I don't think this poor Kibum verse will ever end LOLOL <3 another installment. Short one, but it's still good.

They had told Kibum he needed some time to think. So, they put him in this room. They had given him paper, crayons, and a pencil. Coloring could help him vent, they said. It apparently helped a lot of other people.

Kibum ended up coloring. He colored sunlight. He drew the sun, bright yellow and orange around the top of the page. He colored sunset, deep orange and pink and purple around the bottmo of the page. Bright white clouds in between.

He wanted to go outside again. He wanted to lay in the grass outside, and feel the light. 

Solitude wasn't a good thing, for Kibum. He felt like he was inside the basement all over again.

Couldn't they realize this?

He continued to draw. He drew a house, and a family, a little puppy too. Something he had always wanted. And his mom and dad were smiling, finally smiling.

It made him angry. He crumpled it up and threw it down on the floor, biting his lower lip.

So he drew a new picture. A picture of a house, and a family. A picture where his father was angry with furrowed eyesbrows, where his mother was sad and crying. A window at the bottom of the house, where the basement was located, and a scared Kibum, face contorted into fear.

This was his family.

He set the paper down next to the drawing of the suns, and drew another. Jonghyun and Taemin, smiling at him. Little stick figures, holding hands. Hearts flying over their heads. Little kiss marks on their cheeks. Then, above it, he wrote "Love."

He set that one aside, deciding he would give it to Taemin and Jonghyun, if they let him. He probably knew in the back of his head that they were going to take these and use them to analyze his mind. But really, he didn't care.

And then he drew another. His last picture. He drew his house, burning, burning, burning. He drew himself, being carried by a man who's face he couldn't seem to remember. All he could see were his eyes, bright and brown and so deep... His heart began to race.

This wasn't right. This wasn't right at all. He couldn't do this. He was sick. Disgusting. A disgrace. He deserved to die, to rot in hell, he deserved to never be loved, to be alone for the rest of forever. He was disgusting.

He stopped drawing and decided to keep that one for himself. No one could see it. No one.

He wasn't sure how long he was kept there, all alone, locked up in that room with no way out...

but once he was out, he was sure he would never go back in.