Title: Concept of Giving Up

Pairing: Minkey

Characters: Kibum, Minho

Genre: angst, romance

Words: 3 772

Summary: Kim Kibum's job is to die. Choi Minho's job is to survive. They meet somewhere inbetween.

A/N: Fulfilling one of my first requests. Asya, I hope you like it! :) As always, I'm interested to know what you guys think!

"I don't do relationships at work," Kibum said for an umpteenth time, leaning closer to the mirror. He took a black pencil to line his eyebrow. "You might as well stop asking."

He heard a sigh.

"All I'm asking for is a lunch. I'm not inviting you to my bedroom."

"Yeah, sure. We will have lunch alright. Then I'll tell you a story about how my mom used to steal clams to feed our family, you will get all touched and buy me a drink."

"And?"

"And accidentally we will find ourselves on the backseat of some shabby cab, rushing into another mistake."

He heard Minho snicker in a bitter way.

"You have it all calculated, don't you."

"I wasn't born yesterday."

Pause.

"Me neither, but I still believe that people can grab a cup of coffee without jumping on each other's bones."

Kibum glanced at Minho's reflection in the mirror. The tall man was standing by the door of his dressing-room, all somber and leather-clad. He looked so confident, and held his head high and proud, but his fingers were fidgeting with the motorcycle gloves he was holding.

Kibum finished fixing his hair and reached out for the beige folder lying on the coffee table.

"Go, Minho. I need to run over my lines again."

"And I'll go let someone run over me," Minho joked darkly. Or maybe it wasn't a joke. It was his job after all.

He opened the door to leave.

"Minho," Kibum called, skipping through the pages of the script.

"What?"

He raised his eyes to look at the man.

"Give it up. Just do."

Minho smiled and shook his head.

"Giving up is not in my portfolio. See you later."

He left, and Kibum closed the folder to put it away. He knew the whole thing like the back of his hand.

He took a walk around the set, stopping once in a while to admire the scenery. He had heard someone complain about filming outdoors before – nature is too unpredictable, it's hard to get the right lighting etc. etc. But he didn't care. There was no air to breathe in the city. And here there was plenty.

His character would be killed soon. It was somewhat depressing. Kibum was playing a neurotic, obsessive younger son of a mafia boss. He didn't have a name, everybody just called him Key. The poor bastard didn't have anything if you think about it – only his undiagnosed sickness and wish to live and love like everybody else. Kibum hadn't wanted to take the part first. "But nobody dies like you. No one," director Kim had said with a pleading look on his face. It was true.

Minho successfully ran his bike into a car. The explosion looked pretty good too. He took his helmet off and passed it to one of the assistants.

He saw Kibum standing behind the director's chair. His face was a bit red around the nose, and a down-padded coat was thrown on top of his vintage (the movie was set in the fifties) suit.

"How was it?" Minho asked him after they watched the take together with the team.

Kibum shrugged.

"Like always. Action. Bam. Cut. You're alive. Great."

Such things didn't impress him. Minho leaned closer to his ear.

"Kim Jonghyun," he whispered.

Kibum raised an eyebrow.

"What? Where?" he started turning his head, looking around.

"I remembered. You dated him. Got into a newspaper."

It felt like Minho was waiting for something. A justification.

Kibum crossed his arms on his chest, as if shielding himself.

"So I did. Because he's famous. He could do something for my career."

"And did he?"

"Not really."

"You didn't tell him that you don't do relationships at work?"

It was oddly refreshing to be questioned like that. Sometimes Minho reminded him of his old mother.

"No. Because he was a star, and not just a stunt man for his older  brother whose face is never shown." Kibum knew his words would hurt the man's feelings, and he tried to make his voice as soft as he could. "Why don't you go change into something that doesn't stink of petrol?" He pushed Minho's elbow gently, and the latter complied. He needed to spend some time alone with his freshly wounded pride anyway.

Everything wounds him, yet nothing kills him, Kibum mused, watching his back as it got farther away from him. And with me it's the opposite.

Kibum didn't go to the party downtown with everyone else. He told them he needed to take care of his body and mind before his last day of shooting. He was going to be killed – that needed preparation. They seemed to buy it.

He didn't turn the lights on. The cold glare of the street lamp illuminated the bed ominously, splitting it in half, and outlining the small dining table where his dinner – a takeout from a Chinese restaurant – had been left untouched. Kibum was fairly drunk, and he turned a couple of empty bottles over while scrambling onto the bed. Beside him lay an unopened bottle of strong pills and he was caressing it with his fingertips, sweat sticking to his eyelids.

"Nobody dies like me," he muttered, listening to the sound of the pills clicking softly against each other.

Under that white cap, there was nothing but silence. Eternal silence. Nobody knew it as well as he did. If something was to happen to him, nobody would save him. The delivery boy was gone. The door was locked from the inside. He expected no guests.

Kibum put his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. He didn't want the poor bastard to die. How could they do that to Key? There were so many people far worse than him in the world, but it was him who was going to get a bullet in the lung.

If Kibum disappeared, Key wouldn't have to die.

Or maybe it was just a whim and Key had nothing to do with it.

Kibum felt empty and tired anyway. He didn't look forward to the next day, or any other day at all. His character would be killed off. He had no new offers. He'd been going downhill for a while now. Yet somehow he didn't care. What's the point?

His phone rang, vibrating wildly against the wood. Kibum stared at the black rectangle as it  crawled upon the floor like some weird bug. That could be the last time he heard it ring. He might as well pick up.

"Yes?"

"May I drop in?" Minho's low voice asked coarsely. He wasn't being coarse on purpose. It was just his way of talking.

Kibum dropped himself back on the pillow, rubbing his forehead.

"What for?"

Pause.

"I don't know."

"Think of a reason."

"I... I wanted to see you."

Minho must have taken care of his pride by throwing it away altogether.

"Why?"

"I wanted to see you..." he repeated. "Ask a thing or two... Just talk."

"You are at the parking lot, are you?"

"Yeah."

Kibum sighed. What a stubborn, stubborn guy.

"If I said 'no', would you leave?"

"Yes, I would."

Kibum kept quiet for a while. Not really thinking, but listening to the silence.

"Come up, then."

Kibum met his guest on the staircase.

"I can't let you in, sorry," he said, leaning his back against the door. He wasn't sure if he could stand straight right now.

"That's alright. I won't keep you long anyway."

Kibum was used to seeing Minho in his movie clothes, hair combed back with gel, in accordance to his star brother's look. Now he was dressed casually, and his white shirt, on top of which he was wearing a grey cotton jacket, outlined his firm chest alluringly. The look of mild distress on his bronze face somehow made him more handsome. Kibum was wearing an old T-shirt and pajama pants. He probably looked like trash.

"So, you're dying tomorrow," Minho declared gloomily.

Kibum nodded.

"Yes, I am."

"It's really a shame. Key didn't deserve it."

"I know."

"His death really spoiled the book for me."

"You read the book?" Kibum raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah."

He laughed.

"And your brother hasn't even read the whole script through. How ironic."

"I guess that's why he's a star and I am no one. He doesn't waste time," Minho muttered. He did have a big ego, but Kibum didn't know anyone else who would judge himself as harshly as he did. Except for his own self, maybe.

"You said you dated Kim Jonghyun because he's famous?"

Kibum sighed. He just won't let go, will he?

"Well, he is awful nice. But mainly yes."

Minho scratched his chin, thinking.

"I was in a Taiwanese drama once. I have fans there," he said earnestly and waited for an effect.

Kibum kept him waiting for a while before bursting into laughter.

"You're so cute, Minho, honestly," he reached out to pat the man's shoulder condescendingly. "So cute."

"No, I'm serious. Would you go on a date with me if I were as famous as Kim Jonghyun?"

"We'll talk when you're on about the same level."

Minho looked like he was in mental pain for a moment.

"Kibum."

Kibum sighed. His character was going to die. He himself was probably going to die. But this big baby was busy turning fanciful scenarios in his head.

"How will my answer affect you though? What will change? Don't I keep rejecting you?"

"Yes, you do. And no, you don't. You have never said a clear 'no' to me." Minho took a step closer, his voice getting emotional. "If you name random reasons because you don't like me it's one thing, but if you do that in spite of the fact that you do like me, it's a totally different matter! What do you feel, Kibum? What?"

"I feel that you are shaking my hand too hard."

Minho released him.

"I'm serious. Please. Do you dislike me? Do you not want me? Or are you just afraid of something?"

Kibum really felt cornered now. He gave a defeated sigh and looked away.

"I don't dislike you. And maybe I do want you, because, well, who wouldn't... But," he added, not wanting Minho to get excited. "I am afraid. And my fear is stronger than any of that. It's not even fear, it's just..." He rubbed his eyes because they were already beginning to sting. "I'm tired to death. I can't feel happy about things and I don't trust anyone I know."

Minho's doe eyes were looking at him with worry and some kind of longing.

"But you can trust me. With me you won't have to pretend to be something you're not, and I'll do anything I can to help you," he assured the other.

"Why are you being like this, Minho? What did you come for?"

"I don't know..." a crease appeared between Minho's eyebrows. "I'm worried for some reason. I just felt like... something was wrong and I... I..."

Kibum shook his head with a smile that wasn't really a smile – more like an effort to keep the unwelcome tears in.

"Please, Minho. Don't worry about me. Go. And I need to get back to bed."

The taller man nodded slowly after a pause.

"Yes, you need rest... Tomorrow is your last day. Goodnight, Kibum." Minho touched the side of his face gently. "Try to sleep well."

"Goodnight, Minho."

Quickly Kibum opened the door of his apartment and rushed in, closing it behind him. That dark room oppressed him, its emptiness wrapping itself around him tightly. He felt like he'd never left it. He felt like he never would.

Minho was waiting for the elevator when a door opened behind his back and steps hurried towards him.

"Minho, wait."

He turned to see Kibum, coming closer with his arms stretched out. He cupped Minho's face in his hands and touched his mouth with his own, lifting himself on his toes a little. The taller man threw his arms around his waist and kissed him back – ardently, yet tenderly, so as not to scare him away. Kibum whimpered softly against his lips. It felt so good, it was breaking his heart. Minho's skin was so warm and pleasantly rough, and his lips fitted his own so perfectly it was making him sad. What a beautiful, wonderful kiss... He twined his arms around Minho's neck to press himself against him tighter.

But kisses always end, and theirs was not an exception. They parted, gasping for air, and Minho brushed Kibum's pink lips with his thumb. They simply looked into each other's eyes, breathing fast, and then embraced. They caressed each other's hair, standing in silence, and Kibum closed his eyelids. He could feel Minho's heart pounding against his chest. Or was it his own? The two men allowed themselves to be vulnerable for a while. Kibum felt the other's mouth touch the top of his head.

"The elevator's here," he muttered against Minho's shoulder, his fingers drawing circles on his back.

The taller man ran his fingers through the soft hair on the nape of Kibum's neck.

"It is."

"You need to go."

Kibum's lips touched Minho's jawbone and then pressed to his neck gently.

"Yeah..." Minho breathed out, locking his arms around the shorter man tighter. "Can I come and see you tomorrow?"

They leaned back to look at each other. Kibum's eyes were so soft and unarmed now.

"Yes. Yes. Yes."

They kissed once more, now as a goodbye, and their hands released each other reluctantly. Minho walked away fast, like he always did when his feelings were too strong for him to bear.

In his room, Kibum tossed the pill bottle under the bed. He would let poor Key have his death as the script said. You should finish the things you started.

The morning brought a strange kind of relief. Kibum's passive hatred for the world was back. And he knew he could handle it well.

He had already died four times in a row when a break was announced and he went back to his dressing-room, complaining about his coffee on the way. There his agent called him and informed him about a new romcom offer that had arrived earlier that day.

"How much?" he asked at once, stuffing a cigarette in his mouth. He didn't care about the script or cast or any details right now.

"I'm in," Kibum said when the agent told him the sum and hung up.

Someone knocked on the door and he put the cigarette out just in case.

"Coffee for you!" a male voice announced, and he urged the guest to come in.

"I made your favorite," Minho said, entering with a steaming cup.

"Thank you."

Kibum was googling the name of the director who had made him an offer on his tablet and didn't raise his eyes as the man placed the cup on the coffee table.

"You shouldn't have made your assistant cry, though."

"Making people cry is a part of my job, unfortunately," Kibum retorted dryly. He felt bad about upsetting the girl, of course. He'd make it up to her later.

Minho settled on the arm of the couch.

"Won't you try it?" he sounded excited.

Kibum threw a quick glance at him as he took a sip. Minho looked just like he had when they had parted yesterday. He was serious about his promises, and rarely took his words back. He probably wanted to kiss Kibum again.

"It's alright."

Minho coughed, clearly not knowing where to begin.

"Well, we... you... What do you think about last night?"

Kibum stiffened a little.

"It was very cute."

"But how did it make you feel?"

"Sweet." He put the coffee back on the table. "Not that it meant anything."

Minho's face darkened.

"But you kissed me."

"So what? A kiss is not a vow. It's good while it lasts."

"But didn't we..."

"No, we didn't," Kibum snapped, sounding a bit tougher than he had thought he would. "You wanted a clear answer? Here it is. Here is your 'no'."

He rose to his feet and walked over to the dressing table – mainly to spare himself the sight of the crushed, betrayed look on Minho's face.

"Why are you saying 'no' now?" the man asked in a faded voice.

"Because I don't need another boyfriend who will make me live in a state of fear. A boyfriend who might kiss me goodbye in the morning and die later that day, because his whole job consists of doing foolish things he won't even get any credit for."

"But I'm not going to die. I'm good at this."

"How do you know? Are you good enough to be superhuman?"

Minho's reflection looked perfectly dumbfounded.

"And why are you so confident, Minho? Is it because you think you're invincible? Or because giving up is not in your portfolio? Well, you need to learn that concept. Someday you will fail, because you're just a man and that's how our world works. And I simply don't want to be around when that happens."

"So, if I died today, when I'm not your boyfriend..." Minho gulped, his voice losing the edge it usually had. "…you wouldn't care?"

Kibum hadn't expected to be asked that.

"Don't ask me trap questions, please. I said what I said, that's all. I'm sorry if I sounded meaner than I intended to, but my words will only do you good. Let's see each other again someday. As friends."

Leaving the room was certainly a weakness on Kibum's part. But he always had to be the one who leaves first.

He would soon go back to his dying, he would remember who he was – an actor, a very good actor with an offer – and everything would fall back into place. Perhaps then the foolish fear would be gone.

Miss Lee Taeyeon, a billionaire's daughter who was sponsoring the production of the film, was bawling her eyes out.

"Mr. Kim, you are amazing... Amazing," she gushed into a paper handkerchief. "You are both just super amazing."

"This is a great piece of work, Kibum," Director Kim said emotionally, taking Kibum's hand in his. His eyes were wet, too. "We're definitely going to use that last take."

"Thank you, Mr. Kim, and Miss Lee, too. Thank you for this opportunity." Kibum's voice trembled, and the three hugged.

Something vibrated violently in Director's pocket, and he took out his cellphone. The others watched his face as it went from calm to apprehensive. He stepped away to mutter a few questions and orders into his fist. When he looked up, he told Kibum he was free to leave.

"Go to your dressing room, Kibum, you've done a great work today."

"But don't we need to reshoot something?…" Kibum asked, confused.

"Not today. I'll contact you one of these days if you're needed and maybe you'll have to come back to us for a day or two... But for now you're free. Run. Your assistant will join you." Director said the last words while struggling into his coat, his face turning greyish-white. And, although he clearly wanted to sound like everything was normal, it was hard to believe that. Young Miss Lee's eyes were flickering between the two men's faces, but she didn't try to inquire what was going on, knowing that Director Kim would tell her everything after Kibum left. The actor had nothing to do but pretend he was deaf and blind and to obey.

His dressing room was empty. Kibum stretched a little and massaged his neck to relax before sitting down to remove his makeup. Maybe it was not a big deal. And even if it was, Director clearly didn't want him involved or was protecting Kibum's "sensitive nervous system" once again, which he must've promised himself to do since that car crash. Kibum would like to tell him that there was no need to guard him that way now, but he appreciated the care.

There was a mild commotion outside, and Kibum opened the door. Everybody was hurrying somewhere with worried faces. Despite still having his character's bloodstained white shirt and no jacket on, he ran out into the chilly air and called the name of a person he recognized in that mess.

"Hey, Hyori! What's the matter? Where's everyone going?"

The woman stopped, clearly not wanting to waste time.

"Something happened to a stunt man, I'm not sure. Sorry, Kibum, I need to run now. I think you can go home."

And she was gone. Just "a stunt man". No name. No details. Because, with all of that fuss, they didn't care that much.

Doing foolish things he won't even get any credit for.

Kibum stood there, getting cold and catching odds and ends of people's conversations.

"…Brakes... collide... bones... concussion... doctors… already there... critical… Choi Minho..."

Gradually the noise ceased. Kibum returned to the dressing room on wooden legs, looked at his pale reflection and sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands.

The concept of giving up... is this it? Is that all?... You learn too fast, Choi Minho.

Minho looked thin and defenseless as he lay on the hospital bed in deep sleep. When his brow wasn't furrowed and his posture wasn't proud and arrow-like, he looked like a child. That is why his mother looked at him with such tenderness and kept smoothing his hair with tears in her eyes.

"You are his friend?" she asked meekly.

Kibum nodded.

"Yes, we've worked together."

She gave her son a dreamy, miserable look before she left them alone.

Kibum put the flowers on the table and sat down on a chair beside the bed.

"I'm sorry, Minho... I'm so sorry."

He cried – quietly, wordlessly. He couldn't bear all that whiteness, closing so tragically around the man whose kiss had saved him on the night when he'd wanted to end it all. "It was good while it lasted." But didn't that kiss last even when it was over? Kibum wasn't used to being grateful to anyone. But he felt that now. And gratitude was mixed with a piercing pain. He wished he could save Minho, too.

But all that remained was patience.

"I'm going away to work on a new film in a few days," Kibum said once he was able to speak again. "And I want to tell you something. No matter what people tell you... be superhuman. Be invincible... Never, never give up."

And he pressed his lips to the sleeping man's hand as a goodbye.