Kibum is sitting outside a seedy gas station, no change to spare, a dead phone weighing down his pocket, at one am in the morning. Surrounded by truck drivers looking to pack up on sustenance, and inebriated teenagers about to make terrible terrible life decisions, he feels tremendously silly in his pressed dress suit and eight to two parted hair. The smell of petroleum stings his nose and he sniffs, pulling his phone out of his pocket and staring at his own, dark, irritable expression. This is the first night in a long time that he’d managed to be dragged out of his cramped apartment, with a promise to actually look presentable, and in Minho’s very offensive and misconstrued words, ’a normal person’. If it wasn’t Minho’s wedding day it wouldn’t be above Kibum to rock up in a torn shorts and suspenders, just to watch Minho’s left eye twitch and turn towards Kibum intermittently while he was doing his vows.
Instead Kibum had sat restlessly at his table, playing with the hem of the tablecloth and forcing a strained smile throughout the whole service, scared to have his mere breath misinterpreted. Which, from the way he was seething through clenched teeth, was entirely possible. His behaviour was apparently too curt and embarrassing for his plus one, Woohyun, to stand to be around. And after several glasses of wine he’d stumbled out of the wedding with one of the bridesmaids clutching the lapel of his tuxedo. Leaving Kibum without a friend, a ride, or a reason to stay.
He’s resigned to stalking back towards the Church and just ask Minho to drop him home in the Wedding Limousine or something -- if he was going to swallow his ego he might as well get some glee out of it -- when a honk causes him to jolt and almost trip over his own feet. Driving up to the curb in front of a begrudged Kibum is the cause of most of his agitation for the night: Kim Jonghyun in a silver Mercedes.
“Do you need a ride?” Jonghyun asks, sincerely, but his true nature fails him and it rings with a confidence Kibum could never forget.
“No, not at all. Just getting some fresh air,” Kibum answers, jutting his chin up and striding forward. Jonghyun sighs and pulls up to the petrol station’s driveway, grabbing Kibum by the wrist when he attempts to sidestep him.
“Don’t be like this,” Jonghyun says, fingers pressing into Kibum’s pulse and causing him to jerk away. “Come on.”
“Don’t act like you care,” Kibum says, rubbing his hands down his pants.
“You’re right, it doesn’t suit me,” Jonghyun agrees, “please Kibum, come into the car so I can reel in self-satisfied smugness at this exciting turn of events.”
Kibum narrows his eyes, “Well, if you put it that way.” He swings his right leg up, but Jonghyun having years of special best friend experience of knowing that yes, Kibum actually would go there, leans halfway out of the car and catches his foot in the air. Kibum bobbles backwards, flailing his arms and eventually falling flat onto the greasy asphalt, his dress shoe dangling tauntingly in Jonghyun’s hands.
“Charming as always,” Kibum drawls, lifting himself off the ground and trying not to show how utterly humiliated he was. Jonghyun gets it though, and his smile is mirthful when Kibum snatches the shoe from his grasp.
“Your random fits of violence are becoming so predictable,” Jonghyun states. He taps the ledge of his window in a fast rhythm, staring anticipatingly at Kibum. “So, let me make it up to you?” Jonghyun leans back and beckons to the seat beside him.
Kibum had spent the entire night trying to avoid Jonghyun from the moment they’d made eye contact through the mirror in the men’s bathroom. He refused to let months of dancing around and reclusion become all for nothing on a night he’d been guilted to go to out of obligation. In that sense, sliding next to Jonghyun in the car would be extremely counterproductive towards everything he’d believed in since graduating University eight months ago. But maybe the late night dramas had left him with a thirst for some of drama of his own, that’s the only explanation he can think of when he shuffles into the vehicle, the heater making him realise just exactly how cold he’d been outside.
Jonghyun doesn’t say anything, just reverses out and begins driving with a barely-suppressed smile on his face.
It’s fifteen minutes of no conversation that’s filled with the low hum of the stereo, it’s a comfortable silence that makes Kibum want to lean his head into the junction of Jonghyun’s shoulder. He looks out onto the highway and is reminded of the drive home after graduation, the flavour of hopelessness stifling the back of his tongue. He’s lost in the blurry haze of the distant lights of the city and only barely hears the words wafting through the air when Jonghyun speaks.
THIS TIME IT IS ACTUALLY FIXED: fic; jongkey; till we're do or die [1/2]
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Kibum is sitting outside a seedy gas station, no change to spare, a dead phone weighing down his pocket, at one am in the morning. Surrounded by truck drivers looking to pack up on sustenance, and inebriated teenagers about to make terrible terrible life decisions, he feels tremendously silly in his pressed dress suit and eight to two parted hair. The smell of petroleum stings his nose and he sniffs, pulling his phone out of his pocket and staring at his own, dark, irritable expression. This is the first night in a long time that he’d managed to be dragged out of his cramped apartment, with a promise to actually look presentable, and in Minho’s very offensive and misconstrued words, ’a normal person’. If it wasn’t Minho’s wedding day it wouldn’t be above Kibum to rock up in a torn shorts and suspenders, just to watch Minho’s left eye twitch and turn towards Kibum intermittently while he was doing his vows.
Instead Kibum had sat restlessly at his table, playing with the hem of the tablecloth and forcing a strained smile throughout the whole service, scared to have his mere breath misinterpreted. Which, from the way he was seething through clenched teeth, was entirely possible. His behaviour was apparently too curt and embarrassing for his plus one, Woohyun, to stand to be around. And after several glasses of wine he’d stumbled out of the wedding with one of the bridesmaids clutching the lapel of his tuxedo. Leaving Kibum without a friend, a ride, or a reason to stay.
He’s resigned to stalking back towards the Church and just ask Minho to drop him home in the Wedding Limousine or something -- if he was going to swallow his ego he might as well get some glee out of it -- when a honk causes him to jolt and almost trip over his own feet. Driving up to the curb in front of a begrudged Kibum is the cause of most of his agitation for the night: Kim Jonghyun in a silver Mercedes.
“Do you need a ride?” Jonghyun asks, sincerely, but his true nature fails him and it rings with a confidence Kibum could never forget.
“No, not at all. Just getting some fresh air,” Kibum answers, jutting his chin up and striding forward. Jonghyun sighs and pulls up to the petrol station’s driveway, grabbing Kibum by the wrist when he attempts to sidestep him.
“Don’t be like this,” Jonghyun says, fingers pressing into Kibum’s pulse and causing him to jerk away. “Come on.”
“Don’t act like you care,” Kibum says, rubbing his hands down his pants.
“You’re right, it doesn’t suit me,” Jonghyun agrees, “please Kibum, come into the car so I can reel in self-satisfied smugness at this exciting turn of events.”
Kibum narrows his eyes, “Well, if you put it that way.” He swings his right leg up, but Jonghyun having years of special best friend experience of knowing that yes, Kibum actually would go there, leans halfway out of the car and catches his foot in the air. Kibum bobbles backwards, flailing his arms and eventually falling flat onto the greasy asphalt, his dress shoe dangling tauntingly in Jonghyun’s hands.
“Charming as always,” Kibum drawls, lifting himself off the ground and trying not to show how utterly humiliated he was. Jonghyun gets it though, and his smile is mirthful when Kibum snatches the shoe from his grasp.
“Your random fits of violence are becoming so predictable,” Jonghyun states. He taps the ledge of his window in a fast rhythm, staring anticipatingly at Kibum. “So, let me make it up to you?” Jonghyun leans back and beckons to the seat beside him.
Kibum had spent the entire night trying to avoid Jonghyun from the moment they’d made eye contact through the mirror in the men’s bathroom. He refused to let months of dancing around and reclusion become all for nothing on a night he’d been guilted to go to out of obligation. In that sense, sliding next to Jonghyun in the car would be extremely counterproductive towards everything he’d believed in since graduating University eight months ago. But maybe the late night dramas had left him with a thirst for some of drama of his own, that’s the only explanation he can think of when he shuffles into the vehicle, the heater making him realise just exactly how cold he’d been outside.
Jonghyun doesn’t say anything, just reverses out and begins driving with a barely-suppressed smile on his face.
It’s fifteen minutes of no conversation that’s filled with the low hum of the stereo, it’s a comfortable silence that makes Kibum want to lean his head into the junction of Jonghyun’s shoulder. He looks out onto the highway and is reminded of the drive home after graduation, the flavour of hopelessness stifling the back of his tongue. He’s lost in the blurry haze of the distant lights of the city and only barely hears the words wafting through the air when Jonghyun speaks.