Kibum is reclining on Minho’s office couch, a smirk on his glossy, bowed lips as he watches the special feature on his life as the first openly biual and extremely successful idol in the K-POP industry. It’s showing on MBC music and the hosts are continuously praising everything he’s done, from how he slowly gave hints starting from his debut up until he formally came out in one of his songs a few years ago. He hadn’t had a chance to watch the show since they interviewed him for it last month and he was wondering when they would air it, so now he is rather pleased with the result, his smile widening when they highlight Key’s extremely supportive and dedicated fans―his Lil’ Freaks.

It’s when Minho enters the office and slams the door shut theatrically behind him, the loud bang resounding throughout the room and interrupting his train of thought, that he finally tears his eyes away from the screen. “Oh please, it’s honestly not that bad,” Kibum remarks, barely sparing his brother’s livid expression a glance as he brushes his blonde bangs out of his eyes, turning back to the show. “You are such a drama queen.”

“I’m the drama queen? Are you kidding me right now?” Minho all but yells, completely furious, and he moves to stand between Kibum and the television in order to garner more of his attention. “I can’t believe that you’re just sitting here watching yourself on TV! I know you know better than this! Do you even understand how hard it was for your company, and not to mention me in particular, to keep that little escapade of yours off the papers—to keep it off the ing internet?”

Minho’s typically sweet and serene face is scrunched up into the picture of anger as he seethes at other in incredulity. The veins in his neck and forehead rise on his tanned skin, which was tinted red with rage. Kibum just looked blasé, offering a slight shrug and simply shifting over on the couch to look around his brother. Just by looking at the two siblings, one would assume that Minho was the older of the two; it was funny how the world worked.

To Minho’s credit, his words do manage to get Kibum to reflect on what happened. When he thinks about it now, Kibum could barely recall the events of a few nights ago; it was his birthday and he was off partying with some friends at a club when someone slipped him a joint. Even though he knew it was wrong for his idol image to do any form of drugs, at the urging of his friends he decided to take a drag of illegal substance, if only for the experience. At the time, Kibum was drunk and felt a little adventurous. No one else had seen or caught him when he did it—plus, he had done it only once, and, in his defense, it was his first time—so he thought he was on the clear, although he did feel a little guilty knowing his brother would be upset with him if he ever found out.

However, the next thing he knew, he was waking up in a bedroom of some house, a man and a woman passed out next to him on the bed. Kibum immediately assumed that he had slept with them, given the circumstance that he was completely and taking into consideration that so were they. He laughed about it as he searched for his clothes in the dark; he couldn’t even remember how he ended up here, but he commended himself on the fact that both of his one-night-stands were very attractive.

The obnoxiously loud and pumping music downstairs was blasting from every corner of the house, or so it seemed to Kibum, whose head was spinning profusely and he was starting to feel a little queasy. When he glanced out the window he noted that it was still pitch black outside and meant that it was the middle of the night, and it comforted him to know that the night was still young and his brother would not find out about this little… incident, if he got away in time that is. But obviously that wasn’t the case because the tables suddenly turned when the music stopped; his brain throbbed painfully as dead silence rang in his ears, and in his intoxicated state he finally registered the wailing police sirens, filling his head until it was the only sound he heard.

After that, everything was a blur. For some reason, as he stumbled out of the room barely dressed, drunk, and a little high, he was randomly arrested along with a handful of other people. Perhaps it was because he looked underage—he did not know, or care enough at the time to question them. His friends were nowhere to be seen and he had no way to explain to the officers how or why he was at this party when he himself could not recall going there. They tested him for alcohol and drugs, and, well… things got a little complicated from there.

Later, his friends told him that at the club some handsome guy invited him to the house party, and Kibum had followed him out with a more lustful intention than anything; yet somehow he had ended up at the police station, his manager yelling at him while his brother went inside to ‘have a word’ with the police.

All in all, it was an interesting experience—Although, I would rather not live through that again, Kibum amends silently. He hated the confusion he felt and how he no clue where the hell he was—not to mention that he liked using his brain, thank you very much. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, Kibum registered that this was probably the angriest his younger brother has been at him in a long time, and he almost felt bad about what he had done.

Almost.

It was a start, to say the least.

Kibum finally gave up on watching the television and instead changed his position, relaxing on the orange couch as he stared at Minho pointedly for a few seconds. Kibum was decked out in a sparkly gray wife-beater and tight black skinny jeans, a red jacket draped over his wide shoulders. Leaning back with one leg over the other, he examined his manicured fingernails calmly as he chewed on minty gum.

Meanwhile, Minho—who was nowhere near as placid as his brother was—was dressed in a classy dark gray suit, pacing back and forth as he ran his fingers angrily through salon-styled hair. His pristine black shoes clicked loudly on the mahogany floor with every aggravated step he took. “What the  were you thinking, or were you even thinking at all?” he demands, voice a few octaves lower, but definitely harsher than before.

“Wasn’t it you who always said not to use profanity?” Kibum wondered aloud, attempting to change the, according to him, tedious topic, raising his eyebrow with a click of his tongue. “That it doesn’t bode well with that gentlemanly image of yours?”

Completely ignoring the snide comment—Minho was so used to his elder brother’s antics that nothing seemed to faze him anymore—the younger of the two continued speaking. “You are extremely lucky that my hotel is such a huge benefactor to the police department otherwise this situation could have been much, much worse.”

“Well…” Kibum responded dispassionately, managing a sidelong glance at the imported Swiss clock hanging on the wall of Minho’s office, the only antique thing that decorated the room. It was nearing seven in the evening and he had things to do; he wondered how much longer Minho was planning on keeping him hostage in the hotel office.

Minho stopped pacing and just glared at his brother, biting his tongue to keep himself from saying something he would regret—but when Kibum made eye contact and popped his gum like he honestly did not give a damn, it seemed to snap all of his younger brother’s self-control. “Dammit, Kibum! You make me not want to help you at all!” he declares, completely exasperated. “At least that way you could learn your lesson the right way!”

He collapses on the couch next to his brother, rubbing his hands on his face as he let himself slump into a comfortable position, loosening his purple tie. Moving slightly to accommodate space for Minho on the couch, Kibum rolls his eyes and says, “Well then, why didn’t you?”

Shooting another angry look at the elder, Minho replies curtly, “Well, your record label threatened to void your contract—they said you were too much to handle these days and that this was the last straw. To be honest, I can see where they are coming from.”

Finally Kibum’s complete focus was grasped, and he sat straight up in his seat. His combat boots planted loudly on the ground with a thud as he turned his body to stare at his brother, feline eyes lined with kohl widening with surprise. “What?!” he cries out. “, Minnie, why didn’t you say that before?”

With a dry laugh Minho echoes, “No profanity, remember?”

In that moment, Minho’s large office seemed even bigger, the red walls giving the allusion of being on fire as the light coming through the wall of glass at the back of the office made contact with the shining flecks of paint. The two sit in silence for a few minutes, the only sound coming from the television as the feature on Key continues to run. However, both of their attentions are snapped back to it when the show begins to wrap up, panning towards the three hosts seated behind a table. “I’m a huge fan of Key,” the one in the middle says. “A lot of people are. His fans are so dedicated and supportive of him, despite the fact that a lot Koreans still look down on homouality.”

“You’re definitely right about that,” the man on the left agrees, smiling. “He is South Korea’s beloved idol and a shining example of the rising acceptance of all ualities in our country. He has thousands of fans, and even those who aren’t, all rooting for him.”

Kibum feels himself swell with pride for a few seconds, smile returning to his face, but it’s when the host on the right speaks that Kibum’s stomach drops dangerously instead. “And that’s exactly why I think he should be more careful about how he presents himself,” she begins, expression solemn. “Ever since that incident with the anti-fan last year, he’s been rather reckless in his effort to prove that he’s fine. Fans both in Korea and around the world have been expressing their concerns for his wellbeing, but he has yet to talk about the details openly―”

Heart racing, Kibum abruptly shuts the television, unwilling to continue watching and feeling sick all over again. The left side of his face starts throbbing from the memory of what conspired and he looks down at his lap where his trembling fingers lace together. He just wished that everyone would forget about what happened last year, but it seems like no one is willing to simply let it go as he’d hoped.

“They’re just worried, you know,” Minho murmurs, resting a sympathetic hand Kibum’s knee. The elder brushes it off, not wanting to show anymore vulnerability than he already has.

They don’t say anything for a few minutes as Kibum gathers his bearings, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself. “So what’s going to happen to me?” he asks finally, breaking the tense silence by changing the subject and going back to their older conversation.

He thinks about life as a celebrity and couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he actually was fired by his company; he loved the attention of being an idol and having thousands of adoring fans, the freedom that came with writing and producing his own music, and having a voice that reached all over the country when he wanted to make a statement. Kibum obviously did not realize the consequences of his actions, and now that they hung over his head like a guillotine, he felt like a frightened child. If his company fires him, the vicious rumors will make it difficult for another company to hire him despite his fame. He was made to be loved by his fans, not sit and rot at some random job; the thought of losing everything terrified him.

But Minho knew all of this; he understood everything about his brother, from the moment they laid eyes on each other and after all they have been through together, he still knew. When he first met Kibum over fifteen years ago, the older boy was smaller, paler, and scrawnier than a child his age should be. Minho took hold of his stepbrother’s hand and took care of him like a father would a child; Kibum would have it no other way. Many years later, even after their parents’ lives were taken in a fatal car accident, they still had each other, and that had always been a source of comfort.

Once more Minho tries to console his brother, this time reaching for his hand just like they used to when they were younger. He’s satisfied when he isn’t rejected like before, and he gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. He sighs resignedly to grab the elder’s attention, and when Kibum looks at him with wide, hopeful eyes, he cracks a smile.

“I spoil you too much,” Minho admits, shaking his head before continuing. “Do you remember Jonghyun?”

Kibum tightens his grip on Minho’s hand, wrinkling his nose in an effort to sort through the old memory files in his brain. “Umm… he’s that guy you dated in college, right? The one who owns a restaurant—it’s called Sparkles or Dazzling or something.”

Minho chuckles despite himself. “Yes, and it’s called SHINE. The label wants you to lay low for a few months, and in order for you to appreciate real hard work and effort for once in your life, I got you a gig as an assistant chef at Jjong’s place. That shorty owes me more than a few favors, so he was easy to sway.”

Visibly flinching, Kibum felt the inklings of protest bubbling up to his lips; it stopped when his brother continued to speak. “Those were the conditions laid down by the label, Kibummie. Don’t think you can get out of this one, because you can’t.” Minho makes eye contact with Kibum, raising his eyebrows pointedly. “You honestly have no wiggle room here—it’s either this or….” He makes a slit-throat motion with his left hand to emphasize his words.

The elder rolls his eyes again, huffing with irritation at the gesture. He jerks his head back to toss his blonde bangs out of his face, feline eyes narrowing and nose crinkling with dislike. Kibum understood that he was caught between a rock and a hard place, and he was not fond of having limited options―especially when all of which are the distasteful sort. He was a free spirit and did whatever he wanted when he wanted. However, the look on Minho’s face was grave and straightforward; he was not lying when he said this was Kibum’s only chance to redeem his blunder, even if he felt that he had done nothing wrong in the first place.

Thinking about it now, Kibum did not particularly like cooking, but he was not bad at it either. He had been praised more than a few times by his friends, show hosts, Minho, and, once upon a time, their parents too. After a few beats, Kibum lets out his bated breath. “Fine,” he grudgingly responds, untangling his fingers from Minho’s bony ones as he stood up. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

Minho looked up at his brother doubtfully, uncertain if he really understood what was happening. “You do realize that you actually have to work, right? Like, learning how to cook and serve customers—the whole entire spiel. It’s a real job.”

Brushing Minho’s words off with a wave of his hand, Kibum grabs his wide-brim hat from the coffee table, glancing at the mirror in the far wall as he adjusted it atop his head. “God, Minnie, I already said that I would do it,” Kibum retorts, fingers brushing his bangs in place and smoothing down his sideburns. “What do you take me for?” He felt a little more confident about his situation knowing that his brother had stuck his neck out for him.

“Flighty, reckless, cynical, foolish, insane—I could go on for days, you know,” Minho counters, a small smile masking his worry. He still was not sure if Kibum had grasped the magnitude of the situation that he was in. The elder was still fixing his hair like he had not a single worry in the world, completely nonchalant; if Minho had a ten won for every time Kibum touched his hair, he’d be the richest man alive within an hour.

Strutting towards the door and pulling it open, Kibum glanced over his shoulder at his brother, wiggling his fingers as he blew a kiss in his general direction. “Bye~!” he called out in a singsong voice, finally stepping out and not acknowledging anything that Minho said.

“If you get fired from the restaurant, the label will drop you without a second thought!” Minho called helplessly after his brother. “And I’ll pick you up on Monday, bright and early at six in the morning!”

If the idol had heard, he gave no reassurance.

Minho could not help but feel a deep sense of worry pool in his gut as he slumped further and further into his seat—this was not going to be easy, that was for sure. He really was too indulgent when it came to his brother, and it was quite possibly the one greatest flaw in his personality.

Well, he thinks, there honestly should be nothing to worry about. Jonghyun is a nice guy and so are his employees. Everything will be just fine. And anyway, what kind of trouble could Kibum possibly get into at a restaurant, right?

… Right.