gongstal | how you became the sea
Title: How You Became the Sea
Pairing: Gongchan/Krystal
Genre: angst, romance
Rating: PG (suicide/death)
wordcount: 835
He is not good at remembering dreams. The sun would slink over the horizon, spears of light piercing through the gaps in the curtains, long lines over the floor, his desk, his blankets. He’d crack an eye open and slowly, slowly, adjust to the forward movement of the world. Somewhere in the haziness, the in-between land caught between the boundaries of sleep and reality, he remembers a fierce ocean, the smell of the sea in the wind. He remembers an endless blue sky and an infinitely deep blue-green ocean. The image shifts in his mind, the edges peeling away and ripples coursing through the middle. And right before it disperses in city air, he feels her fingers in the gaps between his. He tries to hold on tight, but she disappears too.
He claws at the empty space.
Junghwan tells him that he hasn’t been acting himself for a long while - does he want to go out for a walk, does he feel ill? Something. The words float around Chanshik, flutter over his head. He imagines the characters dropping out of the sky and raining onto his outstretched fingertips. It’s the kind of thing Soojung would conjure up when she didn’t want to communicate. I’m concentrating, she would tell him as they sat side by side, skin touching. What are you concentrating on? He would ask in response, and she would ignore him. Now, as Chanshik looks at Junghwan, he listens to his mouth give the right responses (I’m okay, don’t worry about me, focus on your upcoming exam) and feels the texture of the wooden table beneath his hands, he wonders how Soojung is now. Are you happy? Those words come to mind, twirl, spin in the imaginary breeze. Because, he continues as the cars on the street rush by, I don’t think I’m happy, Soojung. It would be nice to be happy, Chanshik thinks as he imagines the trucks and cars metres and metres below.
Something that Chanshik does remember is what she said. I want to be happy, she used to say that a lot. Always, whenever she was on the verge of tears, I want to be happy. It seemed unfair then, that Chanshik had enough to make him smile, and Soojung was always gaining scraps and having them torn out of her hands. He remembers asking if he was enough - getting no, no, I’m sorry, no as a response. Chanshik replays those memories a lot in his head, on purpose, as if he’s trying to be a broken video player (but then again, maybe he’s broken already). He wonders why he wasn’t enough - why he was never enough. Should he have held her hand more, should he have held on tighter? Did he say the wrong things? “You said you’d be happy, Soojung,” he doesn’t understand it, how did it end up like this, “Are you? Because I’m not.” It would be nice, Chanshik dares to think, if the world stole away his happiness and gave it all to Soojung. Equivalent exchange, at last. It would be nice, but he has no way of knowing if that is how it turned out.
All he has is a piece of paper, bearing her handwriting. Ink fitting in the right spaces, never slipping over the edge. It’s all very unlike her, to be controlled. Chanshik still remembers the sound of breaking glass, pens clattering to the floor. “It’s a mess, a mess!” She used to scream to a world that didn’t listen. They told her that she made the mess, she looked at them and said that they were wrong. Chanshik can’t remember what he said in response, if he had spoken at all. It’s an empty space that he’d like to fill, but he can’t, because Soojung has the answers and she refuses to speak to him anymore. Maybe, Chanshik tells himself on the peaceful nights, it’s better this way. In reality, he knows that it isn’t better this way at all, but these days, it feels a lot better to live in dreams.
Reality? What reality?
“What is it like, to drown?”
“I don’t know. Why do you want to know?”
She smiled at him, a little bit blinding, but also a little sad - like a sunset. “I was just wondering.”
He realises then, that it’s a dream, and that the fingers he clutches tighter can disappear any second now. But it’s okay, he allows himself to think, just a little longer. Smiling, beautiful Soojung. Breathing, real. He tries to find her heartbeat in their pressed-together palms. There’s a pulse, yes, but Chanshik isn’t sure if that is the ocean or really her. Soojung isn’t just Soojung now, she’s not herself, and she’s also the sea. She has been washed away by the beautiful and eternal blues and greens, slipping down and deep, into the blues which turn into blacks. Chanshik breathes deep, and smells the salt in the air; wishes that Soojung will come back.
Pairing: Gongchan/Krystal
Genre: angst, romance
Rating: PG (suicide/death)
wordcount: 835
He is not good at remembering dreams. The sun would slink over the horizon, spears of light piercing through the gaps in the curtains, long lines over the floor, his desk, his blankets. He’d crack an eye open and slowly, slowly, adjust to the forward movement of the world. Somewhere in the haziness, the in-between land caught between the boundaries of sleep and reality, he remembers a fierce ocean, the smell of the sea in the wind. He remembers an endless blue sky and an infinitely deep blue-green ocean. The image shifts in his mind, the edges peeling away and ripples coursing through the middle. And right before it disperses in city air, he feels her fingers in the gaps between his. He tries to hold on tight, but she disappears too.
He claws at the empty space.
Junghwan tells him that he hasn’t been acting himself for a long while - does he want to go out for a walk, does he feel ill? Something. The words float around Chanshik, flutter over his head. He imagines the characters dropping out of the sky and raining onto his outstretched fingertips. It’s the kind of thing Soojung would conjure up when she didn’t want to communicate. I’m concentrating, she would tell him as they sat side by side, skin touching. What are you concentrating on? He would ask in response, and she would ignore him. Now, as Chanshik looks at Junghwan, he listens to his mouth give the right responses (I’m okay, don’t worry about me, focus on your upcoming exam) and feels the texture of the wooden table beneath his hands, he wonders how Soojung is now. Are you happy? Those words come to mind, twirl, spin in the imaginary breeze. Because, he continues as the cars on the street rush by, I don’t think I’m happy, Soojung. It would be nice to be happy, Chanshik thinks as he imagines the trucks and cars metres and metres below.
Something that Chanshik does remember is what she said. I want to be happy, she used to say that a lot. Always, whenever she was on the verge of tears, I want to be happy. It seemed unfair then, that Chanshik had enough to make him smile, and Soojung was always gaining scraps and having them torn out of her hands. He remembers asking if he was enough - getting no, no, I’m sorry, no as a response. Chanshik replays those memories a lot in his head, on purpose, as if he’s trying to be a broken video player (but then again, maybe he’s broken already). He wonders why he wasn’t enough - why he was never enough. Should he have held her hand more, should he have held on tighter? Did he say the wrong things? “You said you’d be happy, Soojung,” he doesn’t understand it, how did it end up like this, “Are you? Because I’m not.” It would be nice, Chanshik dares to think, if the world stole away his happiness and gave it all to Soojung. Equivalent exchange, at last. It would be nice, but he has no way of knowing if that is how it turned out.
All he has is a piece of paper, bearing her handwriting. Ink fitting in the right spaces, never slipping over the edge. It’s all very unlike her, to be controlled. Chanshik still remembers the sound of breaking glass, pens clattering to the floor. “It’s a mess, a mess!” She used to scream to a world that didn’t listen. They told her that she made the mess, she looked at them and said that they were wrong. Chanshik can’t remember what he said in response, if he had spoken at all. It’s an empty space that he’d like to fill, but he can’t, because Soojung has the answers and she refuses to speak to him anymore. Maybe, Chanshik tells himself on the peaceful nights, it’s better this way. In reality, he knows that it isn’t better this way at all, but these days, it feels a lot better to live in dreams.
Reality? What reality?
“What is it like, to drown?”
“I don’t know. Why do you want to know?”
She smiled at him, a little bit blinding, but also a little sad - like a sunset. “I was just wondering.”
He realises then, that it’s a dream, and that the fingers he clutches tighter can disappear any second now. But it’s okay, he allows himself to think, just a little longer. Smiling, beautiful Soojung. Breathing, real. He tries to find her heartbeat in their pressed-together palms. There’s a pulse, yes, but Chanshik isn’t sure if that is the ocean or really her. Soojung isn’t just Soojung now, she’s not herself, and she’s also the sea. She has been washed away by the beautiful and eternal blues and greens, slipping down and deep, into the blues which turn into blacks. Chanshik breathes deep, and smells the salt in the air; wishes that Soojung will come back.