{15}
Now you don't have a place to breathe
No pairing (Yoochun-centric)
PG
mirotic is the only time he's ever been hot
It's so cold; it's so freezing; ice gripping at his throat and choking his words behind layers and layers of unspoken feelings, crater-sized marring of perfect sheets of blue.
Stop, please, he wants to say, voice stolen from his throat.
Wait, he doesn't want to be alone like this. Trapped, mind twisted and warped, holding him captive in his own seclusion. The walls are closing in and no matter how hard he pushes against the surface it doesn't stop moving in. Hysteria lurks just at the tip of his senses.
'Wait.'
But there's nobody listening. His mind is crying, weeping, more than his body ever can, but no one can hear him scream inside himself, no matter how shattering the silence. But nobody's listening, they're off playing without him and nobody's looking, no one knows that he's gone. He's right here but nobody's looking. He's all alone in a small room of his world, eyes a one-way mirror (he can see them, their feelings, their everything, but all they can ever see of him is cool composure, tired smiles, a soft heart), and the glass is firm beneath his fingertips.
No pairing (Yoochun-centric)
PG
mirotic is the only time he's ever been hot
It's so cold; it's so freezing; ice gripping at his throat and choking his words behind layers and layers of unspoken feelings, crater-sized marring of perfect sheets of blue.
Stop, please, he wants to say, voice stolen from his throat.
Wait, he doesn't want to be alone like this. Trapped, mind twisted and warped, holding him captive in his own seclusion. The walls are closing in and no matter how hard he pushes against the surface it doesn't stop moving in. Hysteria lurks just at the tip of his senses.
'Wait.'
But there's nobody listening. His mind is crying, weeping, more than his body ever can, but no one can hear him scream inside himself, no matter how shattering the silence. But nobody's listening, they're off playing without him and nobody's looking, no one knows that he's gone. He's right here but nobody's looking. He's all alone in a small room of his world, eyes a one-way mirror (he can see them, their feelings, their everything, but all they can ever see of him is cool composure, tired smiles, a soft heart), and the glass is firm beneath his fingertips.