unattained; hankyung/heechul.
author's note: because i've found that i've gotten a liking of them actually on my fic, you know. i've had writer's block lately so as a result, i produce nonsense hanchul. kills her own otp. has also taken to the habit of not capitalizing sentences and not speaking with subjects. hopefully this phrase will pass so i can actually start writing things that make sense. does not want to post this but will anyways because i've been slacker. D: ♥?
you want maids and cooks and secret butlers that stay out of your way while still doing their job. you want to be featured in movies as the main character, and go on shows where you have everyone hanging onto each word that escapes your lips. you want, when people think kim heechul, to be known as different and unique.
because you are. he calls you selfish and self-centered and not different, but weird. you take it in stride though, because you hear the same things said in hushed whispers of people that you never really cared about anyways. the thing is; he knows you're like that, but he also knows that you hate to sleep alone and that you can't stand awkward silences.
sometimes, you look at him with your eyes opened wide, and try to see every inch of him and what he thinks about (and if he's thinking about you), but it never works. you can't read him in the way that he reads you and every time, it's as frustrating as the first. he just smiles, and you've lost because you're trapped. yah, am i so pretty that it makes you smile, you tease, even as you turn away with your panicking heart.
he's one in something billion (whatever), not because of how big of a mark he's leaving as a chinese in a place that's not-china, but because he gets you; you and your illogical habits and sayings and quirks. you hate it, because you don't want him to be different, don't want him to be important.
it'd be easier if he were like all those other people that you hug (so that you wouldn't have to go out of your way just to touch him), like all of those people that admired your characterization (so you wouldn't have to have out of character, shy moments), like everybody that has ever thought about you in that way (so that you have a reason to think about him, too).
that's why you don't tell him that you want for him to be there when you wake up in the mornings, to be there for every other minute of every day. you don't tell him that you wouldn't mind if he were your personal maid, though you'd like it even more if he were just someone that you could call yours.
you don't tell him that, nor do you tell him that you hate how fucking mean he is half of the time, with his cute clueless face and contradicting body and bright eyes. you don't say exactly what you want when it comes down to him, but you think he knows anyways. (he can pretend he doesn't understand korean, but you can't pretend he doesn't understand you).
it's almost stupid how shallow your wants are because none of them really compare, none of them really matter. you don't know if that's a good thing, and it probably isn't, but he always talks so patiently with you and listens so freely, even when it's about your stupid, shallow wants. you wonder and pretend some days, if he would listen just like that, if you told him about wants that weren't as shallow.
and you think back to an often visited memory that always holds you back, to a day where you two were drinking after a late schedule and you told him of wanting the perfect ending, when he said that he would give you the world instead, when all you really wanted was him.
you want maids and cooks and secret butlers that stay out of your way while still doing their job. you want to be featured in movies as the main character, and go on shows where you have everyone hanging onto each word that escapes your lips. you want, when people think kim heechul, to be known as different and unique.
because you are. he calls you selfish and self-centered and not different, but weird. you take it in stride though, because you hear the same things said in hushed whispers of people that you never really cared about anyways. the thing is; he knows you're like that, but he also knows that you hate to sleep alone and that you can't stand awkward silences.
sometimes, you look at him with your eyes opened wide, and try to see every inch of him and what he thinks about (and if he's thinking about you), but it never works. you can't read him in the way that he reads you and every time, it's as frustrating as the first. he just smiles, and you've lost because you're trapped. yah, am i so pretty that it makes you smile, you tease, even as you turn away with your panicking heart.
he's one in something billion (whatever), not because of how big of a mark he's leaving as a chinese in a place that's not-china, but because he gets you; you and your illogical habits and sayings and quirks. you hate it, because you don't want him to be different, don't want him to be important.
it'd be easier if he were like all those other people that you hug (so that you wouldn't have to go out of your way just to touch him), like all of those people that admired your characterization (so you wouldn't have to have out of character, shy moments), like everybody that has ever thought about you in that way (so that you have a reason to think about him, too).
that's why you don't tell him that you want for him to be there when you wake up in the mornings, to be there for every other minute of every day. you don't tell him that you wouldn't mind if he were your personal maid, though you'd like it even more if he were just someone that you could call yours.
you don't tell him that, nor do you tell him that you hate how fucking mean he is half of the time, with his cute clueless face and contradicting body and bright eyes. you don't say exactly what you want when it comes down to him, but you think he knows anyways. (he can pretend he doesn't understand korean, but you can't pretend he doesn't understand you).
it's almost stupid how shallow your wants are because none of them really compare, none of them really matter. you don't know if that's a good thing, and it probably isn't, but he always talks so patiently with you and listens so freely, even when it's about your stupid, shallow wants. you wonder and pretend some days, if he would listen just like that, if you told him about wants that weren't as shallow.
and you think back to an often visited memory that always holds you back, to a day where you two were drinking after a late schedule and you told him of wanting the perfect ending, when he said that he would give you the world instead, when all you really wanted was him.