Jobless No More
(Not) Another High School Romance
From: Kibum K.
U n me. 2nite. Les make love~
Sent: 0712, Sunday, 13-09-22
To: Kibum K.
Learn to spell first. And how’re you up this early? Did the sun rise in the West today? **laughter**
Sent: 0715, Sunday, 13-09-22
From: Kibum K.
cnt stop thinkin bout u. no sleap no eat no nuthin. chu~
Sent: 0715, Sunday, 13-09-22
To: Kibum K.
Is this how you woo all your lovers? With absolute disregard for grammar and punctuations? **dislike** I now understand why Park seonsaengnim is so frustrated with your essays I sympathize with him **dismally shaking head**
Sent: 0722, Sunday, 13-09-22
From: Kibum K.
So ur my luver now? XP ah i new mah y aura will wurk 1 day
Sent: 0722, Sunday, 13-09-22
To: Kibum K.
Ugh. I have practice in five minutes. If you have nothing substantial to say (as per usual)… bye.
Sent: 0725, Sunday, 13-09-22
From: Kibum K.
so y or n for 2nite? i ll make u c stars bebeh
Sent: 0725, Sunday, 13-09-22
To: Kibum K.
**disgusted laughter** <3
Sent: 0730, Sunday, 13-09-22
As he scored another goal for his side, a few of his team-mates patted his back and flashed him thumbs-ups. He grinned in response, running back in step with them to his position on the field. He wiped sweaty palms on the tights of his practice uniform, waiting for the coach to blow his whistle again.
Minho felt exceptionally good today. If there weren’t people around to judge him or draw circles in the air next to their temples, he’d even grin senselessly wide. The sun was shining despite it being too early on a winter morning. He’d scored thrice during practice today. Kibum had asked him out on a date tonight— granted it was probably to some cheap, obscure place in the hills but it had been so long since they’d been out together, he couldn’t find it in his heart to refuse. And then of course, there was the internship.
Just thinking about it filled him with warmth.
In two months Minho had learnt so much. Not all of it was science either, mind. He felt extremely fortunate that he’d been offered this job, despite all the exertion he’d had to endure. He felt like this training experience would help him even much later in life, if he ever found himself in Jinki’s position, handling a big research lab like this one.
"Hee," he grinned as he swabbed his runny nose on a sleeve.
Professor Jinki was very particular about time, about quality and about reports. If Minho didn’t clock in everyday at three pm sharp (“Not a second earlier, not a second later, alright?” “Y-yes, sir!”) he’d be punished to rearrange samples and slides in reverse alphabetical order for the rest of his day. No shortcomings or mistakes were tolerated during experiments. And despite Kibum’s prediction about the man, second tries were not permitted if Minho ever made a boo-boo. He was expected to give only his best at everything.
“Listen,” Jinki had sat him down on his second day at the lab. Minho had briefly tingled on the inside when their knees bumped and touched through the discussion. “I only want the most accurate measurements from you. Give me the fastest results, the strongest reactions, in the easiest way you know. And prove to me that I didn’t make a mistake in hiring you,” he’d nodded. “Are we clear?” Minho had nodded back with enthusiasm to earn a resounding slap on his arm.
The rules were simple. The radioactivity chamber and everything to do with was out of bounds, obviously. But time and again Minho was given the chance to wear a full radiation suit, if only to go take a peek in from an unexposed distance, sometimes note down readings or reset dials he didn’t know much about yet. There were other interns in the lab, all much older than Minho, but they all worked in teams of five. Minho himself was given assignments he was expected to finish alone and report directly to Jinki. He could interact with the others just to keep himself informed about what other on-going projects were about, in fact he was allowed to casually chat with his co-workers too. But his hands were always supposed to be occupied. That was the most important rule of all.
"Never stop your hands just because you're talking to someone about the movie you watched last weekend," Professor Jinki had stopped by his table one afternoon.
That wasn’t all, though. The man knew when to be serious, but he also knew when to take a break. Once he’d pulled Minho out for an “early dinner” (“You like steak don’t you? Let’s have some tonight come-come~” “S-sir?!”) and as soon as his foot had breached the threshold of the research facility, he’d turned into a completely different person. “I’m going to take you to the best restaurant on this side of the Han, Minho goon. The owner knows me personally, hahaha~” he’d bragged heartily. Minho had probably passed by the expensive place a hundred thousand times in his life, he couldn’t help but take it all in with wonder and excitement.
While they’d eaten a large meal out in cold night air, the glimmering lights of the Banghwa bridge had shimmered in Jinki’s eyes as he’d laughed and spoken about his family back in Gwangmyeong. Everything about him—the tone of his speech, the gleam in his teeth, the lilt in his slightly provincial accent— everything about Lee Jinki was perfect. And even the mad rushing sounds of traffic or the abrupt start of snowfall couldn’t have dampened Minho’s mood as he’d swayed a little from side to side and listened. Just listened.
“Ah, you’d mentioned you’d be eighteen soon. When do you celebrate your birthday?” the professor had quizzed him as they walked the length of the South Bank.
“December ninth, sir.”
“Eeeeh?! No way! Mine’s on the fourteenth! Ahaha~!”
Minho had smiled and giggled and softly responded to all personal queries like he would to someone on a first date. He knew that was too much significance to honor their simple dinner with, but he could still feel himself overflow with color at the memory of it. Even as his coach yelled for him to run faster or he’ll have to do laps after practice, he smiled at cherished recollections of falcate fingertips and polished reading glasses.
And then he fell to the grass when someone kicked an excellent pass to his head.
“Who busted your head open?”
Minho had turned up late to work today owing to his injury during football, but Jinki’s PA Sierra has let him off with a sympathetic coo and a gentle pat to his cheek. “You can go do some research in the library today. Here’s a list of what Lee ssi wants,” she’d exempted, handing him a chit of paper, and the library is where he’d spent the last three hours until Jinki had walked up to him with his formally-dressed companion.
“A-ah… it’s just… football, sir,” Minho explained, still feeling a little dizzy from the hit. He gulped in a groan, feeling his head lightly throb under the bandaging. “Uhm, sir, I’ve organized these lectures referring the effects of Gadalonium-153 on osteoporosis patients in chronological order, but there’s this particular file about—”
“Tch, no, no. I wanted them in order of their content,” the elder shook his head at the neat stack of thin CDs and thick scripts.
Minho blinked. “Oh… I’m sorry sir, I’ll get on it immediately.”
“No, forget it. Sierra should’ve passed you accurate instructions. I’ll have her answer for this. Meanwhile I want you to look into nuclides with a half-life longer than one hour. That’s where we’ll find our best radiotracers. Look at all the reactions with Gallium and tell me what you notice in common, there has to something there…” Jinki stopped speaking long enough to peer at him with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows. “Are you alright, Minho goon? I didn’t know you played football.”
Minho bowed his head obediently. “It’s just a school thing, sir. It’s my last year so I want to play one last game in the inter-schools.”
“Hmm…”
“Cute kid,” the newcomer commented, prompting Minho to look at him for the first time. His clothes were crisply ironed, seeming strangely like a military uniform. But his face was unshaven and stubble covered the man’s cheeks and jaw and philtrum. His eyes seemed tired, like he hadn’t slept in years. Yet his lips were stretched in the softest, kindest smile. By age he was probably in his early twenties, Minho guessed. Even so his exhaustion made him look much older than Jinki. Minho would’ve stood up and bowed but he wasn’t sure he could.
“Where did you pick this one up from?” the man wanted to know.
“He appeared like magic,” Jinki complimented with a flourish. Minho grinned with pride at the description. “Minho goon, this is my lawyer, Lee Taemin. Helps me with filing patents and whatever else I have to fight in this useless system of bureaucracy. You know the boring work. He's from your school, too.”
“Annyeonghashimnikka.”
“Hmm. My school. Which means he's a genius. And so you overwork him like this. Aish… what do they pay you for this donkeywork, boy? Very well, I assume? The goverment may have deep pockets but Jin knows how to wiggle his way into them. Thanks to me, of course,” Taemin smugly mentioned.
Minho frowned in confusion, looking from one man to the other. “P-pay…?” he shook his head with incomprehension.
“Oh,” Jinki supplied.
“Wait you are getting paid right…?" there was an uncomfortable pause in which a bomb probably went off somewhere. "How old are you?” the suited man asked him with urgency. “By any chance, you’re not that high-school child this one keeps rattling on about, are you? You’re not a minor, are you? Please say you’re of age and he made you sign a contract, please please please…”
“Uuuh…” Minho placed a hand on his bandaged forehead to press down on his anxiety, a habit he’d picked up from Kibum. He shook his head again, and then decided he should stop doing that, it only made him dizzier. “No… no, I don’t get paid, and uhm I didn’t sign any contracts either, sir.”
“Child labor, Jinki!” the lawyer suddenly yelled. Minho jumped in his seat.
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” Professor Jinki apologized, slowly backing away in a cowardly retreat to his office, holding his hands up between them, like a really stupid and flimsy shield. “It all happened so fast I swear I had no time to think it through, Tae, I’m sorry, really! But hey it’s only been hardly two months you can fix this right of course you can yes yes of course…”
“Of course I have to!” Taemin gestured wildly before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Listen,” he held out his palm. “Kid. I’ll need you to sign something that will say you are fully aware of your rights as an employee of this institution and that you are getting paid for services rendered. I know you weren’t getting the right treatment so far but could you overlook this little smudge, please?” he tilted his head and smiled kindly. Almost desperately. “Is that alright?”
“U-hh. Neh…”
The man then wrapped an arm around Jinki’s neck, squeezing him close and pulling him out towards the exit of the library. “And you better treat this poor boy nicely from now on, you hear me? Stupid jerk that you are...” he threatened to produce quickly accepted terms. Minho grinned at the sight of someone as cool and confident as Jinki blubbering and bumbling like… well, like Minho. It was endearing, attractive in a completely different way.
Cute, he thought to his hands on the desk.
“Go home Minho goon, you look like you need rest~!” the professor called.
“Hello, Kibum,” Choi aboji wished.
“Sir, hi, how are you?” the boy moved forward to shake the elder’s hand after a deep bow. Minho hid a smile, he’d never seen his boyfriend this respectful towards any elders. (“It’s the air in your house man, my back straightens by itself…”) Perhaps it was another rule in his Theory of Moderated Extremism, perhaps it was just a way to get into the Chois' good books, who could tell? Minho shook his head and walked into the kitchen with full intent to eavesdrop on the conversation.
“How are you, Kibum?”
“I-I’m fine, sir, thank you. It’s really nice to see you after so long—”
“Long?” Choi aboji interjected from the sofa, then chortled. “We only met last week, Kibum. Remember? At the PTA meeting after university entrance exams. You were sitting by the windows with your parents. And... the councilor was there too, I recall.” There was a strained pause after that in which Minho scrambled to ready a tray of snacks and drinks to offer. Water spilled, china almost broke, cups almost cracked, but he didn't stop or waste a second.
“How are your marks, Kibum?”
“Uhh…”
“Tea!” Minho almost screamed, skidding into the living room with his arms full.
Minseok’s door opened and he peeped out with an intrigued frown. “Dude.”
Choi eomoni jumped in her seat at the dining table. “Omo, Minho yah, why are you so lively tonight?”
Choi aboji scowled. “Minho…” he warned. “Apologize for that outburst right now, please.”
The kettle teetred on the edge of their tray for a second before he tipped it towards his chest, saving himself from an earful of broken utensils and embarrassing reprimands. “S-sorry. Uh, tea. I made. For all of us. Ehe,” he giggled limply but Kibum flashed him a grateful smile from the sofa, getting up and offering to help set the table, letting their fingers brush for a second before he took over the task. “Just uhh… just the injury messing with my senses, I guess. Heh,” he bluffed.
“You know I’d like to have a word with that boss of you yours,” Minho’s dad wagged a complaining finger, walking over to the dining table and seating himself at the head. “How can he expect his employees to work if they keep getting hurt? This is your third injury in under a month, but only the first time he's let you off earlier. Does that man not have a heart at all? Huh, scientists..." he mumbled. "He's as bad as your coach. It’s as if you never gave up playing football in school.”
Minho caught his hyung’s eye at that but kept handing out plates like nothing was wrong. Choi eomoni asked him to sit while she served. He picked a chair right across from Kibum. “Oh, right, Pa,” he started, changing the subject. “We’re going to an art gallery tonight. One of Seoul’s most famous artists is putting up her work, we thought we’ll check it out. She’s really amazing,” he gestured at his boyfriend, for support, who only nodded and sipped from his cup.
“Oh? And you like art since when, exactly?” Minseok teased, knowing full well that it was a ruse for something else. Minho wasn’t allowed to stay out after eight, it was the rule. But they'd been looking forward to this date for a while. Kibum had gotten through last week flinging around terrible puns like "renewal date" and "vali-date". This is why tea had been prepared, clothes had been ironed, manner booklets had been updated and make-up had been left untouched.
“Oh, I'm the artsy one, actually,” Kibum saved. “Yeah, I’ve been reading about this particular artist a lot. She’s really great. Excellent balance of colors. I hear she’s even done some collage work for charity—”
“But, sweetheart, it’s already seven-thirty,” Choi eomoni reasoned, gesturing at the wall clock. Her husband nodded in concurrence. Minseok smugly sat back in his chair, arms folded and grin stretched broad even while he chewed loudly. “And you have school tomorrow. You can’t go out late tonight! How will you keep up with work if you do that?”
Minho hung his head in dismay. “Neh.” He nibbled through his food, feeling all eyes turn to him as he drooped in disappointment. He started to blink it away with every bite because he was too stupid to even think of trying this. When did he ever get to do what he wanted? Never. He’d never get anything to go his way in life as long as he sat at this table and ate off this plate and drank from this cup and breathed under this roof. Never.
“Uh, actually, sir,” Kibum turned to the head of the house, smiling his best smile. “I was wondering if you could make it a special case tonight since it’s my birthday tomorrow.”
Minho gasped softly.
“Oh!” Choi aboji’s mood changed immediately. “Congratulations, Kibum! Congratulations!” he shook the boy’s hand vigorously. “Minho didn’t tell me!” he turned to frown at his son, then waved him away. “Ah, it’s been so long since he’s been invited to any birthday parties, I suppose he must’ve thought he… oh but anyway. Eighteen! How does it feel, young man? Well, you're driving already but now you get to vote! You must feel great about that!”
“Yeah, Kim, how does it feel? To be responsible,” Minseok taunted.
“Hyung, help me with these dishes, would you?” Minho ordered, jumping from his seat and gritting his teeth to let the point get through. “Please?” he added reinforcement so the elder couldn’t refuse. Not without getting scolded by their parents. Minseok rolled his eyes and dragged himself bodily through the action.
“What are you doing?!” Minho hissed at him once they were out of earshot.
The elder whipped around and caught hold of Minho’s arm, almost crushing it within forcefulness. “Don’t try to act over-smart, I know what’s going on between you two,” he hissed back.
Minho wiggled away, keeping his poker face ready for implementation. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shook his head and shook his arm free, running tap water over their dishes. “Kibum is my best friend and I’m going to an art gallery with him. There’s nothing ‘going on’ in that, whatever you’re trying to insinu—”
“How come you don’t go out with your other friends anymore?” Minseok interrupted. “How come ever since you’ve befriended this Kibum fellow you’re always away with him? You said he’s not bullying you so what is it? Because I have best friends too but I don’t spend such unhealthy amounts of time in their home or have sleepovers with them. So what the hell is it, Minho?” he pressed.
“Are you two dating?! Is he your ing boyfriend?!”
“No!” Minho burst out, and for a minute the conversation around the dining table lulled. Mrs. Choi asked if everything was alright and he made a lousy excuse about spilled soap. “I accidentally used to much, sorry Ma!” Then he pressed his lips together and turned to his hyung.
“Kibum is my best friend,” he lowly repeated to a disagreeing Minseok, but before he could get another word edgewise, Minho drove on. “My only friend. I am sorry I’m not popular like you, hyung, and I’m sorry I couldn’t keep the old friends I had. I’m sorry they all hate me now because all I do is study instead of hanging out with them. I’m sorry I’m not as good as you at anything I do so I have to only try fifty times harder just to stay on the radar. I’m sorry I need to keep myself on the football team cause that's the only human contact I get besides our family. I'm ing sorry OK?”
His head throbbed again and he winced, holding his palm to the bandaging. He spoke with a frown to the floor. “If you have a problem with the company I keep, I’m sorry. But this is the best I can do.”
Minseok let go of him then.
“Bum…” Minho looked at the sheet of neon glimmering on the side of a building, taking in the kitsch clothed women and the appallingly plastered men they clung to. Some feet away, across the road there were street food stalls issuing steam and enthused invitations from the vendors. On the footpath between two such vendors a man lay still, probably drunk and passed out. He looked dead. Minho shuddered.
At first he’d smiled at his watch and the way it’d read “8:45”. This was the first time he was out so late. It’d felt exciting for a while. But the farther away they’d driven out of Seoul, the closer he hugged himself into Kibum’s side. “Uhm… you said there was a tent bar somewhere here… so… uhh…”
“Yeah, we’re going, we’re going, just need to text Woohyun about tomorrow’s party, is all.”
Minho slumped on his feet. “Bum, I’m so sorry…” he clasped the other’s elbow. “I completely forgot about tomorrow, this is so embarrassing—”
“Hey,” Kibum assured him with a smile. “It’s OK. You were busy, I get it,” he said to the screen of his phone. Somehow it didn’t convince Minho that things were really OK. In fact the boy had been a little off all evening. Minho was tired from his sports injury, true, but Kibum looked just as exhausted. Like he hadn’t had any peaceful sleep in ages.
“I mean,” he said while still typing. “We all have our priorities right?”
The words sounded ominous but Minho brushed that thought away. “Yah…” he lightly nudged the other in the ribs. “Now you’re making me feel guiltier…” he pouted, kicking the dismally flat surface of cement and paving stones. He looked up from behind his fringe and smiled coyly. “I’ll have to give you a bigger treat tonight as a way of repenting, isn’t it?”
“Feed me with your hands and we have a deal,” Kibum looked up from his phone and grinned, nudging back. “Anywho,” he got off his scooter and put it on its stand, locking the handle. “Jonghyun came over early morning. He’s flying away tomorrow.” The boy pressed his lips then as they started to walk, shoving his hands in his pockets. It was odd because usually when they went out to a place no one would recognize them, Kibum wasted no time in holding Minho’s hand, clasping it tightly like he was afraid of letting go.
“He was… asking about you. You should call him.”
“Later,” Minho linked their arms by himself. “Right now it’s ugly hot dog time~”
“Hmm I like the sound of that~”
“So tell me, what do you have planned for tomorrow?” he quizzed. “I mean, you always have parties with your friends but what’s special on the birthday menu?” he smiled, peering at dumpling and barbeque stands with interest. A creepy looking man came up and lowly whispered something to Kibum, who grinned and shook his head. Minho pulled him to walk faster, trying to bring the attention back on himself. “Are you going to have a ridiculously big cake, too?”
“I was thinking about it. But then I realized… all that cake and you won’t be there to eat it. What’s the point, right?” Kibum raised his eyebrows at a scantily clad woman who waved and him then hooked her finger to call him over, biting her lip and shaking her behind. He smirked. Minho scowled. “I mean, you’re the biggest dustbin I know in this city.”
Minho slapped the other’s arm. “I hope you choke on the icing.”
A lot of hogging and noisy insults and childish bickering later, the two found themselves sat on a road barrier. Feeling the sway with every passing vehicle, they giggled and joked, told each other embarrassing stories about themselves, howled with laughter, slapped their thighs a few times. It was like old times again, times before studies and duties started to burn a hole between them. And then Kibum turned his wrist up to the lights in the distance. “Tch, it’s still 9:40 and your curfew is 11:00. Your appa is seriously capricious, I don’t understand him at all… What do we do till then?!”
“Yah, be grateful he even said yes. If it weren’t your birthday tomorrow he’d probably kick you out of the house and throw me back in my room.”
“Aww, you poor baby.” Kibum held his chin and cooed at him, leaning over to lightly peck his nose. Before he could fully retract his hand though, Minho frowned and clasped it by the wrist, running his thumb on the flesh of the other’s palm.
“Your hand feels so rough now…” he mumbled with a wondering frown.
“Oh, right, forgot to tell you.” Kibum stood up and then suddenly jumped with his legs stretched apart, arms flung to the sides like he was an announcing clown at the circus. “My darling Hoho, I am jobless no more!”
“W-what…?” Minho asked through confused giggling.
“I uhh…” Kibum scratched the back of his neck. “I got a job at that café we always go to. You know the one on the corner of the school. Between the drug store and the patisserie. We had our first date there, remember? I went in again some weeks ago and... and I spoke to the owner about vacancies. It’s—it’s not much but it pays enough for me to start saving again.” He smiled at tarmac, arms falling back to his sides and slipping again into pockets as if hiding themselves away.
“So what’s that got to do with your hands…?”
“Yeah, I’m…” Kibum whispered, but then raise his head and shrugged. “Cleaning dishes there. So you see the soap is all industrial grade stuff and--”
Minho stood up. And regardless of the truck that was headed their way, made them cross the road before heading back in the direction of their scooter. He pushed through crowds of objecting people, shoved through throngs of annoyed es, and ignored the call of “freshly grilled bulgogi especially for young growing boys”. He didn’t turn when Kibum yanked at his sleeve and demanded an explanation for the abrupt surge. Nothing really fazed Minho in those few minutes, he saw and understood clearly what he wanted to do right then.
“Hoho, what—dude, what the hell?!”
They stopped under the porch of a building, the same one they’d parked next to earlier, draped in neon and suggestive words. He’d never seen a love hotel before much less been inside one, yet here they were standing just a few steps away from the reception and his heart thumped as normally as it would in any other situation. He stopped right before they entered the building and looked to his boyfriend, pressing his coarse fingers with his own soft sweaty ones.
“I want to give you your present, Bum.”
This is rushed. It's rushed right? I know it. It's rushed.
Damnit.
~IQ
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