At the eighth ring of the doorbell, Kibum groaned loudly into his pillow and finally rolled out of bed, eyes and lips swollen from sleep and hair a mess atop his head. He already knew who’d be waiting outside so he didn’t care for his appearance, dragging himself to the front door of his luxury apartment and swinging it open to reveal the invader.

Wrinkling his nose at the sight of Minho looking like a million bucks in his pressed navy slacks despite it being -o’clock in the morning, Kibum flashes his brother his deadliest glare. “Yah!” he growls, “Have you no soul―don’t you know what time it is right now?!”

Smug, Minho glances casually at his watch, pulling back his suit sleeve to reveal the shining, stainless steel Rolex. “Four-thirty in the morning?” he responds innocently, but the humor glinting in his large eyes and the smirk playing on his lips betrays him instantaneously.

Kibum wants to grab his younger brother’s perfectly coifed hair by the roots and throw him around until he begs for mercy; luckily for Minho, the elder was too drowsy to act on the urge. “You said you would come at six!” he whines instead, slumping against the doorframe and rubbing his eyes sleepily.

Minho’s eyebrows raise theatrically, sarcasm dripping in the way his eyes widened and lips formed a small ‘o.’ “Oh dear, so you actually remembered?” he says carefully, leaning in close as if it were a huge surprise. Minho hopes that his acting gets under his elder brother’s skin, and is satisfied when it does. When Kibum flashes him another death glare, Minho straightens up again and continues speaking in a rather unamused tone, studying his cuticles the way Kibum had done the last evening they saw each other.  “Then why weren’t you awake yet? You know better than anyone else it takes you at least two hours to get ready.”

Pressing his lips together to retain his dignity, Kibum turns up his nose and sniffs loudly, whirling around where he was standing and heading back inside. He leaves the door open, so Minho waltzes in behind him, closing it once inside. He relaxes when the warmth of the spotless apartment envelops him. “I simply overslept, okay? I wasn’t going to ditch, if that’s what you’re saying,” Kibum finally retorts from somewhere in his bathroom.

Minho snorts, but says nothing. Bull, he thinks, but he expected at least this much from his brother—they have known each other for far too long for him to fall for any of his tricks. He follows the sound of his brother’s voice, eyes wandering around the place Key called home. It’s only been a few days since he last dropped by and he notices that the elder has already redecorated the entire place, again—just last week the furniture had been maroon and the wood floor was covered in black rugs and beanbags; now, the couches were bright orange and rugs were fluffy white, the old fashioned paintings on the walls now replaced by modern ones and an overabundance of mirrors.

When Minho finally reaches the open door of the bathroom, clicks his tongue distastefully when he sees that Kibum is in the shower. Great, Minho groans internally, now this is definitely going to take forever.

Two hours and plenty of bickering later, when Minho steps out of his sleek black Lamborghini it does not take him more than a few quick seconds to walk around the front of the car towards the passenger side door, opening it for his elder brother—somewhere along the years as they grew up, Kibum picked up these feminine quirks of his. He always claimed to deserve any and all special attention so Minho never said anything about it, unquestioning only because they just suited his elder brother’s personality so well.

The idol stepped out, his expensive jewel-encrusted silver high-tops making contact with the black pavement first, and those feet attached to long legs clad in skin-tight white jeans that had been ripped up from the shins and particularly the thighs, a good amount of his pearly, soft, white skin exposed to the cool air. His top was slightly less flashy, the wide boat neck accentuating his collarbones; it was long-sleeved and blue in color, baggy and long in the back. The simplicity of its design tied the whole look together, and it matched the black and blue kohl that lined his eyes, the slight shimmer of glitter on his face highlighting his high cheekbones perfectly.

Kibum temporarily slips on a pair of large black sunglasses and promptly latches onto his brother’s arm, allowing the younger lead him into the building as if he were a chauffeur. With every step they take, Minho gets more and more agitated, unsure if getting Kibum this job was a good idea to begin with. “You came here to work, not waltz in for a magazine interview,” he remarks for the billionth time, eyeing the elder’s flamboyant outfit. “You could have toned your clothes down a little, at least for my sanity.”

Kibum scoffs loudly in response. “You’re kidding, right? This is toned down—plus, I wear this kind of stuff to work all the time. I don’t see the difference.”

Minho sighs, deciding to simply give up the endeavor of changing the idol’s mind—after all, once he left Kibum in the mostly-capable hands of Jonghyun, the younger had to get to work. The two of them were already over an hour late because Kibum had to make sure that his ‘bangs swept over his eyebrows just right’—Minho explained to Jonghyun earlier that something like this would probably happen, and the elder man just laughed and said it was okay. He had heard enough scandals about Key to understand that the transition from idol to kitchen hand was not going to be an easy one.

“It’s just the matter of Onew,” Jonghyun had said on the phone earlier that morning, a hint of guilt revealing itself in his voice. “He recently… well, he might not be in such a good mood today. Or any of the following days, really.” To be completely honest, Minho only worried about it for a few seconds before the concern rolled right off his back, his mind already thinking about that stack of papers on his desk waiting for his approval and the board meeting he had to lead later that afternoon. His priority was getting back to his own job as CEO at the hotel, too much time already wasted with getting up early to nag at his brother.

And although Kibum was hiding it well, it was obvious that he was a nervous wreck. He would never admit it, but the butterflies in his stomach were killing him; he absolutely hated the anxiety he felt and wanted nothing more than to go home and forget about everything, but he honestly had no choice. Squaring his shoulders, he bit his lower lip when they made it to the doorway of the restaurant, his nerves ready to burst and palms sweating profusely. After a few seconds he convinces himself that everything will be just fine―more than likely a few of the employees will be fans of his, possibly even the chef. They’d cut him some slack and he’ll be able to sail by the next few months smoothly until his record label gives him the green light to return back to the spotlight.

But even still, the nerves twisted in his gut, and because he didn’t want Minho to know how uneasy he actually was―mostly over the fact that he hadn’t stepped inside of a proper kitchen in years since becoming an idol—he takes the initiative to step forward and push open the doors, taking the first few steps in… and colliding right into someone else.

After a few beats of disorientation as he remains seated on the floor, Kibum purses his lips distastefully, flipping his ruffled bangs out of his eyes. He’d spent a good half-hour on his bangs to make them perfect and now they were mussed; he wondered distractedly when would he find the time to fix them again as Minho helped him back to his feet, and then decides a split second later that no matter what, he would make the time―but not before identifying the culprit behind this catastrophe.

He shifts his gaze from the broad chest he’d bumped into up to glare at the face that came with it, his lips parting to release a stream of profanity; instead his breath catches in his throat. Almond shaped eyes with chocolate irises make contact with Kibum’s feline ones. Under those warm eyes was a hooked nose, plump pink lips, a defined Adam’s apple, delicious collarbones, and—oh god—his hair! Light, gray-brown strands pushed back messily with bobby pins to keep the bangs away from his face, highlighting a smooth forehead and dark, furrowed eyebrows. The sloppiness, whether intentional or not, was nothing less than y, and he smelled amazing―a delicious mixture of cologne and pheromones.

Then the stranger’s mouth twitches into a grin as he drags his fingers through the messy strands of hair to catch a few stragglers behind his ear. There was a small sheen of sweat on his skin, the faded gray t-shirt he wore sticking to his body and hugging every curve, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. It took nearly all of the idol's strength not to look down and appreciate the other’s tight jeans, which showed off firm thighs and a generous bulge, but he held back quite well considering everything―it was hard enough trying not to drool. If this was the kind of view that he would be subject to on a daily basis at the restaurant, then he would gladly give up being an idol.

“I, um, h-hi,” Kibum stutters, then shuts his mouth immediately because in his entire life, Key has never stuttered. Ever. He just doesn’t. But thank god Minho comes to his rescue—the younger suddenly steps up next to Kibum, smiling brightly at the stranger as he bows. At the sight of the taller man, the other’s eyes widen as he returns the bow, and Kibum doesn’t know whether to be jealous or proud that his brother was so attractive, or just be happy that said man could possibly also be attracted to men.

“I believe we’ve met before? I’m Choi Minho, and this is my—” Minho begins, but Kibum absolutely loathes being introduced; he had a firm belief in that self-introductions and first impressions were very important and should always be done personally.

“Kim Kibum, but people call me Key. You’ve probably heard of me?” Kibum cuts in quickly, a million kilowatt grin on his full lips as he offers a quick bow. Instead of the usual reaction―excited squeals and begging for autographs―the stranger’s smile immediately falters, which catches Kibum of guard.

“Oh,” the other retorts, eyes narrowing as he sizes up the idol. “Yes, I have heard of you actually, and if you think it’s okay that you can just waltz into my kitchen completely unannounced—”

“ONEW!” a loud voice suddenly interrupts from behind them, and a new person in a black apron roughly yanks back the angry stranger, who stumbles under the shorter man’s strong grip. The shorter brings his lips to the elder’s ear, accidentally speaking loud enough for the brothers to hear him hiss, “Why don’t you go get that tea I told you to buy? You’re overworked and stressed, but you know damn well why he needs to be here, so please―just go.”

Onew looks like he has a few more spiteful words to say, his full lips curling back in protest, but then a breathier voice breaks into the tense atmosphere. “What’s going on over here? Onew, Jonghyun-hyung, the customers are being disturbed.”

Kibum tears his eyes away from Onew’s, but not before catching him flinch at the sound of this new voice. The owner of the voice is… probably a man. At first Kibum isn’t so sure, but the longer he stares the clearer it is, and holy , he was beautiful. Dark brown locks of hair brushed behind his ears and curled slightly at the nape of his neck, his feathery bangs framing large, round eyes that were the definition of twinkling, a cute button nose, and plump pink lips that stretched into a killer smile at the sight of Kibum and Minho as he bowed at them.

“Ah, why if it isn’t Minho-hyung! Then the gentleman next to you must be the famous Ke—”

“I’m leaving,” Onew declares abruptly, cutting the pretty man’s words short, and Kibum looks just in time to see him yank out of Jonghyun’s tight grip and shove the double doors open rougher than he needed to. They swing shut behind him, leaving apprehension in his wake, and awkward laughter erupts from the shortest man, forcing the pretty one to join lightly.

“I’m sure he’s not always like that,” Minho remarks kindly with a smile, attempting to ease the strange atmosphere. Kibum, on the other hand, is speechless­, which also is something that does not happen very often, and more than a little more than miffed. He’s dealt with all kinds of fans before, from insane, to kind, to antis, but of course the one guy who seemed to be just his type was the one that apparently hated his guts. To top it all off, he still did not understand why he felt so flustered in Onew’s presence—they hardly even knew each other.

“Oh no, definitely not,” Jonghyun agrees, suddenly bowing in greeting and flashing a grin that reveals his lower teeth. “He’s just having a rough day.” As the brothers bow back, the idol does not miss the look Jonghyun sends to the pretty man, a mix between panic and irritation. Kibum takes this moment to study Jonghyun―he hadn’t gotten a very good look at him with the sudden drama that just took place―and notes the neat blonde hair shaved at the sides, large eyes and sweet smile. He lets out vibes of someone fun and easy to talk to, his short but sturdy stature making him look both authoritative and unassuming at the same time. He’s also extremely good looking and Kibum wonders if all of SHINE’s employees are attractive.

“Yeah, he’s usually very calm and good-natured,” says the pretty man, ignoring Jonghyun’s terse look with eased practice before tuning to Kibum. “And I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Lee Taemin.” Taemin was incredibly unruffled for someone who Onew brazenly ignored and Jonghyun glared at—it dredged up Kibum’s tendency to be extremely curious and meddlesome, but he says nothing in response. The silence that follows is awkward, and when Taemin glances worriedly in the direction of the staring customers, Jonghyun takes charge and decides to break it.

“So why don’t you guys take a seat somewhere comfortable and order something—on the house, of course. You can officially start work tomorrow when Onew is in a better mood, since you will be working together with him more anyway. Taemin will seat you and I’ll come by to discuss the details in a bit.”

“So what was all of that about?” Minho finally inquires when the two of them are in the car and heading back to Kibum’s apartment, turning his head to glance quickly at the other. It was barely eleven in the morning and since he was already late for work, he had decided to drop the idol off at home—as the CEO, he had a little more wiggle room than his other employees and he could at least do that much for his brother.

“What was all what about?” Kibum returns indifferently, playing dumb. The elder of the two had been quiet—well, as quiet as Kibum could get—all morning.

“I heard you stutter.” Minho states simply and Kibum blushes instantly.

“Can you just forget that? I was in some serious pain!” he snaps immediately, neck heating up.

“From bumping into someone?” Minho muses, holding back a smirk.

Kibum lets out a loud, scandalized gasp, bowed lips pulling into a mock pout. “It hurts—honest! I think I might have even broken my nose.” He tenderly pats the bridge for good measure, even playing it up with a fake wince, but it’s too late and Minho is nowhere near convinced.

“This is the first time I’ve heard you complain about it all morning,” the younger counters with a chuckle, smacking his brother’s leg teasingly.

“I… well,” once again, Kibum is at a loss for words, and then finally he gives a little. “He was very attractive.”

“The chef?” Minho prods, more curious than anything. “But so was the waiter—and Jonghyun-hyung.” Minho would know; he dated the shorter man a couple of years ago in college, but they both broke up peacefully when Minho decided to take over the family hotel chain and Jonghyun set out to open a restaurant. After so many years, they both did well for themselves, and now the two were good friends. Back then he’d met Onew too, but they did not meet often since the other man was also dating someone at the time.

Kibum only shrugs in response and the two decide to leave it at that; he would talk whenever he felt up to it because, after all, he always told Minho everything. They ride home in amicable silence, and Kibum wonders apprehensively if tomorrow would be anything like today. Suddenly, he isn’t so sure that he can deal with the angry chef as well as he’d originally thought.