i'd melt into your arms but i don't want to be a cliche
title: i'd melt into your arms but i don't want to be a cliche
rating: pg-13
pairing: siwon/kibum
count: 476
nb: a set of sibum drabbles.
drabbles.
i'd melt into your arms, but i don't want to be a cliche.
Everyone seems to think that Heechul fits best with Siwon-
'Rella melts, in a pool of warm and fuzzy or flickering orange flames. He is unyielding softness, against flexible stability.
But what people don't know is that Kibum fits better. Siwon is patient, always patient and always waiting, and he has waited a long time for him.
nothing kills a good relationship like wishful thinking.
Kibum used to have expectations.
But nothing kills a good relationship like wishful thinking. That was why he never expected anything now, and simply went along for the ride. Or tried to, at any rate.
Kibum had expectations. But not anymore.
maybe i don't really want you to know the real me.
"Do you aim to be ambiguous, or does it just happen?" Sharp, to the point, but softened by pure curiosity. The question was just like Kibum himself.
Siwon shrugged. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't."
Kibum frowned as Siwon walked away. "It's almost like you play up the contradictions so an air of mystery surrounds you."
i scribbled your name on faded paper hearts.
It was very familiar handwriting, a graceful slant blotted with ink that smelled of maturity, but reeked of childish dreams and innocence. You can see the quick flicks of the traditional nibbed pen he insists on using, trailing ink and leaving blotches of ink in the long, sprawling loops.
He had a rather lazy train of thought; the lazy scribbles of random phrases, words and miniature pictures all laid out haphazardly across a piece of dog-eared foolscap.
But one tiny little ink blot caught your eye - the shape of a crudely drawn ink-stained heart - and you left it with a tiny smile on your face.
look outside your window, and i'll have a rock in my hand.
The sky's oh-so-pretty, all pink and purple and blue. It looks just like those bruises of yours I pretend not to see.
Your parents are starting to suspect that you're not a good a kid as you seem to be; but you only shrug and turn away, even when you see their shadows watching plainly from the curtained French windows.
Maybe you want to escape, so he takes your hand and you both run off into the night without a single word.
kisskissbangbang, maybe it's all make-believe.
Holding your breath until you start to feel dizzy, then just a little bit more until-
The collapse. The wooden chair creaks under your weight as you fall heavily onto it, letting it all out- quick, sharp and harsh in the empty silence.
And you can feel the blood rushing through you, pumping through your veins and throbbing gently in your skull until, oh, you have to sit down-
But you're already lying and there's nowhere lower to go.
rating: pg-13
pairing: siwon/kibum
count: 476
nb: a set of sibum drabbles.
drabbles.
i'd melt into your arms, but i don't want to be a cliche.
Everyone seems to think that Heechul fits best with Siwon-
'Rella melts, in a pool of warm and fuzzy or flickering orange flames. He is unyielding softness, against flexible stability.
But what people don't know is that Kibum fits better. Siwon is patient, always patient and always waiting, and he has waited a long time for him.
nothing kills a good relationship like wishful thinking.
Kibum used to have expectations.
But nothing kills a good relationship like wishful thinking. That was why he never expected anything now, and simply went along for the ride. Or tried to, at any rate.
Kibum had expectations. But not anymore.
maybe i don't really want you to know the real me.
"Do you aim to be ambiguous, or does it just happen?" Sharp, to the point, but softened by pure curiosity. The question was just like Kibum himself.
Siwon shrugged. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't."
Kibum frowned as Siwon walked away. "It's almost like you play up the contradictions so an air of mystery surrounds you."
i scribbled your name on faded paper hearts.
It was very familiar handwriting, a graceful slant blotted with ink that smelled of maturity, but reeked of childish dreams and innocence. You can see the quick flicks of the traditional nibbed pen he insists on using, trailing ink and leaving blotches of ink in the long, sprawling loops.
He had a rather lazy train of thought; the lazy scribbles of random phrases, words and miniature pictures all laid out haphazardly across a piece of dog-eared foolscap.
But one tiny little ink blot caught your eye - the shape of a crudely drawn ink-stained heart - and you left it with a tiny smile on your face.
look outside your window, and i'll have a rock in my hand.
The sky's oh-so-pretty, all pink and purple and blue. It looks just like those bruises of yours I pretend not to see.
Your parents are starting to suspect that you're not a good a kid as you seem to be; but you only shrug and turn away, even when you see their shadows watching plainly from the curtained French windows.
Maybe you want to escape, so he takes your hand and you both run off into the night without a single word.
kisskissbangbang, maybe it's all make-believe.
Holding your breath until you start to feel dizzy, then just a little bit more until-
The collapse. The wooden chair creaks under your weight as you fall heavily onto it, letting it all out- quick, sharp and harsh in the empty silence.
And you can feel the blood rushing through you, pumping through your veins and throbbing gently in your skull until, oh, you have to sit down-
But you're already lying and there's nowhere lower to go.