Holding Your Heart In My Hands
Title: Holding Your Heart In My Hands
Rating: PG
Pairing: not yet
Summary: Upcoming and fresh romance novelist Kim Himchan is vying for a big success. Unfortunately, he's a bit too ordinary and his stories are a bit too typical to have a large reader following. However, one dose of cold medicine later and he finds himself slipping into another dimension where the characters from his previous books have come to life. How will he find his way back when he himself is starting to forget and fall for the charms of the new dimension? AU
A/N: the introduction to a very strange continuing story.
Himchan rubbed his watery eyes and then slammed his hands back down on the keyboard, typing out the final sentences of his book with tears building up and sinuses flowing, snot dripping down the back of his throat. There was an ache in his hands, a tight twinge of sympathy pains through his nerves and joints that he ignored to continue writing. They would throb whenever he tensed up, the result of an old injury and an odd feeling he always had when he became emotional.
His heart clenched as he wrote, envisioning himself as the main character in his story when she met her lover after being separated. Mirroring how her breath caught in her throat as her fiancé gathered her up in her arms and they hugged, the burn in her chest not bothered by the cold air biting at her cheeks.
He really needed a break. It was one thing to get in depth with your characters, but near the end of his book Himchan felt he was the character. Obviously he wasn’t, his life was not that interesting.
Although it was only the completion of the rough draft, he was tearing up when they were reunited at last, after two hundred pages of lies, trickery, and betrayal a happy ending was reached. Himchan had put his sweat, tears, and coffee stains into this book. Numerous notebooks ruined by coffee rings and food stains. He even had several bruises on his knees where he banged his legs into his desk trying to cram himself into a comfortable position on his desk chair.
After nearly pulling his hair out earlier, he could see the end in sight. The thought of finishing was all that had kept him going the past two days. For a taste of finished product, Himchan was willing to forgo hygiene, sleep, and food.
The elusive ending paragraph was within his grasp, and that fact alone was enough to make him tear up.
His publicist was going to cry when she read the first draft. Certainly, romantic novelist Kim Himchan writing under the pseudonym Kim Hana had another successful book for his, or more importantly, her readers. In order to target the female audience he was looking for, Himchan had gone the route of pretending to be a female author. He wasn’t sure how many young women would buy a romance novel written by a man depicting female main characters - it was safer that way.
So far, he wasn’t successful enough for book signings that may blow his cover (he had considered the possibility of dressing in drag), but he did receive many perfume-scented fan letters from readers. He kept them in a box in his closet for those days he needed encouragement.
However, with this release he was hoping he would bring his small audience to their knees and charm a new set of readers so he could continue to get more books published. Perhaps even get his name out there amongst other well-known romantic novelists (and stop eating fast food even though he loved it so). His current goal was to be on a book recommendation list in the future.
The twitch he’d developed in his eye better not have been in vain.
With a hesitant pause, Himchan hit the period key on his final sentence, a rush of exhilaration coming over him, and he hit the save button more than necessary. He had never felt so alive.
“Mr. Cuddles I’ve finished!” A bubble of laughter escaping his lips at his joyous declaration, and he would roll around on the floor, but it was dirty.
So Himchan settled for stretching in his chair, feeling and hearing his back crack in two places. He wiped his wet face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, tears and snot mingling together, his tissue box lying forgotten somewhere on the floor. A soft meow and a jingle of a tiny bell answered him.
Himchan shut his laptop and walked over to pick up his cat, “What should we eat tonight to celebrate? Tuna and ramen?” He scratched his cat’s chin as he navigated out of his room and into his kitchen. “How does that sound?” The flick of Mr. Cuddles tail against his side signaled that he was probably pushing Mr. Cuddles’ affection, but it was time for celebration and he had no regrets about scratch marks on his arms later.
Hilariously enough, his tiny black and white author’s photo was a picture of his cat wearing a bow around his neck.
Setting Mr. Cuddles down on the floor, Himchan got out a can of tuna and put half of it in a bowl for his cat and kept the other half for his ramen. Looping in and out of his feet, Mr. Cuddles rubbed his head against Himchan’s legs while he cooked. Himchan shooed him away until he finished and set the table for the two of them with their meager meal.
Himchan sat down to dinner with his cat, two beers and TV remote in hand, another successful night. The stress of writing deadlines leaving him and a sense of accomplishment falling upon him with each swing of beer and slurp of noodles he took. As he finished up he patted his cat on the head before he ran away to sleep on his giant pile of unwashed laundry.
His head felt heavy after two beers, and Himchan was sure he could fall asleep on his bed and not wake up until the next afternoon. With a full stomach and no other obligations, he might watch some TV and then make plans to go out with friends tomorrow night. Or not.
For the past week Himchan had been rushing to finish his draft, holing himself up in his apartment, only going out when he wanted to buy food in the convenience store down the road. He hadn’t taken a shower today either, and the sweatshirt he was wearing had been worn for more than four days already.
The state of his apartment wasn’t much better; cleanliness was a forgotten word of a bygone age. It was a mess of used tissues, snack bags, and unwashed dishes. Writing a romance novel while having a sinus infection and a penchant for crying at emotional scenes did not equal a clean living environment. In fact, there were probably germs floating all over the place.
Cleaning up when living alone was a real hassle, especially when there was no one to impress. It was easier to just move the pile of accumulated junk from one area to the next. He couldn’t possibly get anyone else sick when there was no reason for someone to visit his apartment. Used tissues may stay where they lie.
Not caring in the slightest, Himchan kicked an empty cracker box out of the way as he hobbled to the bathroom - muscles still cramped from hunching over for most of the day.
The bathroom door creaked as he shut it, something he’d have to bother his friend about to fix. As he went to use the toilet, he caught a glimpse of himself and was frightened by what he saw in the mirror. A few small stress related pimples and a flushed face from the alcohol. It was horrifying to see what he had become the past day or two.
Those pimples had to go away fast.
He pulled his pants back up and noticed that he had run out of toilet paper while he was washing his hands and grimacing at his ghastly face. Wiping his wet hands off on his sweatshirt, Himchan searched for an extra roll, but found only the empty packaging and a cardboard tube.
He pulled his hood up over his face and left the bathroom to get his wallet and keys. It was better to go to the store and buy another package before he got angry with himself tomorrow for not buying some when he didn’t need it. Even though his head was still foggy from the alcohol, it’s not like anyone would notice another unsavory looking adult at nine at night going to buy toilet paper at the 24/7 convenience store as anything out of the ordinary.
He locked up and began the trek down from his second floor apartment to the street level, pulling up his cutoff sweatpants when they sagged down too far. Normally Himchan wouldn’t be caught dead looking like he did outside, but he was too tired and high off his novel completion to care.
The night air was muggy when Himchan exited the side door of his apartment after going down two flights of stairs and walking around a couple making out at the bottom of the stairwell. He really needed to move out, but he was still paying for many expensive impulse shopping purchases and his bank account needed another book release to finance a new place.
Only a few other people were walking about outside or trying to catch a cab or bus somewhere other than the run down district Himchan lived in. Himchan kept of walking, ignoring the few odd stares he received for wearing a sweatshirt in warm weather. Being slightly ill gave him unwanted chills and a sweatshirt was the only answer, so what if he looked out of place.
He’d treat himself to something special after he handed in his draft tomorrow morning. If he remembered to wake up and hadn’t passed out from cold medicine. Thankfully, he made it to the convenience store without any unwanted problems.
He opened the glass door, the door chime going off as he went inside. The female cashier stared him down - probably because he looked like a creep - as he headed to the aisle where the toiletry items were located. Besides him, the store was empty and the buzz from the florescent lighting plus the faint classical music playing in the background was the only noise to take comfort in.
Himchan got his wallet out and looked at his choices, a small selection for those too lazy to go to a bigger store. The door chimed again, and Himchan couldn’t help but glance over to the door as he tried to pick out the cheapest toilet paper brand there (not hard when there was only three kinds to choose from). A finely dressed man in a suit stepped inside, no one Himchan knew, so he went back to his business.
Making his decision, Himchan picked up the toilet paper and took a turn out of the aisle, almost walking into the other customer. “Oh sorry,” Himchan said, stepping back and moving around him to get to the other side of the store.
The man just nodded his head and let Himchan pass, hands stuck in the pockets of his leather jacket.
Himchan paused, taking a double take as he walked by. He could have sworn the man walked in wearing a suit, but on a second glance the man was wearing a jacket and jeans. He blinked, and the man was standing there in a suit. It was almost as if there were two of the same man for a moment, the edges blurring and not quite connecting.
A second blink and it was gone, the man was back in the leather jacket.
Staying up at night must be really taking a toll on his mind, Himchan reasoned, shaking his head and peering down the aisle at the man. This must be a sign that he needed to get out more. There was no explanation other than his mind playing tricks on him.
This was the last time Himchan would drink two beers and try to go buy toilet paper late at night. The first and the last time.
Shaking off the strange encounter, Himchan checked his wallet to see if he could buy an ice cream with what was left over, holding the toilet paper under his arm as he rifled through his paper bills. The creepy customer was walking in his direction, and Himchan averted his eyes to the ice cream case nearby, trying not to be caught staring.
Himchan felt oddly paranoid. There was something off about him that Himchan couldn’t place, as if he was familiar and he was supposed to know him.
Anyone who caused him to hallucinate needed to be watched for suspicious behavior.
Standing in front of the freezer, Himchan held his breath as the man passed by him towards the refrigerated section, a trail of stale cigarette smoke lingering where he walked. The ice cream case choices had never seemed quite that interesting before.
He held on to the freezer door tight with one hand, and Himchan turned his head slowly in the man’s direction, attempting to determine if he had seen the man before. Unfortunately, as he turned his head his eyes locked onto the man’s and Himchan whipped his head back so fast he was sure the man thought he was watching him.
Never before had Himchan felt so awkward for looking at someone.
“You done with this?”
Himchan jerked his hand off the freezer handle and jammed his knee against its side, the voice shocking him into jumping.
“Hey, you okay?”
At that moment Himchan was sure all the hairs on his legs were standing up. Himchan opened the case and grabbed a random ice cream out of the case, “Yes, ahead,” - he cleared his throat - “go ahead.”
The man gave him a confused expression, “Do I know you?”
“I really don’t think you do.” Himchan wanted to get out of there, “Sorry.”
He left the man standing there at the ice cream case and hurried over to the cashier, throwing out bills on the table before she had even finished ringing up his items. Out of the corner of his eye, Himchan could see the man approaching the cashier, and Himchan grabbed the bag and his change out of the lady’s hand as she was finishing up her thank you for purchasing speech.
After fleeing the convenience store, Himchan stopped outside to laugh. This was ridiculous, he’d drank a little bit too much alcohol and now he was acting paranoid, and he would apologize for his behavior if necessary. Not that he would ever see the man again, hopefully.
He sneezed, not bothering to cover his mouth since there wasn’t anyone around to infect. It was a long tiring walk back to his apartment.
When he opened his door, all he had left was an empty ice cream wrapper and his plastic bag swinging back and forth on his arm. With what energy he had left, Himchan swallowed two cold pills and collapsed on his bed.
The second his head hit the pillow he was asleep.
Rating: PG
Pairing: not yet
Summary: Upcoming and fresh romance novelist Kim Himchan is vying for a big success. Unfortunately, he's a bit too ordinary and his stories are a bit too typical to have a large reader following. However, one dose of cold medicine later and he finds himself slipping into another dimension where the characters from his previous books have come to life. How will he find his way back when he himself is starting to forget and fall for the charms of the new dimension? AU
A/N: the introduction to a very strange continuing story.
Himchan rubbed his watery eyes and then slammed his hands back down on the keyboard, typing out the final sentences of his book with tears building up and sinuses flowing, snot dripping down the back of his throat. There was an ache in his hands, a tight twinge of sympathy pains through his nerves and joints that he ignored to continue writing. They would throb whenever he tensed up, the result of an old injury and an odd feeling he always had when he became emotional.
His heart clenched as he wrote, envisioning himself as the main character in his story when she met her lover after being separated. Mirroring how her breath caught in her throat as her fiancé gathered her up in her arms and they hugged, the burn in her chest not bothered by the cold air biting at her cheeks.
He really needed a break. It was one thing to get in depth with your characters, but near the end of his book Himchan felt he was the character. Obviously he wasn’t, his life was not that interesting.
Although it was only the completion of the rough draft, he was tearing up when they were reunited at last, after two hundred pages of lies, trickery, and betrayal a happy ending was reached. Himchan had put his sweat, tears, and coffee stains into this book. Numerous notebooks ruined by coffee rings and food stains. He even had several bruises on his knees where he banged his legs into his desk trying to cram himself into a comfortable position on his desk chair.
After nearly pulling his hair out earlier, he could see the end in sight. The thought of finishing was all that had kept him going the past two days. For a taste of finished product, Himchan was willing to forgo hygiene, sleep, and food.
The elusive ending paragraph was within his grasp, and that fact alone was enough to make him tear up.
His publicist was going to cry when she read the first draft. Certainly, romantic novelist Kim Himchan writing under the pseudonym Kim Hana had another successful book for his, or more importantly, her readers. In order to target the female audience he was looking for, Himchan had gone the route of pretending to be a female author. He wasn’t sure how many young women would buy a romance novel written by a man depicting female main characters - it was safer that way.
So far, he wasn’t successful enough for book signings that may blow his cover (he had considered the possibility of dressing in drag), but he did receive many perfume-scented fan letters from readers. He kept them in a box in his closet for those days he needed encouragement.
However, with this release he was hoping he would bring his small audience to their knees and charm a new set of readers so he could continue to get more books published. Perhaps even get his name out there amongst other well-known romantic novelists (and stop eating fast food even though he loved it so). His current goal was to be on a book recommendation list in the future.
The twitch he’d developed in his eye better not have been in vain.
With a hesitant pause, Himchan hit the period key on his final sentence, a rush of exhilaration coming over him, and he hit the save button more than necessary. He had never felt so alive.
“Mr. Cuddles I’ve finished!” A bubble of laughter escaping his lips at his joyous declaration, and he would roll around on the floor, but it was dirty.
So Himchan settled for stretching in his chair, feeling and hearing his back crack in two places. He wiped his wet face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, tears and snot mingling together, his tissue box lying forgotten somewhere on the floor. A soft meow and a jingle of a tiny bell answered him.
Himchan shut his laptop and walked over to pick up his cat, “What should we eat tonight to celebrate? Tuna and ramen?” He scratched his cat’s chin as he navigated out of his room and into his kitchen. “How does that sound?” The flick of Mr. Cuddles tail against his side signaled that he was probably pushing Mr. Cuddles’ affection, but it was time for celebration and he had no regrets about scratch marks on his arms later.
Hilariously enough, his tiny black and white author’s photo was a picture of his cat wearing a bow around his neck.
Setting Mr. Cuddles down on the floor, Himchan got out a can of tuna and put half of it in a bowl for his cat and kept the other half for his ramen. Looping in and out of his feet, Mr. Cuddles rubbed his head against Himchan’s legs while he cooked. Himchan shooed him away until he finished and set the table for the two of them with their meager meal.
Himchan sat down to dinner with his cat, two beers and TV remote in hand, another successful night. The stress of writing deadlines leaving him and a sense of accomplishment falling upon him with each swing of beer and slurp of noodles he took. As he finished up he patted his cat on the head before he ran away to sleep on his giant pile of unwashed laundry.
His head felt heavy after two beers, and Himchan was sure he could fall asleep on his bed and not wake up until the next afternoon. With a full stomach and no other obligations, he might watch some TV and then make plans to go out with friends tomorrow night. Or not.
For the past week Himchan had been rushing to finish his draft, holing himself up in his apartment, only going out when he wanted to buy food in the convenience store down the road. He hadn’t taken a shower today either, and the sweatshirt he was wearing had been worn for more than four days already.
The state of his apartment wasn’t much better; cleanliness was a forgotten word of a bygone age. It was a mess of used tissues, snack bags, and unwashed dishes. Writing a romance novel while having a sinus infection and a penchant for crying at emotional scenes did not equal a clean living environment. In fact, there were probably germs floating all over the place.
Cleaning up when living alone was a real hassle, especially when there was no one to impress. It was easier to just move the pile of accumulated junk from one area to the next. He couldn’t possibly get anyone else sick when there was no reason for someone to visit his apartment. Used tissues may stay where they lie.
Not caring in the slightest, Himchan kicked an empty cracker box out of the way as he hobbled to the bathroom - muscles still cramped from hunching over for most of the day.
The bathroom door creaked as he shut it, something he’d have to bother his friend about to fix. As he went to use the toilet, he caught a glimpse of himself and was frightened by what he saw in the mirror. A few small stress related pimples and a flushed face from the alcohol. It was horrifying to see what he had become the past day or two.
Those pimples had to go away fast.
He pulled his pants back up and noticed that he had run out of toilet paper while he was washing his hands and grimacing at his ghastly face. Wiping his wet hands off on his sweatshirt, Himchan searched for an extra roll, but found only the empty packaging and a cardboard tube.
He pulled his hood up over his face and left the bathroom to get his wallet and keys. It was better to go to the store and buy another package before he got angry with himself tomorrow for not buying some when he didn’t need it. Even though his head was still foggy from the alcohol, it’s not like anyone would notice another unsavory looking adult at nine at night going to buy toilet paper at the 24/7 convenience store as anything out of the ordinary.
He locked up and began the trek down from his second floor apartment to the street level, pulling up his cutoff sweatpants when they sagged down too far. Normally Himchan wouldn’t be caught dead looking like he did outside, but he was too tired and high off his novel completion to care.
The night air was muggy when Himchan exited the side door of his apartment after going down two flights of stairs and walking around a couple making out at the bottom of the stairwell. He really needed to move out, but he was still paying for many expensive impulse shopping purchases and his bank account needed another book release to finance a new place.
Only a few other people were walking about outside or trying to catch a cab or bus somewhere other than the run down district Himchan lived in. Himchan kept of walking, ignoring the few odd stares he received for wearing a sweatshirt in warm weather. Being slightly ill gave him unwanted chills and a sweatshirt was the only answer, so what if he looked out of place.
He’d treat himself to something special after he handed in his draft tomorrow morning. If he remembered to wake up and hadn’t passed out from cold medicine. Thankfully, he made it to the convenience store without any unwanted problems.
He opened the glass door, the door chime going off as he went inside. The female cashier stared him down - probably because he looked like a creep - as he headed to the aisle where the toiletry items were located. Besides him, the store was empty and the buzz from the florescent lighting plus the faint classical music playing in the background was the only noise to take comfort in.
Himchan got his wallet out and looked at his choices, a small selection for those too lazy to go to a bigger store. The door chimed again, and Himchan couldn’t help but glance over to the door as he tried to pick out the cheapest toilet paper brand there (not hard when there was only three kinds to choose from). A finely dressed man in a suit stepped inside, no one Himchan knew, so he went back to his business.
Making his decision, Himchan picked up the toilet paper and took a turn out of the aisle, almost walking into the other customer. “Oh sorry,” Himchan said, stepping back and moving around him to get to the other side of the store.
The man just nodded his head and let Himchan pass, hands stuck in the pockets of his leather jacket.
Himchan paused, taking a double take as he walked by. He could have sworn the man walked in wearing a suit, but on a second glance the man was wearing a jacket and jeans. He blinked, and the man was standing there in a suit. It was almost as if there were two of the same man for a moment, the edges blurring and not quite connecting.
A second blink and it was gone, the man was back in the leather jacket.
Staying up at night must be really taking a toll on his mind, Himchan reasoned, shaking his head and peering down the aisle at the man. This must be a sign that he needed to get out more. There was no explanation other than his mind playing tricks on him.
This was the last time Himchan would drink two beers and try to go buy toilet paper late at night. The first and the last time.
Shaking off the strange encounter, Himchan checked his wallet to see if he could buy an ice cream with what was left over, holding the toilet paper under his arm as he rifled through his paper bills. The creepy customer was walking in his direction, and Himchan averted his eyes to the ice cream case nearby, trying not to be caught staring.
Himchan felt oddly paranoid. There was something off about him that Himchan couldn’t place, as if he was familiar and he was supposed to know him.
Anyone who caused him to hallucinate needed to be watched for suspicious behavior.
Standing in front of the freezer, Himchan held his breath as the man passed by him towards the refrigerated section, a trail of stale cigarette smoke lingering where he walked. The ice cream case choices had never seemed quite that interesting before.
He held on to the freezer door tight with one hand, and Himchan turned his head slowly in the man’s direction, attempting to determine if he had seen the man before. Unfortunately, as he turned his head his eyes locked onto the man’s and Himchan whipped his head back so fast he was sure the man thought he was watching him.
Never before had Himchan felt so awkward for looking at someone.
“You done with this?”
Himchan jerked his hand off the freezer handle and jammed his knee against its side, the voice shocking him into jumping.
“Hey, you okay?”
At that moment Himchan was sure all the hairs on his legs were standing up. Himchan opened the case and grabbed a random ice cream out of the case, “Yes, ahead,” - he cleared his throat - “go ahead.”
The man gave him a confused expression, “Do I know you?”
“I really don’t think you do.” Himchan wanted to get out of there, “Sorry.”
He left the man standing there at the ice cream case and hurried over to the cashier, throwing out bills on the table before she had even finished ringing up his items. Out of the corner of his eye, Himchan could see the man approaching the cashier, and Himchan grabbed the bag and his change out of the lady’s hand as she was finishing up her thank you for purchasing speech.
After fleeing the convenience store, Himchan stopped outside to laugh. This was ridiculous, he’d drank a little bit too much alcohol and now he was acting paranoid, and he would apologize for his behavior if necessary. Not that he would ever see the man again, hopefully.
He sneezed, not bothering to cover his mouth since there wasn’t anyone around to infect. It was a long tiring walk back to his apartment.
When he opened his door, all he had left was an empty ice cream wrapper and his plastic bag swinging back and forth on his arm. With what energy he had left, Himchan swallowed two cold pills and collapsed on his bed.
The second his head hit the pillow he was asleep.