on nights like these
take me to paradise | a kaistal collection
red, just like her hair, wisps fallen on the carpet.
on nights like these;
drabble | angst | pg | 538 words
On nights like these, she remembers the whispered murmurs and light touches, hot breath in her ear, electricity on skin; promises of forever, of lunch dates at the convenience store, of seeing that one black and white film about a boy and a girl who fell in love and braved all obstacles to live happily ever after; shared ear buds, the cord between them tangled and messy, their fingers intertwined, soft caressing, hushed smiles; and the love letters he wrote, in scraggly handwriting, neat but casual, playful yet genuine.
On nights like these, she picks up one of those wrinkled letters, the paper worn around the edges, some words smudged with tears --- words of i love you and will you be mine and i promise my feelings will never change --- and just like that, they are blurred into ink, remnants of a love that only led to more pain and heartbreak than anything else.
On nights like these, she recalls the stories shared, of the reasons behind the scars on his wrists, behind her fear of being left alone, behind her facade that she always put up, only to be gently taken down brick by brick by a boy with dark brown hair and deep eyes --- oh, those eyes that seemed to penetrate into her soul, that could see right through her, that brimmed with intense emotion and sent shivers down her spine --- she only cries now when she remembers his gaze, his arm resting leisurely on the back of the bench they’re sitting on, the slight smirk on his lips as he stared at her own, pink and glossy, and slowly stole her first kiss.
On nights like these, she feels her heart clench with an unfathomable violence that only mirrors the way he threw it all away, how he turned his face the other way, not bothering to save her as she fell apart like broken glass, cutting into her skin --- red, red, red, just like her hair. He had liked her hair, how it was bold, different, unique. I like unique, he had said, brushing some strands aside to get a better look at her face. And now, as she eyes the silver scissors on top of her dresser, she wonders if she was ever enough.
On nights like these, she dims the lights in her room, almost tripping over stacks of old DVDs that had once belonged to him, and she decides that she really never was enough for Kim Jongin.
On nights like these, she allows her trembling fingers to grasp the cold heavy scissors: frozen, just like her heart. She stares in the mirror and only sees a monster, dark circles and swollen skin and red eyes --- red, she screams inside.
Snip. Snip, snip.
Metal crashes against wood, the scissors falling onto the dresser.
On nights like these, Soojung is free --- red locks of hair in fragile wisps on the carpet, letters ripped up, DVDs destroyed in a frenzied cry for help, her mind overwhelmed with memories that she only wants to erase.
On nights like these, she forgets him, she forgets love, she forgets it all.
And finally, she allows herself to breathe.
a/n: back after a super long period of writer's block. still super rusty but had to write something kaistal because this picture rekindled my love for my otp ♥ heh. enjoy!
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