Kibum had grown up hearing the same thing about kissing over and over again. How the kiss itself was almost always anticlimactic, how the anticipation was better than the actual thing more often than not. He'd heard it from adults, from Taeyeon - and in her case, there was no reason not to believe her, considering the guys she'd been seen with. Aside from one or two notable exceptions, no one would've looked at them and thought, "I bet he does amazing things with his mouth in between swearing and spitting on the sidewalk." In her defense, she hadn't had a nice selection to choose from.

He'd hardly had any definite sort of anticipation, truth be told. He'd gone for it partly to shut down the noise in his head: How about this to obsess over, huh? But mostly he'd just felt that the option not to do it just didn't exist for him anymore.

So, he didn't believe that touching the two fleshy bits on their faces would be life-changing. No "fireworks" or "rainbows" bull. Just his best friend, who could hardly surprise him with any new revelations, as it felt like he knew every bit of him too well. He didn't kiss him to get to know him better, he… he wasn't sure what it was all about in the end.

Still, it was, without a doubt, very new. And very warm. A bit moist, too: he detested the word, but it didn't feel as bad as it sounded. It was about the appropriate amount of moist. Like in a fruit, but less so.

His body was focused, his thoughts - wandering wildly.

The lips that had talked, and grinned, and pouted at him in all the old ways he'd memorized and mercilessly imitated, were pressed against his own. In a kiss.

Oh, the shock of it.

He pulled away to see Jinki's eyes gazing back at him, his look hazy and absent, like he was spacing out. He wasn't stopping him, didn't put up a barrier either verbal or physical. Kibum found that the neverending babble of his inner voice from before had distracted him. He hadn't quite caught it.

So, without giving it much thought, he dived into it again, but this time with a bigger tilt of the head, like they do in the movies, and perhaps with a little more pressure.

This time, Kibum tried to focus on the kiss, to figure out somehow once and for all whether it was good or not - whether it was so good that it was worth the character assassination he had just potentially inflicted upon himself. He’d broken all the rules - might as well see the whole thing through.

Just when he was ready to admit that it did feel nice, in some very personal way that was not necessarily relatable to other couples around the world who were locking lips at that very moment, something happened. He felt Jinki let out a small trembling breath through the nose, and a sinister, terrifying chill ran down his spine.

Jinki’s inaction didn’t mean that he was inviting his friend to keep on kissing him. He was simply frozen, and was probably unable to move even if he wanted to.

Kibum broke off the kiss, and found all the proof he needed in the other boy’s eyes. It wasn’t just haze. There also was… fear? He realized that his hand was curled around the back of Jinki’s neck, pulling him forward, and released him at once. He sprang back, as if some invisible force struck him on the whole body with one powerful blow.

The so-called conversation that followed did not clear anything up. It was simply a mess. Although, thankfully, it was brief too. And the strangest thing was, if anyone were to storm out of the room to remove himself from the nails-on-chalkboard awkwardness, the shame of the situation, Kibum would bet that the person would be him. But it was Jinki who left him in the ruins of their friendship, and it was more hurtful than Kibum could have ever imagined.

He remembered picking up his shirt (he was in no state to stick around and change) and stalking out of the house, art supplies be damned. He almost crashed into a bewildered Mrs. Lee, who was just coming home with supermarket bags in both hands.

“Oh, you’re already going, Kibum?” she asked with the same intonation her son inherited, giving him the same wide-open stare.

Kibum muttered something and ran away, like a thief in the night. A thief who was so bad at his job that he’d lost much more than he could ever take.

The first few days were tough and incredibly stupid. They both avoided eye contact, both had identical tense expressions - which they weren’t aware of, because, again, they avoided looking at each other. When they had to say things to each other in class, both questions and answers equally stifled, it was like sticking dozens of needles into their skin. And Kibum - Kibum who had been through a similar thing before - couldn’t believe that it was actually happening. That his considerate, easygoing, genuine best friend Lee Jinki was giving him the classic cold shoulder. They were living out the least fun old cliche in the book.

He got weary of the miserable spectacle within a week and mustered some courage to take a step to reconciliation - or at least a discussion.

So, he tried. He ambushed Jinki in the hall, practically begged him to forget everything, lost all respect for himself in the process, and for what? Only for Jinki to say something unexpectedly cutting, something he’d never be able to take back. Worst of all, he didn’t seem to realize how bad the words leaving his innocent mouth really were - he probably believed in earnest that he was being helpful. And Kibum felt even more alone for that reason.

At first, the fallout, the silence, the kiss - none of that seemed real. Kibum expected to wake up any moment: he’d lift his head, groggy from a heavy mid-day nap, and reach for his phone before his eyes would be able to open properly. “You won’t believe the crazy stuff I dreamt just now,” he’d write in a message to his best friend. “Something happened and you didn’t wanna talk to me anymore.” Jinki would joke back at him: “Did you insult Naruto by any chance?” To that, Kibum would reply something snarky, safe in the knowledge that Jinki would never truly get mad at him. Because he didn’t have that in him; aside from a few pieces that still shunned the light and remained a secret, he took Kibum for exactly who he was, and didn’t seem to mind his difficult character. After a few minutes, he’d sit up and stretch his arms with a yawn, and tell Jinki to come out because he felt like wandering the streets together. Because that’s what they were: connected, no matter what. Not the same way he and Taeyeon had been - merging into one another, getting lost in each other’s worlds: Jinki and he were not one. But they had those nice silences, that comfort - and that connectedness didn’t need to be announced.

And now they were nothing.

After disbelief came resignation.

With each passing day of saying nothing, of handing sheets of paper to each other while making sure that their fingers didn't touch, as if each suspected the other of being contagiously sick, of Taemin barging in during the break to act like a clueless child, Kibum grew tired. On the outside, he was occupied living his normal life, doing his little things, with his face an impenetrable mask of self-sufficiency - just as he’d learned to keep it at his previous school. But, inside, he waited for something. For Jinki to take back his words? Because then, Kibum would take his words back, too. And then they would move on and forget what had happened, and everything would be okay again.

There was a problem - a kiss on the lips would be tough to erase. Kibum had been too sober, too slow and deliberate when his fingers pushed into the boy’s soft cheek to turn his face towards him. And if it was possible to write one kiss off as a lapse of judgement, an act of curiosity gone wrong, what could be done about two of them in a row? Kibum couldn’t wrap his mind around it, why he had done it at all, and he knew that Jinki with his inexperienced, unexpectedly avoidant brain wouldn’t be able to help him with that either, even if he wanted to.

Who else could help him?

The wrath was beginning to manifest itself through the muscles tightening, the sleep getting patchy and restless, the new, hardened tone of his inner voice. You can’t control yourself. You never learn. You’re a joke.

The anger was fluid, he noticed. At times it focused on Jinki, but mostly on himself, and less and less so - on the fact that Taeyeon had moved on from the intense little world they'd built together.

The pictures she posted of her Kibum-less life stopped looking like every single photo, every single tag was crafted specifically to be a jab at him, he no longer perceived each smiling selfie from the places they'd used to go together as a personal insult.

She had a life to live. What do you want her to do?

Seeing her face was hard, but rather than rage, it evoked… despair. Despair and longing, although Kibum didn't call it that. At times, he sat in the melancholy flowing through his veins, and he grew very familiar with it, but he wasn't sure what name to give it.

I guess I just miss her.

On those days, he didn't want to break into her inbox with accusations. He simply wished he could hit her up and tell her that there was this guy friend of his, and he'd messed everything up, badly.

Instead, he curled up on his bed and looked at her summer vacation photos.

"That's awesome that you finally went to Jeju. Did you have fun? How is your mom?” - that's what he wanted to say.

He liked a picture of her - Taeyeon striking a happy pose near the waterfall, her body tanned, because she didn't care about avoiding the sun. He must have tapped the screen twice by accident. His finger was already hovering above the red heart to press on it and take back the "like", when Kibum concluded that he didn't feel like doing it. What was the point? She'd have seen the notification at this point if she was online, and if not - she was going to see it later. She'd see that he cared enough to be scrolling down her page instead of sleeping, and if she'd want to block him - let her. It was her Instagram. And Kibum did like that photo.

It was true that Taeyeon had abandoned him, too, but Kibum decided that a bigger part of the blame lay on him after all.

It was not the same case with Jinki, though. Jinki was guilty - in a different way.

Around the time he resigned from waiting for some kind of divine intervention - or a logical resolution - to their conflict, life presented another disappointment: they were doing 'Romeo and Juliet' after all.

Kibum greeted the news with the most conspicuous eye-roll he was capable of.

"What happened to the 'Hamlet' suggestion?" he asked aloud without raising his hand, because that would require uncrossing his arms.

He knew he could pull that with teacher Kim: the man's patience was oceanic in scale.

The teacher tilted his head benevolently.

"The school administration deemed it disturbing and 'potentially harmful' for your impressionable psyche."

Kibum didn't even blink.

"And a story where teenagers commit violence, take dangerous drugs and tragically die just to be together is fine?"

He could swear that he heard someone gulp.

He was aware that he was coming on too strong, but his moods were beginning to spin out of control.

The English Club's collective focus shifted from Kibum back to Mr. Kim, each pair of eyes wide open in silent curiosity.

(Kibum saw from the corner of his eye that Jinki was sitting by Arisa's side.)

"I suppose they feel that this could be a teachable moment for you - make sure you're a legal adult before you wreak havoc on your family," Mr. Kim replied with a hint of a smile as he leaned back on his desk. He was still quite young, hardly over thirty, but he'd had his fair share of teenagers being edgy in class by that time.

"And also..." He raised his finger to have everybody's attention. "Let's make it clear that what Juliet took - while still technically a drug - was a poison. She didn't take it to feel good, okay? Your PE teacher is going to give you an excellent lecture about drugs soon, so I'll stay out of his territory. Meanwhile, just don't take any, alright?"

A few students nodded obediently, and Mr. Kim proceeded with his announcement as he picked up a plastic black folder from his desk.

"To avoid the drama and hurt feelings that affected every gender group here last year, this time the roles will be assigned through a voting system... Hand these blank sheets out, Kibum, will you?”

Uh.

Why did he have to sit in the first row? (To avoid looking at Jinki and Arisa sitting behind - that's why.)

"... On the left, you will see a list of the characters in the play. You're invited to write the name of a person that you think will be fit to play each character in the middle."

After delivering Arisa's paper straight into her hands, Kibum faltered. His former best friend was biting on his lip without looking up.

Normally, he would've whacked him over the top of the head with the sheet and enjoyed his reaction, but they weren't on playful terms anymore.

"... On the right, be sure to write down the reason for your pick. And remember three rules."

Kibum still wanted to whack him. Just not for play.

He ended up putting the boy's sheet on the very edge of the wooden desk, so that Jinki had to flail his arms trying to catch its fall.

It was depressing to think that Arisa would probably not make fun of him for that.

"... First, don't be mean to each other. Second, everything should be written in English. And yes," Mr. Kim nodded at the girl who looked like she was so eager to ask her question she was going to burst. "You can and should nominate yourself for the character you would like to play - as long as you back it up with some reasoning as I mentioned."

The girl relaxed, satisfied with that addition.

"The vote is anonymous," the man continued. "Which means that we will all imagine for a moment that your teacher forgot what your handwriting looks like."

The hint behind that remark was quite transparent: when Mr. Kim talked about not being mean to each other, he meant it.

"She 'didn't take it to feel good', really?" Kibum asked, putting his notes into his bag.

It was just him and Mr. Kim now in the empty classroom.

Arisa had cast a glance of confusion over her shoulder as she and Jinki left together. She was going to get used to this soon.

"You got the gist," Mr. Kim replied, looking up briefly.

He was getting ready to go, too.

Kibum was lingering, and he knew that. He remembered the one boy at his former highschool whose best friends  were teachers, because his classmates didn't take him seriously.

And now I'm turning into him.

"Yes, Kibum?" Mr. Kim asked in his melodic voice when he noticed Kibum standing a few feet away from his desk. It looked like he was waiting for something, but also wanted to be near the door in case he changed his mind.

"I think I'll pass on this one," Kibum said. "The play."

"You don't want to participate? Why?"

"Because we already did 'Romeo and Juliet' at my old school."

And also it was a horrible experience.

"Did you do it in English?"

Kibum shook his head.

"No. Korean. And they transported it to the Joseon Era."

"That's an interesting idea."

"It sounds better than it was in reality. I mean, the original names clashed with everything."

Jinki would have laughed so hard at that - he would've let his imagination run wild and start quoting the classic in an exaggerated historical-drama voice, like an old man with a tobacco pipe in his teeth. Oh, and he would've definitely grabbed a pen and stuck it in his mouth to fatten the image, because he was fond of practical comedy. What his brand of humor sometimes-often lacked in sense, it made up for in dedication to details.

It was a pity that he'd never gotten to tell Jinki that story. But also it wasn't a pity, because their entire friendship had been nothing but a sham.

That last thought came like a punch in the gut.

Why was he doing this to himself?

Mr. Kim didn't laugh, because he was an adult and had a life.

"Also, it was a very Christian school, so they removed all mentions of kissing, and Romeo was instead, like, really passionate about holding her hand."

In his head, he saw Jinki bursting with laughter, with that toss of the head, that big, throaty sound that still remained soft somehow.

He was beginning to hate him.

He wasn't sure why he was still speaking. His transformation into the sad kid with no one to talk to was coming to completion.

This time, teacher Kim did give an amused chuckle.

"Well, wouldn't it be fun to be a part of a version that's closer to the original? To the appropriate degree," he added half-confidentially: he was aware that the school administration could be ridiculous in its pursuit of propriety, and that Kibum, with his vaguely rebellious attitude towards school and everything in it, would get the hint - a friendly gesture, a treat for the lonely, attention-deprived kid. "Look, I know you're smart, and this is me, your teacher, acknowledging it in a way that makes you feel special for a second." Something like that.

Oh, no. He's actually feeling sorry for me.

Kibum straightened up, like a guy who only talks to a teacher when they have real issues to discuss, never to chat. Like someone who has a life too.

"I'm sure it would be fun." He inclined his head like he did when being only mildly sarcastic. "But the voting system and everything - it's all a popularity thing all over again, and I don't see the point."

"And you think you're unpopular?"

Okay, that backfired.

There was a real danger that Mr. Kim's galactic eyes were about to read right into his soul.

He mumbled something about not meaning that and fake coughed into his hand.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“And you’d prefer the roles to be assigned through...?”

Kibum shrugged.

“I don’t know what I’d prefer.”

Mr. Kim was finished sorting his things, and now his attention was solely focused on the boy.

“An audition?” he helped.

God, no.

“I… I don’t know.”

This was beginning to feel like another class, only there was no freakishly smart kid to shoot up their hand as if trying to stick it to the ceiling. And also there was no way Kibum would let himself mumble and fumble like that in front of some two dozen people.

“We would’ve done the auditions, but there’s just no time for that this year,” Mr. Kim explained. “And also the shy kids will have a chance to let me know who they actually want to play without feeling too intimidated.”

Kibum snorted.

“If they’re already so shy that they’re intimidated by auditions, then what’s the point in giving them a major character? It’s asking for trouble.”

“They can get better with some practice and encouragement.”

“How good can you get if you to begin with?” Kibum argued. “You are who you are, and you can’t change that.”

Mr. Kim looked at him for a couple of moments with that half-distracted, half-curious expression, as if he’d just heard some new information and needed a second to process that. Or maybe he was just wording an appropriate response, like grownups do when you say something idiotic and they have to look for a way to let you down easy.

He crossed his arms on his chest, and Kibum wondered if that look meant that he was in for a long- lecture on the Importance of Being Kind or some other poignant garbage.

But the teacher only asked him a question:

“Do you think that people can’t change?”

Kibum crossed his arms, too. He knew more about life than this adult was giving him credit for.

“Oh, they definitely can. For the worse,” he said with confidence.

“How so?”

“Well, you… I mean, they. If they’re bad to begin with, then they’ll get plenty of chances to get even worse, and you can be sure as h... you can be sure they’re gonna use them all.” He continued: “And they may even see themselves as, like, so pure and faultless to begin with, but if they have a drop of the bad stuff in them, it’s just gonna, I don’t know. Balloon?”

“Balloon,” Mr. Kim repeated, nodding as if the boy in front of him was making any sense.

“It will balloon, and get bigger and bigger with time, and then they’ll just end up all bad. Like someone who was consciously a trash person to begin with. Like… yeah.”

“Do you believe that people are either all good or all bad, Kibum?”

The boy shrugged.

“It sounds kind of shallow and like a wrong thing to say, but isn’t it one of those that people don’t talk about because it will kill the vibe, but is actually true and everyone knows it?”

Mr. Kim’s expression transitioned from mild incredulousness to concern. He waited for quite a while before speaking again.

“That’s not remotely true, Kibum,” he said in a more earnest tone. “Everyone has a certain amount of light and shadow inside of them, and that amount changes as we go through our life experiences. And how much it changes depends on how conscious we are in our choices and actions. And - in case you were wondering - that's exactly why we have schools. To help you become more conscious and, well, better people."

"'Better people'," Kibum said with a bitter laugh. "Bullying, trash talking, dirty manhwas - and that without mentioning betrayal, stonewalling and abandonment of friends like you never knew each other, like…"

He bit his lip, hard, his eyes shifting down to his Reebok shoes. The wrath came in waves, and needed to pass.

Only he was feeling more devastated than angry, everything in his reality becoming suddenly unbearable - from the problems, the school, to the corner of the teacher's desk in his side vision. And it wasn't passing.

He breathed fiercely through the nose, jaw clenched in tension, trying to stop the emotional avalanche descending on him from a place he didn't know existed and thus couldn't name. If that was what people meant by being vulnerable, then it was already on his 'cancelled' list.

He felt a hand rest lightly on his shoulder, steadying him.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me, Kibum?"

Kibum knew that tone: that was how trained child therapists talked - even though he'd only had the chance to speak to one of them in his lifetime, he was able to recognize the careful intonation, the avoiding of big words that could scare him away ('bullying', 'tormenting' - no, let's just call it something, as in 'something really bad'), the non-threatening touch to help him regain his footing.

He took a few wider, deeper breaths and his eyes cleared.

"Are you asking me if I'm being bullied?”

Mr. Kim put his hand away: the danger of a full-on meltdown was apparently gone.

"Are you?"

"As if you guys care," Kibum answered wryly, not sure to whom exactly he was referring.

He didn't want to single out Mr. Kim specifically - the man was being nothing but nice to him.

"Of course, I care. You're my student."

"Too bad you weren't employed at my other school, then," the boy muttered as he unslung his bag to pretend to check whether he had zipped it closed all the way. "And no, I'm not being bullied. I just don't wanna be in the play."

The teacher looked at him wistfully. Kibum could see him giving up on trying to have the vulnerable conversation he was hoping for.

That was close.

"Have a look at the blank anyway. You still have plenty of time to decide," Mr. Kim pressed in a lighter tone.

He then remembered that he had to give something to Jinki - a work he'd checked and never returned - and asked Kibum to do it for him.

"You will see each other, right?"

Kibum fixed his gaze on the paper for a few moments, suspiciously, like he couldn't trust it.

They were going to see each other all right.

"Why is it that everyone asks me to do stuff for him?" he asked with a sharpness that he was going to feel embarrassed about in a minute. "I'm not his personal messenger boy."

"Perhaps it's because you're friends who are seen together often?" Mr. Kim said, eyebrows raised in reasonable surprise. 

"We were never friends," Kibum insisted.

He once again felt the punch in the gut, and if there was a perfect moment for storming out in his personal cloud of self-produced drama, this was it.

Jinki was walking down the hall towards him, and Kibum felt so annoyed by the very sight of him that he couldn't believe how he'd ever tolerated him to begin with.

His glasses were too big on his face.

What was that vision correction thing? As if that was going to work unless he stopped reading his action manhwas in a dim light before sleeping.

Why was he allowed to walk around with his bed hair all day? How could he be content with those overgrown bangs getting into his eyes every other second? How many calories was he burning daily by just shaking his stupid hair out of his eyes?

No wonder you're going blind.

He could see Jinki see him – and proceed to stumble on the perfectly smooth linoleum-covered floor.

That was infuriating.

How was he not ashamed of being such a goddamn clutz? Had his mighty nerd brain deduced – correctly – that having poor coordination skills on an okay body could make up for not having any actual, hotness-based charm, and even gain him some points in the hearts of some overly empathetic girls? (Kibum just couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that this guy was getting to have girlfriends. Arisa was into him, for god's sake.)

Was he secretly getting off on the attention his clumsy dude schtick was gaining him?

They were approaching the point where they would pass each other, like some semi-strangers who'd never laid on a bed together with a box of candies between them; but Kibum wasn't done picking his ex-friend apart yet.

Jinki's eyes were riveted to the floor as he walked, which was sensible, as it might help prevent further stumbling, but it was also insulting. Who was the injured party here? Was it Jinki, whose forever pouting, pun-spewing lips had gotten some very mild action for three hot, cursed seconds from someone who had obviously lost his mind after staring at a bunch of pictures a tad too long? Or was it the guy who was being treated like a leper by his friend for something he'd never meant to do?

In a just world, it would be him, Kibum, who would be averting his gaze as the other boy stared at him pleadingly. In a just world, Jinki would feel sorry for even bothering him again with his presence.

Kibum slapped the paper onto Jinki's chest, startling him. The bespectacled eyes of the person he had used to trust stared at him apprehensively.

"What do you think I'm gonna do?" Kibum wanted to ask. "Stick my lips to your idiot face again?"

"Take your ," he said dryly.

As he left, he thought he heard a muttered, barely audible 'thank you' behind his back.

A/N: Hi readers! To tell the truth, I finished this chapter a while ago, but was distracted by some health-related issues and the whole Covid situation and didn't upload - or answer your lovely comments! - until now. It is a very difficult time, and I hope that you and your loved ones are safe and in good health, and continue to be so. It seems that the best thing we can do is keep on using our common sense and do what we can to try and not give in to the extreme reactions around us - and try to do the things we love to pull us through! Luckily we happen to stan the best group in the world with sublime discography full of certified bops and profound ballads for any mood! ^^ I found that starting my day with my SHINee playlist helps a huge deal~  (I sound like an ad for SHINee... well, why not?) Thank you as always, if you do have the time to read my chapter, I'll be happy to know your thoughts. Just like anyone else I am pretty much confined to my room (well, more than usual... he... he), hopefully I'll have more time to continue the story, and I'll be even more motivated to do so if I have you all by my side. Sending love from a very cold and snowy place x