“We,” Kibum said authoritatively from the kitchen, wrestling with a corkscrew. “Are getting wine-drunk tonight.”

Jinki looked up at him from the couch, his eyebrows raised in a silent question. Kibum had texted him as soon as he got off work. 

@offki: please tell me you have tonite off

@onewyaong: yes

@onewyaong: is everything ok?? 

@offki: not really

He hadn’t responded to much else from there, an odd occurrence. Jinki had spent a few minutes packing together a bag - he did have work the next morning, after all - and pet Joyonghan goodbye, and ignored Taemin’s “booty caa-aaaall” sing-song as it followed him into the hallway. At the very best, it was a booty text.

Judging by Kibum’s expression as he had pulled up, the tight, white line of his mouth, it was neither, so he had slipped his hand into his and let him lean against as he unlocked the door to the building. 

Apparently, they were getting wine-drunk, as soon as Kibum managed to defeat the bottle. 

@onewyaong: i need a favor

@taeinthemirror: what did u forget

@taeinthemirror: condoms

@taeinthemirror: lube

@taeinthemirror: splatter guard

@onewyaong: no can you please cover my shift tomorrow

@taeinthemirror: new phone who dis

@onewyaong: please? =| 

@taeinthemirror: ….

@taeinthemirror: buy me pizza

@onewyaong: ty!

Garcon jumped up beside Jinki, and he pet him mindlessly for a few moments before getting up. 

Kibum leaned against the counter, palms pressed hard against the tile. The bottle was opened but unpoured. A very weird tension dotted in the air, something new to Jinki, but he had a feeling it wasn’t the first time Kibum had come home like this. He had half a mind to text Minho, and get some advice, but put it aside. 

“Kibum…?”

There was a small, barely voiced noise, and Jinki felt his heart drop all the way to his feet - quite possibly beyond, because it still felt like it was falling. Kibum was crying. 

He felt extraordinarily useless, and approached as such, reaching out a wary hand to the safest spot he could find. 

“…Jinki.”

Commes des and Garcon came tapping up, and Jinki felt they were infinitely more qualified. 

“You’re holding my elbow.”

Jinki stopped holding his elbow.

“Sorry,” he said. His sense of uselessness was deepening, pretty much on par to catch up with his still freefalling heart.

Kibum turned towards him slightly, a small angle breaking the length of his mouth and the uncertain atmosphere. 

“C’mon,” he said quietly, grabbing the bottle and leaning against Jinki more openly. They headed back towards the couch, and Jinki clumsily grabbed some mugs from the rack, not willing to hold Kibum up any further. 

He wasn’t objecting to holding him, though, and a good thing too as Kibum seemed liked he needed all the support he could get. 

Together, they fell down onto the couch, his arm outstretched to keep the bottle from spilling. Jinki held the cups steady as Kibum poured, his hand steady even as he took in a shaky breath. 

“Don’t apologize,” Jinki said, all of the sudden, gripped with certain knowledge that if he had had even half the day Kibum had apparently had, he would be on his fourth apology by now. Even though he and Kibum were very different people, he felt the need to negate the possibility as soon as possible. 

Judging by the expression of Kibum’s face, he wasn’t on the verge of it either, looking at Jinki with mildly unsettled surprise that softened at his apparent trepidation. 

“I won’t,” he assured him, taking a small drink and settling back. Commes des jumped up on his back paws and laid his snout on Kibum’s knee, whining for the brief moment before the man began to pet him. 

Jinki, after a moment’s consideration, laid his fingers at the nape of Kibum’s neck, loosely twirling the soft hairs there. His shoulders dropped, as did his head. 

“Nothing big,” Kibum finally released. At Jinki’s questioning look, he took on a sardonic smile. “Death by a thousand cuts.”

“Right,” Jinki said. He gripped the bottle. “Wine-drunk it is.”

---

“Never have I ever…had in front of my dogs,” Kibum said, curling his finger down. 

“That’s not…that’s not…,” Jinki said, semi-coherent. His poor, weeknight drinking brain was spitting up unuseful, doggy-style images that made it hard to verbalize. 

“You’re a bad player,” he finished. 

“Yeah, well,” Kibum said, giggling, “I wanted another drink.”

“Mmm,” Jinki said. His eyebrows furrowed together as he held up their second bottle between them. “Never have I ever…never…not…bought hot cottage for my pet.”

Kibum’s giggles grew uncontrollable as he threw himself backwards. Wine sloshed onto his hand, and Jinki grabbed at it, shooting for a gentle kiss and simultaneous cleaning of the small spill, but ending up smearing it to the right of his lips. 

“Haute couture,” he finally managed to say. Another finger went down, and he took another drink. “Low blow. Never have I ever given out decaf in secret.”

Jinki silently took another drink, trying not to grin around the rim. 

“He was a jerk,” he half-heartedly explained. Kibum waved a forgiving hand. 

“He - he took change from the tip jar,” he said with great indictment. 

“Motherer!” Kibum shouted. 

“Mmmf,” Jinki agreed. It was hard to pronounce around the lip of the bottle. 

---

“I think - I think we both lost,” Kibum said. Jinki nodded and slipped off the couch. 

“But that’s okay.”

Jinki nodded again, and nodded a third time as Kibum slid down beside him. It felt a little difficult, but he made a solid effort. 

Kibum was really pretty, he realized. Why didn’t he realize this every day? He had to rectify that.  

“You’re pretty,” he murmured. 

Kibum’s eyes were bright and soft and Jinki felt like the building was moving, quite terrifically, under his . 

“And I’m sorry you had a bad day. No bad days for you,” he said. “Bad days - are unjust.”

“They’re just bad days,” Kibum said, very deliberately steady. He was spinning the bottle along the punt. “They’re not the boss of me.”

“Mmm-mm, you’re the boss of you,” Jinki affirmed. “And me,” he added as an afterthought. He was pretty fond of that idea.

“What - you just - give yourself up to me?” Kibum asked, amusement making his voice spike up. “Nuh-uh. Think it through.”

“I did, I did,” he says. “Look, it’s destiny. I’ll prove it.”

He gestured for the bottle, and Kibum handed it over. 

“I’m going to spin it, and it’s going to land on you,” he said, quite sure of himself. “And that proves it.”

“Risky,” Kibum said, pitching his tone up and down like a roller coaster even as he swayed from side to side. “Gambling under the influence.”

Jinki spun it. It fell off the table. 

“Proves nothing!” he yelled, lunging for it and ending up stretched across the carpet. Garcon started his face. 

“No,” he protested. “No wine for puppies.”

Kibum slapped his thigh and crawled around the table to face him from the other side. His eyes were still bright and soft and Jinki thought he was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

He spun it again. 

It landed right where he knew it would, neck aligned perfectly with Kibum’s shoulder. 

“Ah,” he said sagely. “Destiny.”

“Mmm,” Kibum said. “Or we’re the only two people here.”

“Nope,” he insisted. “Destiny. Boss. Boss of destiny. That’s you, Doctor Kim Kibum.”

He pushed his lips out and watched, through half-closed eyelids, as Kibum tried his best to hold back giggles. 

“Well,” he said. “Can’t fight destiny.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jinki said. 

Kibum leaned over to kiss him, laughing. 

(He missed, because Jinki had closed his eyes and was shaking his head fervently back and forth, but they got it right the second time. And the time after that. And the time after that as well.)