This isn’t Kibum’s usual scene.

Granted, a lot of things aren’t Kibum’s usual scene. Just in the past year alone, he’s exhausted the idea of socializing, preferring to stay in and wallow in self-pity in the comfort of his own home. That’s not to say that Kibum never goes out for fun. He isn’t a killjoy. Just that, well...

The air in this bar is no different from the air in any other run-of-the-mill, neighborhood bar. The lights are dimmed, just enough to make him want to drink until he’s seeing stars. The walnut-stained wood shelves have an abundance of liquor sitting on them. And who could forget the faux leather barstools that have numbed the lower half of his body, so he can no longer register the metal that’s peeking out from underneath and digging into his skin. Or the overhead lights, which were supposed to be a part of the interior designer’s rustic vision, but gave the impression of a safety hazard waiting for a lawsuit, the swinging light bulbs hanging too close for comfort.

Kibum takes another dainty sip of his whiskey—not his usual drink, just him choosing to be pretentious—and swears under his breath. Taemin had hauled him here under the guise of a ‘celebratory Friday after a long and exhausting week of work.’ But of course, Taemin had long disappeared into the abyss of dim lights and alcohol.

Of course, because Taemin had been the one to coerce him enough to leave his house for the first Friday in weeks.

Of course, because Taemin had been the one to take him to this sleazy bar, buy Kibum one drink (and only one drink) before jumping ship to flirt with some stranger in the corner.

Of course, because Taemin had been alluring enough to take said stranger home, abandoning his life-long friend at the bar.

Minho would be on my side, Kibum can’t help but think as he taps his fingers on the counter. Minho would have never forced him to do something as ostentatious as going to a bar on a Friday night.

Except, if he truly dwells on the thought, there is a possibility that Minho would take Taemin’s side. They would play tag-team and hound Kibum about losing his youth and his charm, so he needed to get out more (Kibum believes this line of reasoning to be a hoax, but Taemin and Minho definitely knew how to push his buttons).

Yet Minho was never one for dimly-lit places, it didn’t matter if alcohol was in the picture or not. This sort of spot was Taemin’s territory and Taemin’s territory alone.

Kibum glances around the bar; the building is relatively crowded. He is unable to distinguish any faces and everybody blurs into a couple of darkened silhouettes—partially due to the lack of light, but also because of his wavering vision, which he refuses to correct with glasses. Plus, the chatter from the other patrons is distracting and causes him to restart the process all over again.

There are numerous college students yelling across tables and chairs. Another table appears to have assembled a group of middle-aged dads. Over something that Kibum suspects he would not find the least bit amusing, they all erupt into deep guffaws.

By the time he is successfully able to make his rounds—checking out the rest of the bar—he can’t help but feel a tingling sensation in his back. Like somebody is watching him, but that could also be the byproduct of drinking alone. He pulls out his phone from his back pocket as a way to distract himself, but the time displayed on the screen disappoints him more than he would like to admit. Time always warped when there was alcohol consumed, but usually in the sense that it distorted the hours into minutes. Tonight? Not so much. Then, he thinks of how quickly Taemin was able to get inside, down his fair share of drinks, and then leave with a man hanging from his arms. Kibum makes a mental note to congratulate him about his stealthy ways later.

Yet as determined as he is to make sure Taemin gets an earful tomorrow on how he committed the ultimate act of betrayal by abandoning Kibum—not to mention how he never wants to accompany him anywhere ever again—he’s also determined to not leave so soon. He leans back and foolishly anticipates back support, only to be met with thin air. Jolting forward, he hopes nobody watched him make that rookie mistake and returns to swirling his glass of whiskey around, then takes another modest sip to busy himself.

Before Kibum is able to lose himself in another train of thought, he’s met with a light tap on his shoulder. It’s gentle, not one that mandates he turn around, so he chooses to ignore it. That is, until he feels the touch again. There is enough force behind it this time that it almost (but not quite) sends him flying out of the stool to be sprawled across the floor.

Kibum turns around, clutching his shoulder and kneading circles into the area that had just been hit. He’s met with a guy, who looks both incredibly in and out of place. He’s wearing all-black, bulky platform shoes, and it’s complete with a sly look on his face. His eyes are sharp but kind, which causes him to come off as more innocent than intimidating.

He couldn’t say the same for himself.

“Yes?” Kibum raises one eyebrow at the guy, who is rocking back and forth on his heels anxiously.

“Uh, hi,” the guy stutters when he meets Kibum in the eyes. Then, the glint in his gaze changes from nervous to cocky. He clears his throat before continuing. “How are you doing?”

“I’m... fine…” Kibum replies. He doesn’t even attempt to hide the confusion and cautiousness in his voice. “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks for asking,” the guy says as if it’s not common courtesy to be polite. Then again, he supposes that the response was common courtesy as well. Their conversation is starting to resemble something straight out of a high school textbook.

That is, until: “I wanted to let you know that, um, you’re a nine out of ten, and I’m the one you need.” He concludes the pick-up line with a lip bite best suited for a middle schooler’s Instagram post.

Kibum furrows his brows and clenches his heart protectively with the best offended look he can muster. “Are you insulting my looks?”

“No, no, no,” the guy splutters, cringing at his own words. “I just meant, like, it’s a pick-up line?” He nervously scratches at the back of his neck and bites down hard on his bottom lip. “Like, you’re a nine out of ten, and I’m the one you need. Like I’m the person you need, not like another point or anything. And I don’t even think that someone calling someone else a nine out of ten is an insult, because a nine, that’s like still an A in my book, so I was actually trying to compliment you, but sorry if—”

“Okay,” Kibum says, interrupting the guy’s rambling before he is able to humiliate himself more. “I was just making a joke. I understood the pick-up line.”

The guy has confusion written all over his face. When Kibum’s words finally strike him, the confusion is replaced with a sheepish expression. Kibum’s stomach swirls with a sensation most akin to guilt, and he contemplates apologizing for his blunt demeanor. But he doesn’t.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Um,” the guy mumbles, twiddling his thumbs. “You’re so sweet, uh, you’re giving me a toothache.”

He looks back up at Kibum in anticipation.

“Are you like... okay?” Kibum drawls the words with equal parts amusement and concern and his jaw is dropped slightly. He genuinely cannot tell whether this guy is being sincere with these ty pick-up lines or if someone has given him a half-hearted dare. “And by the way, that was even worse than the first one.”

“Sorry. Should I try again?” He sounds hesitant, like he’s really asking whether or not Kibum wants to hear another pick-up line.

The answer is resoundingly clear.

“Please don’t.”

“Oh,” the guy breathes out. At this point, Kibum doesn’t know what he’s hoping to accomplish. If his goal take Kibum home for a night, he’s doing a god-awful job at it. If it’s not, then what was the point?

Intentions aside, Kibum’s not sure he wants to entertain this man’s antics for any longer.

“Look,” Kibum starts, exhaling loudly into the stuffy air. “If you’re trying to flirt with me, I’m really flattered, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now, so…”

The guy doesn’t hear him—or just doesn’t care. His eyes dart around where Kibum’s sitting and he asks: “Can I take a seat?”

Kibum shrugs. “Go ahead. It’s a free country.”

The man shuffles beside him and tugs the barstool out, the legs of the stool creating a high-pitched and jarring screech as it scrapes across the floor. He takes a seat and shifts on the stool uncomfortably before finally settling for a position.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Kibum presses his lips into a thin line, prepared to make a beeline towards the door. Though, something about this situation doesn’t quite warrant him to act on the urge.

“Sure,” Kibum responds in monotone, masking the fact that he has always been a er for free things. And it drops him right into situations like this—never being able to turn down anyone who offers free things (to an extent). Taemin and his schemes could be the root cause, but if it benefits him, so be it. As Taemin always says: hate the player but don’t hate the game. Now, that’s something he swears by.

“But just so you know,” Kibum adds once he has the free drink in his grasp. “I’m still not looking for a relationship. So thanks for the drink, but I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for.” His hope is that he’s able to let the man down gently. Never did he think of himself as a heartbreaker.

“What if I pay you?” The guy blurts out in a frenzy, his eyes desperate and pleading. “I could pay you?” His offer comes out sounding more like a question than anything with legitimacy behind it.

“What the ?” Kibum’s voice rises in dismay, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. “Did you just... what?”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” the guy mutters under his breath rapidly.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I sound awful, don’t I? I just mean... I sound so stupid.” He runs his fingers through his styled hair and destroys the gel’s hold in the process. “I didn’t mean it like.. how you thought I meant it. I just meant like.. I—”

Kibum pats him on the back; it’s a clumsy attempt to comfort the man. From an outsider’s point-of-view, it might not be that weird. But for all Kibum knows, he wasn’t expecting to console the person that had been hitting on him. Something about this comes across awfully backwards.

“Okay, okay.” Kibum shakes his head in disbelief. He snatches the water next to his emptied glass of whiskey, raising it up and offering it to the man. “Here. It’s not poisoned or anything, so don’t worry,” he says with a chuckle in an attempt to dispel some of the awkwardness.

The man takes the glass out of Kibum’s hand and gulps it dry in a matter of seconds. He his lips and swivels back in Kibum’s direction.

“Sorry,” he apologizes again. “I mean, everyone at work is always on my because I’ve never really been in a real relationship, and it really gets on my nerves and so..” He pauses for a moment, his distraught eyes scanning Kibum. “So I told them I had a boyfriend, but I obviously don’t.” An airy chuckle. “And you were the hottest one in the room by a long shot, and so I was wondering if you would, like. I don’t know, pretend to be my boyfriend for a while?”

Kibum is truly at a loss for words. He would very likely tumble out of his chair if his hand wasn’t tense and resting on the table. It’s like his mouth is filled with sand, he’s at such a loss for what to say in response.

“And I could pay you. I could do that,” the guy blurts out when Kibum remains silent. “If you want, I could do that.”

Kibum lets his eyes trail down the man, taking in his appearance.

“I’m just a twenty-seven years old, if you’re wondering about my age. And I’m being completely serious right now.”

“Okay..” Kibum places his elbow on the table and rests his head on his hand. He arches a brow. “So let me get this straight. You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend to throw your friends off at work. And in return, you’ll pay me.”

The guy nods and takes a couple of steady, calming breaths. “That sounds about right.”

“So, you’re basically offering to be my sugar daddy.”

Kibum’s words has the guy choking on his spit, hacking out a painful sounding and throaty cough. Kibum has no choice but to give him a couple of rough hits on his back. And with all of the glasses around him empty, he waves down the bartender for some more water and hands it to the guy as some sort of relief. As luck would have it, it seems that none of the other patrons had overheard their conversation because not even a single soul spares them a glance.

“Um,” the guy falters once he has caught his breath. “Your sugar, what?” It looks like it pains him to even utter the string of words. “Your.. sugar daddy?”

“Yes, my sugar daddy.” Kibum rolls his eyes. He rubs at his temples in exasperation, before a switch in his brain flicks on and he catches himself asking: “What’s your name, honey?”

The guy turns beet-red at the pet name, and Kibum feels the slightest tinge of remorse. It’s already been a long night, longer than he could have ever imagined, so maybe he should’ve just held off with the teasing. But he can’t help himself. Not when this guy has put himself up as bait, and definitely not when this is the reaction he receives.

“I’m Jinki. Nice to meet you.”

“Kim Kibum.” He sticks out one of his hands for Jinki to shake, and he does. Jinki’s hands are clammier than any hands he’s made contact with in his lifetime. Kibum has to will away the urge to not wipe his hands on his jeans to not come off as distasteful. “Listen, Jinki. I’m sure you’re a nice guy and all, but..” His mind suddenly deviates and he’s asking a completely different question than the one he had planned. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an investment banker,” Jinki responds. “You know, numbers and stocks and.. yeah.”

“Sure.” Kibum doesn’t have much to add towards Jinki’s job discourse. He also doesn’t give two s about investment banking, but it does explain why Jinki has the means to fund this little.. endeavor of his.

“You know what, Jinki?” Kibum says. Jinki perks up in his seat. “What are your terms and conditions?”

“Terms and conditions?” Jinki tilts his head quizzically.

“Yeah, like, you would pay me for my time. What would I actually be doing during that time you’re paying me for?”

Jinki looks a bit stunned at the question, like he hadn’t expected Kibum to ask for clarification. It’s strange. Kibum wonders if Jinki had done any sort of strategizing before offering him money to play fake boyfriend. Because if this is the way that Jinki operates, Kibum can’t imagine how he’s survived at his job for as long as he has (which judging by the looks of it, was not long at all). But Kibum gives him the benefit of the doubt and settles on the lack of preparation being a result of nerves, rather than being a measure of his intelligence.

“Well.” Jinki pauses in thought. “What are your terms and conditions?”

“I asked you first. I can’t have any without knowing what yours are.”

“Oh.” Jinki pouts for the nth time. Kibum has lost count by now. “Well, I guess you would have to accompany me to work functions, like dinners and stuff.”

“Okay, dinners and stuff.” Kibum nods. “Anything else?”

“And we could go on a couple of dates and you would have to meet my friends, just to convince them that we’re actually like,” Jinki lets out another cough, “together.”

“Meet the friends and a couple dates.” Kibum nods again. “Anything else?”

“Just like normal couple things,” Jinki says. His voice is subdued to the point that Kibum has to lean towards him to hear. “So we can convince them. You know, like a kiss and holding hands, or something. I don’t know.”

Kibum suppresses the urge to giggle. Instead, he lets one corner of his mouth lift into a smirk. “I can’t hear you. You’re going to have to stop mumbling and speak up, Jinki.”

“I just meant, like..” The tips of Jinki’s ears turn crimson. To say that Kibum is amused would be an understatement. He is usually the easy one to fluster among his friends, but now, he’s on the other side.

Somewhere in a corner of his mind, he wonders if this is why Minho, Taemin, and on occasion Jonghyun, get instant gratification by trying to ruffle his feathers. “I mean, just like one, or maybe two, like, kisses. In front of my friends. And then maybe hand holding? I don’t know. Whatever normal couples do. I don’t know.”

“You’ve really never been in a relationship before?” At the start, that fact was hard for Kibum to believe. But right now? It’s all piecing together.

“No, not really.” Jinki drops his head and stares, his gaze glued onto the ground. “I mean, I’ve done.. stuff. But I’ve never really, you know?”

“Sure,” Kibum says. He’s no longer in the mood to mess with Jinki before their ‘arrangement’ has even begun. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Jinki rips his gaze off of the floor. His eyes are swelling with hope and optimism when he asks: “Really?”

“Really,” Kibum assures him with a smile. “But as long as you’re being serious about the money side of things.”

Jinki nods earnestly, his eyes wide and eager.

“Okay!” Jinki hops out of the barstool. It’s cute, Kibum will give him that. But before Kibum can fit another word in, he’s skipping away. Then, Jinki signals a phone with his hand, holding it up to his ear and yelling: “Call me!”

“Hey, I don’t have your number!” Kibum shouts at Jinki, who is on his way to never seeing Kibum again. Kibum’s words cause Jinki to freeze in his tracks. He swivels on the balls of his feet and trudges back shamefully. Kibum pulls out his phone, sets it to an empty contacts page, and hands it over to Jinki. Jinki types in his details rapidly, sends a text to himself, and places the phone back into Kibum’s hands within a minute.

“Well.” Jinki returns to shifting on his feet. “You have my number now.”

“I do,” Kibum smiles. There’s a little too much fondness in his smile for their predicament. “I have your number, you have mine, and the rest can be worked out later?”

“Yeah,” Jinki grins back, sweet and simple. “Does this make you my official sugar baby?”

“Okay,” Kibum snorts. “I don’t know how I feel about the sound of that.”

“Well, you did call me your sugar dad—” Kibum presses his hand over Jinki’s mouth before he can finish the sentence.

Later, Kibum extends his arm behind him and plucks out a sugar pa