He had never been quite able to pinpoint when he had first realized he was different from the others.  His mind had been too young and naïve to possibly pick up on the hidden cues, his eyes blind to the disdainful looks from the strangers around him.  He wasn’t stupid though- far from it.  He knew he was special, he knew he would never be classified like the others, he just never really understood why. 

Take for example, white lies.  We speak them, we adore them, we admire their simplicity at being able to control a situation and present it in a favorable light.  Our lips practice charm-speak, we say what others want to hear in order to flit through the highest of societies without being questioned or fraught upon.  Kibum could never seem to understand this concept- these lies.  He abhorred the thought of speaking anything other than the truth, even if it would end up sending him to his grave.  It was with no heavy heart that he would cast away the frail hopes and fantasies the other children would pawn, often causing himself to be mistaken as a bully when he was only speaking the truth.  It wasn’t his fault that his words were not the ones the others wanted to hear, that he would not fall prey to the gaieties and passions that he knew were hardly more material than a dream.  He didn’t believe himself to be superior to the other children in their small class because he could see through these impossible dreams; quite the opposite.  He detested himself for being so keen, unlike the others; perhaps this is why they detested him.

Kibum was used to the cold glares, the watering eyes, tight, pale lips that scorned him throughout the day.  He knew that behind the ridicule lied the unfathomed fear of truth, of reality.  He didn’t pity their fear or the obvious washed out feelings they had for the young boy, he merely cataloged this for later observation purposes and continued on in his day that consisted of naps and trying his best to read the advanced books their teacher would have lying out for them on the third shelf of the bookcase in their classroom.   Because honestly, what was there to pity?  Kibum couldn’t blame himself, nor them, for their blindness; it was simply how their lives functioned and who could control that? It amazed him to see them go through the different stages of grief as he effortlessly showed them what really lied ahead in their futures.  Delight, as horrible as it may seem, would course through him at every flash of fear, regret, sadness, resentment and anger.  He knew then that they had been saved from their disillusioned minds that he was the true hero of this small battle, and this would content him until the next war began. 

The scorn and detachment to others soon followed, hanging onto him like a second skin.   He couldn’t feel the sentiment the others could, no matter how hard he tried to understand.  He tried to feel kindness, or compassion, fear and anger, but it seemed he was simply fated to be hollowed out- meant for telling the truth.  His mouth had no filter, his mind was clear from the veils people adorned.  His parents, (were parents supposed to make you feel? Kibum supposed so.), would cast looks of pity towards their only son, would wonder where they went wrong.  Kibum knew he was supposed to feel saddened by this but he couldn’t— feel that is.  He would bat his eyes and continue out of the room, acting indifferent to those he was supposed to care about most.  It wasn’t like Kibum didn’t understand feelings, he saw them often enough. He saw them when a porcelain-like girl would bat her eyes at one of the university boys from across the street, her hips swaying a bit too much to be natural.  Her fingertips would daintily skim the air, seemingly without a care in the world as she would walk past him- but Kibum knew different.  This was perhaps one of the only exceptions he had to feeling; he would scoff, a small smirk on his face as he would watch the reality catch up with the girl as her efforts went unnoticed, watching her pale features droop into the submission he had learned to accept and thrive in from a very young age.  He would keep his mouth shut from further worsening the situation, for as much as he wished to keep stride next to the girl and go into detail about how in truth she could have never won the elder over, he at least acknowledged when some people were best left alone. 

Kibum did not, however, mind pointing out to his classmates about the flawed hierarchy within their class.  He found it extremely satisfying to watch their little infrastructure they worked so hard to build crumble around the blunt truth that poured from his lips like the finest wine that had been untouched for much too long.    It sickened him to watch them slave over their petty “positions” day after day, and for what? Nothing.  Sure a few more people to hang around with when no one else wanted to see you, a few more parties to attend where you can pretend for a few hours that yes, you were living the dream.  But then what? You would lose the hype that bubbled inside you for those scattered, precious moments and then reality would wash in on one big wave- causing you to drown.  And Kibum was not one to let others drown themselves when he could perfectly well do it for them prematurely.

They would call him sick, and Kibum could never really wrap his head around why.  He felt perfectly fine, medically that is.  His body was lithe and toned now, the only good thing to come out of puberty he supposed.  He ate a good diet, had clear skin, did what was asked of him to the best of his ability and never put up a fight about it.  But deep down he knew what they were really talking about.

Kibum figured that logically, everyone would be forced to confront their worst fears at some point in their lives.  And according to his logic, then that must mean that he too would have to face his fear.  He just needed to figure out what it was.

Ironically enough, although the reality of the situation shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise, Kibum found out what it what his fear was in the most cliché way.  He feared losing his ability to speak the truth.  He feared that his eyes would also develop the milky film that blinded others, that he would lose the thing that had given him purpose his entire life. He didn’t want to be like the others, to be ignorant and have false dreams that were spun during the height of passion. 

He felt his world crumble away when he couldn’t tell Kim Jonghyun that his singing would get him nowhere.

 A/N: I'm not quite sure when I wrote this, honestly I don't even remember this o_o Please leave comments down below, thanks! <3