Just when his long-awaited break – his first in three weeks – came, manager-hyung had called at five in the morning to say apologetically that filming for _____ had been pushed forward to today, “you’ve to attend, and I’ll need you to be ready in twenty-five”, of all days. 

 

Jinki tried to suppress his groan of exhaustion after he hung up, but he couldn’t, and the sound came rising, unheeded, and escaped, guttural, deep and pained, and Jinki buried his face into his pillow so no one else would hear it. Curling up among his bedclothes, he allowed himself a few moments more of the comfort and warmth and softness of his bed before pushing himself up and out the bedroom door. This was his job. He had to be professional. He had to do this.

 

Emerging from the bathroom ten minutes later, dabbing at his damp face with a towel, the smell of egg omelette and steamed rice and seaweed soup reached his nostrils and Jinki plodded curiously off to the kitchen.

 

Kibum was there, still in his big oversized sleep shirt and boxers, with a pink apron, stirring something on the stove and a place for one had been laid out on the small kitchen table. He turned, hearing Jinki’s footsteps, and smiled at Jinki (his eyes were tired, too), gesturing at the table.

 

“I knew you weren’t gonna eat, you never do if there’s nothing on the table in the morning. Hurry and eat while it’s warm. You haven’t much time,” and Kibum ladled steaming soup into Jinki’s bowl and got chopsticks and a spoon for him and patted him on the head and disappeared out the kitchen door.

 

Touched (and famished), Jinki finished everything set in front down to the last scrap of egg, piling his dishes neatly in the dishwasher and padding off to change, to find that Kibum had already laid out his clothes on the bed, and slipped a thermos flask of hot coffee and a pair of woolen gloves and a hand warmer pack into his bag. 

 

At the door lacing his boots with five minutes to spare (thanks to Kibum), Kibum suddenly appeared out of the gloom and sat, yawning, next to Jinki on the bench at the doorway to the dorm as they waited for manager-hyung to arrive.

 

Jinki stretched his heavily padded arm about Kibum’s thin shoulders and pulled him close, and Kibum buried his face into Jinki’s winter jacket.

 

“Thanks, Kibum. I love you,” Jinki whispered into Kibum’s mussed hair and then manager-hyung was there and the last sight he’d had of Kibum for that day was him smiling sleepily and waving goodbye, the neckline of his big sleep shirt slipping over one shoulder.