A Colorful World (2/2) [PG]
Title: "A Colorful World" (2/2)
Fandom: K-pop/SHINee
Genre: Romance/Hurt-Comfort
Pairing: MinKey (Minho + Key)
Rating: PG
Word Count: >1000
Summary: Words aren't needed between us...it's the feelings that matter. The colors he has brought into my life, and apparently I into his.
My name is Choi Minho, and my life is pretty average.
I wake up every morning before the sun, throw on some sweats and sneakers, and head outside to run. After the sun has risen, I make my way back to my apartment and clean up, making myself some instant noodles for lunch (again) and using plastic dishes so I don't have anything to clean afterward.
Yeah, I'm a pretty average guy.
I sit down at my computer and check out the latest news, especially that of my favorite sports teams...I've always loved sports, probably because my father is a coach, but I never took the opportunity to advance past the school's varsity soccer team. Oh well, life's full of those regrets, and there's no point in wishing the day away. Instead I occupy myself with my favorite games and things until it's time to get ready for work. I slip into a pair of jeans and pull on my navy blue tee shirt, hesitating before grabbing my other "uniform" and stashing it in my bag as I head out the door.
I know I shouldn't keep this up...but I have to see him.
I work evenings as a custodian at a mental hospital; a "crazy house", "loony bin", "funny farm"...I think of it as a prison. Some of the people there seem like they need to be locked up, but some are there for no reason at all. Take my secret "patient" for example...I've seen the files; I know he's here because he "exhibited signs of homosexuality" and was committed by his family for "curing". The bastards. He doesn't need to be cured of anything...he just needs love, like so many of the others in that hell hole.
Kim Kibum.
I guess you could say he's my pet project, like some kind of new and exciting adventure to give me some measure of job satisfaction I don't get from disposing of bedpans and scrubbing floors. Still, I prefer to think of him as my secret friend, someone I'm helping just because it feels right. Everything about him feels right, to be honest. He's anything but average: he's like an angel. How anyone could lock him away is beyond me...he's too perfect.
He's my drug. My obsession.
After working in this place for so long, I have come to find out a lot of things about what really goes on here. I know how they make the rooms sparse and colorless to dampen these peoples' psyches, and I know that they put depressants into the daily "medicine" to keep their more spirited patients so numbed that they can't even tell which way is up. I've heard murmured rants from several of the patients, obsessing about one thing or another. To be honest, it's creepy.
I remember his first day.
He came walking in with his head hung in shame, as so many of the new ones do, but in his eyes there was a spark of something that drew me in like a moth to a flame. He had a certain kind of spirit, one I was sure could not be broken. Then again, the drugs have a power all their own, and his eyes are now dulled like the rest.
I visit him every night.
Before I start making my rounds, but after the nurses and orderlies have retired for the evening, I slip my white coat out of my bag and use my master key to enter his room. I'm not supposed to go in unless a patient is asleep, but for him I disregard this rule (and so many others). I enter, and he smiles just softly as he looks up at me from his bed. I sit on the bed's edge and begin to talk to him, wondering if he can understand anything I'm saying as his eyes are just as glazed as ever and his lips sealed as they have been for a long while.
Still, I talk to him.
Sometimes I tell him that everything is going to be okay, and that he'll be leaving here one day. Sometimes I tell him about my life, although there's not much to say because before I met him, it was just a dull, average existence; an entire canvas coated in gray. Now, though, my evenings are spent with sparks of color spread across that same canvas, his mere presence making my heart thump a little faster and my palms sweat just slightly.
I start by getting him ready.
He may not realize it, but he already knows everything about this plan of mine. I've been telling him things late into the night, encouraging him to do things that will prepare him to leave. I've finally told him to stop taking his medicine, and how to dispose of it so the nurses won't find out. I've also told him about keeping quiet even after the medicine wears off, because soon enough we'll be leaving and then I'll be glad to listen to his voice every day for the rest of my life. It's what I hope for.
Finally, everything falls into place.
I've been preparing for this day for a long time: my goodbyes have been sent in today's mail, my letter of resignation too, and the plane tickets and necessary papers are laying on my desk. We're all ready to go: the flight is booked for the early morning, when no one will notice his absence, or mine. As I don my white coat for the last time, I can't help but smile: it's finally over, and I'm finally going to save the most precious person who has ever ventured into my life.
I walk into his room, and he's sitting there staring up at me as always, but I can see that light in his eyes again; that irresistible light that made me want him the moment I saw it is back once again. Finally, he's himself...or close enough. The real recovery will take some time, but time is something we'll have plenty of where we're going. I sit on the edge of his bed and take in a steady breath, ready to tell him that I'm ready to take him away from here.
"I love you."
...My breath isn't so steady any more. He just spoke to me. He told me he loved me. The very words, the very voice I have been dreaming about hearing for so long has finally made itself known and it's everything and more than what I thought it would be; the dreams don't do him justice. I blink once, twice, and realize that I should probably say something back, but then my lips just connect with his automatically and the only thing I can do is sigh softly in relief. Words aren't needed between us...it's the feelings that matter. The colors he has brought into my life, and apparently I into his.
After I help him get ready, I lead him out into the parking lot and to my motorcycle, another belonging I'm giving up to be with him; yet another thing that means nothing in comparison to this angel and his love. "Get on," I say with a grin stretching my face--I probably look like a weirdo--and I hop on as well. I put the key in the ignition and am about to start it up until I remember something; the coat. I get off the bike and shed the garment and my mask with it, until all that's left is me. I cut the name out of the coat and throw it to the ground, hopping back on my bike and smiling at him before we take off. His hands around my waist are all I need to reassure me that we're going to be okay, wherever life takes us. We'll have each other.
As an afterthought, I turn to him and smile as I recognize the mild confusion in his expression; I'd only told him that I worked at the hospital, not what I did. "By the way," I say softly, just loud enough to be heard over the tires against the road, "I'm a janitor. Well, I was until today anyway."
Now, I'm just yours.
Author's Note (edited in): [( Hey all...thanks so much for reading my story and commenting and all that. :) I forgot to mention this in my initial post but this is the end to the "Colorful World" storyline. However, I hope to see you soon with more gifts of MinKey! Bye-bye! ^^ )]
Fandom: K-pop/SHINee
Genre: Romance/Hurt-Comfort
Pairing: MinKey (Minho + Key)
Rating: PG
Word Count: >1000
Summary: Words aren't needed between us...it's the feelings that matter. The colors he has brought into my life, and apparently I into his.
My name is Choi Minho, and my life is pretty average.
I wake up every morning before the sun, throw on some sweats and sneakers, and head outside to run. After the sun has risen, I make my way back to my apartment and clean up, making myself some instant noodles for lunch (again) and using plastic dishes so I don't have anything to clean afterward.
Yeah, I'm a pretty average guy.
I sit down at my computer and check out the latest news, especially that of my favorite sports teams...I've always loved sports, probably because my father is a coach, but I never took the opportunity to advance past the school's varsity soccer team. Oh well, life's full of those regrets, and there's no point in wishing the day away. Instead I occupy myself with my favorite games and things until it's time to get ready for work. I slip into a pair of jeans and pull on my navy blue tee shirt, hesitating before grabbing my other "uniform" and stashing it in my bag as I head out the door.
I know I shouldn't keep this up...but I have to see him.
I work evenings as a custodian at a mental hospital; a "crazy house", "loony bin", "funny farm"...I think of it as a prison. Some of the people there seem like they need to be locked up, but some are there for no reason at all. Take my secret "patient" for example...I've seen the files; I know he's here because he "exhibited signs of homosexuality" and was committed by his family for "curing". The bastards. He doesn't need to be cured of anything...he just needs love, like so many of the others in that hell hole.
Kim Kibum.
I guess you could say he's my pet project, like some kind of new and exciting adventure to give me some measure of job satisfaction I don't get from disposing of bedpans and scrubbing floors. Still, I prefer to think of him as my secret friend, someone I'm helping just because it feels right. Everything about him feels right, to be honest. He's anything but average: he's like an angel. How anyone could lock him away is beyond me...he's too perfect.
He's my drug. My obsession.
After working in this place for so long, I have come to find out a lot of things about what really goes on here. I know how they make the rooms sparse and colorless to dampen these peoples' psyches, and I know that they put depressants into the daily "medicine" to keep their more spirited patients so numbed that they can't even tell which way is up. I've heard murmured rants from several of the patients, obsessing about one thing or another. To be honest, it's creepy.
I remember his first day.
He came walking in with his head hung in shame, as so many of the new ones do, but in his eyes there was a spark of something that drew me in like a moth to a flame. He had a certain kind of spirit, one I was sure could not be broken. Then again, the drugs have a power all their own, and his eyes are now dulled like the rest.
I visit him every night.
Before I start making my rounds, but after the nurses and orderlies have retired for the evening, I slip my white coat out of my bag and use my master key to enter his room. I'm not supposed to go in unless a patient is asleep, but for him I disregard this rule (and so many others). I enter, and he smiles just softly as he looks up at me from his bed. I sit on the bed's edge and begin to talk to him, wondering if he can understand anything I'm saying as his eyes are just as glazed as ever and his lips sealed as they have been for a long while.
Still, I talk to him.
Sometimes I tell him that everything is going to be okay, and that he'll be leaving here one day. Sometimes I tell him about my life, although there's not much to say because before I met him, it was just a dull, average existence; an entire canvas coated in gray. Now, though, my evenings are spent with sparks of color spread across that same canvas, his mere presence making my heart thump a little faster and my palms sweat just slightly.
I start by getting him ready.
He may not realize it, but he already knows everything about this plan of mine. I've been telling him things late into the night, encouraging him to do things that will prepare him to leave. I've finally told him to stop taking his medicine, and how to dispose of it so the nurses won't find out. I've also told him about keeping quiet even after the medicine wears off, because soon enough we'll be leaving and then I'll be glad to listen to his voice every day for the rest of my life. It's what I hope for.
Finally, everything falls into place.
I've been preparing for this day for a long time: my goodbyes have been sent in today's mail, my letter of resignation too, and the plane tickets and necessary papers are laying on my desk. We're all ready to go: the flight is booked for the early morning, when no one will notice his absence, or mine. As I don my white coat for the last time, I can't help but smile: it's finally over, and I'm finally going to save the most precious person who has ever ventured into my life.
I walk into his room, and he's sitting there staring up at me as always, but I can see that light in his eyes again; that irresistible light that made me want him the moment I saw it is back once again. Finally, he's himself...or close enough. The real recovery will take some time, but time is something we'll have plenty of where we're going. I sit on the edge of his bed and take in a steady breath, ready to tell him that I'm ready to take him away from here.
"I love you."
...My breath isn't so steady any more. He just spoke to me. He told me he loved me. The very words, the very voice I have been dreaming about hearing for so long has finally made itself known and it's everything and more than what I thought it would be; the dreams don't do him justice. I blink once, twice, and realize that I should probably say something back, but then my lips just connect with his automatically and the only thing I can do is sigh softly in relief. Words aren't needed between us...it's the feelings that matter. The colors he has brought into my life, and apparently I into his.
After I help him get ready, I lead him out into the parking lot and to my motorcycle, another belonging I'm giving up to be with him; yet another thing that means nothing in comparison to this angel and his love. "Get on," I say with a grin stretching my face--I probably look like a weirdo--and I hop on as well. I put the key in the ignition and am about to start it up until I remember something; the coat. I get off the bike and shed the garment and my mask with it, until all that's left is me. I cut the name out of the coat and throw it to the ground, hopping back on my bike and smiling at him before we take off. His hands around my waist are all I need to reassure me that we're going to be okay, wherever life takes us. We'll have each other.
As an afterthought, I turn to him and smile as I recognize the mild confusion in his expression; I'd only told him that I worked at the hospital, not what I did. "By the way," I say softly, just loud enough to be heard over the tires against the road, "I'm a janitor. Well, I was until today anyway."
Now, I'm just yours.
Author's Note (edited in): [( Hey all...thanks so much for reading my story and commenting and all that. :) I forgot to mention this in my initial post but this is the end to the "Colorful World" storyline. However, I hope to see you soon with more gifts of MinKey! Bye-bye! ^^ )]