impossible.
Kim Kibum was a confident boy. He was the Almighty Key.
Nothing stood in his way.
Nothing was too hard, too tough, too much for him.
In school, anything you threw at him, he would complete it in no time and hand it back to you. Well, except for math. But Kim Ki Bum would tell you that all the math one needs in life is to calculate how much something which is 35% off would actually cost.
While he was a trainee, the teachers would throw him minutes of choreography, and he would nail them, second only to Taemin. Second, but talent was talent, and whatever Kibum lacked in talent (if he even lacked it) he made up with sheer hard work. The vocal instructors would challenge him to hit a higher note, or, sing that verse in low E, and he would frown for a moment. But those pink lips, especially pouty if he was feeling particularly petulant, would part, and that very melody at that very precise pitch would be projected, filling the room - just how you imagined it, or even better.
Impossible was something which existed in Kibum’s dictionary (since of course he knew what it meant, and obviously he knew how to spell it in English: I-M-P-O-S-S-I-B-L-E, finished with a flourish and a satisfied half-smirk), but it was nothing he could honestly say applied to him.
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SHINee was eased into his life. Which really, wasn’t too hard. He just took some time to adapt to living with 4 other boys. Nothing too difficult. Cooking their meals, mothering them when they were sick, nagging them when they got too lazy to shower or clean their rooms… all in a day’s work. No sweat.
Sometimes, he would feel butterflies in his tummy. But he would brush that aside. After all, Kim Ki Bum knew how “strange” felt like too. This was strange. But strange wasn’t wrong. “Strange” could be alright.
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Soon, “strange” became normal.
-
Then Jonghyun got a “girlfriend”. Shin-what’s-her-name. Key rolled his eyes when it was announced. He rolled his eyes again when the rest teased Jonghyun.
When he was rolling his eyes, the butterflies in his tummy stopped moving around so much. He figured that was normal, since there was only so much round-and-round churning that could take place in a single human body.
Then, months later, but months before the news actually broke, Jonghyun and Shin-say-what’s-her-name broke up. In those months in between, the butterflies were replaced by something rather weighty at the bottom of Key’s stomach, and he realized how Minho, whom he was never that close to previously, was actually reliable, dependable, and quite possibly… someone he felt intensely, intimately comfortable with. It was part skinship, part friendship; part confidante, part something more.
But those damn butterflies returned.
Kibum didn’t like those butterflies. He didn’t appreciate how they made him feel so sick. He didn’t appreciate how it made everything taste like carrot. Hell, it even made everything look that sick shade of orange only carrots had, and that always, always, always turned him off so much he couldn’t even bear to look at it.
Sometimes, he swore he could feel those stupid insects invade spaces above and beyond his tummy. And he definitely didn’t like how they seemed to be gnawing at something near his ribs.
Annoying.
-
The skinship started again. Fangirls with placards screaming “JONGKEY 4EVER!” returned. “Kate” and “Will” made an appearance at an international airport, causing quite a stir.
-
Kibum never had a real love for alcohol. He drank it only because it was part of the Korean culture to drink. Social drinking of some sorts.
Sometimes alcohol made him feel sick. Churning stomachs, spinning rooms. The like.
But one night, Kibum found himself sitting on the cold, slightly damp, concrete floor of a rooftop, bottles of soju before him - three unopened, one half-drunk, one empty, and one under his foot, as he rolled it back and forth, finding a mysterious solace in the sound it made when it rolled against a loose grain of concrete.
It made him sick, but he preferred this sick - one he could attribute, one whose reason he could pinpoint, to that other unexplained churning.
He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, time and again. But he ignored it.
He knew anyone who vaguely knew him would be worried. After all, he was never the irresponsible sort, much less the sort who wouldn’t pick up his phone after going missing without informing anyone for hours upon hours.
But so many things didn’t make sense anymore. So why did this matter? So why should his unhappiness and uncharacteristic petulance for today matter? It could be just another mystery, another anomaly, another thing to dismiss with the shrug of one’s shoulders.
-
But someone soon found him.
Through the haze of the alcohol, he had no idea who it was. But he thought he saw spiked hair, partially concealed by a beanie pulled on haphazardly.
He thought he saw flaring, mismatched nostrils, a little red from the cold. He wondered how he could see since it was so dark.
But when he squinted a little, he thought the previously dark, spiked hair was replaced by tri-toned hair, horribly jarring but somewhat deliciously attractive. Or maybe it was the alcohol speaking since everything now seemed so lazily comfortable, so sedate, every possible question seemed to have an answer, and everything in the world seemed to fit in place.
Nothing seemed impossible.
No.
“Impossible.” He slurred.
“I-M-P-O-…” He paused for a moment, and thought for what felt like the longest, but shortest time for such a stunning revelation, why a “H” didn’t follow the “O”, but decided against inventing a new spelling for the word on the top of some unknown rooftop with only one person to witness the feat. “…S-S-I-B-L-E.”
Said other person didn’t seem like he was too impressed with his spelling bee performance anyway. Or maybe he wasn’t too proficient in the English language and would never have known if Kibum spelt it wrongly. He most certainly wouldn’t have been too concerned about whether Kibum just became a potential Nobel Prize for Literature laureate through what was possibly an extraordinary breakthrough, as he mumbled something beneath his breath and hoisted Kibum on his back.
Kibum liked to lean against his back. It felt warm.
The warmth added to the swirling haze in his mind and made him feel oh so lazy.
So lazy, he didn’t want to speak, but merely thought a very fuzzy thought which made his heart throb.
I discovered you. I discovered me. I discovered impossible.
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comments would be appreciatedddd. this is the result of random thoughts pieced together, so it got rather disjointed here and there. and then i got frustrated with it. bah. this is rather all-over-the-place and i don't even know anymore....
Nothing stood in his way.
Nothing was too hard, too tough, too much for him.
In school, anything you threw at him, he would complete it in no time and hand it back to you. Well, except for math. But Kim Ki Bum would tell you that all the math one needs in life is to calculate how much something which is 35% off would actually cost.
While he was a trainee, the teachers would throw him minutes of choreography, and he would nail them, second only to Taemin. Second, but talent was talent, and whatever Kibum lacked in talent (if he even lacked it) he made up with sheer hard work. The vocal instructors would challenge him to hit a higher note, or, sing that verse in low E, and he would frown for a moment. But those pink lips, especially pouty if he was feeling particularly petulant, would part, and that very melody at that very precise pitch would be projected, filling the room - just how you imagined it, or even better.
Impossible was something which existed in Kibum’s dictionary (since of course he knew what it meant, and obviously he knew how to spell it in English: I-M-P-O-S-S-I-B-L-E, finished with a flourish and a satisfied half-smirk), but it was nothing he could honestly say applied to him.
-
SHINee was eased into his life. Which really, wasn’t too hard. He just took some time to adapt to living with 4 other boys. Nothing too difficult. Cooking their meals, mothering them when they were sick, nagging them when they got too lazy to shower or clean their rooms… all in a day’s work. No sweat.
Sometimes, he would feel butterflies in his tummy. But he would brush that aside. After all, Kim Ki Bum knew how “strange” felt like too. This was strange. But strange wasn’t wrong. “Strange” could be alright.
-
Soon, “strange” became normal.
-
Then Jonghyun got a “girlfriend”. Shin-what’s-her-name. Key rolled his eyes when it was announced. He rolled his eyes again when the rest teased Jonghyun.
When he was rolling his eyes, the butterflies in his tummy stopped moving around so much. He figured that was normal, since there was only so much round-and-round churning that could take place in a single human body.
Then, months later, but months before the news actually broke, Jonghyun and Shin-say-what’s-her-name broke up. In those months in between, the butterflies were replaced by something rather weighty at the bottom of Key’s stomach, and he realized how Minho, whom he was never that close to previously, was actually reliable, dependable, and quite possibly… someone he felt intensely, intimately comfortable with. It was part skinship, part friendship; part confidante, part something more.
But those damn butterflies returned.
Kibum didn’t like those butterflies. He didn’t appreciate how they made him feel so sick. He didn’t appreciate how it made everything taste like carrot. Hell, it even made everything look that sick shade of orange only carrots had, and that always, always, always turned him off so much he couldn’t even bear to look at it.
Sometimes, he swore he could feel those stupid insects invade spaces above and beyond his tummy. And he definitely didn’t like how they seemed to be gnawing at something near his ribs.
Annoying.
-
The skinship started again. Fangirls with placards screaming “JONGKEY 4EVER!” returned. “Kate” and “Will” made an appearance at an international airport, causing quite a stir.
-
Kibum never had a real love for alcohol. He drank it only because it was part of the Korean culture to drink. Social drinking of some sorts.
Sometimes alcohol made him feel sick. Churning stomachs, spinning rooms. The like.
But one night, Kibum found himself sitting on the cold, slightly damp, concrete floor of a rooftop, bottles of soju before him - three unopened, one half-drunk, one empty, and one under his foot, as he rolled it back and forth, finding a mysterious solace in the sound it made when it rolled against a loose grain of concrete.
It made him sick, but he preferred this sick - one he could attribute, one whose reason he could pinpoint, to that other unexplained churning.
He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, time and again. But he ignored it.
He knew anyone who vaguely knew him would be worried. After all, he was never the irresponsible sort, much less the sort who wouldn’t pick up his phone after going missing without informing anyone for hours upon hours.
But so many things didn’t make sense anymore. So why did this matter? So why should his unhappiness and uncharacteristic petulance for today matter? It could be just another mystery, another anomaly, another thing to dismiss with the shrug of one’s shoulders.
-
But someone soon found him.
Through the haze of the alcohol, he had no idea who it was. But he thought he saw spiked hair, partially concealed by a beanie pulled on haphazardly.
He thought he saw flaring, mismatched nostrils, a little red from the cold. He wondered how he could see since it was so dark.
But when he squinted a little, he thought the previously dark, spiked hair was replaced by tri-toned hair, horribly jarring but somewhat deliciously attractive. Or maybe it was the alcohol speaking since everything now seemed so lazily comfortable, so sedate, every possible question seemed to have an answer, and everything in the world seemed to fit in place.
Nothing seemed impossible.
No.
“Impossible.” He slurred.
“I-M-P-O-…” He paused for a moment, and thought for what felt like the longest, but shortest time for such a stunning revelation, why a “H” didn’t follow the “O”, but decided against inventing a new spelling for the word on the top of some unknown rooftop with only one person to witness the feat. “…S-S-I-B-L-E.”
Said other person didn’t seem like he was too impressed with his spelling bee performance anyway. Or maybe he wasn’t too proficient in the English language and would never have known if Kibum spelt it wrongly. He most certainly wouldn’t have been too concerned about whether Kibum just became a potential Nobel Prize for Literature laureate through what was possibly an extraordinary breakthrough, as he mumbled something beneath his breath and hoisted Kibum on his back.
Kibum liked to lean against his back. It felt warm.
The warmth added to the swirling haze in his mind and made him feel oh so lazy.
So lazy, he didn’t want to speak, but merely thought a very fuzzy thought which made his heart throb.
I discovered you. I discovered me. I discovered impossible.
web counter
-
comments would be appreciatedddd. this is the result of random thoughts pieced together, so it got rather disjointed here and there. and then i got frustrated with it. bah. this is rather all-over-the-place and i don't even know anymore....