Slap.

Kibum’s head was thrown to the side at the sheer force of the blow, and he stumbled slightly from where he stood. His eyes were wide in a mixture of severe disbelief, perturbation and distress, and felt his eyes sting with the threat of tears on the brink of falling. His father, despite being a cold and harsh man, had never hit Kibum before, and the student didn’t know whether to cry or fight back. Kibum opted to remain still and avoid eye contact, staring at the wall with glazed eyes as his father continued his rant.

“You really think your school wouldn’t have told me the reason?” he growled, eliciting Kibum to flinch in sheer annoyance with himself. How had he been so stupid as to fall for his father’s petty trap?

The previous fear began to build up within Kibum’s veins once again, replacing the millisecond of relief he had felt just moments ago. If the teacher had told his father of what he had witnessed after detention, Kibum didn’t even know if he was prepared to pack his bags at this point in time. With a sheer two months left of third year, it’d be a right shame if all of Kibum’s hard work and secret keeping came to an abrupt and unattractive end such as this. Where would he go? Because one thing was certain: if his parents did find out about his uality, there’s no way Kibum’d be welcome in his own home.

“The fight is one thing,” the man continued, “but now lying to your own father so easily? For all I know, that project with Amber doesn’t even exist!”

His mother walked out from the kitchen then, and although she seemed quite surprised at the red hand mark on Kibum’s face, she made no move to intervene. “That’s not a lie!” fibbed Kibum, “We really are doing a project together!”

Sighing and shaking his head indignantly, Kibum feigned a look of guilt and remorse. “I knew you’d react like this if you knew the truth straight away. I may as well pack my bags and leave now.”

“What on earth are you blabbing about, Kibum? We’re not going to kick you out for getting into a little fist fight, for Christ’s sake! The question is, why did it happen?” Kibum’s mother spoke now, and although Kibum wanted to feel relieved at her softer and more compassionate tone, he found it hard to do so considering her downright ignorance and negligence towards the issue at hand.

But…did this mean that his teacher had remained quiet about the other issue? Kibum didn’t know quite what to believe, but immediately he could feel himself contemplating just what to tell his mother in reply. He took note of his parents’ fierce gaze which seemingly pierced into his brain in an effort to detect any phony stories, and felt his hands accumulate with sweat in sheer apprehension. “I-I…I got angry at this soccer player. For copying my assignment. I just lashed out, I guess…I’m sorry.”

An indignant and disappointed tut escaped his father’s mouth, and Kibum had to use every single speck of decency he had to prevent shooting the man a harsh glare. Deep inside, a small part of Kibum was tempted to tell the truth; that he’d punched the guy for calling him gay. But reality and common sense had a stronger hold over Kibum’s brain than imprudence, and so he opted to remain silent.

“This...This brutish behaviour’s got to stop, Kibum. I won’t have any son of mine becoming a thug.” His mother spoke again now, and although annoyance was the first reaction Kibum held to her exaggeration, a slither of him felt fond of it. Perhaps it was him convincing himself that her attitude was something that of caring and affection, but Kibum decided not to question it.

“You only have one son, first of all. And secondly, it’s not really up to you to decide whether I’m a thug or not. I’m perfectly capable of making my own decision, mum.”

There his mouth went again, spouting off the absolute first thoughts that had appeared in his head without consideration. Kibum tried to feel angry with himself, but the pride that accompanied his protest was apparently inevitable. His father glowered, and made to move forward again, however was gratefully stopped in his tracks by Kibum’s mother’s loud gasp. She scurried forward, eliciting a subtle flinch from Kibum, and tugged down the neck of his shirt with wide eyes.

Kibum jumped back and pulled the shirt up hastily, yet it was too late as his mother had already witnessed the mark upon his neck. “Kibum!” she cried, and his father stepped forward in curiosity.

“Mind telling me why there’s a hickey on your neck, young man?!”

The man of the house was still now, sharing a wide eyed, concerned look with his wife. Kibum’s hands shook apprehensively and so he shoved them behind his back, taking a further step back towards the far wall. “Is this why you were out all last night? Kibum, if you have a girlfriend you ought to tell us!”

“I do not work all day and pay the bills for you to act like a delinquent.” spat his father, nearing Kibum with each sharp syllable.

Kibum’s shaking was becoming more severe by the second, eyes darting frantically around the room in desperation. “I don’t have to tell you anything. Lay off, would you?”

Slap.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that. We’re your parents, and when we ask something, we expect a response.”

Now on the verge of tears, Kibum frantically pushed his father away before running off to his room, tears splatting down his cheeks by the second. His breaths were coming in short, thin puffs which didn’t quite fill his lungs, and Kibum was out of breath by the time he had slammed the bedroom door shut behind him. As soon as he’d collapsed on the bed Kibum was simply in hysterics, sobs heaving from his mouth in unembellished heartbreak.

He snatched a pillow from the headboard and buried his face within it roughly, the soft material immediately becoming damp with his ongoing flow of tears. Before this day, although his father had been blunt and strict with Kibum, he’d never dared lay a hand on him. Considering that he’d been slapped not once, but twice for merely lying and speaking back, the reaction he’d receive if the man found out about his uality and affairs with Jonghyun made Kibum sick to the stomach. Another bout of tears made their way to his eyes, and in spite of Kibum’s desperate attempt to halt his shaking sobs, they weren’t completely gone until a whole hour later.

Too afraid to make his way out of the bedroom for the remainder of the day, Kibum locked himself within his bedroom and tried fruitlessly to diminish his protruding thoughts of distress. Beneath his large collection of duvets and blankets, Kibum watched movie upon movie and played video game upon video game, yet seemingly nothing could quench that imminent feeling of pure uneasiness and anguish which engulfed his entire being and disturbed his previously peaceful train of thought.

Noon passed, as did the evening, and Kibum spent the remainder of the day ignoring the abundance of text messages and calls which vibrated through his phone persistently. At one stage, Kibum had taken a curious peak at his phone merely to see who’d contacted him, and felt his heart dropping with dread to the pit of his stomach upon finding he had 8 missed calls and 11 text messages from Jonghyun.

Of course, how had he been so stupid as to forget that it was Sunday? The very Sunday where Kibum usually went to watch Jonghyun perform with bright, illuminated eyes and the upmost excitement. But instead, he’d been so preoccupied with his feelings of substantial loneliness and betrayal, that the time had flown by and gone before he could even acknowledge the events of that day. Jonghyun must be worried sick, he thought to himself, and now an accompanying trace of guilt lay beside Kibum’s other perturbing emotions.

The calls and texts had died down now, but Kibum figured that with it being 9:00pm already, Jonghyun’d probably given up. He slunk towards the bathroom unnoticed and went about his nightly routine with haste, and after downing a few, large cups of water from the faucet, Kibum snuck away back into his room and promptly fell asleep, wrapped tightly within the warm confines of his comforter. His eyes were still red rimmed, and his face felt drier than it had in a long while, but that day Kibum simply wasn’t himself, and couldn’t even bring it within himself to care.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Jonghyun checked his phone for the umpteenth time that very night, sighing wearily and running his calloused palms through his locks with anxiety. Despite the numerous texts and calls he’d sent Kibum, not one had been answered, and the protuberant worry he felt for the younger boy was only accumulating with haste. After he’d dropped Kibum at his house, Jonghyun had been out with Jinki and the two had spent lunch time catching up over coffee and food. And although he hadn’t quite exactly told Kibum to come to the bar that night, he supposed that by now, the routine was pretty much implied. 

Jinki had informed Jonghyun that his singing had been a little off today, but what was he to expect? Kibum hadn’t turned up, wasn’t replying to any of his messages or calls, and for all Jonghyun knew, was dead! Jonghyun had never really thought that this phrase was literal before, but it was safe to say that he was worried sick. His insides were churning, his brain wasn’t thinking straight, and every single pessimistic thought that could possibly exist was now making itself know within his head.

With strict parents, Jonghyun knew that he couldn’t simply turn up at Kibum’s house and ask for the younger boy. What if they had gone out for the day, and Kibum had merely left his phone at home? It would do absolutely no good for him to knock on their door at such an ungodly hour, and after a considerable amount of contemplation on his behalf, Jonghyun decided against it.

In spite of his decision however, Jonghyun found himself regretting it greatly as he lay in bed wide awake that same night, unable to sleep as his imagination was left to conjure up all different types of equally displeasing scenarios. His insomnia was usually bad enough, but when 5:00am reached and Jonghyun finally fell into a light slumber, it was clear to see that this night was the worst of them all.

The next morning arose with Jonghyun instantaneously checking his phone to see if Kibum had replied to his texts throughout the timespan of the prior night. His heart was hammering heavily within his chest, as though it would explode upon finding something even the tiniest bit distasteful, but he willed himself to calm down and punched in the passcode with rapidity. 2 New Messages, it read, and Jonghyun unconsciously found himself slumping down with a deep outbreath of relief.

‘Jjong,
I’m so, so, so sorry I didn’t come to watch you last night!
I was grounded by my parents for getting detention the other day :(
Sorry for making you worry, I’ll see if we can catch up tomorrow xx
From your number one fan and boyfriend, Kibum <3’

‘Update: Mum said you could come over tomorrow if you want! Sorry again, Jjong xx’

A smile etched itself onto Jonghyun’s face, and he felt his eyes close peacefully for the first time within twenty-four hours. Kibum had been grounded…Jonghyun supposed it made sense. And so with haste, Jonghyun conjured a replying text stating that he’d love to come over tomorrow, and then promptly he fell back into a deep sleep, this time undisturbed by the previous distressing worries.

“Y’know,” spoke Minho, as the trio found themselves yet again situated within the small expanse of the dance studio. “Amber seems pretty tomboyish, but she’s actually really cute and girly when you have a conversation with her.”

A snort escaped Kibum’s lips. “Amber, girly? This is new.”

The taller boy nodded feverishly. “I’m being real! And her skin is really nice, have you noticed?” Excitement littered his well-proportioned features, and unlike the Minho Kibum had known previously, a lively and boyish aura seemed to engulf his entirety.

“Honestly, no, I haven’t,” replied Kibum with amusement, “but then again, I’ve never kissed her before neither.”

Minho flushed bright red at this comment, but when Kibum turned to gauge Taemin’s reaction with a wide grin, he found that the joke was not widely received. The boy’s face was stoic, not an ounce of hilarity adorning his expression, and in all honesty he looked rather uncomfortable. Kibum desired to ask what the matter was, however was interrupted when Minho began speaking yet again, a stark contrast to the connotations usually made about him and his ‘quiet, reserved’ personality.

The half time bell rang eventually, and the soccer team’s captain dismissed himself with an energetic wave and a small skip out of the room. Now all of Kibum’s attention had been diverted to Taemin, regarding the younger boy with worry. This attitude mimicked the silence and uncomfortableness of Taemin two nights ago, and certainly now it was not the alcohol speaking.

“Taemin…you’ve been so quiet lately, are you okay?” questioned Kibum lightly, placing a concerned hand upon Taemin’s shoulder.

The boy in question jolted in his position abruptly before lifting his head to glare at Kibum. His gaze was cruel and cold, but Kibum could observe the light tint of apprehension painting Taemin’s eyes. All of a sudden, Taemin’s hands were pushing him away roughly, with a loud exclamation of “Get your hands off me!”

Surprise littered Kibum’s expression, but was soon replaced with hurt and betrayal as Taemin stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him, leaving a fragile Kibum all on his lonesome. He contemplated the reasons as to why Taemin had reacted the way he had, and although many different reasonable responses could be gathered from the boy’s actions, there was a particular lingering one that didn’t settle so well within the depths of Kibum’s stomach.

It hadn’t been all that long ago when Kibum had revealed to Taemin that he had a crush on Jonghyun, and though the younger had reacted calmly about it then, there was a sure possibility his opinion could have changed after contemplation. After all, it was the reaction that Kibum had originally expected from Taemin anyway. Minho, as far as Kibum knew, wasn’t enlightened about Kibum’s crush on Jonghyun, so that explained his friendliness towards the fellow third year. But, Taemin? He had been acting considerably different after Kibum had come out to him, and the more Kibum thought about it, the worse he began to feel.

Kibum sighed to himself and lay flat on the white floor, staring at the similarly white ceiling with narrowed eyes. Within the time span of a mere few weeks, Kibum had managed to make a close friend in whom he could confide in, only to lose him within a few days for doing exactly that.  Mentally, Kibum scolded himself for being so open with Taemin.

Of course he’s probably homophobic, Kibum thought to himself. I should be used to it by now, but…

Tears began to prickle at his eyes, but with haste Kibum swiped his forearm across his face. He rose from his position on the floor and made his way over to the stereo, breathing deeply in an attempt to convince himself that he was glad for the lack of presence. I’ll have time to dance for once, he reassured, plugging his phone in and blasting the stereo full volume.

And then Kibum began to dance, with no choreography and no distinct style, but with flailing limbs and power shooting into every individual pop and lock. The music was so loud, and Kibum’s moves were executed with so much effort, that he didn’t even take notice of the slow fall of tears which gradually began to make their way down his cheeks and onto the white, white floor surface.

Minho strolled towards the soccer pitch with his head down, deep in thought. He wasn’t oblivious, that fact was certain. And so was the evident pink hand mark upon Kibum’s cheek. It had looked as though the older male had attempted to conceal the faint bruise with makeup, but even in spite of his cheerful aura and mirthful laughter today, something about Kibum had just seemed off. Obviously, at the time Minho had wanted to say something about it, but from experience, he knew that Kibum would only deny the issue profusely.

He bit his lip in worry, genuinely uncertain about what to do for the matter at hand. Minho figured that asking Kibum directly was out of the question, but then again, so was ignoring it entirely. The pitch was getting closer now, and Minho’s fists clenched in worry. He had no idea if Jonghyun knew about the matter – after all, those two had been getting rather close lately – but even if he hadn’t, Minho came to the conclusion that he should inform Jinki about what he’d gathered at lunch today nonetheless.

Throughout the entirety of soccer training, it was safe to say that Minho’s head was quite out of it, as pointed out by his fellow team members several times. He’d brushed off their concerns with a wave of the hand of course, however it was obvious to see that his skills were definitely not up to par on this particular day. Minho’s thoughts were running at a million miles per hour, so distracted from everything that he was truly knocked out of his reverie upon a familiar name falling from a nearby player’s mouth.

“Yeah, I put that Kibum in his place, don’t you worry.”

Minho strained his ears, but kept his gaze locked on the soccer ball by his feet to avoid being caught eavesdropping.

“I heard you got detention though…”

“Don’t ing remind me…Who does that head think he is? Choi ought to stay away.”

Whipping his head around, Minho’s gaze met Shindong’s surprised one, and narrowed his eyes into a threatening glare. “Ought to stay away? From who, may I ask?” The gears in Minho’s head were working furiously, slowly piecing bits of information he’d gathered together in an attempt to figure out just what the guys were talking about.

The large boy wavered in his place, however stood his ground and matched Minho’s fierce glower. “Kim Kibum.” he responded. “You shouldn’t be hanging out with a gay douche like him, Choi.”

Minho took a step forward, sizing the other boy up menacingly. “And why the ever not?”

Although Shindong’s demeanour was slowly withering away, he looked around for backup and responded with a knowing tone. “He’s nothing but trouble. First he landed me in detention, the prick, with his measly little fairy punch. And then, he dares to ing come onto me.” Shindong feigned a dry reach. “I saw him pashing his little boyfriend after school, it’s bloody disgusting. Like seriously, if you’re gonna be a poof then you don’t need to infect the rest of us…keep that private.”

Clenching his fists so hard that half-moons were dented into his palms, Minho felt his anger boiling up with each passing word spilling from Shindong’s mouth. Certainly, he hadn’t been friends with Kibum for long. But in the short time that he had gotten to know the older boy, he’d come to know that he was humble, hilarious and beyond kind hearted. And so, it turned out that yes, perhaps Kibum and Jonghyun were an item. But who the heck did Shindong think he was in telling Minho to stay away from him because of that?

“Well first of all,” began Minho darkly. “I’m pretty sure that if Kibum has a boyfriend already, then he wouldn’t be trying to flirt with a tub of lard such as yourself. Stop making up.” Minho leaned forward an inch and squinted his eyes. “And “measly little fairy punch”, you say? Then what’s that bruise right there?”

Shindong’s hand rose to his cheek hurriedly out of instinct. “What? What bruise?” he questioned, sceptical.

Minho took amusement from Shindong’s reaction, and stepped forward slowly once again. “This bruise.” responded the soccer captain, lunging forward swiftly and decking Shindong square on the cheek. The male stumbled back slightly and his head was thrown roughly to the side at the sheer force of the punch. His jaw was dropped open unattractively in astonishment, and he impulsively brought a hand up to cradle his already bruising face.

A light smirk painted Minho’s features, and he pulled away while blowing softly on his fist. “Practice is over. Oh, and Shindong?”

Shindong’s head lifted slowly, a mixture of astonishment, anger and curiosity adorning his expression.

Minho smiled sardonically. “You’re off the team. Catch ya later!”

And with that, he picked up his soccer ball and began to casually walk away, not even offering the others a last, fleeting glance.

Distinctive, heavy footsteps echoed throughout the corridor’s thin walls, a mirror for the heavy beating of Taemin’s heart. His breath was short, and no destination had made itself know within his head, however nonetheless Taemin kept trudging away frantically from the dance studio, eventually finding solace beneath a shady oak tree. On this side of the first year building, it was fairly uncommon for any students to stroll by, and so Taemin made himself comfortable and scrunched his eyes shut.

Immediately, an unwanted image of Minho had appeared within his mind, eliciting Taemin to snap his eyes open in panic and curse Kibum with profuse. He tugged at his hair in desperation, staring at a particularly green patch of grass contemptibly. “Get. Out. Of. My. Head.” Taemin chanted in a whisper, banging his head gently back against the foot of the tree as though it would help remove the persisting picture. The image of Minho locking lips with Amber replayed in his head tormentingly, and Taemin yelled out in frustration as he felt something akin to jealousy boil in his blood.

You’re not jealous, he reassured himself. You’re not even interested in relationships, remember?

Taemin worried his lip between his teeth gnawingly, and pretended to take no notice of his former best friend Kai making his way past the tree with Kyungsoo. He sighed deeply, and cursed himself this time aloud. “And I’m definitely not gay. That was just a phase.”

His memories flew back, and Taemin felt tears swelling in his eyes as he remembered just what had occurred between Kai and him before everything went haywire. They had been best friends. Inseparable. Kai had taken dance classes with him after school up until last year, and whenever something exciting happened in Taemin’s life, Kai would always be the first to know. And then, at the beginning of this year, Taemin began to feel things for his friend that he knew weren’t normal. Although he tried to put a damper on his thoughts, whenever the two were together all he could imagine was how it would feel to kiss Kai senseless and to run his fingers through the younger’s soft hair.

Those things probably would have been fine had they stayed within Taemin’s head. But he, being the young and foolish boy that he was at the time, was getting desperate in not being able to do the things with Kai that he so desired. And so, around four months ago, Taemin had made the decision to finally do something about his little crush, with a hammering heart and shaking legs.

Taemin remembered the god awful incident all too clearly – as though it had just occurred yesterday. How he’d grabbed Kai’s hand on impulse when the younger made a move to go home. How he’d blushed wildly before leaning forward and placing his lips on Kai’s in a tentative kiss. And most importantly, how Kai had shoved him away roughly before landing a solid punch to his chin, storming out of Taemin’s house without an utter of farewell. The last thing that Kai had said to Taemin was, “Get your hands off me, you creep! You know, if I knew you were gay before, we never would’ve been friends. It’s disgusting and unnatural.”

From beneath the oak tree, silent and faint droplets of tears began to slide their way down Taemin’s face. He wiped at them frantically. “I’m not gay,” he muttered beneath his breath. “I’m not disgusting.” His feelings, Taemin concluded, had been a phase. Because he certainly didn’t like Kai any more, and despite the way his heart would sometimes flutter when Minho smiled at him, Taemin was not gay. He reminded himself that he merely felt that way because Minho was so nice to him when no one else was. The same as Kai used to be.

I only convinced myself that I liked Kai because we were close friends. I didn’t really like him. And I definitely don’t like Minho – not like that, anyway.

It only made sense to Taemin. When he had had no friends, and the school bullies had taken a liking to him as their next target, Minho had been the only one who’d done something about it. He’d ditched his soccer friends to sit with Taemin every day, hadn’t judged his interests, and although Taemin rarely admitted it, was far more enjoyable to talk to than Kai. Certainly, back when they’d first been acquainted, Minho hadn’t in fact spoken much at all. But he’d listened. With open ears and a warm heart. And he never judged Taemin despite the absurdity of his words, merely offering a shoulder to lean on and a smile which warmed Taemin’s core. Taemin figured that his heart fluttered around Minho because he was his best friend now. A saviour of sorts. Surely not because he liked him. Because, Taemin nodded to himself, he was not gay.

That’s why he’d made the decision to push Kibum away like he had. Ever since the older boy had made his way into their little friendship group, those images of Minho began to turn more suggestive and more sensual. Taemin didn’t like it one bit. Because of Kibum, Taemin had begun to gather notions that the other dancer was pushing him to think more gaily about Minho. After all, who else was there to blame? He clenched his fists tightly. If he didn’t distance himself from Kibum, these thoughts and scenarios were only going to stay in his mind and accumulate like they had with Kai. And so, Taemin concluded, he’d rather destroy his friendship with Kibum than destroy his friendship with Minho.

It was for the greater good.