Balance Act - Oneshot (Kichul)
Title: Balance Act
Fic Challenge: 027. Replacement, Heechul/Kibum (3/100)
Author: kayjayloves
Chapter: 1/1
Pairing: Kichul
Band: Super Junior
Genre: angst/comfort?
Rating: PG
Warning: minor cussing XD
Disclaimer: Don't own these boys, just my interpretations of them.
Synopsis: There’s a science to it, a balance in the seclusion and in the independence (that supposed freedom in solitude) that takes careful work to maintain.
Comments: original post here
And then I end up feeling like I’m escaping; running from reality and running from humanity. There’s a science to it, a balance in the seclusion and in the independence (that supposed freedom in solitude) that takes careful work to maintain. If I hide away too much, they worry - they wonder what I’m doing and how I could possibly be happy being this alone.
And as good as I am at it, I don’t like lying. I don’t want to tell them I hate it - this constant loneliness, but that being around them is even worse. Around them I lose my identity, I become a product of should’s and could’s and pressure coupled with tension. I lose grip on my sanity.
It’s impossible to be around those twelve without losing a touch of saneness, but the constant energy - the constant need to be an individual within the pack, a constant expectation to satisfy twelve others - it’s too painful. I can be quiet, I can rest in the background, but there will always be someone coming up and telling me I’m too silent. Too reserved. Too myself.
I rest my head against the cool glass of the mirror; wallow in the darkness of my own officetel. There’s no one here to say anything, nobody to nag or tease or joke with - and the silence is deafening.
I can’t figure out what I want.
But then there’s soft light filtering from the front room, footsteps on the clean floor (such a mess here, Kibum, someone said once, their tone laced with sarcasm). His frame appears in the mirror, and a flitter of shock escapes his eyes.
“The hell, Kibum?”
“Heechul-“ I choke out, (the key - when did I give him a key?) pulling myself up from the counter. It takes him two steps before his fists are tangled in my shirt; he hisses into my face, “You said you were fine, being alone. You said you wanted to move out and be by yourself.”
“Hyung -“
“So why the hell are you moping around in your bathroom? Were we that unbearable?”
I don’t know what to say. I want to say they were perfect - he was perfect. But this dim room we’re standing in tells reality better than my own trampled words ever could. “I -“
“Shut up. I’ve decided I don’t want to hear it.” And suddenly his arms are warm and thin and squeezing the life out of me. I’m suffocating - the lack of personal space suddenly pushing against my comfort - but this is different. This is completely different from a hug for the camera, a pat against the cheek for the fans, (different, entirely, from the expectation of skinship) and it closes in on me.
This is sincere.
“Hyung - Heechul, I,” I want to apologize for needing to escape from the dorms. I want to apologize for making you angry; I want to apologize for having such a disagreeable personality for the lives we live. “I, really.”
He crushes me against him, pulling the last breath out of me and leaving me choking. “Shut up, you’re not making sense.”
And I still sleep alone in the one bedroom, and I still hide out from my own band members, and I still see reflections and dying lights (and pain and loneliness) in the spotless mirror, but on some days it’s replaced by loud voices and visitors and bone crushing hugs. On some days, there’s Heechul.
It’s not perfect, but it works.
Fic Challenge: 027. Replacement, Heechul/Kibum (3/100)
Author: kayjayloves
Chapter: 1/1
Pairing: Kichul
Band: Super Junior
Genre: angst/comfort?
Rating: PG
Warning: minor cussing XD
Disclaimer: Don't own these boys, just my interpretations of them.
Synopsis: There’s a science to it, a balance in the seclusion and in the independence (that supposed freedom in solitude) that takes careful work to maintain.
Comments: original post here
And then I end up feeling like I’m escaping; running from reality and running from humanity. There’s a science to it, a balance in the seclusion and in the independence (that supposed freedom in solitude) that takes careful work to maintain. If I hide away too much, they worry - they wonder what I’m doing and how I could possibly be happy being this alone.
And as good as I am at it, I don’t like lying. I don’t want to tell them I hate it - this constant loneliness, but that being around them is even worse. Around them I lose my identity, I become a product of should’s and could’s and pressure coupled with tension. I lose grip on my sanity.
It’s impossible to be around those twelve without losing a touch of saneness, but the constant energy - the constant need to be an individual within the pack, a constant expectation to satisfy twelve others - it’s too painful. I can be quiet, I can rest in the background, but there will always be someone coming up and telling me I’m too silent. Too reserved. Too myself.
I rest my head against the cool glass of the mirror; wallow in the darkness of my own officetel. There’s no one here to say anything, nobody to nag or tease or joke with - and the silence is deafening.
I can’t figure out what I want.
But then there’s soft light filtering from the front room, footsteps on the clean floor (such a mess here, Kibum, someone said once, their tone laced with sarcasm). His frame appears in the mirror, and a flitter of shock escapes his eyes.
“The hell, Kibum?”
“Heechul-“ I choke out, (the key - when did I give him a key?) pulling myself up from the counter. It takes him two steps before his fists are tangled in my shirt; he hisses into my face, “You said you were fine, being alone. You said you wanted to move out and be by yourself.”
“Hyung -“
“So why the hell are you moping around in your bathroom? Were we that unbearable?”
I don’t know what to say. I want to say they were perfect - he was perfect. But this dim room we’re standing in tells reality better than my own trampled words ever could. “I -“
“Shut up. I’ve decided I don’t want to hear it.” And suddenly his arms are warm and thin and squeezing the life out of me. I’m suffocating - the lack of personal space suddenly pushing against my comfort - but this is different. This is completely different from a hug for the camera, a pat against the cheek for the fans, (different, entirely, from the expectation of skinship) and it closes in on me.
This is sincere.
“Hyung - Heechul, I,” I want to apologize for needing to escape from the dorms. I want to apologize for making you angry; I want to apologize for having such a disagreeable personality for the lives we live. “I, really.”
He crushes me against him, pulling the last breath out of me and leaving me choking. “Shut up, you’re not making sense.”
And I still sleep alone in the one bedroom, and I still hide out from my own band members, and I still see reflections and dying lights (and pain and loneliness) in the spotless mirror, but on some days it’s replaced by loud voices and visitors and bone crushing hugs. On some days, there’s Heechul.
It’s not perfect, but it works.