I want to scream I love you from the top of my lungs (I rather there would be colors sequel)
Title: I want to scream I love you from the top of my lungs (I rather there would be colors sequel)
Author: queenhinata
Pairing: MinKey
Rating: PG (hell is a curse word?)
Genre: Angst, Fluff
Word Count: 1,593w
Summary: I signed: Choi Minho, Kibum’s yeobo ♥ Underneath in small font, I, in weirdly shaped English letters, wrote: I want to scream I love you from the top of my lungs. But I not afraid that someone will hear me.
Just keep walking, just keep walking, don’t go in Minho, my brain shouted. I ignored it, waltzing right into Marc by Marc Jacobs, his favorite store. It felt strange, I had walked past the boutique these last few months, acknowledging the memories, but today I needed to come in. Today of all days my heart lurched at the sight of the elaborate Marc sign, the black letters engraved on cream. Simply by glancing at the sign, one could tell the place reeked of exclusivity - the exact opposite of my generic flannel shirts and soccer jerseys. Yet I entered the store, immediately feeling out of place like a brown smudge on a pristine tiled floor.
I lingered at the scarf rack, thinking back to how I gave in and ended up buying two scarves. Minho, you’re the best boyfriend ever. I doubt Onew would spend $160 on two scarves for Taemin, HA.
In the same vicinity were sunglasses, something useful since summer will be approaching soon. I guess I could buy a pair, treat myself to something, I reasoned. (But you don’t even like them. Neon pink and blue, bright colors are more his taste).
“Sir, do you need-” Turning around, I was met face to face with Kibum. His naturally narrowed eyes rounded in surprise. But the moment passed in the blink of an eye because he cleared his throat and finished the question.
“Sir, do you need help with anything? From now to Saturday, there’s a 20% discount if you spend $300 or more.”
“Kibum. When did you start working here?” He stopped looking elsewhere, reluctantly making eye contact with me, but didn’t answer me.
“How are you? I haven’t seen you since…” His face was emotionless, a mask hiding his true feelings, but those delicate hands, the hands I loved to hold, betrayed him. Whenever Kibum was nervous, his hands would tremble.
“Fine, perfectly fine. Excuse me, I have work to do.” Kibum travelled to an Employees Only room without a glance back. I sighed. Why am I even here? Fate, my heart fluttered. Today marks a point in history where I, Choi Minho, followed my heart and not my mind. Hopefully this won’t be the same day my plan to bring the color back into my life backfires. I glanced down at the neon sunglasses still in my hand.
“I could buy them for him. And if I’m spending $225, I might as well spend $75 more to get the discount,” I whispered to myself. For an hour or so, I shopped around, not really wanting to chuck out a cent over $300. Bills need to be paid. But Kibum is worth more than that. I shook my head, I have too many voices, him leaving me probably made me loose my mind. A bit over-dramatic, still.
A sale representative started to trail me; I probably did look suspicious as hell - being here so long with only two items in my hand and dressed so casual, so “lower class”.
“Uh miss.”
“Are you looking for something special, for your girlfriend perhaps?” It made me a bit uncomfortable how eager her voice was, unpleasantly high-pitched.
“Y-yeah.”
“Well for starters, the sunglasses like those are coming back in style. So that was good choice, however,” She paused, as if deciding to soften the blow or not, “the shirt is quite unfitting for a woman your age. It’s marketed toward our older customers. I’ll lead you to some better options.”
Her taste was actually great; she chose a shirt - loose, off the shoulder metallic silver - that he’d (and better) love.
“Thank you so much. Just one quick question: what times does your shift end?” , she blushed, “I mean, in case it doesn’t fit or something like that. I don’t think anyone else could help me as much as you did,” I lied. I wasn’t interested in her, rather what time Kibum would get off.
“Oh. 6PM,” she deadpanned. I mumbled a “Thank you” and ran off to a nearby stationary store. I have barely a half an hour to find the perfect decorative wrappings and a card. I found a cute pastel pink box and white bows to wrap the gifts in. On the box, I scribbled a cheesy heart with our names in it; the card was the hardest part. Kibum’s really picky about cards. Ironic enough, he prefers handwritten ones, but I only have - I glanced at my watch - exactly 8 minutes left.
Browsing around, a card with an adorable kitty stood out to me. The cover said, “I LUV U”, under the cat in beige childish font. But the inside was blank, one of those write-in-whatever-you-want cards. I purchased the items; the cashier frowned at how I had already written on the box. I gave her an innocent, lopsided grin and checked my watch again. Crap, I have two minutes. I ran as if the soccer ball was just in my reach, ready to score the winning goal. Though I guess that wouldn't really be a cute analogy to think of, whatever.
In front of the Marc store, I sat, legs crossed, writing hastily but somehow neatly. I wrote, no, my heart wrote exactly how I felt that day - the day I realized how important and precious my Kibum was. How it wasn’t worth holding back my feelings - too embarrassed, at times, to truly open myself up. Men, or the image of men I had in my sexist mind, aren’t girly, they don’t say how they feel, how it hurts, or the amount of appreciation they have for someone. But it’s not like that, not at all. Loving someone isn’t only showing it, you need to say it every day; saying it in private and in public. It’s stupid and immature to be frightened to voice “I love you” and “I miss you”. Saying those phrases doesn’t make a man weak. It makes you a person - worthy of love, loving, and being loved. Rarely have I ever said, or wrote out, my innermost thoughts. It felt empowering, now he would really know why I act a certain way sometimes. But it's going to be different, I mentally promised. I signed: Choi Minho, Kibum’s yeobo ♥ Underneath in small font, I, in weirdly shaped English letters, wrote: I want to scream I love you from the top of my lungs. But I not afraid that someone will hear me. ~~~
Last year, for six months or so, Kibum was in a rocker phase: from American Alternative to Swedish Metal to Japanese Visual Kei, he listened to all of it (and therefore I listened to all of it). That line always sent a chill down my spine; it was only until recently I understood why. It described the silly way I sometimes shirked from his kisses in public and why I’d pull my hand away when in the company of many “manly, defiantly not gay” men. The original line didn’t include “ not ”, but Kibum will instantly know what I mean. I’m neither afraid nor ashamed any more.
“What are you doing?” I gazed up, the faint smile still on my lips. A hero recognizing his tragic flaw can stop his demise. Or in my case, I’m going to get Kibum back.
“Kibum, are you doing anything today?” I couldn’t contain my happiness. I have it all planned out. The dinner, the gifts, the card, my heart (and not my fragile ego), all set up and ready to go.
“I have to go grocery shopping, then cook dinner, not to mention vacuum and fold the laundry-”
“Good. We can do all that tomorrow. Come on.” Grabbing his hand, interlocking our fingers, I pulled him to the center of town.
“Where are we going!” My heart thumped in my ears. He didn’t stop me. Kibum didn’t try to tug away, just matched my speed, breathing labored after only three blocks.
“Here. Our first destination.” I placed the bag down, standing in the center of the plaza. Pedestrians fast-walked by, moving through their day, oblivious to the spectacle I was about to make. Kibum stared, unsure of my next move and why I had even dragged him here.
“KIM KIBUM, I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU AND I’M NOT AFRAID TO SCREAM IT! SARANGHAE YEOBO!”
Most of the passerbys didn’t spare us more than a glance. But a few teenage schoolgirls stopped and pointed, giggling behind their hands.
“You babo. Babo, babo.” Kibum laughed softly and hiccupped, eyes red and tears falling just like that night. Enveloping my arms around his thin waist, nose buried in his warm neck, I whispered, “I missed you.” He cried harder, trembling in the hug.
“I love you…and you’re the biggest babo in the world for taking three months to say this.”
“I know. Come on, let’s go, I have dinner reservations and some lovely, but expensive-as-hell gifts.” We pulled away. His lips parted, a light breath escaping. On instinct, I kissed him, deeply - emotions stirring as my fingers combed through his platinum blonde hair. The same familiar plush lips I’ve kissed many times before. But it felt more emotional, powerful even; no more quick few second kisses because We’re in public, Kibum. Free to do whatever and however long we wanted to.
“So I used that discount and guess who has a new pair of Marc by Marc Jacobs sunglasses and a pretty silver shirt?” I sing-songed.
“You mean, guess who poured $300 down the drain,” He mimicked my singing, eyes sparkling.
“Yeah that, too.” I grinned, looking down at him, him looking back at me, the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.
“I love you and I missed you a lot.”
“You said that already.” He laughed, his adorable dimple showing, “Still I’m glad you did. I love you too, Choi Minho.”
And just like that the sun decided to shine in my direction again; everything was of brilliant hues and tones, the shadows and dullness gone. And just like that the light was back in my world again.
A/N: comments are loved n__n
see I had to make a sequel, I can't break up my OTP <3
and I don't know how I ended up writing 1.5k when the other/original one was a .3k drabble ^^;;
Author: queenhinata
Pairing: MinKey
Rating: PG (hell is a curse word?)
Genre: Angst, Fluff
Word Count: 1,593w
Summary: I signed: Choi Minho, Kibum’s yeobo ♥ Underneath in small font, I, in weirdly shaped English letters, wrote: I want to scream I love you from the top of my lungs. But I not afraid that someone will hear me.
Just keep walking, just keep walking, don’t go in Minho, my brain shouted. I ignored it, waltzing right into Marc by Marc Jacobs, his favorite store. It felt strange, I had walked past the boutique these last few months, acknowledging the memories, but today I needed to come in. Today of all days my heart lurched at the sight of the elaborate Marc sign, the black letters engraved on cream. Simply by glancing at the sign, one could tell the place reeked of exclusivity - the exact opposite of my generic flannel shirts and soccer jerseys. Yet I entered the store, immediately feeling out of place like a brown smudge on a pristine tiled floor.
I lingered at the scarf rack, thinking back to how I gave in and ended up buying two scarves. Minho, you’re the best boyfriend ever. I doubt Onew would spend $160 on two scarves for Taemin, HA.
In the same vicinity were sunglasses, something useful since summer will be approaching soon. I guess I could buy a pair, treat myself to something, I reasoned. (But you don’t even like them. Neon pink and blue, bright colors are more his taste).
“Sir, do you need-” Turning around, I was met face to face with Kibum. His naturally narrowed eyes rounded in surprise. But the moment passed in the blink of an eye because he cleared his throat and finished the question.
“Sir, do you need help with anything? From now to Saturday, there’s a 20% discount if you spend $300 or more.”
“Kibum. When did you start working here?” He stopped looking elsewhere, reluctantly making eye contact with me, but didn’t answer me.
“How are you? I haven’t seen you since…” His face was emotionless, a mask hiding his true feelings, but those delicate hands, the hands I loved to hold, betrayed him. Whenever Kibum was nervous, his hands would tremble.
“Fine, perfectly fine. Excuse me, I have work to do.” Kibum travelled to an Employees Only room without a glance back. I sighed. Why am I even here? Fate, my heart fluttered. Today marks a point in history where I, Choi Minho, followed my heart and not my mind. Hopefully this won’t be the same day my plan to bring the color back into my life backfires. I glanced down at the neon sunglasses still in my hand.
“I could buy them for him. And if I’m spending $225, I might as well spend $75 more to get the discount,” I whispered to myself. For an hour or so, I shopped around, not really wanting to chuck out a cent over $300. Bills need to be paid. But Kibum is worth more than that. I shook my head, I have too many voices, him leaving me probably made me loose my mind. A bit over-dramatic, still.
A sale representative started to trail me; I probably did look suspicious as hell - being here so long with only two items in my hand and dressed so casual, so “lower class”.
“Uh miss.”
“Are you looking for something special, for your girlfriend perhaps?” It made me a bit uncomfortable how eager her voice was, unpleasantly high-pitched.
“Y-yeah.”
“Well for starters, the sunglasses like those are coming back in style. So that was good choice, however,” She paused, as if deciding to soften the blow or not, “the shirt is quite unfitting for a woman your age. It’s marketed toward our older customers. I’ll lead you to some better options.”
Her taste was actually great; she chose a shirt - loose, off the shoulder metallic silver - that he’d (and better) love.
“Thank you so much. Just one quick question: what times does your shift end?” , she blushed, “I mean, in case it doesn’t fit or something like that. I don’t think anyone else could help me as much as you did,” I lied. I wasn’t interested in her, rather what time Kibum would get off.
“Oh. 6PM,” she deadpanned. I mumbled a “Thank you” and ran off to a nearby stationary store. I have barely a half an hour to find the perfect decorative wrappings and a card. I found a cute pastel pink box and white bows to wrap the gifts in. On the box, I scribbled a cheesy heart with our names in it; the card was the hardest part. Kibum’s really picky about cards. Ironic enough, he prefers handwritten ones, but I only have - I glanced at my watch - exactly 8 minutes left.
Browsing around, a card with an adorable kitty stood out to me. The cover said, “I LUV U”, under the cat in beige childish font. But the inside was blank, one of those write-in-whatever-you-want cards. I purchased the items; the cashier frowned at how I had already written on the box. I gave her an innocent, lopsided grin and checked my watch again. Crap, I have two minutes. I ran as if the soccer ball was just in my reach, ready to score the winning goal. Though I guess that wouldn't really be a cute analogy to think of, whatever.
In front of the Marc store, I sat, legs crossed, writing hastily but somehow neatly. I wrote, no, my heart wrote exactly how I felt that day - the day I realized how important and precious my Kibum was. How it wasn’t worth holding back my feelings - too embarrassed, at times, to truly open myself up. Men, or the image of men I had in my sexist mind, aren’t girly, they don’t say how they feel, how it hurts, or the amount of appreciation they have for someone. But it’s not like that, not at all. Loving someone isn’t only showing it, you need to say it every day; saying it in private and in public. It’s stupid and immature to be frightened to voice “I love you” and “I miss you”. Saying those phrases doesn’t make a man weak. It makes you a person - worthy of love, loving, and being loved. Rarely have I ever said, or wrote out, my innermost thoughts. It felt empowering, now he would really know why I act a certain way sometimes. But it's going to be different, I mentally promised. I signed: Choi Minho, Kibum’s yeobo ♥ Underneath in small font, I, in weirdly shaped English letters, wrote: I want to scream I love you from the top of my lungs. But I not afraid that someone will hear me. ~~~
Last year, for six months or so, Kibum was in a rocker phase: from American Alternative to Swedish Metal to Japanese Visual Kei, he listened to all of it (and therefore I listened to all of it). That line always sent a chill down my spine; it was only until recently I understood why. It described the silly way I sometimes shirked from his kisses in public and why I’d pull my hand away when in the company of many “manly, defiantly not gay” men. The original line didn’t include “ not ”, but Kibum will instantly know what I mean. I’m neither afraid nor ashamed any more.
“What are you doing?” I gazed up, the faint smile still on my lips. A hero recognizing his tragic flaw can stop his demise. Or in my case, I’m going to get Kibum back.
“Kibum, are you doing anything today?” I couldn’t contain my happiness. I have it all planned out. The dinner, the gifts, the card, my heart (and not my fragile ego), all set up and ready to go.
“I have to go grocery shopping, then cook dinner, not to mention vacuum and fold the laundry-”
“Good. We can do all that tomorrow. Come on.” Grabbing his hand, interlocking our fingers, I pulled him to the center of town.
“Where are we going!” My heart thumped in my ears. He didn’t stop me. Kibum didn’t try to tug away, just matched my speed, breathing labored after only three blocks.
“Here. Our first destination.” I placed the bag down, standing in the center of the plaza. Pedestrians fast-walked by, moving through their day, oblivious to the spectacle I was about to make. Kibum stared, unsure of my next move and why I had even dragged him here.
“KIM KIBUM, I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU AND I’M NOT AFRAID TO SCREAM IT! SARANGHAE YEOBO!”
Most of the passerbys didn’t spare us more than a glance. But a few teenage schoolgirls stopped and pointed, giggling behind their hands.
“You babo. Babo, babo.” Kibum laughed softly and hiccupped, eyes red and tears falling just like that night. Enveloping my arms around his thin waist, nose buried in his warm neck, I whispered, “I missed you.” He cried harder, trembling in the hug.
“I love you…and you’re the biggest babo in the world for taking three months to say this.”
“I know. Come on, let’s go, I have dinner reservations and some lovely, but expensive-as-hell gifts.” We pulled away. His lips parted, a light breath escaping. On instinct, I kissed him, deeply - emotions stirring as my fingers combed through his platinum blonde hair. The same familiar plush lips I’ve kissed many times before. But it felt more emotional, powerful even; no more quick few second kisses because We’re in public, Kibum. Free to do whatever and however long we wanted to.
“So I used that discount and guess who has a new pair of Marc by Marc Jacobs sunglasses and a pretty silver shirt?” I sing-songed.
“You mean, guess who poured $300 down the drain,” He mimicked my singing, eyes sparkling.
“Yeah that, too.” I grinned, looking down at him, him looking back at me, the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.
“I love you and I missed you a lot.”
“You said that already.” He laughed, his adorable dimple showing, “Still I’m glad you did. I love you too, Choi Minho.”
And just like that the sun decided to shine in my direction again; everything was of brilliant hues and tones, the shadows and dullness gone. And just like that the light was back in my world again.
A/N: comments are loved n__n
see I had to make a sequel, I can't break up my OTP <3
and I don't know how I ended up writing 1.5k when the other/original one was a .3k drabble ^^;;