fic: Love's Reason, Love's Risk
Title: Love's Reason, Love's Risk
Pairing: Nishikido Ryo and Sawajiri Erika
Genre: angst
Rating: R
Summary: Love has the ability to shatter and heal simultaneously.
Disclaimer: Owned by Johnny's and Stardust promotion. Just messing with.
Notes: Heavy influences in this fic: Jeanette Winterson, the writing of obakesan, corposant, and thornsmoke; with special thanks to enerirenie.
Erika hated hospitals. Everything reeked of antiseptic and sorrow, two things she could not stand for more than ten minutes.
It seemed that the winter chill only strengthened the scent inside, but she walked anyway, up to a quiet, white room. Nishikido had not yet woken, asleep in a world of white. She closed the door quietly, took off her heavy coat and set down her bag by the stand next to his bed. The nurse had replaced the bandages on his wrists with fresh.
He would heal, after all.
This is the first time she has kept to a chair for more than an hour, and her body complains after a while. But Erika, showing samurai-style toughness, ignores the pain and sits rigid, reading a book.
Visitors come and go. His family, his friends, people he had worked with. She watches them all arrive and leave, listens to them weep, endures the blame. Men commit suicide for one of two reasons: failure, or love. Ryo had failed in love. Or was that loved in failure? Ryo had tried to kill himself because of her, that was certain.
They thought she was atoning for sins committed.
They were wrong.
"I don't know what hurts more, being with you or being without you," he said.
She said nothing, keeping her eyes on a sliver of light at the window, rapidly fading. If she turned her head, just so, the light would blind her.
Was it possible for light to render her deaf? He screamed, on and on, about her treachery, about faithlessness.
How could she? She could, and very well. As well as he did. But Erika said nothing.
Then he spoke of love, and she turned her head sharply, standing up.
"Love isn't supposed to hurt," he whispered. "Not like this. Not this much."
So young. "There is no love that does not pierce what it finds; your hands, or your feet," she told him. "Nothing is as cruel."
"This pierces our hearts."
"You hurt me first," she accused him. "Love is painful. I've said this before."
Ryo turned away from her. "I'm leaving, then. I don't want to hurt you any more."
She clenched a fist, tight and trembling. "If you're leaving, leave for the right reasons."
"Hurting you isn't right."
Erika almost screamed. "And leaving me is? None of this sacrificial, sanctimonious bullshit. Leave me because you hate me. Leave me because you no longer love me. Leave me because you don't give a damn. But leave, because you love me? Love's reason is its risk. Leave for the right reasons."
"I do hate you," he answered. "I hate what you did."
She closed her eyes and told herself that her tears deserved more than to be shed for a boy who thought himself a man. "... Hate is a part of this love as much as pain is," she told him. "Hold on to your pain, if it pleases you."
He stiffened. "I won't be back," he promised.
Nishikido had kept to his promise. But she had promised something to herself, too.
So she waited. Night after night she came home to a place that was empty and cold. Her mother told her to lease the condo, to come live with her in Nerima again.
"There's no sense in staying there, child," she'd said. "He won't come back to you."
But she believed. He would be back, because he loved her. And love endures, even through uncertainty.
He stirred, and the first thing he did was ask for water. She gave it to him.
"Why are you here?" he asked, after he pushed the glass away.
She rinsed the glass slowly, deliberately, and put it back in the cupboard. Then she stood at the sink for several moments, leaning against the tile. She returned to the chair with a sigh, picking up her book as if nothing had transpired.
He turned to her. "Did you hear me?"
"I heard you," she replied, without looking up.
"Will you answer the question."
Erika closed the book and sighed again. "You want me to give you an answer that will satisfy you, not enlighten you."
Ryo closed his eyes. "Just give me an answer."
"Fine," she said finally. "I am here because love is unselfish, but I'm not- I couldn't let you go."
"What is that you're reading?" he asked once. Late afternoon sunlight was streaming through the curtains. Everytime the wind blew, the shadows moved.
She showed him the leather cover, age-worn. "My mother's diary. It's in French."
He nodded to the dictionary she always carried beside her. "Explains that," he commented. She nodded noncommittally.
"What did she write about?" Ryo asked curiously.
Erika stared at him. "Life in Algeria. Girlish things. Love."
"What does your mother say about love?"
She looked at him for a long time, and then began to read.
"Love wounds. There is no love that does not pierce the hands and feet. Love's exquisite happiness is also love's exquisite pain. I do not seek pain, but there is pain. I do not seek suffering, but there is suffering. It is better not to flinch, not to try and avoid those things in love's direction. It is not easy, this love, but..." Erika trailed off.
"But?" he prompted her.
"... But only the impossible is worth the effort.*" she finished. Erika looked up, met his eyes.
He looked away first.
Erika hates hospitals, but she goes everyday. Sometimes sixteen hours is spent in complete and total silence. She comes in at eight in the morning, she leaves precisely eight at night.
She's running out of books, so she rereads her mother's diary, again and again. She reads about her mother, who met a rich Japanese man on a trip to the Louvre. She reads about a young girl, displaced and foreign, in a country she does not understand, with customs that are alien to her.
But love endures, even through uncertainty, and she stays.
Erika thinks maybe she has that resilience now.
Erika closed the diary, replaced the string binding, and stood up. "I'm going now."
Ryo gave a start, blinking at her. "It's not even eight yet."
"I will not beg your forgiveness," she said suddenly. "If that's what you're waiting for. I don't regret a single thing."
He closed himself off in a second. "Go, then. To Pi, or whoever you've replaced me with. I never asked you to come."
"Loving you is like... lifting a heavy stone," she told him. "It's easier not to do it, and even now I'm not sure why I'm still doing it. But it is there," Erika paused, breathing. Take air in. Take the tears back. "There's no sense in doing things halfway, no sense in half-loving. I'm going now. I never asked you to stay, and maybe that was what you wanted. I never asked you to stay. I never will."
"I loved you too much," he whispered.
"There's no such thing," she returned. "What you want is both risk and safety. There's no such thing, either. But..." Erika froze.
Her mother's diary slipped from her hands, to the floor, landing with a dull sound.
Ryo sat up, with some difficulty. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Erika."
The string binding the journal had come undone sometime during the fall. It now lay open at her feet at the last page. She stared at it.
"All love is, is what it always is."
"Love is when you look at me, and want me, and I don't turn away," she realized softly. "I won't turn away."
He stared at her, not quite understanding. "What?"
"Do you want me?" she asked, facing him. "Leave the consequences, and the chances, and the grand statements. Do you want me?" Erika repeated.
There was silence. She stared at him. He stared at his sheets.
Finally-- "Yes."
Erika sat at his bedside, tentatively. "That is enough for me," she murmured, "but it's never enough for you, is it?"
Ryo pulled her down on himself, feeling her hair on his throat.
"If it's never enough, that's my fault not yours."
I'm looking for something, it's true. Looking for you, looking for me, believing that the treasure is really there. I knew from the moment I saw you (as the saying goes) how it was going to begin.
I don't know how this will end.
~ "The.PowerBook" - Jeanette Winterson
* also taken from "The.PowerBook" by Jeanette Winterson, with my apologies.
// Soundtrack:
The Search Is Over - Jed Madela
I Believe In You - Jed Madela
Pairing: Nishikido Ryo and Sawajiri Erika
Genre: angst
Rating: R
Summary: Love has the ability to shatter and heal simultaneously.
Disclaimer: Owned by Johnny's and Stardust promotion. Just messing with.
Notes: Heavy influences in this fic: Jeanette Winterson, the writing of obakesan, corposant, and thornsmoke; with special thanks to enerirenie.
Erika hated hospitals. Everything reeked of antiseptic and sorrow, two things she could not stand for more than ten minutes.
It seemed that the winter chill only strengthened the scent inside, but she walked anyway, up to a quiet, white room. Nishikido had not yet woken, asleep in a world of white. She closed the door quietly, took off her heavy coat and set down her bag by the stand next to his bed. The nurse had replaced the bandages on his wrists with fresh.
He would heal, after all.
This is the first time she has kept to a chair for more than an hour, and her body complains after a while. But Erika, showing samurai-style toughness, ignores the pain and sits rigid, reading a book.
Visitors come and go. His family, his friends, people he had worked with. She watches them all arrive and leave, listens to them weep, endures the blame. Men commit suicide for one of two reasons: failure, or love. Ryo had failed in love. Or was that loved in failure? Ryo had tried to kill himself because of her, that was certain.
They thought she was atoning for sins committed.
They were wrong.
"I don't know what hurts more, being with you or being without you," he said.
She said nothing, keeping her eyes on a sliver of light at the window, rapidly fading. If she turned her head, just so, the light would blind her.
Was it possible for light to render her deaf? He screamed, on and on, about her treachery, about faithlessness.
How could she? She could, and very well. As well as he did. But Erika said nothing.
Then he spoke of love, and she turned her head sharply, standing up.
"Love isn't supposed to hurt," he whispered. "Not like this. Not this much."
So young. "There is no love that does not pierce what it finds; your hands, or your feet," she told him. "Nothing is as cruel."
"This pierces our hearts."
"You hurt me first," she accused him. "Love is painful. I've said this before."
Ryo turned away from her. "I'm leaving, then. I don't want to hurt you any more."
She clenched a fist, tight and trembling. "If you're leaving, leave for the right reasons."
"Hurting you isn't right."
Erika almost screamed. "And leaving me is? None of this sacrificial, sanctimonious bullshit. Leave me because you hate me. Leave me because you no longer love me. Leave me because you don't give a damn. But leave, because you love me? Love's reason is its risk. Leave for the right reasons."
"I do hate you," he answered. "I hate what you did."
She closed her eyes and told herself that her tears deserved more than to be shed for a boy who thought himself a man. "... Hate is a part of this love as much as pain is," she told him. "Hold on to your pain, if it pleases you."
He stiffened. "I won't be back," he promised.
Nishikido had kept to his promise. But she had promised something to herself, too.
So she waited. Night after night she came home to a place that was empty and cold. Her mother told her to lease the condo, to come live with her in Nerima again.
"There's no sense in staying there, child," she'd said. "He won't come back to you."
But she believed. He would be back, because he loved her. And love endures, even through uncertainty.
He stirred, and the first thing he did was ask for water. She gave it to him.
"Why are you here?" he asked, after he pushed the glass away.
She rinsed the glass slowly, deliberately, and put it back in the cupboard. Then she stood at the sink for several moments, leaning against the tile. She returned to the chair with a sigh, picking up her book as if nothing had transpired.
He turned to her. "Did you hear me?"
"I heard you," she replied, without looking up.
"Will you answer the question."
Erika closed the book and sighed again. "You want me to give you an answer that will satisfy you, not enlighten you."
Ryo closed his eyes. "Just give me an answer."
"Fine," she said finally. "I am here because love is unselfish, but I'm not- I couldn't let you go."
"What is that you're reading?" he asked once. Late afternoon sunlight was streaming through the curtains. Everytime the wind blew, the shadows moved.
She showed him the leather cover, age-worn. "My mother's diary. It's in French."
He nodded to the dictionary she always carried beside her. "Explains that," he commented. She nodded noncommittally.
"What did she write about?" Ryo asked curiously.
Erika stared at him. "Life in Algeria. Girlish things. Love."
"What does your mother say about love?"
She looked at him for a long time, and then began to read.
"Love wounds. There is no love that does not pierce the hands and feet. Love's exquisite happiness is also love's exquisite pain. I do not seek pain, but there is pain. I do not seek suffering, but there is suffering. It is better not to flinch, not to try and avoid those things in love's direction. It is not easy, this love, but..." Erika trailed off.
"But?" he prompted her.
"... But only the impossible is worth the effort.*" she finished. Erika looked up, met his eyes.
He looked away first.
Erika hates hospitals, but she goes everyday. Sometimes sixteen hours is spent in complete and total silence. She comes in at eight in the morning, she leaves precisely eight at night.
She's running out of books, so she rereads her mother's diary, again and again. She reads about her mother, who met a rich Japanese man on a trip to the Louvre. She reads about a young girl, displaced and foreign, in a country she does not understand, with customs that are alien to her.
But love endures, even through uncertainty, and she stays.
Erika thinks maybe she has that resilience now.
Erika closed the diary, replaced the string binding, and stood up. "I'm going now."
Ryo gave a start, blinking at her. "It's not even eight yet."
"I will not beg your forgiveness," she said suddenly. "If that's what you're waiting for. I don't regret a single thing."
He closed himself off in a second. "Go, then. To Pi, or whoever you've replaced me with. I never asked you to come."
"Loving you is like... lifting a heavy stone," she told him. "It's easier not to do it, and even now I'm not sure why I'm still doing it. But it is there," Erika paused, breathing. Take air in. Take the tears back. "There's no sense in doing things halfway, no sense in half-loving. I'm going now. I never asked you to stay, and maybe that was what you wanted. I never asked you to stay. I never will."
"I loved you too much," he whispered.
"There's no such thing," she returned. "What you want is both risk and safety. There's no such thing, either. But..." Erika froze.
Her mother's diary slipped from her hands, to the floor, landing with a dull sound.
Ryo sat up, with some difficulty. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Erika."
The string binding the journal had come undone sometime during the fall. It now lay open at her feet at the last page. She stared at it.
"All love is, is what it always is."
"Love is when you look at me, and want me, and I don't turn away," she realized softly. "I won't turn away."
He stared at her, not quite understanding. "What?"
"Do you want me?" she asked, facing him. "Leave the consequences, and the chances, and the grand statements. Do you want me?" Erika repeated.
There was silence. She stared at him. He stared at his sheets.
Finally-- "Yes."
Erika sat at his bedside, tentatively. "That is enough for me," she murmured, "but it's never enough for you, is it?"
Ryo pulled her down on himself, feeling her hair on his throat.
"If it's never enough, that's my fault not yours."
I'm looking for something, it's true. Looking for you, looking for me, believing that the treasure is really there. I knew from the moment I saw you (as the saying goes) how it was going to begin.
I don't know how this will end.
~ "The.PowerBook" - Jeanette Winterson
* also taken from "The.PowerBook" by Jeanette Winterson, with my apologies.
// Soundtrack:
The Search Is Over - Jed Madela
I Believe In You - Jed Madela