Pseudo Podia Out of Here
(Not) Another High School Romance
The radio streamed old Korean music, suitable for a car drifting idly in the slow lane of traffic. Minho absently tapped his finger on the hand-rest of his door, looking out of the window at passing vehicles. The dressy white clothes he’d been forced into were a joke, and they itched like hell. But he knew his manners—he restrained himself from scratching his neck and shoulders like a monkey in front of the Kim family.
“I hope I’m not troubling you by this, Kim eomoni,” he suddenly sat forward in his seat and smiled shyly at Kibum’s mom where she was fixing her make-up with the help of a small hand-held mirror. “It’s all so sudden… I hope I’m not intruding with this sleepover idea,” he meekly apologized. She smiled back at him through her reflection.
“Such a sweet child,” she complimented, tilting her head in that characteristic way of all mothers. “You’re always welcome to stay over, Minho goon. You're just like a son to us now, no need to be so formal. And you’re such a good influence on Bummie. Or course you can stay over as long as you like,” she nodded reassuringly.
“In fact we should be thanking you for taking the trouble to come along,” Kim aboji added, the car easing into a smooth left turn, houses now appearing more lavish, more opulent than the rest of the city. “Kibum doesn’t like to... ah, grace us with his presence to our family friends’ parties. He calls them boring, since he never finds any company there. I’m not surprised. Who would want to befriend such an abnormal boy as him—”
“Ma,” Kibum suddenly raged, clenching his fists visibly tight. Minho bit his lip: he'd heard that tone before. It was the tone Kibum used to speak through the lump of anger in his throat, it was the tone his voice assumed right before a very aggressive fight near the lockers. He nervously pressed a hand to his mouth, hoping it didn't get so bad as that--
“Please tell your husband not to vomit about me in front of my best friend, at least. He’ll get enough opportunities when he’s with strangers.”
“Bummie, don’t start—”
“You have no sense of behavior!” his father roared in response, the car accidentally swerving a little in the middle of the road. Minho clutched his seat in shock. “Is that how you should talk to your dad?! You’re a zero at studying, you can’t play a single sport to save your life, you have absolutely no talents! You’re good for nothing! At least behave like a normal person!”
“Normal person?!” Kibum shouted over his mother’s mediating protests. Minho wanted to cover his ears and shy away from these words but he didn't have the courge to do it. “You mean like you?! You think your son is a piece of trash, you think your wife is a terrible mother, you think my best friend is here to listen to your family problems, and you want me to be like you?! Is that what you mean by normal?!”
The brakes screeched. “Don’t make me stop the car and slap you in front of everyone!”
Kibum snapped his seat belt off his chest as if readying himself to launch into a bloody battle. But suddenly Minho bent forward, grabbed the other's arm, tightly pressing his fingers in. His eyes flicked over at that, raging obsidian boiling over like sticky burning tar, sweltering and furious lava. The twitching arm was snatched back in an angry gesture, Kibum sinking back into his seat and staring out of the window in silence, his breath fast, his face red. "Always taunting, always yelling... like I'm some dog," he mumbled.
Minho didn’t wait for him to cool down, he coyly took the other’s free hand in his, sending over a reassuring squeeze. Kibum had no control over his temper, he got that from his father. They often clashed like this with Minho still around, and it was always very scary. Usually he'd leave the room to save his boyfriend the embarrassment, but... but it's difficult leaving a moving car. So he remained in his seat, a little frightened, a little worried, a little out-of-place.
A few minutes into the drive to Jonghyun’s party, he received a reassuring squeeze of his own.
Beautiful strings of musical notes rang out through the large space. Minho looked wide-eyed at the double height of the grand living room, white and golden furniture strategically placed around the space for the guests to occupy. Glasses clinked together between polite smiles, waiters served delicious-smelling food that was turned down courteously, a small vanilla cake sat in the center of it all to congratulate Jonghyun. Everyone was dressed in elegant white, the dress code of the party.
Everyone except Kibum, of course.
“Why couldn’t you at least put on that white sweater you have?” Minho hissed under his breath, bowing to someone who smiled at him. His own attire had been put together in a hurry, Choi eomoni fussing over his hair and shoes for hours before letting him run out to the waiting car. But Kibum himself had opted to dress in his usual shade of black, sticking out almost like an eyesore in present company. Now that they were finally here, the itch around Minho's neck was nothing compared to the heat in his cheeks from all the judging eyes of high society. The elder Kims had already mingled into the crowd, leaving the two boys to explore their way around the place, making the experience worse.
“You’re standing out like a… like a… like a thing that stands out!” he managed to reprimand in a low tone. "In a bad way!"
Kibum turned to him with exasperation, traces of earlier tension seeming to have dissipated into his skin. “I don’t own a white sweater,” he clarified, giving everyone a snooty once-over and smirking at the staring women. Once or twice he assumed a flirty expression and ‘ssup-ed a few of them, prompting Minho to elbow him and cover his own mouth from mortification. “Only girls own white sweaters. We’re boys, we’re supposed to look manly and black works best for that,” he was taught. “Understand, you fashion oaf?”
“You have a white sweater,” Minho deadpanned. “I folded and ironed it just today morning.”
Kibum acted as if he didn’t hear, walking off in the direction of the music, ignoring all the hellos directed at him and snatching food off one of the trays even before it was offered to him. Minho followed in his trail after a minute, apologizing to the mildly offended guests that turned back to look at the oddness. “Kibum,” he called out in a low voice. “Kim Kibum!” he hissed in annoyance.
“Hi, Jonggie,” the said boy shouted out a greeting as soon as he was beside the beautiful grand piano, chewing his appetizers with his mouth still open. The music stopped and wavered momentarily, most probably from the shock of such an obnoxious greeting. Many of the guests gasped and shook their heads in disdain in Kibum's direction, whispering to each other. Minho noticed an old lady looking at him with the same distaste, having seen him with Kibum before. To these people, he was guilty by association.
“I-I’m not with him!” he shook his head vehemently. It didn’t work. He gulped and walked to the piano himself, the music as well as the mumbled conversations having resumed their silky flow.
“I really don’t understand why you call me that. At least add a hyung after,” he heard a voice speak from behind the music rack, a pair of hazel eyes skimming over the keys before closing peacefully. Minho watched with unexpected fascination from across the lid prop, slowly moving around the instrument to where he could finally see short stubby fingers skim over the keyboard. They moved with a mind of their own, uncontrolled by their owner and fluttering, flitting, darting over the whites and the blacks as if they were performing a dance. His mouth hung slightly open.
“Not like we’re friends,” the honey-like voice shook Minho out of his reverie. He turned to the boy sitting on a stool before the piano, looking so at peace with everything, like he knew the very meaning of life. It was amazing how his fingers never stopped moving.
“Oh, come now~ that's not a fair representation at all,” Kibum grated in contrast. “We’re thick as thieves, Jonggie~”
“The only thing thick between us is your head,” Jonghyun finally opened his eyes and stared at Kibum, music still steady. Minho may have imagined it but there seemed to be a flash of dangerous electricity between the other two boys' meeting sights. Like they were rabid dogs, ready to jump at each other's throats any minute now. But then Jonghyun turned his head away in a huff. “Unbelievably dumb that you are… What’re you doing at this party, anyway? I thought you were too stupid for civility.”
“I came to see you gloat, like a true friend.”
“How kind.”
“Actually, I lie. I’m only interested in your house. Very Miesian. ‘Almost nothing’ suits it well, I would say. Particularly in the back elevation. Hmm, yes.”
“I see you haven’t stopped talking... or dressing like a freak.”
“And I see you’re still short. Planning on going back to Lilliput anytime soon?”
“D-do you…” Minho started shyly, calling those mysterious hazel eyes to himself and ending the little verbal assault. “Do the two of you know each other well?” he asked in a quiet voice, thinking it would insult the melody being played for the guests. He was gifted a smile for the consideration, and he smiled back in response.
“Kibummie here,” Jonghyun replied with a glare in the said boy’s direction. “Likes to torment me. You see this cover?” he pointed to the fall of the piano with a jerk of his chin, the music now faster and a little more upbeat than before. “Ever since we were kids, he has a special liking for slamming that over my hands and trying to break my fingers. He’s done it so often it’s a wonder I can still play.”
“Bum!” Minho gasped and turned to his boyfriend with horror, only to get an indifferent shrug as reply. He scoffed at the apathy, crossing his hands at his front. “How could you?” he demanded to know.
“I like your friend,” Jonghyun smiled. "He has a great sense of justice."
“But a crap sense of style. Oh, where are my manners?” Kibum asked dramatically. “Hoho, this is our gracious host for tonight’s boredom—Kim Jonghyun. Overly famous for his dumb face, dwarf stature and incredibly dull personality. Extremely lucky to have a friend like me tell him how culturally backward and nonsensically romantic he is. Without me he'd be dead and wearing frilly collars. I saved his life.”
“I’m so sorry about him…” Minho shook his head in apology for the insults, then bowed a little. “Cheoum bogesseumnida. You’re really good at this,” he respectfully gestured at the piano, nodding encouragingly. “Congratulations about the university thing. It sounds prestigious, and I think you deserve it.”
Jonghyun shrugged modestly.
“Yes, yes, bond with everyone, why don’t you?” Kibum slapped a forceful hand on the back of Minho’s neck. Quite painfully. “And this is my faithful minion Choi Minho, who I am currently training in the culinary arts by forcing him to treat me to lunch everyday. Class A nerd, trips over footballs and lands on his face, will never have a girlfriend with that amount of awkward, and is therefore widely known as the ultimate aual amoeba.”
Minho glared at Kibum, gnashing his teeth. “In that case why don't I just pseudo podia out of here, your Majesty?”
Kibum wore an expression of putting on airs, sighed and waved his wrist dismissively. “Nerd jokes displease me. Out of my sight.” Minho sulked, fumed, and stomped away to where they’d lined up the food, particularly annoyed that his boyfriend had insulted him in front of a stranger. Any pity he'd felt in the car disappeared without a trace. He didn't even bother to turn back when his name was called with a belated apology.
"So," Jonghyun spoke as he strolled beside Minho with his hands in his pockets. "You’re some sort of football champ, huh? I’m actually terrible at sports myself, but I’ve seen you on the field once, I think. Your passes are very diligent," he commented in good humor. "You’re a very focused player, I’ll say that much. But I hear you’re having an internal battle about it at the moment."
Minho looked at the other out of the corner of his eyes, stopping his chewing for those few seconds. “Juft how crose are you and Bum egjactly?” he garbled his doubt, forgetting manners for a few seconds, then covering his mouth and apologizing to his surprised host. “Ah… I meant—” he gulped before he tried again.
"Close enough that he brought you here to take my advice," Jonghyun revealed, offering a serene smile. Minho balked, finally understanding, and the other chuckled at his openly dumbfounded face. "It’s OK, I didn’t know either until a few minutes ago," Jonghyun assured. Minho’s sight swept over the party, forgetting to eat, trying to search for the only black shirt and black pants in this assembly. But Kibum had as if evaporated into thin air.
"Look, I know he spoke to you already… But I disagree with him." Jonghyun told him, then rushed to explain "Please don’t feel offended! I… just wanted to help you since I’ve been in a similar situation," he spoke, then nodded politely to some congratulating guests they passed by, thanking them shyly. "Minho goon," he restarted when they were alone again. "Any decisions you make now will stay with you the rest of your life. If you feel a certain amount of doubt over something, follow your instinct. Don’t be logical about this because logic doesn’t always let you win."
Their footsteps had slowed considerably, and Minho had somehow lost his appetite. He set his still-full plate aside on an unoccupied table, feeling bitterness swirl in his mouth. “You’re saying I should defy my parents’ wishes and continue on the football team.”
"No," Jonghyun shook his head. "I’m saying don’t let anyone tell you what to do."
Minho let that sink in. “I joined the football team because I love the game. And because the only time my hyung and I weren’t fighting over something we’d be playing in the backyard,” he shared. “I know what Kibum said was right. But… eh,” his shoulders slumped. “It’s a part of my life that I don’t want to let go of… just yet.”
"Then don’t." Jonghyun shrugged. "Look, I’ve been playing the piano since I was eight. Because my parents wanted something to show off at their parties. They always planned on me going to medical school," he said in a sadly nostalgic tone. "I stood my ground. I wasn’t going to be an instrument in raising their social standing. This isn’t a joke, it’s my life.”
Minho stared at the other boy, walking next to him with such pride and such self-confidence as he’d never seen in anyone. “But what if I can’t handle the pressure?”
“Then you take a call,” Jonghyun easily responded. “But don’t quit something just because someone else thinks you won’t be able to handle it. You know yourself best,” he smiled.
They walked a few more steps then, before a hand gripped Minho’s arm over the pristine white coat. He turned around to look at the other.
"One more thing. I may not be his best friend," Jonghyun muttered lowly, coming to a halt near one of the empty tables. Minho stopped right beside him, frowning at the sudden seriousness. "But I do recognize when Bummie is in too deep for his own good. And I guess you must be some sort of knight in shining armor because man a lot of girls want to tear you apart. And I mean that in a bad way…” Jonghyun nodded meaningfully.
Minho shook his head. “I don’t underst-- ah!” he let out a shocked gasp as the grip on his arm tightened painfully.
The other sighed, pulling them closer and clapping a sympathetic free hand on his shoulder. “Just don’t hurt him, OK? It wouldn’t end well for you.”
"Goodnight, kids~" Kim eomoni sang as she walked out of Kibum’s bedroom, smiling at the two boys who smiled back. The humidifier hummed, the table fans whirred, and Kibum’s iPod still quietly played something in English. Sleep was beginning to sneak out of the corners of the room, into the folds of their eyelids. "Don’t worry about waking up early tomorrow," she added. "You deserve to sleep in on Sundays."
"Neh, thank you, eomoni," Minho nodded. He fixed the blankets on his futon gratefully, having already made sure to set his alarm on vibrate as he pushed his phone under his pillow. "We’ll try not to make too much noise for you tomorrow," he shyly added. Kibum’s mom cooed at him and called him a sweetheart before the bedroom door clicked shut.
Minho sighed and fell on his back, palms pressed below his head… And noticed Kibum lying on his stomach, watching him silently from the bed. He raised his eyebrows in a wordless question. “When I first pictured you wearing my shirts, I thought you’d look really hot,” he was told. “y, even. The prospect seriously , you know? But you actually look stupid,” Kibum snorted. “Like a clown…”
"G’night, Bum," Minho dismissed, turning his back on the other. The said boy hummed his acknowledgement. "Although I would’ve preferred if you’d brushed your teeth and washed your face…" Minho nagged with a frown, fiddling with a loosened corner of the bedsheet. For some reason he couldn’t quite justify even to himself, it really bothered him that Kibum was so lax with his personal hygiene. "You have no sense of cleanliness, it’s really—"
"Listen."
"What."
"Shut up."
Minho pouted.
Kibum tutted loudly. “And come up here, will you? She’s gone,” he referred to his mother. “It’s OK now. Just come here,” he beckoned with some annoyance and some exasperation, shifting to make more space on the mattress and patting what was created.
Minho made a show of feeling burdened by obeying. He groaned as he got up off the futon, whined when he dragged his blanket with himself, and clicked his tongue when he was made to squeeze in beside Kibum on the narrow bed. He would’ve thought of a clever comeback but he was too tired to even think. But immediately after he’d settled in place, an arm and leg coiled around his body and scrunched him closer into his boyfriend’s chest. He grudgingly allowed himself a smile.
"Thank you," Kibum sighed. "For earlier in the car. I’m sorry you had to sit through that. You… know how I get around Appa. I’m sorry you saw me like that."
Minho carefully looked at the other to find his eyes closed. Kibum usually did that when trying to avoid confrontation: hid his feelings behind two flaps of skin. “I—I’m sorry you had to sit through that, too,” he replied softly. “I’m sorry I’m not there other times it happens to hold your hand.” The other’s arm pulled him closer still, face digging into Minho’s neck and breathing deeply. “It must’ve been… difficult. Being all alone like that.”
"Hmm, you remember that time we went to see the Sakura trees? Back in ninth? As a Bio project?" Kibum hummed lazily and Minho hummed back. "You smell like that," he said, a finger making circles on the back of Minho’s wrist. "Like the trees."
The silence after that was beautiful, perfect, solemn, something that didn’t deserve to be broken. And Minho let it seep into him as he studied the large cluster of glow-in-the-dark stars still adorning the ceiling. A younger, meeker, softer Kibum must’ve spent a hundred nights staring at this same sight, hoping for sleep to come. A younger, lonelier, quieter Kibum who’d had no one to hold on to on this narrow lumpy bed for years. Until now. Minho sighed at the memory of Jonghyun's words; sighed those fake plastic stars, deciding to assume their responsibilities for as long as he could.
"So you like architecture," he said with a smile on his face, one he knew Kibum couldn’t see because of the sleepy hum he got in response. Even so, Minho could feel the other’s face stretch against his shoulder, cheeks probably gathering a warm colour. "You planning on B. Arch, Bum? Because you know… we could be neighbours at the dorm in Konkuk. Maybe even share a room. Wouldn’t that be sweet?"
"G’night, Hoho~" the other sang before pulling back a yawn, burrowing his face deeper in the curve of Minho’s neck. "Dream about me…" he managed as his breath levelled into slumber.
Minho craned down and gifted Kibum with a careful kiss. “I always do,” he whispered.
They fell asleep with their noses still touching.
This story has become nothing more than a series of blog posts ha ha ha~ Nobody is probably reading this.
Which means I can say anything I want. I am Lee Jinki's betrothed. Manmohan Singh is a punk. Jai Jai Jai Hanuman. Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi. Batata Vada. My stomach grumbles after I drink two bottles of water in a row. AD time problems are a .
Pig's bum.
~IQ
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