Toy
I’m sick of it; sick of it all.
Kibum remembered the hurt look on Jinki’s face, eyes pleading with him to deny it, to reassure him that it was not true. But Kibum had remained silent. Do you still love me? The question was like a burn on Kibum’s heart. The pain was searing, and yet he drew pleasure from it. The adrenaline rush from the mix of emotions (hurt, denial, betrayal) made Kibum want to laugh out loud, but he didn’t. He cracked a smile, and shook his head. He fell backwards onto his bed, sharp (tired) eyes trailing Jinki’s face. (And oh, Kibum felt a satisfied smirk form on his lips when he saw the tears brimming in the older boy’s eyes.)
Don’t lie to me.
Kibum wanted to start crying; he really did. Part of him wanted to hug the older boy, and whisper sweet nothings into his ear every single moment of every single day. That was a small part. The rest of him wanted to break Jinki. After all, Jinki was nothing more than a toy; a toy that would finally break. (And Kibum wanted to be the one to break him.) Jinki smiled. He pursed his lips together, before nodding his head and walking out of the room. Kibum still remembers the last whisper he had heard from Jinki.
You lost, Kibum. I’m not broken.
Lee Jinki never returned.
A/N: I have come to the conclusion, that I use, brackets, italics, bold and underline waaaaay too much. >< Sue me; I just love the impact they give. rofl.