Perfection
It's a usual afternoon in April. Clouds dreary, raindrops softly tapping against the glass of the shop. Let us in, let us in.
Kibum steps outside, cigarette and lighter in hand, and ignites the stick slowly. He curses slightly when a raindrop hits the cigarette, and tries again.
Success, this time, and he hungrily sticks the cigarette in his mouth, inhaling and exhaling deeply. The smoke snakes out of his mouth and curls around his face, his hair, his features for a moment. Let it go, just let it go.
A boy passes by, running and breathing heavily, using his plastic binder to shield himself from the rain. But it doesn't work, and Kibum watches as the boy slowly disappears, turns the corner.
And then he was gone. Gone again. Come back, come back to me.
--
It's sunny out today, and Kibum stays inside, he fears the sun. But that boy is running, running again. Past the shop, towards that dreaded corner Kibum wishes was farther away.
He fumbles with scissors in hand, Snip snip, hair clips between his lips, and eyes trailing towards the small back of the disappearing boy. He almost doesn't notice that he cuts off a centimeter shorter on one side. Fix it, fix it.
With a slight grumble, he cuts it again,
Things have to be perfect. They always have to.
--
It's a perfect day, not too sunny, puffy clouds floating in the sky.
I feel like, I feel like I'm missing something.
Kibum stalks out the front of the shop, the bell rings and the door closes, and he leans over the railing, waiting, waiting.
The boy never shows up, and he frowns, and he's concerned; The sky suddenly turns dreary and rain begins to fall yet again.
Kibum frowns, and fishes for another cigarette. Let it go, let it all out.
He takes a puff, two, and closes his eyes. So much for seeing the boy.
Maybe he'll be there tomorrow, maybe he'll never come back. No, never
He lets the rain soak, soak him through and through, from his bones, to his flesh, to his inner core and soul.
He lets the tiny droplets pierce through himself, and they dance, and they skitter, and they fall across his skin. Come, dance with us
--
But the cutting and the tearing and the piercing stop; eyelids flutter open, and he's greeted by a goofy smile.
I'm blinded, I'm blinded by your smile
"You like smoking when it rains, don't you?" A voice says, and Kibum's eyes wander, plasters themselves to the boy in front of him.
He's smiling, smiling, that silly, lopsided smile of his. And it's not his back anymore that's disappearing father, and farther to the corner.
"And you like running, don't you?" He answers, and the boy laughs; it's music to Kibum's ears.
I like it, I love the sound of your voice
It rings, and it tingles, and it echoes in his head.
--
"I'm Jinki." The boy grins, with those eyes that are too small, and that smile that's too big, and that hair that's always disheveled.
He's a mess, Kibum thinks, and those bags under his eyes tell it all. He's far from perfect, very far
"Kibum." he extends a hand for the boy to take, and he drops the cigarette down, letting it drown in rain water.
Jinki takes his hand, grips it firmly, tightly. Oh that smile, does it ever fade away?
And Kibum does something he hasn't done in a while.
He smiles.
You're contagious, you know?
And Kibum thinks He's a mess, a fucking mess. But I love him anyways.
Because maybe some things are perfect, just the way they are.
Just like you, just like you.