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Even at eight years old, Minho had keenly felt the injustice of his situation.
"Why doesn't Minseok-hyung ever get cold like me?" he complained, allowing his mother to tuck the electric blanket around him.
His mother pulled the duvet over the electric blanket and then perched on the edge of his bed. Minho had been so proud to finally have his big-boy bed, until Minseok had made fun of him for still needing his blankie. "Your brother doesn't have a soulmate, sweetheart. It means you're special."
"I don't wanna be special, I wanna be normal," Minho insisted. He wanted to be like Minseok, who was always running faster or yelling louder or kicking further than him. Minho wondered how long he'd be chasing after his older brother.
However, his mother just smiled indulgently. "There's someone out there who will always make you feel warm in the winter, and you'll always make them feel cool in the summer. A person with whom you match." She reached out and brushed back his hair. "Not everyone gets one, Minho-ya. You should treasure yours, when you find them."
Minho wished all of him felt as warm as his face did when his mother touched him. "Maybe you're my soulmate," he grumbled.
She laughed. "Your father and I are like Minseokie. We don't have soulmates. Just you, our special boy."
But Minho didn't feel special, he just felt cold. "Can I have tea?"
His mother shook her head. "It's too late," she said, apologetic. "You'll be okay."
Silently, he disagreed, frowning up at his dark ceiling after his mother had turned out the lights. It seemed to him – and it would seem to him over and over – that his soulmate was just one more way he was weaker than his hyung. Minho didn't need a soulmate. He needed to overcome having this weakness. There was nothing else he could do.
Minho loved summer. He loved the way the sun baked into his bones, the way he felt like he radiated warmth when he walked inside from being out, he didn't even mind that he took on color. He loved summer sports and summer vacation and even the sound of cicadas screaming into the night.
Kibum did not. He did not like being sweaty, swore he preferred wintertime, and to cap things off, he'd gone and dramatically fainted from the heat after dance practice one day, the same day he and Minho had nearly come to blows over some bullshit. Everyone attributed it to how they were all on restrictive diets and that Kibum ate so many vegetables and not enough meat, but that wasn't really Minho's problem.
Until they were both picked for SHINee. Then it became Minho's problem.
It didn't help that they fought about everything. Choreography flourishes, where to breathe in the song, assigned chores, assigned bunks, Taemin's homework, their own homework. In the winter, Kibum would sneer at Minho and his sensitivity to cold while turning his humidifier higher, Minho shivering even as they lobbed verbal grenades at one another. In the summer, Minho would parade around shirtless just to get a rise out of heat-sapped Kibum, who would simply level a disdainful look and a well-timed cutting remark his way.
It came to a boiling point three months in. Minho and Kibum had stayed late to drill choreo, sniping at one another. Later, Minho wouldn't be able to explain what the fight had even been about, only that it had spiraled into something ugly, every word extra loud in the studio as the air conditioner had finally given up and the mirrors steamed over slowly. Kibum all but called Minho a talentless meathead, a pretty face with nothing underneath, yelling that Minho would simply never be good enough.
Minho, furious and cut to the core, had said the harshest thing he could think of: "At least I'm not a liability."
Kibum flushed red with anger, clearly ready to fire back, when the flush had deepened, spread all over, and he'd collapsed without warning. Minho's anger had immediately given way to panic, and he'd called for help.
Later, at the hospital, watching Kibum get an electrolyte infusion with ice packs tucked all around him, Minho felt a strange kind of guilt settle in his chest. Kibum looked small and unusually weak, even though Kibum was the biggest presence Minho had encountered amongst the trainees in their class. Kibum loomed large; in the hospital bed, he looked upsettingly small.
"I'll be better," Minho murmured, fingers trying to find purchase on the edge of the hospital bed frame. "Let's be better together," he added. Kibum sighed and the flush in his face seemed to recede a little, dimming from a vibrant red to a more muted pink.
A nurse walked past, doing her rounds. She clicked her tongue. "It's almost as bad as soulmate heatstroke," she said quietly, and continued on.
A chill ran down Minho's spine. What if he and Kibum were soulmates? The very thought was incomprehensible, even if their sensitivities were compatible. Even if Kibum seemed hardest hit whenever they fought.
Minho dismissed the possibility. He and Kibum were barely friends, and would likely never be more than cordial coworkers. Junmyeon was more likely his soulmate, and Junmyeon was like Minseok, no fated partner.
Even if Minho wanted a soulmate, they would be someone…sweet. Sporty and cute, who needed Minho to hold their hand at the beach so that they wouldn't overheat, and who would hold Minho's hand in movie theaters so that he wouldn't feel cold. It would be…easy. Shouldn't a soulmate just click? Wasn't that the whole point?
But more than that, Minho didn't need a soulmate, and he certainly didn't need a partner like Kim Kibum: challenging and argumentative and–
As if on cue, Kibum stirred in the bed. "Where am I…?"
"Hospital," Minho answered, straightening up and shaking off the thought of soulmates entirely. "You passed out in the middle of our argument. Our manager is outside calling the company to update them."
"Ugh," Kibum groaned. "Embarrassing."
"Yeah, I can't believe you actually let me win."
Kibum laughed, a sharp sound he clearly hadn't intended. "You're so annoying."
"I'm not the one who bailed on dance practice by getting heat stroke." Minho adjusted one of the ice packs. "Kibum-ssi. Maybe we should try to get along better."
"You sound like manager-hyung." Kibum wasn't looking at Minho. His eyes were on the ceiling. "Fine," he said after a long moment. "Truce."
"Truce," Minho echoed back, and felt warm.
"Overcome it," Minho insisted, pouring more cold drinks for Kibum and Taemin and ignoring how they rolled their eyes.
Onew and Jonghyun, who didn't have fated partners, had gone out to find their fortunes. The remaining three of them had retreated to Kibum's hotel room with plastic bags full of beers from the Thai convenience store, all of which were sweating by the time they'd gotten inside. Taemin and Kibum had been rosy-faced from heat and exertion, but Minho had felt alive.
"I love summer," he murmured.
"We know," Kibum replied, a wry note to his voice, pressing a cold can to his neck. "Just wait until wintertime."
"You'll just give hyung hot drinks, like you always do," Taemin cut in, beer between his hands.
"Brat," Kibum said, but fondly.
"At least they don't have us dieting as much anymore," Taemin added. "You both used to be a lot worse off when we were trainees. Remember when Kibum-hyung fainted?"
"Kibum was always dramatic," Minho insisted. But Taemin had a point; the filming for "View" had gone well, with everyone sweaty but managing. Minho had handed Kibum cold cans of juice during breaks, and Kibum had cracked jokes about Minho being part sunflower. It had been easier than it used to be; maybe this was an advantage of getting older.
Kibum kicked him under the table. "Fuck off," he said, laughing. "Ah, one day I'll meet my soulmate and hate summer less."
"You really believe that?" Minho said, before he could stop himself.
Taemin and Kibum looked at him with surprise. It was Taemin who spoke. "Hyung, you don't believe in soulmates?"
Minho shrugged. "I just don't see the point. You have to suffer and be too hot or too cold until hopefully you find the one person made for you? And then you have to be emotionally close to even have any benefits?" He shook his head. "How do you even measure that? It just seems unlikely, and like a lot of trouble." He gestured with his drink. "I'd rather be in control of my destiny."
Kibum had an odd look on his face – surprise, and maybe disappointment. He traded a look with Taemin.
"That's kind of sad, hyung," Taemin said after a long moment. "Having a soulmate isn't an inconvenience."
Minho thought of how he sometimes still felt like he was chasing Minseok, two steps behind and in his shadow. "If you say so."
Taemin turned to Kibum. "What about you?"
In an unexpected turn of events, Kibum smiled shyly into his drink. "I want to find mine, one day."
Minho felt a bit like the ground was rolling underneath him. "I didn't know you were romantic like that."
"My grandparents were soulmates," Kibum said slowly. "I like the thought of…" He blew out a long breath. "There's someone out there. For me. Mine."
The emphasis on that last word made Minho shiver, a delicate shake up his spine. Something uncurled in his chest.
Kibum was still talking. "And I'm theirs. We were made for each other." He held out his hand, then clapped his other hand over it and laced his fingers together before dropping his hands back in his lap. Kibum was silent again for a very long beat. "It's nice, when you're different, to know you have that." He'd kept his voice light, but there was still a weight there.
Minho didn't know what to say.
Taemin, however, did: "I understand, hyung." He nodded sagely. "It's like when I picked the weakest starting Pokemon. Eventually, at the end, I can crush the Elite Four."
There was a beat.
"Yah, what the hell!" Kibum shouted, laughing and shoving at Taemin, who was also laughing brightly. "I'm being vulnerable and you're thinking about Pokemon?!"
Minho laughed at Taemin trying to defend himself while Kibum laid into him. "Taemin-ah, what about you? Do you want to find your soulmate?"
Taemin's laughter gave way to a thoughtful look. "Sure," he said at last. "But I'm going to live my life until then. I mean, it's probably Jongin anyway, he's sensitive to cold and I'm sensitive to heat, so." He shrugged. "I have time. Besides, it's you cold-sensitive types who usually figure it out first." Taemin gestured helplessly. "I guess feeling warm in the dead of winter is a lot more noticeable than feeling less-hot in the sun."
The conversation drifted, but later, when Minho lay in his own hotel bed gazing at the dark ceiling, he heard Kibum's "Mine," that single word with all that conviction, playing on loop in his mind.
It would be a long time before he realized: he liked that.
Kibum, with his short dark hair, was giving Minho heart palpitations.
Not really the good kind, either, Minho thought wryly as he and Taemin paid for dinner between them. Kibum looking painfully anonymous meant Minho's time to enlist was coming, too.
The three of them made their way to Minho's car. Taemin sat in the back, while Kibum took the passenger seat. Mostly, the drive to Taemin's home was subdued. Kibum shivered at one point, Taemin too, and Minho thought he might sweat through his layers. It had been over a year now of this, for all of them but Jinki, who didn't have a fated partner. Grief sent soulmate sensitivities spiraling, it was well-documented. But the knowledge didn't make it easier to manage, to navigate, to recover.
Minho wasn't the type to despair, but he wondered if he'd ever feel comfortable again.
Taemin's home came first, and Minho put the car in park so that the other two could get out and hug. They embraced for a long time, both of them pressed close.
Eventually, though, it had to end. They disentangled themselves from each other, murmured something, and then Taemin stepped back and waved. Kibum slid back into his seat and, soon enough, Taemin was in his building and the two of them were on the road.
Minho knew the route to Kibum's place with his eyes closed, but he chose to focus fully on the drive, ignoring how uncomfortably sweaty he felt or how that feeling suddenly pivoted to cold. The March chill slid under his jacket and pressed against his skin.
At Kibum's place, he parked without a word in Kibum's guest spot, and the two of them rode up in the elevator in a charged, anticipatory silence. Whatever happened, Minho suspected, would change things. But then again, things had been changing. Of everything in his life, Minho knew he could rely on Kibum.
Inside Kibum's apartment, they toed off their shoes and scratched the dogs behind their ears until Commedes and Garcons padded off to find something else to occupy them.
Minho looked at Kibum, who looked back at him with a hot gaze that drove away some of the lingering chill in his skin.
"Say no," Kibum said softly, after a tense silence. "You should say no."
Minho stepped closer. "Fuck that," he replied, sliding his palm along Kibum's jaw and neck. "Kibum. Yes." And then they were kissing, exactly as electric as Minho had dreamed it would be. Kibum kissed him like the world was ending, and Minho thought maybe it had, maybe it was, maybe this was it – at least, until Kibum pulled Minho forcefully into the bedroom and showed him all the ways the world could end.
The sun was about to peek over the horizon when Minho pressed a kiss to Kibum's forehead, his cheek, his soft and full mouth. Minho felt his heart aching even as he retreated, gently disentangling himself from Kibum's hold and sheets, until he could pull his clothes on and sneak out after feeding and petting Commedes and Garcons thoroughly.
It wasn't until he parked in his own residential complex that it struck him: he hadn't felt too hot or too cold, not once.
Jinki had disappeared two bottles of soju ago, presumably he'd snuck out and gone home despite the December frost. Taemin had passed out in the guest room one bottle of soju ago with Garcons hot on his heels. All of which had left Minho with Kibum and Commedes, who had tucked himself into Minho's side and refused to budge.
Minho, seated on the floor, contemplated an empty beer bottle in a lull of their conversation, in the silence between songs of Kibum's playlist. "Are you ever going to tell me why you didn't text me back for two years?"
He heard Kibum shift on the sofa behind him. "Only if you explain why you left," he retorted, voice low.
This was dangerous territory.
Minho took one of the empty bottles and spun it. He thought about the way Kibum used to faint when they fought in the summer, the way his own unit in the Marines had teased him for needing the campfire or the space heater so much in the dead of winter, about how Kim Minseok from EXO had mentioned that Kibum had been damn near married to the air conditioning last summer. He thought about how all night he'd felt warmest when Kibum had laughed aloud and leaned into him.
The bottle came to a stop, pointed at himself. Moment of truth. "I'm allowed to be scared, too," Minho said at last.
"Is that why you acted like nothing happened?" There was something injured there, in Kibum's voice.
Minho kept his eyes on his glass. "You could have literally said anything."
"I needed space."
"Yeah, I did too." Minho set his half-empty glass aside and tipped his head back, eyes closed. "I didn't want to lose you, and then you ignored me for two years." He allowed his frustration, petulance, all of it to show. "You should have said something. I wanted you to say something."
"I should have said something," Kibum agreed, and Minho could feel Kibum's eyes roaming over Minho's face, his throat. Minho felt Kibum's hand tunnel in his hair, long fingers molding to the shape of Minho's skull.
"Yes," Minho replied, leaning into Kibum's touch.
"Next time," Kibum said slowly, voice moving closer, "I'll say something. I won't just pull away or shut you out."
"And I'll say less," Minho whispered.
There was a long, charged moment of silence.
"I'm always pushing you," Kibum murmured, almost wistful.
Minho swallowed. "I like it," he admitted. "I like when you push me around." He opened his eyes and found Kibum cantilevered over him, eyes dark and face rosy. "I like when you're mean to me. I like it more when you're nice to me."
"I'm never nice to you," Kibum pointed out.
"Maybe you should start," Minho murmured, just before Kibum kissed him. All of that soju must have kicked in, because Minho no longer felt cold, despite the chill of the tile and the icy wind rattling the windows – and later, despite his nudity and the light duvet, he had Kibum sprawled all over him to keep him warm, a space heater of a man despite his lithe, compact form, the two of them slotted together like jigsaw puzzle pieces.
Here was the conversation Minho hadn't wanted to have. "You're pulling away from me. You promised you wouldn't do that."
"I'm sorry," Kibum said. "I'm…there's something I need to tell you, and I don't know how."
Minho balled his hands into fists at his sides. "Is it what you told Dongwoon on I Live Alone?" He tried to rein in his emotions. "Were you serious?"
Kibum schooled his expression into that infuriating blankness he used sometimes. "Yes," he said coolly, like he wasn't tearing the Earth out from under's Minho's feet with every word. "I'm looking for my soulmate."
"Why?" Minho burst out, nails biting into his palms. "We–I thought–" He gestured wordlessly at the space between them. They'd been sleeping together for months. Minho hadn't felt cold since he'd been discharged. The truth had been staring him in the face for years, infuriating and challenging and apparently one of the foundational relationships in his life.
To his credit, Kibum had the grace to look uncomfortable. "I know you don't want your soulmate, but." He pressed a hand to his chest. "I do. And not because it's summer, but because…" He straightened, chin jutting out. "If there's someone I get to call mine, I want them. I want to find them. I want to know what it's like to fit together with the person that's made for me."
His chest ached. "Kibum. I haven't felt cold in months." He thought about the warmth that had bloomed in his chest when their laced fingers had pressed into the mattress, that first time after service. He thought about how he'd always thought a soulmate would be someone easy to be with, and how these never-ending days spent with and around Kibum never felt tedious or burdensome, the fruits of so many labors. He thought about their shoulders pressed together on the couch while they watched variety shows, thought of Kibum's hands on Minho's body, thought about the shape of his name in Kibum's mouth. "You've barely used the air conditioner this summer. I thought you'd also figured it out by now."
"If I knew who my soulmate was, I wouldn't have to look for them." Kibum looked frustrated. "And I'm glad the weather was mild this year. Saved me so much money." He waved a hand dismissively. "What does that have to do with anything?"
Minho felt like he'd swallowed an ice cube. "You really don't know."
Kibum waited.
The cold in his stomach seemed to expand. "We are soulmates."
Minho had wondered what this moment would be like. He'd thought they'd be in bed together, maybe twined tightly and sharing a laugh. He'd thought it would be on a walk with the kids, maybe holding hands inside a jacket pocket. He'd thought it would be like a drama, at Christmas or maybe even Tanabata. He'd imagined joy, and love.
Minho had not imagined being in his own living room, Kibum looking at him with abject pity as his words leached the warmth from every extremity.
"We aren't soulmates," Kibum said with conviction.
Minho felt like he'd been stabbed.
"Don't you think we'd know by now?" Kibum's expression softened. "I care about you a lot, and I know we're compatible but–"
Minho shivered. "Every time we fought, you used to get heat stroke!"
"We were malnourished teenagers," Kibum snapped back, not hiding his skepticism. "And the old building had that busted air conditioner anyway."
"What about how cold I felt when you wouldn't text me back? Or how much you overheated?"
"It was a record weather year." Kibum gestured widely. "Climate change causes extreme weather at both ends of the spectrum."
Breathing was hard, every inhale like a thousand needles in Minho's lungs. "What – what about how good it is between us?"
Kibum looked away. "We care about each other a lot. Sex with someone you love…it's different."
"I loved my exes, it wasn't like this with them," Minho insisted.
Now, Kibum looked pained, even as he kept his gaze averted. "I didn't love my exes the way I love you," he retorted, casually spoken.
Minho's teeth chattered, even though he was clenching his jaw against the hurt and the cold. Here was another thing he hadn't imagined doing like this. "I'm in love with you," he confessed, the first time he'd said those words.
Kibum finally looked up. "I'm waiting for the one," he said, something sad in his eyes. "I need to know what else is missing."
The edges of Minho's vision went dark. "So, what, you've just been toying with me? Sleeping with me because you're bored and I'm convenient?" He exhaled a shuddering breath, and it frosted in the air between them. "How can you break my heart like this?" Minho asked, his eyes filling with tears even as he felt like he was covered, encased, gilded with ice. He tried to shake himself and found that his hair and eyelashes had developed ice crystals, his body was covered in glazed frost.
Panic flitted across Kibum's face. "Minho, you're turning blue, oh my God, we have to–"
Minho felt a hot tear roll down his cheek and freeze halfway. "I am yours, and you don't want me."
Kibum looked shocked, and then flushed suddenly, every visible inch of his skin turning an angry, intense red. "You…" He sounded faint. "Minho. You were really made for me?"
Despite his shivering, Minho nodded. "If not you, then who else? My beloved Kibum," he added, trying to reach out. His fingers were turning black, he was dying. He could feel his heart slowing, and his lungs struggled to take in air.
"Mine," Kibum said, awed, and stepped forward to hug Minho tightly. A hissing noise filled the room, along with a sudden, misty cloud that filled the entire space, a fog so thick it turned the room an impenetrable gray.
After a long moment, the cloud dissipated, revealing Minho's living room. Like Minho, everything was unharmed if a bit damp. And then there was the sight of Kibum, face pressed into Minho's chest and arms around Minho's waist. "I kept telling myself it was just a coincidence, how we fit together," Kibum murmured, and squeezed a bit harder.
Minho no longer felt frozen. All of the ice steamed away in the wake of Kibum, warm and soft in his arms. "Key-goon," he breathed. "My Bum." He tightened his hold around Kibum's shoulders.
"Mine," Kibum repeated. "I can't believe you are mine." He pulled away, only to hold Minho's face in his hands, exactly the right size. "We were made for each other."
Minho smiled, warm from the inside out. "Who else would put up with us?"
Kibum tugged him down onto the sofa and then crawled into his lap. "Let me kiss the love of my life," he stated, and proceeded to once more steal Minho's breath away.
Minseok shivered and rubbed his arms. "I don't know why they scheduled the game for today. It's going to snow. They should have rescheduled it."
Minho hummed noncommittally, tapping his phone and pulling up Kibum's message. Getting the kids groomed. I left you lunch in the fridge. Don't tell me about the game later, I don't care, he'd written.
K, love you, Minho wrote back. He smiled at the reply and then slipped his phone into his chest pocket and rubbed his hands together.
Minseok shivered again. "Christ, it's freezing."
Minho thought about the love you too reply and the ♥ reaction to his message, and shrugged. "I don't know, it's not that cold," he replied, and let out a loud whoop.