His taxi driver does not know how to drive.

Safely, at least. The ride had started off just fine, with the car going right at the edge of the speed limit. That was until three minutes into the ride, when the taxi driver had stomped on the accelerator, maneuvering in between stationary cars and winding down narrow streets at a speed that made Kibum feel as though he was riding a rollercoaster. A welcome feeling, if he was actually on a rollercoaster, and not inside of a car.

He suspects that Jinki had written some special instructions to the driver somewhere. Something along the lines of, please give Kibum a near-death experience.

Maybe rich people were above the law like that.

Or maybe his driver just doesn't know how to drive.

Twenty minutes ago, Kibum had gotten ready, even putting on the best suit that he owned—the one that he hasn’t worn since his college matriculation. And he looks hot as hell, if he does say so himself.

He had paced around his room while waiting for his taxi—prepaid, courtesy of Jinki—and running through various scenarios in his head. There were a lot of variables at play tonight. Like, whether they would successfully dupe Jinki’s friends and coworkers into believing that they were in a committed relationship, or whether Jinki would blow their cover in a matter of seconds.

Although it had certainly been a while—one or two past lives ago—Kibum had been to a million and a half of these so-called “work functions” that Jinki wanted him to attend. Kibum was certain that he wouldn't say anything that would play into suspicions. After all, he was the master of amateurish conning. But Jinki, judging from last Friday, did not have as good of a track record with keeping his nerves at bay.

Four minutes before he was set to leave, he flung his door open with his foot with his dress shoes in his hands, and sauntered towards the main doorway.

“You look nice.” Minho’s voice boomed out from somewhere within the vicinity.

“Holy .” Kibum flinched and dropped his shoes onto the ground with a thud. “You scared me. Warn a man next time, will you?”

Minho shrugged unapologetically, setting his opened book face side down and crossing his legs and arms. He examined Kibum's ensemble, his eyes trailing up and down his body, which caused Kibum to cower under Minho's scrutinizing gaze.

Two Fridays in a row,” Minho pointed out. “That’s a new record for you.”

“What can I say,” Kibum replied flippantly. “I’m a changed man.”

Minho had shook his head and returned to his book, fully engrossed in the pages, and left Kibum to stand by the doorway. Kibum picked his shoes up from the ground, slipped his feet into them, and checked his watch, not bothering with the laces until he had made it into the taxi. By patting down his suit pockets hastily, he made sure all of his belongings were in place before he sped towards the stairs, and proceeded to shove himself inside of the car.

So Kibum wasn't nervous. He had been to an abundance of fancy dinners and banquets and learned the art of small talk years ago. But somehow, it was as if all of his prior experiences had gone to the moment he had stepped inside of the taxi.

Currently, the wheels are jerking and twisting around. The feeling is enough to give him whiplash and conditions him into believing he's nervous, like he's one of Pavlov's dogs, even if he isn’t nervous. Really, not at all.

During the last few minutes of the car-ride, Kibum makes the executive decision to slide his phone out from his pocket. As the vehicle continues to jolt, the screen blurs together in an array of colors, but Kibum can still make out what the singular message from Jinki says.

Lee Jinki: I’ll be by the side entrance

Me: and i’ll be by your side <3

When Kibum arrives at the venue—an elegant yet presumptuous hotel—Jinki is rocking on his heels in the same manner he had been last week, while standing by the side of the building conspicuously. Kibum watches as Jinki rubs his hands together rapidly, blowing away the friction-generated heat afterward.

Kibum double checks his appearance, using his darkened phone screen as a mirror, before pocketing the device and stepping out onto the pavement. Then, in the reflection of the tinted car windows, Kibum adjusts the top of his suit jacket that had slid towards one shoulder unnoticed. When he approaches where Jinki's standing, Jinki notices him in an instant with a look of wonder thinly veiling his obvious worry.

“You look...” Once Kibum is a few steps away, Jinki's lips part in astonishment. “You look really...” Jinki croaks, “good.”

“Yes sir,” Kibum responds, along with a mockery of a prince-like bow. It elicits a couple of forced giggles from Jinki. “And you…”

It’s as if Jinki had stepped out of the picture that Taemin had shown him last week. Everything about his appearance screams sleek, rich, and professional. Jinki's hair styled neatly and slicked off of his face with pomade. And the suit he's wearing is very obviously expensive—black and tailored so it accentuates his waist, but it's not gaudy, like what his subconscious had expected from someone like Jinki. Yet, there's a key similarity between the Jinki at the bar and the Jinki at the fancy business dinner: the fact that both versions of Jinki are considerably nervous. Perhaps for different reasons, but nervous all the same.

“You look good too!” Kibum swats Jinki's upper arm playfully. “Come on, let’s go. We’ll be fine.”

“Will we now?" Jinki says flatly. Apparently, Kibum’s peppiness is unconvincing. “This was a bad idea.”

Kibum nods. “We will. What happened to that confident son-of-a- at the bar?”

Jinki sends him a glare. “You’re just making fun of me now.”

“I’m really not. Let me try again.” Kibum clears his throat and assumes a more neutral tone. “There’s nothing to be worried about. I promise.”

Despite his attempts to ease Jinki, the other's eyes are listless, shifting around and watching each person pass by mindlessly. Jinki's Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he gulps.

“Can I be your enzyme?” Jinki asks after a moment of silence. It's another one of his pick-up lines, but Kibum doesn't even know if he could say anything at this point; if this was Jinki’s coping mechanism, Kibum will let it slide. This time.

But Kibum is unable to hold back his bewilderment. “My what?”

“Your enzyme,” Jinki repeats, enunciating each syllable. “Because my active site is searching for a substrate, just dying for a chemical reaction.”

Kibum tilts his head to the side with his brows furrowed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Uh...” Jinki looks visibly abashed by his own pick-up line and even more nervous than he had originally been. “I don’t know. I looked it up thinking you would know biology.”

“Why would you assume that I would know biology?” Kibum splutters in disbelief, folding his arms over his chest. “What part of me looks like I know biology?”

“I don’t know! Some people just know things, but apparently, you aren’t one of them.” Jinki yelps, but it comes out sounding like an angry whisper. That statement would have come across as an insult had it come from just about anyone else. “Nevermind though, that pick-up line was sort of .”

“Sorry honey, but every single pick-up line you’ve used so far was sort of ,” Kibum points out helpfully. The scowl he gets in response says otherwise.

“Am I paying you to insult me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Kibum’s lips lift up into a snarky smile. “I certainly don't want to insult my breadwinner boyfriend. He works so hard to provide for the family.”

“Breadwinner boyfriend...” Jinki echoes in a murmur, as if he’s testing how the words taste in his mouth. “Boyfriend…”

Kibum rolls his eyes. “Yes, I thought the whole agreement was based on me pretending to be your boyfriend at, what you called yourself, dinners and stuff.”

“I did say that,” Jinki mutters, his voice still tense with worry. “You know, we didn’t even prepare a story.”

“And whose fault do you think that is?”

Jinki doesn't answer, staring off into the distance. His glassy eyes waver.

“How are you even an investment banker?” Kibum sighs, slapping a hand over his forehead.

Jinki blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Do you just act on these whims?” Kibum asks, finally voicing his skepticism. “I don’t really know much about your whole...” He flails his arms towards the hotel behind them “...thing. But isn’t your entire job supposed to be about predicting and analyzing things? How come you haven't had a real plan for any of this?”

“That’s not even comparable,” Jinki defends, puffing his trademark cheeks out. “I separate my work and my personal life.”

“You obviously don't.” Kibum wouldn't be here if he had.

“I obviously don’t,” Jinki resigns, his chest falling with an exhale. “But my thought processes are completely different. I spent a long time learning how to make an Excel sheet in college. You can’t just live a normal life based off a spreadsheet though.”

“I mean…” Kibum does think that Minho would be the kind of person to life off of a spreadsheet. In fact, Minho had created an Excel version of their grocery list—complete with prices, coupons, and budgeting pie-charts—only two weeks ago, even if it had gone unused. But he doesn’t voice the thought. “I guess you’re right.”

“Yeah…” Jinki trails off, turning around and staring at the imposing building behind them. It stands tall, artificial light filtering through the windows. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I really don’t want to do this.”

He eyes Jinki skeptically. If Kibum's being honest, he doesn’t think that Jinki’s in any position to complain about the idea that he had come up with himself. Kibum is a mere pawn in the game.

“Okay, listen.” Kibum’s voice booms over the background noises of passersby and tires on asphalt. “Repeat after me," he says, grabbing onto Jinki’s shoulders and shaking him back to life. “I am Lee Jinki, the second iest motherer in the world.”

“I am Lee Jinki and I am the...” Jinki falters, wincing at the next set of words. “The... second iest motherer in the world? Wait, why am I only the second iest?”

“Because I’m obviously first.” Kibum cups his hands around his face and smirks, one side of his mouth lifted higher than the other. “Come on, you have to actually believe in the words for this to work. Let’s try saying it again. I am Lee Jinki and I am the second iest motherer in the world, and I have the iest boyfriend alive.”

“I am Lee Jinki.” Jinki straightens his spine, his voice straining with conviction. “And I am the second ist motherer in the world, and I have the iest boyfriend alive.”

“Exactly.” Kibum’s own body is pumping with adrenaline as he pep-talks Jinki into self-assurance. He’s jouncing on the balls of his feet as he firmly states: “And we’re going to go inside, be the hottest couple they’ve ever laid eyes on, and then we’re going to get the out of there, alright?”

“Yes, we are.” Jinki’s eyes have become steely with determination. His position doesn’t waver until he glances back at Kibum and drops his shoulders, a frown creeping through the fractures in his demeanor. “But we still don’t have a story?”

Kibum scoffs.“That’s what you’re worried about? After everything I just said, you’re still worried about our love story?”

Jinki nods bashfully, light pink tinting his cheeks. “They won’t believe us if we don’t have a story.”

“We met in the bar a couple weeks ago and we’ve been taking it slow since,” Kibum provides. It’s a simplified version of their actual meeting, plus or minus some details. They’re not exactly lying with this story either, just twisting the truth into something... unrecognizable. “Is that a good enough story for you?”

Jinki swallows thickly and nods.

“And relax,” Kibum continues. “You’re going to some dinner banquet with your coworkers, not giving a speech to the entire country. You’ll be fine.”

“Mind you,” Jinki pipes up, his voice grasping at straws of tenacity but still faltering. “I’ve actually given a speech in front of the country before.”

Kibum’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “You have?”

“No, but I thought saying that would make me feel better,” Jinki sighs in resignation.

Kibum shakes his head. “Come on, let’s go.”

Jinki takes several deep breaths before nodding meekly, letting Kibum intertwine their fingers. He wills away the sensation of clammy skin-to-skin contact away into the back burner.

The hotel’s banquet hall is decorated with flower arrangements propped in waist-level vases. The ceilings are leveled, scintillating chandeliers fixed above them. The floor is covered in a warm-toned and ornate patterned carpet, with round tables filling every inch of space. Sitting on top of the tables are more flowers, various blossoms he can’t name placed in vases etched with geometric figures.

He eyes his surroundings, herds of people standing around the periphery of the room, engaging in small talk. Yet, not even a second after they enter, a deep rumble of a voice takes Kibum out of his daze. He snaps his head towards the source of the sound.

“Lee Jinki!”

Jinki tightens the grip around his hand.

"Lee Joon," Jinki says, clenching his teeth. The man walks closer, a friendly grin spreading across his face. But Kibum knows better than to trust appearances, so he stiffens, straightening his spine and squeezing his shoulder blades together.

"Who's this?" The man—Joon—asks, giving him a once-over. He slides his eyes down Kibum lazily, starting from eye-level and all the way down to his feet. Then, he nods to himself. "Jinki," Joon clears his throat, "care to introduce us?"

"Yes, uh," Jinki looks up at Kibum, who gives him an encouraging nod. "Joon, this is Kibum, my, uh," he fumbles through his words. "He's my boyfriend. And Kibum, this is Joon, my..."

“Best friend,” Joon finishes for Jinki. “And sorry Jinki, I didn’t catch that. Who’d you say he was again?”

“My boyfriend,” Jinki says, almost inaudibly, his eyes locked on his feet.

“Wait.” The way Joon’s expression morphs—his eyes as wide as saucers—it’s as if a switch flicks on. “You weren’t joking?” Jinki remains silent while Joon sticks his hand out to Kibum and firmly shakes his free hand. "Wow. It's nice to meet you, Kibum. I can't believe you're able to put up with Jinki here, but I'm glad he's finally found someone." His tone is amicable enough, so Kibum relaxes, his body reverting to its original position.

"I—"

"You're right," Kibum snickers. "He sure is something else."

"Guys, I'm right—"

“And here I was, thinking that Jinki would live the rest of his life as a bachelor, with nothing but money to come home to. And yet, all he ever wanted was true love,” Joon chuckles.

“This isn’t a drama,” Jinki huffs weakly. All the while, his blunt nails dig deeper into the back of Kibum’s hand.

“Well,” Kibum responds, smug. “The way to a man’s heart is mo—.”

This earns him a painful pinch from Jinki. Joon looks at them, befuddled, the grin on his face falling with each passing second. Kibum bites back his grimace with a smile.

"So how come you didn't tell us that your boyfriend would be coming?" Joon turns back to Jinki. "Wait—" he pauses, the look of belated shock overtaking his face. "Does Yonghwa know about this?"

"No, uh," Jinki mumbles, looking everywhere but directly into Joon's eyes. "I only told you. I haven’t told him yet. He always makes a big deal out of everything."

Kibum suppresses the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his skull. Give it up to Jinki for not telling any of his friends that Kibum would be here beforehand. At the rate that they were going, their cover was going to be blown sooner than he had predicted. And he had been generous with his initial prediction.

"Well, be prepared then," Joon says with a snicker. "And it was nice to meet you, Kibum. Hope to see you around soon."

Kibum acknowledges him with a small wave, the remnants of a grin lingering on his face even after Joon’s left. In different circumstances, he would have liked to be friends with Joon. On the other hand, Jinki's chest falls instantly when they’re left alone, a long exhale escaping his lips.

"Are you and Joon on bad terms or something?" Kibum prods, no explanation other than his nosiness getting the best of him.

"Oh no," Jinki fervently denies, untwining their fingers and cracking each one of his knuckle