A Colorful World (1/2) [G]
Title: "A Colorful World" (1/2)
Fandom: K-pop/SHINee
Genre: Romance/Hurt-Comfort
Pairing: MinKey (Minho + Key)
Rating: G
Word Count: >1000
Summary: When living in a world of white, the only person who cares will provide a way out.
Author's Note (1): [( Hey everyone...it's really been awhile since I posted something here. I recently discovered a new way to focus on my writing, and it seems to be working pretty well. Let me know what you think. This was written in under an hour. It is inspired by a story I read one time about a man in China who was imprisoned for homosexuality and "treated" to overcome the "illness", but he ended up doing it with one of the orderlies and got punished or whatever. Unfortunately, I can't remember the name of the story. :\ Oh well! Please enjoy anyway! )]
There is only so much that can be said about this room.
It is small.
It is sparse.
It is white.
Not just white walls. Everything white. White floor. White bed. White sheets. White table, white chair, white paper and white pencil. White window pane.
Through this window I can see a courtyard. In this courtyard there is a tree. The tree is not white.
It is brown, and the leaves are too. Everything brown. Brown trunk. Brown branches. Brown bench beneath its boughs. Brown stone path leading somewhere I've never been, and never will go. Even the grass is brown. Is it winter? I don't know.
Snow would make everything white, but there is no snow in the courtyard. Why, I wonder sometimes.
My clothing is white, too. White shirt. White pants. White socks. No shoes, just slippers. Those also are white.
The only non-white thing is my name. It is sewn into my shirt, and it is black. Kim Ki bum.
I am not the only one with white clothing. There are others, just as confused as I am. They all wear white. They shuffle through the hall; I hear them outside my door. There are no sounds but their feet, but I hear them. I cannot see them; my door has no window. I can not reach them; my door is locked. I can only hear them, and take note of their presence.
I am not alone. Or am I?
I feel alone, most of the time. I sit in this room day after day, waiting to be healed so I can go home. Even though I can't remember where home is any more. I sit on my white bed, or on my white chair, and I stare out my white window at the brown courtyard with its brown tree. I watch each leaf fall to the ground.
I am sometimes interrupted by my door opening. It's a nurse. She's wearing white, too. She places a cup and two pills on my table and walks out without a word. They know I won't speak.
I take the pills; I am not a difficult patient in that regard. I want to get better.
I get a meal three times during the day. Every day it is the same food, but I don't complain about that either. It isn't bad food. I eat what I can and leave the tray by the door. My plate and tray are as white as the rice served daily.
Another part of my daily routine is the doctor. He comes in once each evening to check on me. His coat is white, but his name is sewn in black like mine. Choi Min ho.
Doctor Choi has kind eyes. His eyes are brown, but they are the good kind of brown. He looks like someone's older brother, or a young uncle. He also looks athletic, and seems to always exude that air of subtle masculinity that women find irresistable. I think he knows it.
His scent--is it his cologne?--is a cross between pine needles and a musky cinnamon smell. It is intoxicating, and I find myself enraptured as he sits on the side of my bed and talks to me in that low, friendly tone. He talks as if I am his friend, and as if I will one day talk back. Maybe I will, someday.
I think the medicine isn't working. Every night I have dreams about him, and every night I dream he is taking me away from this place. We are walking on green, green grass, and we fall onto the soft earth and stare up at a blue, blue sky. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, second only to those big, brown eyes.
I think I'm losing my mind. My family would be so upset; they sent me here to get help, and I am ruining it with these fantasies. It's been so long, but every time I hear that soft, gentle voice and smell that alluring scent I feel my mind reawakening to all sorts of new things. There are more colors outside than I saw before. They are there, but they were just hiding. ...I must be going crazy.
I've stopped taking my medicine. I think it was bad for me, because now I can see and hear and smell and taste so many things I couldn't while I was taking it. I only eat half my food now, because I grind up the pills into the other half so they'll think I took them. Still, every time Doctor Choi enters the room I feel like my heart is going to explode. His voice has gotten so much smoother, and I can actually pay attention to what he's saying and I feel so strong, strong enough to respond. Maybe I will, tomorrow.
Today's the day. I'm going to talk to the doctor, and I'm going to tell him everything. I don't care if he keeps me in here forever; so long as I can see him each and every day, I'll be fine. I watch him sit on the edge of the bed, and watch him open his mouth to speak--before he can, I cut him off with the softest words I've ever spoken, my first words in a long, long time.
"I love you."
Before I know it, his lips are on mine and my heart feels like it has stopped beating entirely. I gasp at the sudden contact and he pulls away, smiling. He doesn't say anything, but he seems oddly happy. He helps me out of bed and tells me to put on my slippers, then proceeds to lead me out into the hallway that I haven't seen in months, maybe longer. He leads me down a staircase and out into the courtyard, and I notice that the tree is green, and the grass is too, and that the brown path--no, red, it's brick--leads to the main gate. We walk out together and he leads me to what looks like a motorcycle. Wow, I haven't seen one of these in a long time.
"Get on," he says with that same strangely happy smile.
I do so, and he hands me a second helmet to use. He puts the key in the ignition and prepares to start the vehicle, but before he does he stops; he's remembered something, from the way his expression changes. He hops off the bike and pulls off his white coat, revealing a blue tee shirt beneath. After ripping the fabric of the coat a bit, he takes his name out of it and leaves it laying on the damp pavement. He hops on the bike again and we take off, my arms wrapping securely around his waist as I'm afraid of falling. But I've already fallen, really...I've fallen in love with this man, the doctor, Choi Minho.
"By the way, I'm a janitor," he says over his shoulder before focusing on the road again. "Well, I was until today anyway."
Author's Note (2): [( Okay, so as I said this was written in one go, and I'm sorry if there are any mistakes that I didn't get rid of before posting. Yes, I know there are lots of sentence fragments: it's a part of the style, not a careless mistake. If you'll notice, Kibum's thought process becomes increasingly more articulate as the story progresses. Also, thank you for reading. If you enjoyed it, please leave me a comment letting me know, and I will be very grateful. You may also suggest another story idea for me to cover. Thank you again. )]
[( EDIT: There will be a part two of this, probably, and it will be from Minho's point of view. Whee...~ )]
Fandom: K-pop/SHINee
Genre: Romance/Hurt-Comfort
Pairing: MinKey (Minho + Key)
Rating: G
Word Count: >1000
Summary: When living in a world of white, the only person who cares will provide a way out.
Author's Note (1): [( Hey everyone...it's really been awhile since I posted something here. I recently discovered a new way to focus on my writing, and it seems to be working pretty well. Let me know what you think. This was written in under an hour. It is inspired by a story I read one time about a man in China who was imprisoned for homosexuality and "treated" to overcome the "illness", but he ended up doing it with one of the orderlies and got punished or whatever. Unfortunately, I can't remember the name of the story. :\ Oh well! Please enjoy anyway! )]
There is only so much that can be said about this room.
It is small.
It is sparse.
It is white.
Not just white walls. Everything white. White floor. White bed. White sheets. White table, white chair, white paper and white pencil. White window pane.
Through this window I can see a courtyard. In this courtyard there is a tree. The tree is not white.
It is brown, and the leaves are too. Everything brown. Brown trunk. Brown branches. Brown bench beneath its boughs. Brown stone path leading somewhere I've never been, and never will go. Even the grass is brown. Is it winter? I don't know.
Snow would make everything white, but there is no snow in the courtyard. Why, I wonder sometimes.
My clothing is white, too. White shirt. White pants. White socks. No shoes, just slippers. Those also are white.
The only non-white thing is my name. It is sewn into my shirt, and it is black. Kim Ki bum.
I am not the only one with white clothing. There are others, just as confused as I am. They all wear white. They shuffle through the hall; I hear them outside my door. There are no sounds but their feet, but I hear them. I cannot see them; my door has no window. I can not reach them; my door is locked. I can only hear them, and take note of their presence.
I am not alone. Or am I?
I feel alone, most of the time. I sit in this room day after day, waiting to be healed so I can go home. Even though I can't remember where home is any more. I sit on my white bed, or on my white chair, and I stare out my white window at the brown courtyard with its brown tree. I watch each leaf fall to the ground.
I am sometimes interrupted by my door opening. It's a nurse. She's wearing white, too. She places a cup and two pills on my table and walks out without a word. They know I won't speak.
I take the pills; I am not a difficult patient in that regard. I want to get better.
I get a meal three times during the day. Every day it is the same food, but I don't complain about that either. It isn't bad food. I eat what I can and leave the tray by the door. My plate and tray are as white as the rice served daily.
Another part of my daily routine is the doctor. He comes in once each evening to check on me. His coat is white, but his name is sewn in black like mine. Choi Min ho.
Doctor Choi has kind eyes. His eyes are brown, but they are the good kind of brown. He looks like someone's older brother, or a young uncle. He also looks athletic, and seems to always exude that air of subtle masculinity that women find irresistable. I think he knows it.
His scent--is it his cologne?--is a cross between pine needles and a musky cinnamon smell. It is intoxicating, and I find myself enraptured as he sits on the side of my bed and talks to me in that low, friendly tone. He talks as if I am his friend, and as if I will one day talk back. Maybe I will, someday.
I think the medicine isn't working. Every night I have dreams about him, and every night I dream he is taking me away from this place. We are walking on green, green grass, and we fall onto the soft earth and stare up at a blue, blue sky. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, second only to those big, brown eyes.
I think I'm losing my mind. My family would be so upset; they sent me here to get help, and I am ruining it with these fantasies. It's been so long, but every time I hear that soft, gentle voice and smell that alluring scent I feel my mind reawakening to all sorts of new things. There are more colors outside than I saw before. They are there, but they were just hiding. ...I must be going crazy.
I've stopped taking my medicine. I think it was bad for me, because now I can see and hear and smell and taste so many things I couldn't while I was taking it. I only eat half my food now, because I grind up the pills into the other half so they'll think I took them. Still, every time Doctor Choi enters the room I feel like my heart is going to explode. His voice has gotten so much smoother, and I can actually pay attention to what he's saying and I feel so strong, strong enough to respond. Maybe I will, tomorrow.
Today's the day. I'm going to talk to the doctor, and I'm going to tell him everything. I don't care if he keeps me in here forever; so long as I can see him each and every day, I'll be fine. I watch him sit on the edge of the bed, and watch him open his mouth to speak--before he can, I cut him off with the softest words I've ever spoken, my first words in a long, long time.
"I love you."
Before I know it, his lips are on mine and my heart feels like it has stopped beating entirely. I gasp at the sudden contact and he pulls away, smiling. He doesn't say anything, but he seems oddly happy. He helps me out of bed and tells me to put on my slippers, then proceeds to lead me out into the hallway that I haven't seen in months, maybe longer. He leads me down a staircase and out into the courtyard, and I notice that the tree is green, and the grass is too, and that the brown path--no, red, it's brick--leads to the main gate. We walk out together and he leads me to what looks like a motorcycle. Wow, I haven't seen one of these in a long time.
"Get on," he says with that same strangely happy smile.
I do so, and he hands me a second helmet to use. He puts the key in the ignition and prepares to start the vehicle, but before he does he stops; he's remembered something, from the way his expression changes. He hops off the bike and pulls off his white coat, revealing a blue tee shirt beneath. After ripping the fabric of the coat a bit, he takes his name out of it and leaves it laying on the damp pavement. He hops on the bike again and we take off, my arms wrapping securely around his waist as I'm afraid of falling. But I've already fallen, really...I've fallen in love with this man, the doctor, Choi Minho.
"By the way, I'm a janitor," he says over his shoulder before focusing on the road again. "Well, I was until today anyway."
Author's Note (2): [( Okay, so as I said this was written in one go, and I'm sorry if there are any mistakes that I didn't get rid of before posting. Yes, I know there are lots of sentence fragments: it's a part of the style, not a careless mistake. If you'll notice, Kibum's thought process becomes increasingly more articulate as the story progresses. Also, thank you for reading. If you enjoyed it, please leave me a comment letting me know, and I will be very grateful. You may also suggest another story idea for me to cover. Thank you again. )]
[( EDIT: There will be a part two of this, probably, and it will be from Minho's point of view. Whee...~ )]