[Fanfiction] KiHae, Time to Go Home
Title: Time to Go Home
Fandom: Super Junior
Pairing: Donghae-centric, Kibum/Donghae
Rating: G
Word count: 692
Notes: I'm usually not a fan of second-person POV stories, but I wanted to try it out at least once.
A gentle breeze blew through the apartment, rustling the window's curtains and leaving a light, floral scent in the air. The air con rattled in its corner, drowning out the sounds of the honking cars and chattering people outside which could be heard through the balcony door that had been left ajar.
You were curled up on the small sofa in the living room, a thin blanket thrown over your body while you waited for the others to finish packing. Small noises could be heard from the other rooms, the slam of a door, Sungmin's laughter, a shouting Heechul. You raised your arms high above your head, your silver bracelet dangling from your left wrist, sliding down, down, down along your forearm.
The bracelet caught the sun's light, slightly blinding you while you were admiring it, your fingers gliding over the cold material, but it would always feel warm under your touch. Thinking about how a single, simple thing could mean that much to a person was almost ridiculous. But it would never be for you, because you knew that this bracelet meant more to you than any other item that crossed your mind.
You clutched your right hand around the bracelet, smiling to yourself. Your mother had given it to you when you had left home several years ago, clasping the small and light object around your wrist. She'd suppressed her tears while she had hugged you, but you knew, you always knew, when her hands had fisted into the material of your shirt, not running soothingly along your back as they'd always done before.
When you had left home it had felt as if you'd left a piece of yourself behind, forgotten in the corner of the living room where you used to sit while watching TV, or maybe in the kitchen where your mum was cooking your favourite meal, humming a soft melody under her breath. Back then, you would've never thought that you could ever love something, anything as much as you loved the feeling of being home.
During the years of being a trainee, and even after making your debut, you had often cried, probably oftener than others, hot tears running down your cheeks while you tried to wipe them away, but it was impossible. You had pressed your face into the pillow that was lying on your bed, your tears soaking the soft cushion, your bracelet pressing into your skin, leaving imprints which only faded away slowly.
Your world had broken apart when your father had died two years ago, your mother's heartbreaking cries on the other line tearing something inside you as you pressed the phone against your ear. The shock must've been written all over your face when you'd stumbled out of your room, your face as pale as the walls around you, your breathing hard and rapid. Eunhyuk and Sungmin had rushed to your side, asking if something was wrong, if you weren't feeling that well, and you had choked on your words and felt tears burning your eyes.
Eunhyuk had held your hand hours later, your left hand, and you'd looked down at the bracelet and suddenly remembered your mother's smiling face, the warmth that you felt when you stepped over the threshold into your own house. And you knew that you weren't alone.
You opened your eyes when someone called your name, your right hand still clutching your left wrist. You sat up and blinked when Kibum stepped into the living room, wearing a light jacket, a frown on his face.
"Hyung," he said and rolled his eyes. "Were you daydreaming again?"
He approached you and extended his hand, softly smiling at you. "Ready, Donghae?"
And even though you knew that Kibum's question had been definite, you still heard hundreds and thousands of other questions put into this one, stretching from your past to your present, encircling everything that you'd gone through, and you put your left hand into Kibum's, your bracelet dangling from your wrist.
"Yes," you answered, and although you knew that you couldn't, wouldn't ever love something, anything as much as you loved the feeling of being home, this was close to it.
Fandom: Super Junior
Pairing: Donghae-centric, Kibum/Donghae
Rating: G
Word count: 692
Notes: I'm usually not a fan of second-person POV stories, but I wanted to try it out at least once.
A gentle breeze blew through the apartment, rustling the window's curtains and leaving a light, floral scent in the air. The air con rattled in its corner, drowning out the sounds of the honking cars and chattering people outside which could be heard through the balcony door that had been left ajar.
You were curled up on the small sofa in the living room, a thin blanket thrown over your body while you waited for the others to finish packing. Small noises could be heard from the other rooms, the slam of a door, Sungmin's laughter, a shouting Heechul. You raised your arms high above your head, your silver bracelet dangling from your left wrist, sliding down, down, down along your forearm.
The bracelet caught the sun's light, slightly blinding you while you were admiring it, your fingers gliding over the cold material, but it would always feel warm under your touch. Thinking about how a single, simple thing could mean that much to a person was almost ridiculous. But it would never be for you, because you knew that this bracelet meant more to you than any other item that crossed your mind.
You clutched your right hand around the bracelet, smiling to yourself. Your mother had given it to you when you had left home several years ago, clasping the small and light object around your wrist. She'd suppressed her tears while she had hugged you, but you knew, you always knew, when her hands had fisted into the material of your shirt, not running soothingly along your back as they'd always done before.
When you had left home it had felt as if you'd left a piece of yourself behind, forgotten in the corner of the living room where you used to sit while watching TV, or maybe in the kitchen where your mum was cooking your favourite meal, humming a soft melody under her breath. Back then, you would've never thought that you could ever love something, anything as much as you loved the feeling of being home.
During the years of being a trainee, and even after making your debut, you had often cried, probably oftener than others, hot tears running down your cheeks while you tried to wipe them away, but it was impossible. You had pressed your face into the pillow that was lying on your bed, your tears soaking the soft cushion, your bracelet pressing into your skin, leaving imprints which only faded away slowly.
Your world had broken apart when your father had died two years ago, your mother's heartbreaking cries on the other line tearing something inside you as you pressed the phone against your ear. The shock must've been written all over your face when you'd stumbled out of your room, your face as pale as the walls around you, your breathing hard and rapid. Eunhyuk and Sungmin had rushed to your side, asking if something was wrong, if you weren't feeling that well, and you had choked on your words and felt tears burning your eyes.
Eunhyuk had held your hand hours later, your left hand, and you'd looked down at the bracelet and suddenly remembered your mother's smiling face, the warmth that you felt when you stepped over the threshold into your own house. And you knew that you weren't alone.
You opened your eyes when someone called your name, your right hand still clutching your left wrist. You sat up and blinked when Kibum stepped into the living room, wearing a light jacket, a frown on his face.
"Hyung," he said and rolled his eyes. "Were you daydreaming again?"
He approached you and extended his hand, softly smiling at you. "Ready, Donghae?"
And even though you knew that Kibum's question had been definite, you still heard hundreds and thousands of other questions put into this one, stretching from your past to your present, encircling everything that you'd gone through, and you put your left hand into Kibum's, your bracelet dangling from your wrist.
"Yes," you answered, and although you knew that you couldn't, wouldn't ever love something, anything as much as you loved the feeling of being home, this was close to it.