Sunshine and Rainstorms
Dec. 30th, 2011 03:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wonderlifeAuthor: Nichole
Rated: PG-13 (for talk of sex, a self-harm)
Word Count: 1,166
Story Title: Sunshine and Rainstorms
Summary: In the early 1980s, Chan-wook and Takara give and take; she keeps him from being lonely and he tries to save her from the voices in her head.
Author's Note: Takes place roughly five to seven months after Cherry Pie, though each can be read as a stand alone.
She liked, he had found, to keep herself connected to him at all times. She always had to hold his hand or his arm. When they slept, she used his arm as a pillow, curling her body against his. He was happy when they were connected. But, when she was above him was when he was happiest. She had the habit of rocking slowly to his rhythm while keeping one hand in his.
After they had sex, she liked to lie on his back, her small breast pressed against his tattoos and her hair falling over his face. With her legs on either side of him, Chan-wook would feel almost trapped by her. But, it was a good kind of feeling; like he was a wild animal that had been tamed, he had thought the wild was nice, but having a warm body next to him (or on top of him or even below him) was nicer.
Geum Chan-wook had always been attracted to the broken. He found those with broken souls to be beautiful, interesting, worth knowing. From the time he had been old enough to sense differences in people, he had loved the broken souls of the world. In essence, that was why he loved her as much as he did. It was wholly inappropriate, that much he knew. But, neither of them seemed that bothered by it. After all, Chan-wook had never been one for society’s rules.
*********************************************************************************************
There’s a part of me that’s missing. I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to get it back. There’s something wrong with me and I’ll never be whole. I’ll never be right.
“Takara,” There was a chill running up and down his naked spine. Usually, Takara would sleep on him, keeping his body warm, but she had gone missing. The early morning sun was making lazy patterns on the wooden floor of their living room; he watched it for a long moment, listening to the silence. “Takara?”
Awkwardly, Chan-wook felt around for a blanket. There wasn’t one, despite the fact that Takara couldn’t fall asleep without one of her grumpy blankets. “T-Takara? Answer me, please.” He stood, the floor was surprisingly cold, something that sent chills from the soles of his feet and up into his brain. “Takara!” One glance around the apartment let Chan-wook know that she wasn’t there.
But. . . the door to the restroom was half open, and there was something red slowly flowing from the crack of the door. Fear rising inside him, Chan-wook forgot everything and quickly moved to the door. He could feel the vomit slowly creeping up his throat as he opened the door.
Takara was there, naked and sitting calmly in front of the door. In her right hand was a large butcher knife – her left arm had a large gash across the middle. Blood, like drying honey, slowly moved out of her wound and onto the floor. Blood was also slowly rolling down her right leg. She glanced up to him, her eyes distant and slightly cold. “I. . . the voices. I had to stop them. If I bleed, if I bleed . . . it lets them out; it lets them become free.”
Chan-wook nodded slowly. He knew that if he moved to quickly, Takara would get scared and end up hurting herself farther – or stab him. “I see. You know, I think the voices are gone.”
Takara cocked her head curiously to one side. “They aren’t talking to you.” she whispered sadly. “Because you try and make me ignore them.”
“Yes,”
Casually, Takara dropped the knife. “Are you. . .” her eyes focused hard on his face, before drifting down over his naked body. “Why is it limp?”
Glancing down at himself, Chan-wook saw that Takara was referring to his penis and his lack of a morning wood. “What?” Eyebrow raised in disbelief, he looked to her. “How could I when you’re bleeding like this. It’s a miracle you’re not dead.” Holding a hand out, he added; “We need to get dressed and see about your gash, Takara.” He took a glance at her leg – that was more likely menstrual blood. Silently he thanked whoever was looking out for them that Takara hadn’t cut her leg.
Looking up at him with admiration, Takara took Chan-wook’s offered hand. “Am I . . . meant to know you?”
“I’m Chan-wook,”
“Oh,” she smiled widely, suddenly completely happy. “Chan-wook is someone I love. I forgot for a moment.”
He gently pressed his free hand around her gash. The blood was sticky and felt uncomfortable; he had felt blood before, but whenever it came from Takara – the feeling of her blood made his heart ache. He was just grateful they had a first aid kit in the apartment; he’d take her to a doctor after she was closer to herself.
************************************************************************************************
We're not getting a happy ending. I made my peace with that long ago.
Takara never took medication. She thought that it made her worse; it made her feel fuzzy and her head ached when she took the pills for longer than a week. She was certain, oh-so certain that the pills made her stop feeling. So, she didn’t take them. Instead, she kept her delusions and the voices. And when it got to be too much, Takara would slip and Chan-wook would save her.
Because . . . that’s how it went, Takara saved Chan-wook from being lonely and he saved her from her own mind.
A few months before, Kaori had given Takara to Chan-wook to take care of. Things had started off awkwardly, but by the second moth the two had found their places with one another.
Her eyes glued to the fresh white bandage around her arm, Takara smiled gently. “It’s a pretty day,” her eyes drifted up the window. “I don’t think it will rain.”
“Was it supposed to rain?”
“No,”
The two exchanged a private smile, before Takara rested her head on Chan-wook’s shoulder. They stayed like that for a long while, both quietly staring out their apartment’s only window. The sun was shining brightly as it had every day for the past three weeks. But somehow, on that day, it felt like they were barley escaping a rainstorm.
*********************************************************************************************
Two days later, after they had finished having sex, Takara lay on Chan-wook’s back. Her dark
hair fell into Chan-wook’s face, but he didn’t mind. The feel of her body pressed against his back gave Chan-wook a strange sense of comfort, almost like the feeling of belonging.
“Takara?” he blew some of Takara’s hair out of his face.
“Chan-wook?”
“Happy Eighteenth birthday.”
“Thank you. Happy Twenty-eighth birthday.” She swallowed. “I love you, Chan-wook.”
There was a small silence, before; “Thank you.”
Outside, it slowly began to drizzle; far away a loud crash of thunder sounded. But, Chan-wook and Takara ignored it, instead choosing to close the world out and find peace with one another, if only for a little while.
Rated: PG-13 (for talk of sex, a self-harm)
Word Count: 1,166
Story Title: Sunshine and Rainstorms
Summary: In the early 1980s, Chan-wook and Takara give and take; she keeps him from being lonely and he tries to save her from the voices in her head.
Author's Note: Takes place roughly five to seven months after Cherry Pie, though each can be read as a stand alone.
She liked, he had found, to keep herself connected to him at all times. She always had to hold his hand or his arm. When they slept, she used his arm as a pillow, curling her body against his. He was happy when they were connected. But, when she was above him was when he was happiest. She had the habit of rocking slowly to his rhythm while keeping one hand in his.
After they had sex, she liked to lie on his back, her small breast pressed against his tattoos and her hair falling over his face. With her legs on either side of him, Chan-wook would feel almost trapped by her. But, it was a good kind of feeling; like he was a wild animal that had been tamed, he had thought the wild was nice, but having a warm body next to him (or on top of him or even below him) was nicer.
Geum Chan-wook had always been attracted to the broken. He found those with broken souls to be beautiful, interesting, worth knowing. From the time he had been old enough to sense differences in people, he had loved the broken souls of the world. In essence, that was why he loved her as much as he did. It was wholly inappropriate, that much he knew. But, neither of them seemed that bothered by it. After all, Chan-wook had never been one for society’s rules.
*********************************************************************************************
There’s a part of me that’s missing. I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to get it back. There’s something wrong with me and I’ll never be whole. I’ll never be right.
“Takara,” There was a chill running up and down his naked spine. Usually, Takara would sleep on him, keeping his body warm, but she had gone missing. The early morning sun was making lazy patterns on the wooden floor of their living room; he watched it for a long moment, listening to the silence. “Takara?”
Awkwardly, Chan-wook felt around for a blanket. There wasn’t one, despite the fact that Takara couldn’t fall asleep without one of her grumpy blankets. “T-Takara? Answer me, please.” He stood, the floor was surprisingly cold, something that sent chills from the soles of his feet and up into his brain. “Takara!” One glance around the apartment let Chan-wook know that she wasn’t there.
But. . . the door to the restroom was half open, and there was something red slowly flowing from the crack of the door. Fear rising inside him, Chan-wook forgot everything and quickly moved to the door. He could feel the vomit slowly creeping up his throat as he opened the door.
Takara was there, naked and sitting calmly in front of the door. In her right hand was a large butcher knife – her left arm had a large gash across the middle. Blood, like drying honey, slowly moved out of her wound and onto the floor. Blood was also slowly rolling down her right leg. She glanced up to him, her eyes distant and slightly cold. “I. . . the voices. I had to stop them. If I bleed, if I bleed . . . it lets them out; it lets them become free.”
Chan-wook nodded slowly. He knew that if he moved to quickly, Takara would get scared and end up hurting herself farther – or stab him. “I see. You know, I think the voices are gone.”
Takara cocked her head curiously to one side. “They aren’t talking to you.” she whispered sadly. “Because you try and make me ignore them.”
“Yes,”
Casually, Takara dropped the knife. “Are you. . .” her eyes focused hard on his face, before drifting down over his naked body. “Why is it limp?”
Glancing down at himself, Chan-wook saw that Takara was referring to his penis and his lack of a morning wood. “What?” Eyebrow raised in disbelief, he looked to her. “How could I when you’re bleeding like this. It’s a miracle you’re not dead.” Holding a hand out, he added; “We need to get dressed and see about your gash, Takara.” He took a glance at her leg – that was more likely menstrual blood. Silently he thanked whoever was looking out for them that Takara hadn’t cut her leg.
Looking up at him with admiration, Takara took Chan-wook’s offered hand. “Am I . . . meant to know you?”
“I’m Chan-wook,”
“Oh,” she smiled widely, suddenly completely happy. “Chan-wook is someone I love. I forgot for a moment.”
He gently pressed his free hand around her gash. The blood was sticky and felt uncomfortable; he had felt blood before, but whenever it came from Takara – the feeling of her blood made his heart ache. He was just grateful they had a first aid kit in the apartment; he’d take her to a doctor after she was closer to herself.
************************************************************************************************
We're not getting a happy ending. I made my peace with that long ago.
Takara never took medication. She thought that it made her worse; it made her feel fuzzy and her head ached when she took the pills for longer than a week. She was certain, oh-so certain that the pills made her stop feeling. So, she didn’t take them. Instead, she kept her delusions and the voices. And when it got to be too much, Takara would slip and Chan-wook would save her.
Because . . . that’s how it went, Takara saved Chan-wook from being lonely and he saved her from her own mind.
A few months before, Kaori had given Takara to Chan-wook to take care of. Things had started off awkwardly, but by the second moth the two had found their places with one another.
Her eyes glued to the fresh white bandage around her arm, Takara smiled gently. “It’s a pretty day,” her eyes drifted up the window. “I don’t think it will rain.”
“Was it supposed to rain?”
“No,”
The two exchanged a private smile, before Takara rested her head on Chan-wook’s shoulder. They stayed like that for a long while, both quietly staring out their apartment’s only window. The sun was shining brightly as it had every day for the past three weeks. But somehow, on that day, it felt like they were barley escaping a rainstorm.
*********************************************************************************************
Two days later, after they had finished having sex, Takara lay on Chan-wook’s back. Her dark
hair fell into Chan-wook’s face, but he didn’t mind. The feel of her body pressed against his back gave Chan-wook a strange sense of comfort, almost like the feeling of belonging.
“Takara?” he blew some of Takara’s hair out of his face.
“Chan-wook?”
“Happy Eighteenth birthday.”
“Thank you. Happy Twenty-eighth birthday.” She swallowed. “I love you, Chan-wook.”
There was a small silence, before; “Thank you.”
Outside, it slowly began to drizzle; far away a loud crash of thunder sounded. But, Chan-wook and Takara ignored it, instead choosing to close the world out and find peace with one another, if only for a little while.
