One of Those Nights

It’s one of those nights.

Of all nights, why tonight, Kibum laments. He’s worked hard, he deserves to enjoy himself. Why is life so cruel as to deprive him of little pleasures like having a good time at his company’s annual dinner party?

The company’s HR team have really outdone themselves this year. They’ve rented an entire subway train for the party, with each car decorated in a different theme. Word is that the company splashed the equivalent of the average worker’s yearly salary on tonight’s party. Well, for a fashion house, it’s never just a party is it? Everything is a branding opportunity. He should know, he works for the marketing department. It’s not the glamourous life he imagined for himself when he graduated with an honours degree in fashion design, but it pays the bills so he can’t complain.

Still, tonight was supposed to be a day to let loose.

With a drink inside him and one more in hand, Kibum had glanced around the packed carriage for a familiar face; to dance, to gossip, to explore what the night had to offer.

His eyes fell then on a familiar sight; on buoyant hair dyed the colour of spun gold, on a lithe body unmistakable to one who has spent hours mapping it out with his hands and lips. In a sea of people dressed as if they were residents of Panem, he stands out in his simple white shirt and black jeans.

Hopeless, Kibum had thought, absently shaking his head at his ex’s refusal to put anything but the bare minimum of effort into dressing himself. It used to make him so angry, but now, all he feels is the faintest whisper of affection, like driving past an old neighbourhood and seeing your old house still unchanged.

~

“You’re coming in that?”

The source of Kibum’s annoyance picks at the hem of his hoodie and pouts at him, as if he’s being unreasonable. “It’s cold, but not cold enough that I’d want to wear two layers.”

He knows they’re going out with Kibum’s colleagues and bosses. He knows they’re going to a private members’ club somewhere in the fancy part of Seoul. He knows how things work in the fashion industry, how first impressions are everything. He how important this is to Kibum. And yet.

Kibum hates this, hates having to be the responsible one all the time. He hates being reduced to this nannying role where he has to vet his boyfriend’s clothing and nag and cajole him into dressing up properly.

He’s tired.

“You know what, just stay home. I’ll go alone.”

~

The next carriage is done up like a forest. Actually, on second glance, it’s less like a forest and more like the aisle from Crazy Rich Asians. Of course, Kibum thinks to himself, what 2018 party would be complete without a reference to the year’s most joyful, unabashed tribute to fashion? The floor lights up under his feet as he walks through the carriage; the poles have been decorated to look like trees. Someone nudges him out of the way to pose with the pole and a photographer snaps away, blinding Kibum with the flash of his camera.

The flash reminds him of that white shirt.

~

The forest air is almost cutting in its freshness. Kibum breathes deeply; he can almost feel his lungs singing with gratitude. He walks a few steps behind his boyfriend, who has been here before and who is taking Kibum off the beaten trail to show him a great view apparently.

It brings back memories. His parents used to take him hiking when he was very young, although he’s sure they must have carried him for most of the journey.

“Oh, we’re here!”

His boyfriend’s excited voice brings him back to the present. “Thank goodness, I think my legs are going to fall off.”

A laugh. A hand, which he takes gratefully, to haul him up over the ridge that his boyfriend is standing on. And oh, what a view.

He can see all the way down the hill, across the car park they parked the hired car in, the highway they drove in on and beyond that, the sea. It feels like he’s standing on top of the world, even though they’re only halfway up the trail that goes to the peak.

“It’s so beautiful.” He tightens his fingers around his boyfriend’s hand, grateful that he hasn’t let go yet. He’s always so self-conscious about how small his hands are in comparison to Kibum’s that they almost never do this.

“Let’s sit here for a while,” he suggests. Kibum carefully sits on the edge, wary of the steep drop, and this time it is his boyfriend who tightens his hold on his hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.”

~

“Uh, can you move?”

Kibum snaps out of his daydreaming. He’s been leaning against a pole, lost in time, and a bunch of people are waiting impatiently to use it for selcas.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed for losing himself.

The greenery of the carriage seems so oppressive all of a sudden, the flashing lights, traumatic. He feels like he can’t breathe. He needs a drink. Food too, though he suspects that there will only be food in bird-sized portions to suit the bird-sized appetites of the fashion industry.

Hopefully the next carriage has a bar in it and isn’t just for decoration like this one.

He squeezes past a group of people making their way to the front. The last member of that party holds the door open for him, and Kibum thanks him with a nod.

So… it’s a… Kibum blinks, trying to make sense of the assault on his senses. What exactly is this monstrosity of a carriage supposed to be?

The floor is covered in some hideous dull red carpeting and there are random beige couches placed here and there. It would look like some cheap motel room, but the furniture is too nice for that sort of vibe. Whatever, Kibum thinks with a shrug, there is a bar at the end of the carriage and the couches are a handy place to sit and nurse a drink. All of the couches are occupied, so he’ll have to share, and maybe his couchmate will be someone worth talking to.

Kibum waves at the bartender to get his attention. “Classic mojito, please.”

“This is a non-alcoholic coach,” the bartender replies, with the bored tone of a man who has said the same sentence too many times already. He points to a chalkboard menu mounted behind the bar. “We have a list of mocktails and a full list of coffees. The cold brew isn’t bad, actually.”

A non-alcoholic bar. ing millennials, Kibum curses, even though he is one himself, and probably a hipster too, by any definition of the word. “Yeah, give me a cold brew then.”

He takes his cold brew coffee – is there any rule against mixing coffee with alcohol? Kibum can’t remember – and ambles around the carriage, trying to look for a promising spot.

“Yah, Kibum-ah!” A girl calls out and Kibum turns around to see his department’s accountant, Ha Ryung, waving him over. They’ve not spoken much but he’s so glad to see a familiar face that he wastes no time joining her.

“Ooh, y,” she drawls, eyeing up from head to toe. Kibum laughs, not really knowing how to respond. He’s wearing a mesh t-shirt under a jacket; it’s meant to only reveal flashes of skin here and there, but it keeps betraying him by falling open.

“You look good too,” he replies. She’s wearing a black and white floor-length dress and some PVC gloves; nothing revolutionary, but he has to give her credit for effort. “I like the gloves.”

She perks up. “They’re cool, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you watch my purse? I need to go to the ladies’.”

me, Kibum grumbles. Do I look like a bag boy? “Sure,” he tells her.

And that’s how he becomes the only loser not sharing a couch with anyone. He might as well paste a sign on his forehead saying ‘SOCIAL PARIAH’.

Whatever, the night’s ruined anyway. Kibum lies on the couch, uncaring that his shoes might be staining the beige upholstery.

~

Why does it have to be so hard, Kibum wonders.

It was supposed to be a relaxing night in. Just Netflix and dinner ordered in from their favourite chicken shop; the sort of low-key date that can’t really go wrong. And yet, here he is, lying on the couch instead of sharing his boyfriend’s warm bed with him. Where did the night go wrong?

Was it when they couldn’t compromise on what to watch and ended up sitting through some stupid variety show neither of them liked?

Was it when his boyfriend got carried away and put his sticky fingers in Kibum’s newly-washed hair?

Was it when they started arguing about who was less considerate of the other’s feelings, digging deeper and deeper into their memories for more slights, more evidence to fling at each like knives?

Kibum sighs and rolls over on the couch. The clock ticks loudly in the silence of the night. He’s uncomfortable; the couch is new and hard, and as the night deepens it becomes colder. He doesn’t even have a blanket. Surely his boyfriend isn’t so angry that he’ll leave Kibum out here all night, right?

Sleep won’t come. The clock ticks on. It’s too late to go home – the buses and subway have stopped running – but too early to wake up and call it an early morning.

Kibum waits for forgiveness, for an apology.

He waits. And waits. And waits.

And wakes up to sunlight shining through the windows, an empty house and a blanket, haphazardly thrown over his sleeping form.

He runs into him at work; catches a glimpse of him as his make-up artist tells him off while she works to cover the dark circles under his eyes. It’s a strange comfort that Kibum gets from the sight, comfort that it wasn’t just him that cared enough to lose sleep over their fight.

He uses his lunch break to buy a pack of herbal medicine from the supermarket near the office and gets an intern to deliver it to his boyfriend. He wonders when they stopped being able to communicate with each other.

~

By the time Ha Ryung comes back, Kibum’s mood is thoroughly rotten. He returns her handbag and abandons his barely-touched coffee and leaves this carriage for the next. He’s probably ruined their relationship, but he couldn’t care less right now.

The next carriage is another themed one. No bar, no food, just bunches of people flocking from corner to the other trying to take a flattering photo for Insta.

It’s a beach. The carriage is divided down the middle; one half filled with glittering sandstone and the other with water. It even smells like the sea. Some hidden speakers play the sound of gulls cawing.

If Kibum were in a better mood, he’d probably have marveled at the effort that had gone into turning a subway train carriage into a good approximation of a beach. He’d have wanted photos for his own Insta, partly to record the memory and partly to brag to his followers about the awesome company he’s working for.

But now, it feels so excessive. He looks around, at all of the gaudy outfits that’ll probably never be worn again, at the sand and water and props that’ll be thrown away without a second thought and thinks that when the revolution comes for the heads of the bourgeoisie, they’ll deserve whatever painful death is handed out to them.

Suddenly, the scenery changes. The train’s aboveground now, somewhere near Apgujeong, and the shimmering lights of the night sky fill the carriage. If the beach was impressive earlier, it’s beautiful now.

Kibum has always loved the beach at night.

~

The wet sand is firm and cool under his bare feet.

The water is frigid, but he’s careful to walk just beyond the lapping of the waves. His boyfriend walks beside him, shoulder to shoulder because they don’t live in a country where two boys can hold hands without attracting a lot of attention to themselves.

Not that it matters. It’s enough, to be here together.

“If I had known you like the beach so much, I’d have suggested this sooner,” he says, an hour later when they’re sitting on the deck of their rented chalet, sharing a warm beer and staring at the full, brilliant moon.

“It’s always been my dream to live next to the sea. Not now, obviously, but some day.”

“I’d like that too.” He takes a drink and hands the bottle to Kibum. “I always feel at home when I’m at the beach. Like, I feel in my bones that I am descended from something that came out of the water and it’s like the sea is calling me back.”

Kibum doesn’t really feel that way, but he gets what his boyfriend is saying. He looks at him, stares openly and unashamedly, at the fullness of his lips and the contrast between the bleach of his hair and the tan of his skin. He could be a mermaid, Kibum thinks absently, and reaches out to kiss him.

~

He hates that he is so weak.

As he crosses over to the next carriage – just how many carriages are on this bloody train anyway? – it occurs to Kibum that he’s been running the whole night. From his memories, from the feelings he still has, and he’s run so far but he still can’t escape.

This carriage has a bar, but it serves food, not alcohol. Given that the carriage is decorated like an American diner, Kibum can already guess what sort of rubbish is on the menu; bite-sized burgers, some variation of fries that’s supposed to be clever but which will never top the perfection that the humble fry is and frou-frou milkshakes.

Kibum takes a seat by the window and stares out at the passing scenery. It’s nothing noteworthy; steel rail tracks and heavy cables, so very industrial in comparison to the business districts of Seoul. When he gets tired of the scenery, he lays his head in his arms and closes his eyes, wishing that he were at home.

~

“You can have the fries. I have a photoshoot tomorrow.”

Kibum slides the plate of fries back to the centre of the table. “Your metabolism is much better than mine, I’ve already eaten too much today.” Truth be told, he’s not hungry at all. There’s an emptiness inside him, but it’s one that can’t be filled with food.

There is no argument, no agreement. The fries sit in between them, ignored, like the unloved child of a failed marriage.

“Let’s end this,” he says, the words spilling out of his mouth far easier than they should.

He gets a shrug in response. No eye contact, like he isn’t even worth looking in the face. “Yeah, it seems like the end of the line for us, doesn’t it?”

People had warned Kibum against dating a model, warned him about the callousness of models and the ease with which they dipped in and out of relationships. He should have listened, should have realised far sooner that he’s not the exception to a rule.

He stands up, his chair scraping against the tiled floor. “Eat, hyung. You always scold me for wasting food, so you shouldn’t waste it either. See you around, I guess.”

Kibum sits with the food until it becomes cold and inedible. When he calls for the bill, the waiter tells him that it’s already been paid.

~

The creaking of artificial leather gives away the fact that someone has taken the seat opposite his. Kibum curses his luck and takes a deep breath before plastering on a fake smile for his newfound company.

It’s him.

Kibum is stunned. He doesn’t know what to think, how to react.

There is a drink on the table between them, a cucumber and mint mojito.

“You hate cucumber,” Kibum says absently.

“You like cucumber,” he replies, pushing the drink closer to Kibum. “I got it for you.”

Kibum’s pride has been worn away by the long night. He takes a gulp of the mojito, grateful for the way the mint and cucumber slake his thirst. The alcohol burns him from the inside out, but it’s good. “Where’d you get this from anyway?”

“The first coach. That’s the only one I know that has drinks. I haven’t explored the back yet.”

That means he must have spotted Kibum too, at some point, and either followed him all the way from the first carriage to this one with a drink in hand or he went all the way back to the first carriage just to get a drink for Kibum. “Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you want to get me a drink?”

He shrugs and looks away, suddenly shy. “You don’t look very happy.”

It’s Kibum’s turn to shrug. “It’s one of those nights.”

“Yeah.” He holds Kibum’s gaze for a while longer, and turns to look out of the window. Kibum looks too. Seoul’s skyline is silhouetted against the night sky; the rumble of the train on the tracks and the distant sound of voices play in the background of their own little bubble of space. In between gaps, Kibum catches a glimpse of the moon; pale and round, so much more distant than it was when they admired it together at the beach.

~~~

hi guys!

i'm back with a new fic! it's a two-parter, the second part should be up soon. let me apologise for all of the other stories waiting for completion... goodness knows when i'll get around to them.

as always, read and enjoy and do leave me a comment telling me what you thought of the fic. please support onew, key and taemin's respective comebacks in whatever way you can, even if it's just streaming the MV.