dead and lovely: two
DEAD AND LOVELY: TWO
1416 words, PG-16
myungzy, romance/supernatural
A/N: THIS FIC ISN'T EXACTLY CHAPTERED. It doesn't follow a certain moment, it doesn't have that much continuity. It's just moments/scenes of their... story. Also, I was thinking previously in making this rated M, but I had issues depicting what I wanted and how I wanted, so it's PG-16 (there's stuff implied so yeah) and will probably remain as so. I've been reading a lot about spirits and what they do (tho I prefer not to believe in them lmao #wuss), so the reactions that happen to Myungsoo are based on accounts of several people that went through "similar things". I tried to be as "realistic" as you can when talking about ghosts, ahahaha. Aaaaand I'm sorry if this took so long, but I had to change some things I wasn't happy about, sob. Thank you for any comments! ♥
two.
listen to:
(x) be still / the fray
(x) no way out / rie sinclair
(x) speeding cars / imogen heap
(x) unchained melody (acoustic version)
(x) cosmic love / florence and the machine
Suzy fades when the light is gone. She fades faster than I’d want to, and she’s gone with the dusk. My eyes will follow the faint light mirrored on the closed window, all orange and red. Her fingers are always placed seemly on her knees, and her eyes watch the world outside - but by then she’s already leaving. When the first hints of darkness taint the sky with a deeper blue, and my room is suddenly left with shadows and white city lights, I can’t see her any longer. There’s a moment of clear desperation when she’s gone, as if I want to cling to her transparent fingers and make her stay. However, the dark isn’t the only thing that takes Suzy away. Our connection is fickle. Sometimes I just can’t reach her, sometimes she’s somewhere I’m not allowed to go, and I know that - one of these days - she won’t come back.
“Suzy?”
For some reason I can’t breathe for a few seconds - there’s a suffocating, anxious feeling in my chest. It’s been three days since the last time I’ve seen her. Outside, the world is a daze of opaque colors, black and white. During the last few nights, I’ve dreamed I had seen her again; her skin blending with the light pink tones of blurred sirens and street lights, her white dress tainted with the blues from the vitreous constructions, and there are always strokes of orange on her lips. I never know how much of those dreams are true. I feel like I paint the dead girl with more colors and adjectives than are necessary, like she’s my own Rococo picture. In reality, Suzy is no more than white death and illusory matter.
I close my eyes and count to ten.
Get a hold of yourself.
I open my eyes to see the curtains flicker in the lit room; the sun is here, transforming white in gold. And here she is as well, as if she knew of my anxiety - Suzy sits next to me on my bed, her hands placed beside her slim, pale body. The fabric of her dress is wrinkled, and I never realized it was full of thin, red colored stripes until now. I have a sudden urge to touch it. White death and illusory matter, I remind myself. Death, she’s dead, she’s not real. My brain isn’t used to Suzy yet - I still have to struggle with myself every time I want to push her hair behind her ear, or take her hand. It is almost daunting how many (countless) times - during the past few months - I’ve caught myself leaning closer than I should, only to feel that interesting thrill that runs through my body whenever I’m near her. Do you like her? Maybe.
“It’s not my time just yet.”
She always says that when she comes back. I try not to wonder what it means - but I know, I know what it means.
“Are you disappointed?” I ask, as I observe all the details on her dress, on her nails, on her cellophane skin. You’re staring again.
“No,” Suzy shrugs, her hair falling over her shoulders in dark waves. “Would you miss me?”
Yes.
“Should I?” I blurt instead. I’ve grown more attached to the ghost in my room than I should have. She smiles, and her hand moves closer to mine. Against the fabric of my messy sheets, she doesn’t look as sheer. Maybe she’s deathless, maybe she’s a living girl. Maybe I’m just losing my mind.
What happens when you touch a ghost?
“No, you shouldn’t,” Suzy sounds gloomy, imaginary shadows darkening her features for a few seconds. “I’m just a ghost.”
You’re not.
(When did I start to care?)
The distance between our fingers feels more like thousands of miles as I reach for her hand. My fingers eventually reach hers, and Suzy jolts, a gasp of surprise escaping her lips. It actually hurts to touch Suzy - like being electrocuted continuously but surviving every time. She doesn’t feel like anything physical, maybe much more like air; but she feels like everything at the same time. As our fingers clumsily tangle together, I get short of breath, and my arm feels slightly numb and tingly. It hurts everywhere - of course it hurts, it’s an abomination to touch her, it’s death. But I lean closer until I can count her flimsy eyelashes, and if she were real I’d be close enough to hear her heart beating, or see myself reflected on her charcoal eyes too; but she’s dead, dead, dead - and I kiss her anyway.
It’s unbearable, the pain. It doesn’t go away, not for a moment. Maybe my soul is shattering; maybe I’m dying (the irony of that). Suzy’s lips feel like cotton candy, but they don’t taste like cotton candy. They taste like otherworldly things, things I can’t describe with my limited human knowledge. Her free hand searches the nape of my neck so lightly it sends shivers down my spine - and it hurts, and I want to cry out in pain, but I kiss her harder instead. I feel light-headed and foolish and sore, as my hand move up her arms, bringing her closer. Her dress, white and red stripes and too short for comfort (as if she had grown too much for her own dress, like Alice), feels thin against the tip of my finger, maybe even feathery, much like her strands of hair. Suzy’s body stir and she pulls away, and our foreheads touch. I realize how much trouble I have to go through just to breathe and I open my eyes to see Suzy bathed in yellow sunlight.
The air that comes out of my lungs doesn’t disturb the strands of hair near her face, and her eyes are lifeless black holes staring back at me. Lifeless Suzy, dead and lovely, and so, so close. I let go of her hand to trace the skin on her shoulders, the bones that draw her clavicle, the collar of her dress. Her pasty skin feels colder just near her heart - another reminder that hers doesn’t beat. The electricity current still runs through my body, and it still creates invisible bruises on my skin. It won’t ever stop, probably. The tips of my fingers are slightly numb as I push her hair away, playing with the straps of her dress. I wonder for a second how I’d look like to other people, holding onto the ghostly transparent girl in my room. Suzy seems to mimic my behavior, drawing careless patterns on my arms, daintily pressing her fingers against my skin. I sadly realize we’re both involuntarily reminding ourselves how far from each other we really are. I’m all blood and flesh and bones and mortality, and Suzy is ethereal matter, a vision, an imprinted memory that stuck on Earth for far too long.
“Some of these days it’ll be my time to go,” she finally breaks our silence, voice mildly low and melancholic. She presses her forehead harder against mine, maybe to conceal how much of her words are true. I’m here now, but I’ll be gone tomorrow, she’s saying.
“I will miss you,” I admit finally. And it is so true my words come out choked with feelings I didn’t know I had until now. Suzy closes her eyes, a smile on her pale lips.
“I’m just a ghost, Myungsoo.”
“But you’re not.”
Suzy snorts, but her fingers pull me so close I can feel her underneath my clothes, underneath my skin. And she cries. I’ve seen ghosts cry before. They cry for the loved ones they can’t touch, they cry for themselves - their tears are streams of shimmery water, making their faces brighter than usual under the sun. I hold Suzy until I can no longer hear her whimpering, until we’re both searching each other’s skin for comfort, until the sun finally disappears behind the tall buildings outside and my room is once again dark and cold. She goes away with the sun, and the weight of her body is lifted off me so suddenly it feels like a part of me is missing. Please don’t go. I’m left with my heavy breathing and the sticky sweat that had glued to my body and my feelings. The now dark cobalt summer sky mocks me by coloring my room in the darkest of the tones.
It's a tragedy, isn't it?
Romeo and Juliet kind of tragedy.
I might have fallen in love with the dead girl in my room.
1416 words, PG-16
myungzy, romance/supernatural
A/N: THIS FIC ISN'T EXACTLY CHAPTERED. It doesn't follow a certain moment, it doesn't have that much continuity. It's just moments/scenes of their... story. Also, I was thinking previously in making this rated M, but I had issues depicting what I wanted and how I wanted, so it's PG-16 (there's stuff implied so yeah) and will probably remain as so. I've been reading a lot about spirits and what they do (tho I prefer not to believe in them lmao #wuss), so the reactions that happen to Myungsoo are based on accounts of several people that went through "similar things". I tried to be as "realistic" as you can when talking about ghosts, ahahaha. Aaaaand I'm sorry if this took so long, but I had to change some things I wasn't happy about, sob. Thank you for any comments! ♥
two.
listen to:
(x) be still / the fray
(x) no way out / rie sinclair
(x) speeding cars / imogen heap
(x) unchained melody (acoustic version)
(x) cosmic love / florence and the machine
Suzy fades when the light is gone. She fades faster than I’d want to, and she’s gone with the dusk. My eyes will follow the faint light mirrored on the closed window, all orange and red. Her fingers are always placed seemly on her knees, and her eyes watch the world outside - but by then she’s already leaving. When the first hints of darkness taint the sky with a deeper blue, and my room is suddenly left with shadows and white city lights, I can’t see her any longer. There’s a moment of clear desperation when she’s gone, as if I want to cling to her transparent fingers and make her stay. However, the dark isn’t the only thing that takes Suzy away. Our connection is fickle. Sometimes I just can’t reach her, sometimes she’s somewhere I’m not allowed to go, and I know that - one of these days - she won’t come back.
“Suzy?”
For some reason I can’t breathe for a few seconds - there’s a suffocating, anxious feeling in my chest. It’s been three days since the last time I’ve seen her. Outside, the world is a daze of opaque colors, black and white. During the last few nights, I’ve dreamed I had seen her again; her skin blending with the light pink tones of blurred sirens and street lights, her white dress tainted with the blues from the vitreous constructions, and there are always strokes of orange on her lips. I never know how much of those dreams are true. I feel like I paint the dead girl with more colors and adjectives than are necessary, like she’s my own Rococo picture. In reality, Suzy is no more than white death and illusory matter.
I close my eyes and count to ten.
Get a hold of yourself.
I open my eyes to see the curtains flicker in the lit room; the sun is here, transforming white in gold. And here she is as well, as if she knew of my anxiety - Suzy sits next to me on my bed, her hands placed beside her slim, pale body. The fabric of her dress is wrinkled, and I never realized it was full of thin, red colored stripes until now. I have a sudden urge to touch it. White death and illusory matter, I remind myself. Death, she’s dead, she’s not real. My brain isn’t used to Suzy yet - I still have to struggle with myself every time I want to push her hair behind her ear, or take her hand. It is almost daunting how many (countless) times - during the past few months - I’ve caught myself leaning closer than I should, only to feel that interesting thrill that runs through my body whenever I’m near her. Do you like her? Maybe.
“It’s not my time just yet.”
She always says that when she comes back. I try not to wonder what it means - but I know, I know what it means.
“Are you disappointed?” I ask, as I observe all the details on her dress, on her nails, on her cellophane skin. You’re staring again.
“No,” Suzy shrugs, her hair falling over her shoulders in dark waves. “Would you miss me?”
Yes.
“Should I?” I blurt instead. I’ve grown more attached to the ghost in my room than I should have. She smiles, and her hand moves closer to mine. Against the fabric of my messy sheets, she doesn’t look as sheer. Maybe she’s deathless, maybe she’s a living girl. Maybe I’m just losing my mind.
What happens when you touch a ghost?
“No, you shouldn’t,” Suzy sounds gloomy, imaginary shadows darkening her features for a few seconds. “I’m just a ghost.”
You’re not.
(When did I start to care?)
The distance between our fingers feels more like thousands of miles as I reach for her hand. My fingers eventually reach hers, and Suzy jolts, a gasp of surprise escaping her lips. It actually hurts to touch Suzy - like being electrocuted continuously but surviving every time. She doesn’t feel like anything physical, maybe much more like air; but she feels like everything at the same time. As our fingers clumsily tangle together, I get short of breath, and my arm feels slightly numb and tingly. It hurts everywhere - of course it hurts, it’s an abomination to touch her, it’s death. But I lean closer until I can count her flimsy eyelashes, and if she were real I’d be close enough to hear her heart beating, or see myself reflected on her charcoal eyes too; but she’s dead, dead, dead - and I kiss her anyway.
It’s unbearable, the pain. It doesn’t go away, not for a moment. Maybe my soul is shattering; maybe I’m dying (the irony of that). Suzy’s lips feel like cotton candy, but they don’t taste like cotton candy. They taste like otherworldly things, things I can’t describe with my limited human knowledge. Her free hand searches the nape of my neck so lightly it sends shivers down my spine - and it hurts, and I want to cry out in pain, but I kiss her harder instead. I feel light-headed and foolish and sore, as my hand move up her arms, bringing her closer. Her dress, white and red stripes and too short for comfort (as if she had grown too much for her own dress, like Alice), feels thin against the tip of my finger, maybe even feathery, much like her strands of hair. Suzy’s body stir and she pulls away, and our foreheads touch. I realize how much trouble I have to go through just to breathe and I open my eyes to see Suzy bathed in yellow sunlight.
The air that comes out of my lungs doesn’t disturb the strands of hair near her face, and her eyes are lifeless black holes staring back at me. Lifeless Suzy, dead and lovely, and so, so close. I let go of her hand to trace the skin on her shoulders, the bones that draw her clavicle, the collar of her dress. Her pasty skin feels colder just near her heart - another reminder that hers doesn’t beat. The electricity current still runs through my body, and it still creates invisible bruises on my skin. It won’t ever stop, probably. The tips of my fingers are slightly numb as I push her hair away, playing with the straps of her dress. I wonder for a second how I’d look like to other people, holding onto the ghostly transparent girl in my room. Suzy seems to mimic my behavior, drawing careless patterns on my arms, daintily pressing her fingers against my skin. I sadly realize we’re both involuntarily reminding ourselves how far from each other we really are. I’m all blood and flesh and bones and mortality, and Suzy is ethereal matter, a vision, an imprinted memory that stuck on Earth for far too long.
“Some of these days it’ll be my time to go,” she finally breaks our silence, voice mildly low and melancholic. She presses her forehead harder against mine, maybe to conceal how much of her words are true. I’m here now, but I’ll be gone tomorrow, she’s saying.
“I will miss you,” I admit finally. And it is so true my words come out choked with feelings I didn’t know I had until now. Suzy closes her eyes, a smile on her pale lips.
“I’m just a ghost, Myungsoo.”
“But you’re not.”
Suzy snorts, but her fingers pull me so close I can feel her underneath my clothes, underneath my skin. And she cries. I’ve seen ghosts cry before. They cry for the loved ones they can’t touch, they cry for themselves - their tears are streams of shimmery water, making their faces brighter than usual under the sun. I hold Suzy until I can no longer hear her whimpering, until we’re both searching each other’s skin for comfort, until the sun finally disappears behind the tall buildings outside and my room is once again dark and cold. She goes away with the sun, and the weight of her body is lifted off me so suddenly it feels like a part of me is missing. Please don’t go. I’m left with my heavy breathing and the sticky sweat that had glued to my body and my feelings. The now dark cobalt summer sky mocks me by coloring my room in the darkest of the tones.
It's a tragedy, isn't it?
Romeo and Juliet kind of tragedy.
I might have fallen in love with the dead girl in my room.