum's tiny office space. Then he rolls his way out, extra gangly and lanky on purpose, which isn't really enough to make Kibum laugh, but the presence of effort is enough to make him at least smile a little bit before he grabs his headphones and slaps the answer button.

"Taemin," he starts off because there's absolutely no question in his mind as to who the fuck this is. He gets a hundred calls a day from a hundred different people but there is exactly zero doubt in his mind about this one. "I swear to fucking-–"

"Kibummie, hey, good, hey, listen," Taemin says. He doesn't even sound drunk-- strike fucking two. "I want to-–"

"I cannot fathom how every single time you call me you have the worst timing in the universe," Kibum groans. He watches perfect Minho’s butt as he stands up and walks away, closing the door behind him, and feels especially homophobicly attacked. "How are you so--"

"Shut up, dude, I mean, no, I'm sorry, but, just-- listen, Kibummie, I don't really have a lot of time, just let me talk."

"What do you mean you don't-–?" Kibum’s mood softens, a little bit, to confusion now. What's he suddenly in a rush for? He looks at all of Taemin’s information on his computer, and then does a double-take. "Why the fuck are you moving so fast? Are you driving?"

"You can see my location?" Taemin asks.

"Yeah, what the fuck,” Kibum replies, touching the screen himself just to track his little dot as it is zooms around the map. "Where are you going?" he asks blankly.

"Ooh, definitely can't tell you that," Taemin says, "But maybe-- yeah, I guess I'll leave my phone on in the car when I get there so you can make sure he's okay later I guess?"

"So I can-– excuse me?" for the first time, Kibum slows down and actually processes Taemin's tone and the things he's saying. He's not drunk, but he's not casual and comfortable, either. All of his words are coming out in a rush, a mess, like he's not stable enough himself to slow down and pick them out carefully. If Kibum really listens, he can even hear his breath on the line, fast and uneven.

"No time," Taemin says again. "just–- I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry, Kibummie. About, like. A lot of stuff. I'm sorry I always called you when I was drunk and I'm sorry I wasted so much of your time and I'm sorry I teased you about your boyfriend and I'm sorry I was-–"

"Taemin, hey, stop that, you're not-– tell me what's-–"

"And I'm not like, telling you all of this because I'm guilty, I'm telling you because, like-– I know you don't like me, Kibummie, but you're really-- in the past couple years you've been the only one that I can talk to, like, honestly? Without worrying about anything? You're the only one that I haven't had to lie to, Kibummie, and I know you don't like me but I really really really appreciate that you let me talk to you, and I just wanted you to know that I do love-–"

"Shut up, Taemin, shut up, shut up, do not fucking tell me that you love me right now, shut the fuck up." Taemin is panicking, and Kibum is panicking because he's panicking, or maybe just because the things he's saying are so fucked up and panic inducing that he can't help it. He sounds like he's saying goodbye, he sounds like he's going off to fucking die, and he can't fucking do that.

"If you can't tell me where, then tell me why you're speeding somewhere," he tries to say as evenly as he can. On the other line is a short sigh, Maybe more of a weak exhale after a breath that didn't do as much as it should have.

"Because they have Jonghyun? And I'm going to give myself up to them so they don't hurt him anymore? And slash or kill him?" he says. His voice, somehow, over the course of that explanation, steadied out, filled with some sort of fucking noble resolve that Kibum cannot stand to hear right now.

"What do you mean, they? Who's they?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean? Them, the bad guys, the mafia dude, the one that wants to kill me? Who else?"

"The bad guys can't have Jonghyun," Kibum snaps, "my guys have Jonghyun." It's been a whole fucking thing these past two weeks, finding him and tracking him and picking him up and questioning him and making sure he's safe, both for Taemin and around him. There's literally no way that anyone else could have him.

"Well, your guys must have fucking lost him," and Taemin is the one snapping now, a tone Kibum has never heard from him before, "because I'm pretty fucking sure that it’s him all tied up and bloody and shit in the video that they sent me and all of the pictures that they keep fucking sending me while I'm driving."

"Fuck,” Kibum says.

"Yeah," Taemin says. He swallows audibly. "But it's okay, Kibummie. I'm going to. I'm going to go get him and. I don't have anything, anymore, you know that. But Jonghyun does, he has, like, friends and family and goals that he can actually do. He has real relationships that aren't lies. And he's not-– none of this is his fault. It's all mine, you were right, I shouldn't have kept talking to him, But I don't think I really ever stopped loving him, and now-– But it's okay. I'm going to. He's going to be okay."

"Taem," Kibum says. It's weird, how the rise of Taemin’s calm is directly proportional to the rise of Kibum’s panic. "You can't-– I'm going to call some people, they're going to-– they can get him, just wait a little bit, you can't--"

"I sure can," Taemin cuts him off. "Literally, they said if I told anyone he was doneskies, so if you send anyone then they'll know and they'll-–" he cuts himself off this time with a sharp, but long, breath. "I'm almost there, I think," he says quietly. "I'm going to-- I'm going to put my phone in the glove box, so they can't see I'm on it, and-– you can keep tracking me or whatever, and-– Don't come and get me until later, but who knows, maybe you'll find me before they cut me up into too many pieces? I don't know. I didn't call you to ask for help, I just. Wanted you to know that I love you, Kibummie. Thanks for everything."

"Taemin, don't-–" Kibum shouts, but then there's nothing but clattering and a slam as Taemin throws in the phone into the glove box and closes it. "Taemin," he shouts, "Fuck!” He slaps his hands on the desk, pushes his palms into his eyes, curses again. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. His stomach churns, his heart pounds, his head burns right behind his eyes.

He tries to take some calming breaths, but that doesn't work. He doesn't understand why it's not working. He's gotten worse calls than this before. He's gotten calls full of screaming, of gunshots, calls from murderers on their victim's phones, gloating, he's been trained in high-stress situations like this specifically. So why the fuck does he feel so sick right now?

From his headphones, there is a sudden lack of noise; not a dial tone, but like a background of static that he hadn't noticed suddenly turning off so the silence seems loud and jarring. And then there's muffled rustling, a click, more clattering, and then what is, unmistakably, the slamming of a car door.

His mind is still miles behind but the noises snap his body back into focus. One hand opens up a new line to call some other department, the other types out an email to he doesn't even know who. His body is just going, flying on panic, and it's like he's not even in control of himself. He has one thought, and it's just to make sure that Taemin is-–

He turns his head to pick up a pen and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Minho sitting at his desk outside his window. Minho. Perfect Minho. Kibum cannot fathom that less than 10 minutes ago, Minho was on his knees between his legs. He cannot connect the two moments together in his brain.

What he can do, however, is roll over to his door, push it open, and, when words won't come out of his throat, beckon Minho over desperately.

Minho obeys without question, expression immediately concerned, half questions forming and barely leaving his lips as Kibum shakes his head. Kibum grabs the hand that Minho holds out, pulling him into his office, into his lap, holding him, gaining comfort from him, security, some form of stability that he can use to get himself through this.

When Kibum makes his way to the correct hospital room, peeks through the half open blinds, and sees two people in one bed, very obviously making out with each other, all of the apprehension and nerves in his chest move out to make way for an overwhelming sense of pleasure. Of karma. Of revenge. Of justice.

He shows the security guard outside the door his ID, smiling and nodding when they let him pass, and opens the door. Closing it behind him, he rolls his eyes. They haven't even noticed him. He crosses his arms, sets his face as stern as possibly can, and steps forward to stand between the foot of both beds. Jonghyun and Taemin are both in the left bed, one lying down with his leg propped up in a cast, the other sitting on the edge, body twisted away from Kibum. Eyes closed, mouths locked, fingers tangled in hair, looking the perfect picture of content gays in love.

"Y'all," Kibum snaps.

The way they both jump and snatch away from each other is the most beautiful thing Kibum has ever seen.

"I did not fly all the way across the country to watch you two gremlins make out," he says. He curls his scowl even further, just to really milk this for everything it's worth. Then, the one sitting on the edge of the bed calms himself, turns to him, and says, with the smallest, cutest, most hopeful little bean smile, "Kibummie?"

And suddenly Kibum is feeling the absolute softest he has ever felt in his entire life.

Well. A quick memory of wonderful Minho holding his hand until the very last second before he got on the plane surfaces in his mind. Soft palms, long fingers, locking with his before slipping away and lifting high above his head in a wave. The second most soft he's ever felt it in his life, then.

He still doesn't fight the smile on his face and uncrosses his arms, putting his hands on his hips instead.

"Hey, booger boy," he says. And then, to give himself some time, adds, "Get back in your own bed. You're supposed to be resting."

"Yeah, okay," Taemin sighs. He slips off the bed; Jonghyun takes his hand and holds it until he gets too far away, square palms, strong fingers, locking with Taemin’s before slipping away and lifting behind his head as a pillow.

Third softest Kibum has ever felt in his life.

To keep himself from getting absolutely sidetracked by queer joy, he looks over at Taemin as he clambers, wincing and gingerly paying attention to his ribs, into his own bed. Choppy black undercut, straight, parted in the middle. Deep brown eyes, round chubby cheeks, plump soft lips, all the same as Kibum remembers. What's different is. Everything else.

Countless piercings; Kibum knows because he tries to do a quick count and loses track halfway down Taemin’s face. Eyebrow rings, tiny jewels lining his lower eyelids, cheek studs, canine bites, septum, nose jewels, triple vertical labret, stars on the corners of his eyes. It's like the longer that Kibum looks at his face, the more he notices. That's not even talking about his ears; his left is like a jewelry box all on its own and his right-–

Kibum tries not to grimace as he gets a good look at Taemin's right ear. It's not really an ear anymore; not judging by the sheer amount of bandages covering it. To keep himself from thinking about what the bad guys were just starting to do to Taemin before the rescue, Kibum shakes his head and arches one eyebrow.

"You look different from your case picture," he says coolly. Taemin looks back at him blankly for a moment, and then a smirk curls up his mouth. It widens into a full grin, and he sticks his tongue out too, for a second, to show not just one tongue piercing, but a whole little design pierced on the surface of it.

"Yeah, I got a haircut," he shrugs. Kibum snorts. Indeed.

"You should see the rest of him." and that's a voice that Kibum has never heard before, but he can just tell that a smile lives inside of it at all times. He glances at Jonghyun: dark skin, huge brown eyes, soft round nose, thick pouty lips, sharp jaw, scruffy bleach blond hair. Healing scars on his cheeks, his lips, his collar bones, his wrists. Hospital gown sleeves rolled up to shoulders, beefy muscles Kibum has heard so much about living up to their reputation. His tongue slides over his lower lip, pushes the corner of his mouth as he looks over at Taemin. "He says he gets piercings when he's stressed," he says, sliding his eyes over to Kibum with an arched eyebrow of his own. "I can't think of any reason why he would be so stressed out, though."

Kibum laughs, but on the inside, he's grumpy. He's grumpy because Taemin was right. Jonghyun is so cute. Everything about him at first glance seems like it should be tough and dudebro and annoying, but. He is just so cute. He's so cute and little. His little mannerisms, the way his lips move when he speaks, how he keeps playing with his own hair, the way his non injured foot is swaying back and forth lazily under the blankets. He's so tiny, itty-bitty, minuscule, adorable. Kibum was so ready to come in here and roast him for causing so much trouble, but. He can't blame Taemin now. He gets it. He just met the babe 2 minutes ago and he would give up everything for him in a heartbeat too.

He can't bring himself to say any of that, though, so instead, he asks, "How's your leg?"

"Oh, bad," Jonghyun says brightly. He reaches down and pats the cast over his leg gingerly. "Better than last week, but still bad. They say I'm probably going to need a cane, but, like. Whatever." He shrugs, looking completely unbothered-– if anything, a little excited. "I'm about 2 years away from becoming an archaeology professor? And there is like, nothing hotter to me than the concept of being a professor with the biggest, loudest, gaudiest, queerest cane possible. It's going to be so fucking good. Will it fuck with my depression big time? Probably. But at least I'll be hot while I'm sad. And the big suit guys told me I could sue the bad guys for, you know, taking me hostage and trying to murk me. So that will be rad."

And Kibum thought Taemin was chatty. He has no idea how to respond to that. Thankfully, his phone chimes from his pocket and he uses that as an excuse to not have to. Mumbling "One sec" and taking it out, he reads the notification and immediately tries to fight back his smile.

It's a text from wonderful Minho: "has your plane landed yet? :) miss you :) also you're gay :)"

Kibum bites his lip giddily as he reads it over and over. It's so simple but it's so sweet and so cute and he is so gay. He texts back, "yeah about half an hour ago I texted you when I landed but I guess I didn't have service in the airport so it didn't send? I'm at the hospital though"

He's been meaning to figure out how to make his texts sound more lovey-dovey lately, but it's not super high on his list of priorities. He thinks maybe it should be, though, because looking at his reply next to wonderful Minho's makes him pout a little. Maybe all of those memes about tops being bad texters were right. Homophobic, in his opinion.

"You’re prettier than I was imagining, Kibummie."

"Wuh?" Kibum looks up from his phone, confused. Taemin is looking back at him earnestly, smiling a little, hair bouncing as he nods his head up and down eagerly.

"That's not me, like, hitting on you, or anything," he adds quickly, seriously, holding up his hands. "But, like, I don't know. The way your voice is, I was expecting someone. Different? I don't know. But I like you. You’re, you know." he gestures with both of his hands at Kibum in a way that Kibum thinks is supposed to be helpful but really isn't. "You're pretty. Cute. I like it. Cool scar," he adds, pointing.

"Oh, thanks," Kibum says, smiling automatically. He brings his fingers up to touch the end of his eyebrow. He loves his scar and he loves when people appreciate it. From his eyebrow, he pushes his hand through his hair, lets it rest on the back of his neck. For a long moment he just looks at them, both of them, two mountains of paperwork that make him feel too many emotions. He likes them and he's grumpy about it.

He opens his mouth and takes a breath, a checklist of everything he wanted to update them on running through his head. How the case is going, how the trials are going, how the search for the two guys that escaped is going, how long it'll be before Jonghyun gets called in for questioning again, how long until Taemin can finally leave the program and go back to his original life. That last part he thinks Taemin suspects, but has been desperately trying to keep his hopes low about so he doesn't get disappointed. Kibum is excited to see his eyes light up when he hears the news.

Before he can pick a place to start, his phone rings.

It doesn't just ring; it rings the one unique ringtones that Kibum has for it. Wonderful Minho's ringtone. He looks at his phone in his hand, at Minho's name in his palm, and couldn't fight back his smile if he tried. He's so gay.

"I have to take this," he says, wiggling his phone and heading for the door. "Very important business," he mumbles. The other two can wait a little bit to hear his news. They're not in danger anymore.

"It's your tall boyfriend, isn't it?" Taemin asks. "I know he's tall, Kibummie, because you're tall, you fucking liar, you're like 6 feet, I knew you were thirsty, I could tell-– hey-–" When Kibum reaches the door and glances over his shoulder, Taemin is on his knees on his bed, crawling to the end of it, looking halfway torn between smug and desperate to be paid attention to. Kibum only gives him a mischievous little smirk as he opens the door and steps out. "Tell him I say hi!" is the last thing that Kibum hears before he closes the door behind him and answers the call.

"Hello, gay baby," he smiles into his phone. There's a little bench just outside in the hallway so he takes a seat there, crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall. The security guard glances at him and he feels a little bad for a little moment about taking a phone call around them, but then Minho gasps audibly on the other line and he stops caring.

"That's me!" he exclaims. "I'm gay baby."

"You sure are," Kibum replies. He's feeling pretty gay baby himself, hearing wonderful Minho's voice. He checks his watch out of curiosity, then does a double take at it. Frowning, thinking about the time difference, he asks, "Aren't you still at work? "

"When has that ever stopped us?" Minho asks. And Kibum doesn't say anything in reply to that because, if he takes more than a second to think about it, then Minho definitely has a point. Minho seems to pick up on the fact that his silence means that he agrees, because he continues with, "How are the gremlins?"

"Safe," Kibum says. "Obnoxious. Cute. Secret gremlin says hi." He shrugs. "How are my gremlins?" That's the real question that he has. There hasn't been a minute that's gone by since he got on that plane that he hasn't thought about his two little puppies.

"Oh, um, " wonderful Minho says. "Well," he says, "I mean," he says. "Not. Bad." Kibum raises his eyebrows at the wall. Something in Minho's tone makes him think that maybe things are going bad.

"They still won't listen to you, huh?" He asks, not bothering to mask the smirk in his voice. He knew leaving wonderful Minho to babysit his puppies wouldn't go super smoothly, but he wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to give the babe a house key and get him and the dogs to spend some time together.

"I mean, Commedes does," Minho says. "But Garcon likes to pretend I don't exist. Even when I offer him those little treats that you said are his favorite."

"Well, I-–" Kibum says, and then he stops, frowning, confused. "Garcon?" he asks. "Garcon doesn't care about treats, he likes the squeaky toys."

"No, you." wonderful Minho hesitates. "You said." He pauses again, longer this time, and then says, "The brown one?"

"No, the black-- Minho."

"Oh my god," Minho says quietly.

"Minho,” Kibum whispers.

"Oh my god," Minho says again.

"Have you been calling them the wrong-–"

"Oh my fucking god," Minho whines. He really whines it, long and high, a wail of despair almost. Kibum can't help it; He laughs, deep from his chest, feels it pulling up his shoulders and pushing up his cheeks. It's low and warm and rumbles through him and feels a lot like love, a lot like wonderful Minho is the best thing that's ever happened to him in his life.

"God, I love your laugh."

And now it's Kibum's turn to say oh my god, to hiss it through his teeth as all of his soft, warm and fuzzy emotions slap right over into sharp, hot and intense ones.

"Don't, you can't say that, don't say that, oh my god, you can't fucking say that oh, oh my god, " he hisses. "I'm in public, oh my god." He cannot deal with this in public. He cannot be this gay and in love when there are people around. He has an image that he needs to stick to. People won't be intimidated by him if they see him get all flustered because the love of his life thinks his laugh is cute.

"It's true, though," wonderful Minho says. And now his voice is warm, his smile shines through the phone, and Kibum is even gayer.

"Stop it," Kibum whines. "There's-–" he glances to the security guard and absolutely dies inside when he catches them quickly looking away and lifting their hand up to cover a smile. "The security guard is looking at me like I'm adorable, I hate it, you're making me look soft," he accuses.

"You are soft, " Minho tells him, smugness radiating throughout his tone, and then with curiosity, "they have a security guard outside their room? Really?"

"Yeah, dude," Kibum says. He latches onto this new subject as an excuse to push away all of his emotions and pretend they never happened. "They're still, like, under government protection. There are a couple of bad guys that are still out to get them. It's not like a public hospital is a secure location. I said they were safe and, like, 60% of that is because they have security."

"Damn," Minho says, sounding impressed. "Should you, like." he hesitates again, like he's not entirely sure of what he wants to say. "Should you get back in to talk to them?" he asks.

"Mmm, no," Kibum hums. He turns to the window behind him and leans down a little bit so he can peek through the blinds. Taemin has moved back to Jonghyun's bed and their mouths are locked together again. Twisting back to face forward, he smiles at the wall. "They're fine. We have all the time in the world to talk."

#minkey #jongtae #taekey #taemin #minho #kibum #key #jonghyun #fluff #oneshot #pg13 #the original Au was just the Jonghyun Taemin story with Minho Key as a b story #but then I didn't want to write any of that because it would be too hard #and so then I decided to make the b story The a story but then it wound up being like. 50/50 anyway lamo #jonghyun is the best part of this obviously #everybody jonghyun with the glasses and the spiky earrings and the cool cane #you're welcome #ydw

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andivmg · 3 months

Text

My experience with Luke (Punz)

CW: toxic relationship, racism, dubious consent

I know in the past i said that i would no longer speak about him publicly, and when talking about my experiences with abuse and emotional mistreatment i begged to keep it anonymous but after reflecting on this for a week and seeing so many incredibly smart and strong women tell their stories. they have given me the strength to say his name.

this is really scary to talk about because of the copious levels of harassment i have received from his fans in the past so if this spreads or gets out of hand i will simply log off.

If you read my last post, i nicknamed him 1.

So aside from everything i said there, there were a lot of things i didn’t include because they would’ve made it obvious that it was him and it could potentially backfire on me so, i’m very afraid to post this. but i’m going to do it scared anyway, because it’s not fair that he gets to just go and live his life worry-free as if he didn’t practically ruin mine.

Because I already made a very lengthy post about him, i won’t include everything i said last time to avoid being redundant but if i repeat myself, please bear with me.

In our year long relationship i had to endure emotional neglect, gaslighting, verbal abuse, one instance where there was dubious consent, and much more.

Starting off at the beginning of our relationship, that’s when i was getting copious amounts of hate and harassment from his fan base (warranted or not), he decided that our relationship must be kept private. he said it was to “protect” me from his fanbase when in reality it was to protect himself. it was so he wouldn’t get all the backlash i was getting. this is funny because one of the things i got called out for was saying the B slur (derogatory term used against mexicans/latinos). I won’t get into the nuances of if i could say it or not as a puertorican because that’s discourse that does not pertain to this specific situation. But you know who definitely can’t say it? A white boy from Massachusetts. When i was getting cancelled for this and getting thousands of tweets calling me names, he decided that was the perfect time to say “I mean you are a b***** aren’t you? my little b*****.” Now, he said this completely unprompted. I was in the process of writing my apology and he just said that. I tell you this because i immediately shut him down and told him that there was no universe in which it was okay for him to say that word and especially not one where he could just call me that. While i was reprimanding him, he was smiling and laughing. he apparently found it amusing to call me a slur. regardless, he gave me a half-assed apology and said he wouldn’t do it again. and he didn’t. but this wasn’t the only time he was weirdly racist to me. this was my first time being in an interracial relationship so i was led to believe that this was normal by all the white people around me at the time. But, sometimes my spanish accent would come out and he would make fun of me and the way i pronounced some words. He also refused to visit me in Puerto Rico when i lived there or come meet my family when i really wanted him to because he “didn’t like the heat” or “it’s dangerous there isn’t it?”. Once, while we were watching season 2 of Bridgerton, he implied that the Sharma sisters were “too dark” for him to be attracted to them. This hurt me because they are brown skinned girls. I am a brown skinned girl. Then this, combined with the fact that he told me once he wasn’t attracted to me made me feel like my skin color was unattractive. These are only a few examples i can think of at the moment, but i’m sure there were more. Our relationship ended in 2022 so some of my memory is a bit hazy. But, I do remember feeling inferior to him throughout the relationship because he was white and I was not. I chalk that up to all the micro aggressions i had to deal with because i had never felt that way around white people before.

Another thing i had to endure was him constantly making me feel like he was embarrassed to be with me. Because i was cancelled, he didn’t want to associate with me too much. He did defend me on multiple occasions, I’ll give him that. But, he only did it because his name was getting dragged in the mud along with mine. Excusing my actions made him look better for being around me. In reality he didn’t really care. Because he was such a big content creator and someone i looked up to professionally, I took his advice as law. He told me to tone down my personality, to keep a low profile, to change things about myself to be more palatable to his audience. The same audience that spoke about me like “The pussy can’t be that good punz please stop defending her”. So i changed a lot of things about myself and my content to better suit what his audience liked. He made me feel like if his audience liked me, he would be public about our relationship and stop hiding it. He told me the reason why he wanted to keep our relationship a secret was because he didn’t want to get hate for it. But this wasn’t true. On my 20th birthday he went to Las Vegas for a twitch rivals event. That night i asked to facetime him to say goodnight and he refused because he was at a hotel room with his friends and he didn’t want them to know that we were together. It was as if my mere presence or the utterance of my name was a source of embarrassment for him. And he didn’t let me forget it. It wasn’t just a public thing at that point. He didn’t want people to know we were together, period. This was devastating to me because I would talk to all my friends about him. I was so proud to be with him and I was just one more problem to him. He made me feel so small and insignificant just because his fans didn’t like me.

He would berate me a lot. Not just due to getting heat online, although he did do that a lot. But in general whenever we would get into an argument or a disagreement he would always call me names like annoying or weird or stupid. He would raise his voice at me if i did something he didn’t like and call me an idiot. And that really hurt, i felt like i couldn’t bring up anything or do anything without getting insulted. If I hadn’t seen him in a few days because he was too busy streaming and i asked to hang out he would call me needy, clingy, and annoying. Granted, he might not have been wrong, but that is not something you say to someone you claim to love. He also insulted me when i was in depressive episodes. I have BPD and at the time i was not being treated properly for it. So, I was all over the place emotionally and he was what i clung to for validation, reassurance, and love. I talked to him when we first started dating about my disorder and told him that if it seemed like something he couldn’t handle that he could opt out of the relationship. I guess he didn’t think it was that bad or something idk because whenever i had really bad depressive episodes, he would tell me I was too sad to hang out with. He said that my sadness was a burden to him. Which would be fair. But, once my mother had a conversation with him about me. She told him that i am someone who needs a lot of love and caring. She said that if he wasn’t willing to put in that kind of effort into a relationship to just leave me alone. He reassured her that he would be there for me no matter what. He told my mother that he would protect me and my heart. He did not. He took all the warnings I gave him and ignored them and then made me feel like I was the problem. And even worse, he would say that i was pretending to be sad to get his attention when he would neglect for days at a time.

There were also some smaller things like the fact that he made me feel really guilty whenever he would spend money on me. Also, he would be really mean about my eating habits. For context, i used to suffer from an eating disorder. I was anorexic and had a really unhealthy relationship with food during high school and my first year of uni. This relationship began when i was recovering from my ED. For me, eating was really hard. So i had certain comfort foods that, while sometimes unhealthy, at least it was something to eat when i didn’t feel like eating anything. He knew this. Yet, whenever i would crave some of these foods he would call me fat. Constantly told me I’d gain weight from eating all that junk food. Saying that to someone with an eating disorder is crazy. Other smaller things were that whenever I would post tiktoks where i was lip syncing or just looking good he would yell at me and say i was looking for attention. Same with Instagram or Twitter whenever i would post photos where I looked hot. He never planned out a single date for us. I would beg him to get me flowers and he did maybe once but i’ll get into that in a bit. He would make fun of me in front of his friends to make himself look better. He let his friends say really degrading things about me in his presence. For example, once when i was showering, i overheard him on a discord call with George and Sapnap and i heard George say “if you don’t go in the shower and have sex with Andi, i will”. Once, when i was really struggling with my legs (for those of you who don’t know, i have arthritis and it’s very painful. at the time i wasn’t diagnosed but i was in a lot of pain) I literally could not walk. I had to beg him to take me to the ER because i didn’t know what was wrong with me. He didn’t want to take me but eventually i convinced him, and while we were there all he did was complain about how long it was taking and that he would have rather been at home streaming. Whenever I would talk about my interests that i was excited about like shows or books he would be incredibly uninterested and say that those things were stupid and he didn’t want to hear about them. I know all of these seem very silly or superficial but cumulatively it was awful.

Now for arguably the most serious thing i’m going to talk about. I want to preface this by saying i am just telling my side of what happened. You can come to your own conclusions about this.

On April 25, 2022 it was our one year anniversary, and i had made a dinner reservation for us. I expected him to plan something throughout the day for us to do. He told me he was going to spend the whole day playing Valorant so I got upset and cancelled the reservation. After a very heated argument, we calmed down and i asked him to come over. He came over about an hour later with flowers and drinks (I was 20 at the time so I couldn’t buy the drinks myself). He brought Smirnoffs and Trulys. For context, I am a lightweight. I always have been. I literally get tipsy on half a cocktail. And that day, I hadn’t eaten anything because i was in distress over our argument. So we get to talking and drinking. I blacked out after my second Smirnoff. Apparently I drank 3 but I genuinely cannot remember anything after finishing the second one. The next morning i woke up naked in my bed. I woke him up and asked him “Luke, why am I naked?” and he said “Because you didn’t want to put your clothes back on.” When I clarified to him that that was not what I meant, he got defensive and said that he didn’t realize how drunk I was. He proceeded to tell me that I initiated sex with him and that i was very enthusiastic about it. He said he didn’t know i could black out on three smirnoffs. He made fun of me for being a lightweight and continued to make light of the situation. Then he mentioned that i fell off the bed at some point in the night and that it was funny how drunk I was. I then questioned him. Because if he thought that me tripping and falling off the bed because i was so drunk was funny, how did he not know that i was too drunk? He responded by saying that i fell off the bed only after we were done. That day I broke up with him. I’m still really confused about what happened that night. I don’t remember anything and all I have to go on is what he said to me. We were in a relationship at the time and he says he didn’t know how drunk I was so I’m not sure what to call what happened. A while after that day, his friend that hmu while we were broken up and I started talking again and i confided in him about that night. He told me to be careful saying things like that because they could get me into trouble. I spoke to some of our other friends about it and they told me it was no big deal and that it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know how drunk I really was. Because I don’t remember, I have been led to believe that this is not a serious matter. You can think what you want, come to whatever conclusions you want. That is just my side of the story.

I want to add that I’m not proud of how I acted after the relationship ended. I felt really angry at all the shit he put me through and I guess a part of me wanted him to hurt even a quarter of how I did. So I started talking to his friend and got involved with him. This backfired on me because his friend ended up really hurting me too so ig i got my karma. But the thing that hurt the most is that because of what I did, some of our friends took his side in the break up. I was told that I did something terrible by getting involved with his friend that he was already insecure about and that he didn’t deserve that. These are the same friends who were witness to the dumpster fire of a relationship we had and all the things he did to me. They turned their backs on me because of this one thing I did. But stood by and watched as he treated me like garbage for over a year.

I will conclude this by saying that while this relationship has been “over and done with” for almost two years now, I carry a lot of trauma from it still. I still talk about him in therapy and have had to put in a lot of work to heal from what he did and i still cannot say that i am okay. I am very blessed to now have a patient and understanding partner who has helped me heal from that trauma and i just want to quickly thank him for that. Nobody deserves to go through what I did. While yes, it was a toxic relationship, and I had a part in that, it does not excuse all the awful things he said and did to me. This is my truth, thank you for taking the time to read it.

#sorry if the formatting is all over the place

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