Kck chu - Words Don't Reach Them
Fandom: Kamichama Karin chu
Title: Words Don’t Reach Them
Rating: PG
Characters / Pairings: Kirio Karasuma, Miyon Yi
Summary: The world was not black and white, and she had known that for a long time.
Dis/claimer: This is a work of fanfiction.
A/N: Started (and probably completed) in July 2009. Writing style might have changed a bit, but uh… reading over this again, I think I’m kind-of-sort-of fond of it. Makes me wonder what I was thinking when I was typing it way back when.
Apologies for spelling/grammatical errors, tense change, possible OOC, etc. etc.
It was there, surrounded by papers and half-empty cups and snacks within the Yi household, that Kirio realised that she had never judged him. Despite all the years (the chances the others had had to tell her he was a very bad person and never to talk to him), she had never scrutinised him.
And the simple fact that she probably never would was a strange concept to him. Yi had been (and always would be) an innocent who had never been involved in the pointless struggle between two sides that were wrong, yet refused to believe it.
Kujyou was thick-headed, and the amateur goddess perhaps even more so, because they really had clung to the notion that all they had done - the child they had unknowingly hurt time and again - had been for justice and peace and they were never, ever in the wrong. It was because they were the self-proclaimed good guys, and that was all they needed to justify everything they had said and done.
And while the fighting had finally ceased, the bitterness could be overwhelming at times. But as his junior glanced at him curiously, Kirio pushed that all out of his mind: forget about it, just for a moment. Because he no longer had to worry and fret - but Kujyou; he quashed the thoughts and feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. Focus on the present. That was all he needed.
With a bright smile that indicated she found his array of sudden expressions fascinating, the aqua-haired girl turned back to what they were supposed to be doing. After a moment, he followed suit.
She sat across from him, legs crossed as she shuffled the papers in her hands. The stack of papers set between them, once impeccably neat, now spread out in a disorganised mess on the carpeted floor. Sentences marked out with a fluorescent yellow highlighter seemed to leap out in contrast to the white, as they had sought out specific lines to their choosing. The margins had been crammed with individual notes by both (of stage directions and gestures and specifics in lighting, amongst other things) - side-by-side, his handwriting seemed so crude compared to hers, but Yi never made any comment on it; perhaps only he could see the differences between them.
Instead she continued to read the papers she held, head tilted to the side and the barest hint of a frown the only indication that she was deep in thought. Romances had to be dreamy, full of action and heartbreak and drama, she had once proclaimed, and Kirio had learnt not to disturb her when she was really focusing on the words she herself had penned down.
“It’s a story that one starts, but needs to be continued by many others,” she had once told him, face the barest shade of pink at his praise towards her works, “It’s no good if we can’t show the beauty of the character’s love to everyone around us, senpai. And our actors; they need to make us believe, feel, cry alongside them. That’s what I truly believe.”
And Yi took pride in everything she did; even in the failures she had thrown away in despair, crying about how it wasn’t right and no, no, I can do better, because my heart and soul- She would learn, gain experience and continue, no matter how frustrating it could be. No matter how many criticised her words behind her back, she would plough on.
That was all she could do, she had said once, smile never wavering.
“Then…”
Time has passed, and they barely crossed paths anymore. Even so, he remembered her so clearly (although he was a little surprised she could still recall his name - a fellow lover of K-dramas, she had laughed, honestly happy). Kirio leaned further over the railing, to stare at the water below; “Will there ever be a time when the audience will feel for those branded ‘evil’? When we choose to write them, we plan to give them no sympathy, so no one will care when they finally fall.”
Yi mimicked his actions, long braids spilling over her shoulders in the process, “Because we insist that they have no redeeming qualities?” she guessed, “I never wanted to write something that was so black and white. Even my first play-” here, she laughed, recalling days long gone, “-Karin-chan took Himeka-chan’s role and played it beautifully, as the prince died in her arms. The anguish they felt was real; or, at least, the idea behind it.”
“And if neither side is truly in the right, then what?” he pressed. “Would that mean they’re both in the wrong?”
“No, that’s too cruel.”
Her response was short and to the point, catching him by surprise. He turned to meet a solemn expression, eyebrows drawn together as she thought over her words carefully.
“If they aren’t in the right, they can’t be completely wrong either; I wouldn’t want to suddenly find out all I’ve been working for had been looked down upon as outright evil, so to speak. Winners or losers, you can call them anything, but the fact remains, doesn’t it? Both sides will always lose something, in the end, and that’s too sad.” Pushing back on the rails slightly, the clips in her hair swung (she always wore them, now that he thought about - a good luck charm, she had once admitted), “Whether it’s in a made-up story or real life, it would be so lonely to be isolated like that.”
“Humans are like that,” Kirio pointed out, and she nodded.
“And yet we’re all different. We will never look at a single thing with the exact same mindset. And I think, in that, although a majority may see one’s actions as completely wrong, another may see their reasoning behind it.”
Glasses in his hand, as he wiped at it with the corner of his shirt; fumbled and cursed under his breath. It had been years, years, what did he plan to do now? What did he want her to say, to believe in him?
Would he end up breaking what they had by his next words? (He didn’t want to admit to it, but he was scared; she had been one of the few people to never expect anything from him, never judged him like the others. Even now, she had chosen to enjoy his company and talk, the topics jumping from one spectrum to the other without warning.)
Kirio put he glasses back on and took a deep breath. One way or another, he would have to speak about it, or risk waiting another number of years before they crossed paths again (and by then, he was sure, she would have forgotten him).
“If I said… I had once acted rashly and hurt others, what would you think of it? If I had been fighting people close to you, and we hurt each other because we were too stubborn to believe there was another way to fix things… What does that make me?”
“What kind of person you are… I wonder,” musing, Yi tapped her chin, even as the shadows grew longer as the sun sank steadily beyond the horizon, “You fought for what you believed in, correct? Then I don’t see anything wrong with it.”
Kirio couldn’t stop the grim smile at her words (at what he knew but she didn’t, and thus left the picture incomplete), “No, it was wrong, I can see that now. Excuses or not, I can’t forgive myself for them.”
“Then you learnt from your mistakes. If every human could be like that, then maybe we could stop hurting each other. So we’re moving in the right direction.” She never asked for details, didn’t force it out of him because that wasn’t how she was, and he had known it from the beginning. Ever since those times, way back when, when they had still been students, so young and full of hope (yet troubled and worried about various things).
There had been a time when they had discussed over pieces of paper highlighted in yellow, their words crammed in the margins as they sought to refine what she had already created. A world that would be brought to life by a set of people and the emotions they would try to portray, alongside the audience’s interpretation and support.
Because that was their joined passion, and it seemed neither planned to let go of it any time soon.
“Mi Yong.” The name sounded foreign on his tongue, and he had probably butchered it, but she smiled as he offered a hand, “Shall we go? I have a story I want to tell you, and perhaps we shall see how black and white this grey world really is.”
“Of course, Kirio-san,” she said, still smiling as she accepted his gesture. They walked away as the sky continued to darken, the sun near-gone by now, as people murmured over the hum of activity and continued on as before. It was as if nothing had changed at all.
Title: Words Don’t Reach Them
Rating: PG
Characters / Pairings: Kirio Karasuma, Miyon Yi
Summary: The world was not black and white, and she had known that for a long time.
Dis/claimer: This is a work of fanfiction.
A/N: Started (and probably completed) in July 2009. Writing style might have changed a bit, but uh… reading over this again, I think I’m kind-of-sort-of fond of it. Makes me wonder what I was thinking when I was typing it way back when.
Apologies for spelling/grammatical errors, tense change, possible OOC, etc. etc.
It was there, surrounded by papers and half-empty cups and snacks within the Yi household, that Kirio realised that she had never judged him. Despite all the years (the chances the others had had to tell her he was a very bad person and never to talk to him), she had never scrutinised him.
And the simple fact that she probably never would was a strange concept to him. Yi had been (and always would be) an innocent who had never been involved in the pointless struggle between two sides that were wrong, yet refused to believe it.
Kujyou was thick-headed, and the amateur goddess perhaps even more so, because they really had clung to the notion that all they had done - the child they had unknowingly hurt time and again - had been for justice and peace and they were never, ever in the wrong. It was because they were the self-proclaimed good guys, and that was all they needed to justify everything they had said and done.
And while the fighting had finally ceased, the bitterness could be overwhelming at times. But as his junior glanced at him curiously, Kirio pushed that all out of his mind: forget about it, just for a moment. Because he no longer had to worry and fret - but Kujyou; he quashed the thoughts and feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. Focus on the present. That was all he needed.
With a bright smile that indicated she found his array of sudden expressions fascinating, the aqua-haired girl turned back to what they were supposed to be doing. After a moment, he followed suit.
She sat across from him, legs crossed as she shuffled the papers in her hands. The stack of papers set between them, once impeccably neat, now spread out in a disorganised mess on the carpeted floor. Sentences marked out with a fluorescent yellow highlighter seemed to leap out in contrast to the white, as they had sought out specific lines to their choosing. The margins had been crammed with individual notes by both (of stage directions and gestures and specifics in lighting, amongst other things) - side-by-side, his handwriting seemed so crude compared to hers, but Yi never made any comment on it; perhaps only he could see the differences between them.
Instead she continued to read the papers she held, head tilted to the side and the barest hint of a frown the only indication that she was deep in thought. Romances had to be dreamy, full of action and heartbreak and drama, she had once proclaimed, and Kirio had learnt not to disturb her when she was really focusing on the words she herself had penned down.
“It’s a story that one starts, but needs to be continued by many others,” she had once told him, face the barest shade of pink at his praise towards her works, “It’s no good if we can’t show the beauty of the character’s love to everyone around us, senpai. And our actors; they need to make us believe, feel, cry alongside them. That’s what I truly believe.”
And Yi took pride in everything she did; even in the failures she had thrown away in despair, crying about how it wasn’t right and no, no, I can do better, because my heart and soul- She would learn, gain experience and continue, no matter how frustrating it could be. No matter how many criticised her words behind her back, she would plough on.
That was all she could do, she had said once, smile never wavering.
“Then…”
Time has passed, and they barely crossed paths anymore. Even so, he remembered her so clearly (although he was a little surprised she could still recall his name - a fellow lover of K-dramas, she had laughed, honestly happy). Kirio leaned further over the railing, to stare at the water below; “Will there ever be a time when the audience will feel for those branded ‘evil’? When we choose to write them, we plan to give them no sympathy, so no one will care when they finally fall.”
Yi mimicked his actions, long braids spilling over her shoulders in the process, “Because we insist that they have no redeeming qualities?” she guessed, “I never wanted to write something that was so black and white. Even my first play-” here, she laughed, recalling days long gone, “-Karin-chan took Himeka-chan’s role and played it beautifully, as the prince died in her arms. The anguish they felt was real; or, at least, the idea behind it.”
“And if neither side is truly in the right, then what?” he pressed. “Would that mean they’re both in the wrong?”
“No, that’s too cruel.”
Her response was short and to the point, catching him by surprise. He turned to meet a solemn expression, eyebrows drawn together as she thought over her words carefully.
“If they aren’t in the right, they can’t be completely wrong either; I wouldn’t want to suddenly find out all I’ve been working for had been looked down upon as outright evil, so to speak. Winners or losers, you can call them anything, but the fact remains, doesn’t it? Both sides will always lose something, in the end, and that’s too sad.” Pushing back on the rails slightly, the clips in her hair swung (she always wore them, now that he thought about - a good luck charm, she had once admitted), “Whether it’s in a made-up story or real life, it would be so lonely to be isolated like that.”
“Humans are like that,” Kirio pointed out, and she nodded.
“And yet we’re all different. We will never look at a single thing with the exact same mindset. And I think, in that, although a majority may see one’s actions as completely wrong, another may see their reasoning behind it.”
Glasses in his hand, as he wiped at it with the corner of his shirt; fumbled and cursed under his breath. It had been years, years, what did he plan to do now? What did he want her to say, to believe in him?
Would he end up breaking what they had by his next words? (He didn’t want to admit to it, but he was scared; she had been one of the few people to never expect anything from him, never judged him like the others. Even now, she had chosen to enjoy his company and talk, the topics jumping from one spectrum to the other without warning.)
Kirio put he glasses back on and took a deep breath. One way or another, he would have to speak about it, or risk waiting another number of years before they crossed paths again (and by then, he was sure, she would have forgotten him).
“If I said… I had once acted rashly and hurt others, what would you think of it? If I had been fighting people close to you, and we hurt each other because we were too stubborn to believe there was another way to fix things… What does that make me?”
“What kind of person you are… I wonder,” musing, Yi tapped her chin, even as the shadows grew longer as the sun sank steadily beyond the horizon, “You fought for what you believed in, correct? Then I don’t see anything wrong with it.”
Kirio couldn’t stop the grim smile at her words (at what he knew but she didn’t, and thus left the picture incomplete), “No, it was wrong, I can see that now. Excuses or not, I can’t forgive myself for them.”
“Then you learnt from your mistakes. If every human could be like that, then maybe we could stop hurting each other. So we’re moving in the right direction.” She never asked for details, didn’t force it out of him because that wasn’t how she was, and he had known it from the beginning. Ever since those times, way back when, when they had still been students, so young and full of hope (yet troubled and worried about various things).
There had been a time when they had discussed over pieces of paper highlighted in yellow, their words crammed in the margins as they sought to refine what she had already created. A world that would be brought to life by a set of people and the emotions they would try to portray, alongside the audience’s interpretation and support.
Because that was their joined passion, and it seemed neither planned to let go of it any time soon.
“Mi Yong.” The name sounded foreign on his tongue, and he had probably butchered it, but she smiled as he offered a hand, “Shall we go? I have a story I want to tell you, and perhaps we shall see how black and white this grey world really is.”
“Of course, Kirio-san,” she said, still smiling as she accepted his gesture. They walked away as the sky continued to darken, the sun near-gone by now, as people murmured over the hum of activity and continued on as before. It was as if nothing had changed at all.