[fic preview] Loving Koyama
Title: Loving Koyama [preview]
Author: me. the pathetic little ezyl. [
ezyls_girl ]
Pairing: Koyama/YamaPi. Ryo/Ueda.
Rating: PG-13 ~ R
Warnings: Angsty, much.
Summary: Death comes as quick as it leaves, whisking away all sanity and all love for living in the moment. AU.
Notes: As I've got to take a break from that pesky School!AU. This is based on Norwegian Wood, by Haruki Murakami. Many plot-points are similar, and some characters distinctly resemble ones in the book, but the rest of the idea is mine. And, as ever, I'd never think of owning JE. What a thought. In any case, I'm trying out a different style. It's pretty much the same, with some subtle changes that I'd never have done anywhere else. This fic is low-priority.
--------------------------------
He saw Koyama again, last month.
It was the cherry blossom season. The clinic where Koyama stayed, the ten-thousand-yen-per-day hospice situated in the crook of a magnificent, sweeping mountainside, was swathed in a dress hemmed from threads the shade of crimson and coral. Riding the travel bus there, all the tourists had been sighing in the pleasure at the view-a storm of pale and deep-hued petals scattered themselves over the windshield and slipped into the cracks of the windows, and the marvelous scent the flowers gave off tickled the nose and made people sneeze.
He did not speak. At the end of the road, when the conductor had ordered everyone off the bus, he bought a thin sandwich and a tin of crackers at the convenience store in the village and hiked into the mountains with his duffel bag.
The trail was dull, steep, and very muddy. His hiking boots squelched and sunk into the dirt and it was probably the loudest sound around for miles. It was so quiet, here. No distractions, no people, no drama. A perfect setting for a mental hospital.
After half an hour, he arrived at a set of swinging wooden doors bearing a sign, Murasaki Hotel - PRIVATE PROPERTY. An old man in the navy blue guard uniform sat napping in front of the door. On the wooden table, he had laid out, like a cobbler selling dirty wares, an empty coffee mug and a few half-eaten riceballs on a plate. There was also a clipboard on the ground and an old transistor radio next to it.
There was label on the clipboard. Sign-in if you see your name. Please leave the facility if you are not listed. He reached for the paper with the list of visitors and the man jolted awake, grunted rather sleepily, “Who are you? Identification?”
“Sorry,” he apologized, and reached into his wallet for his driver’s license, only then remembering that it had been confiscated six months ago. He took out a health passport.
“Nishikido Ryo.”
His name was checked, his image verified, and then he was given directions to the white-washed building on the left after turning right around the north corner of the old ivy house.
It’s very beautiful here, he thought. For a final resting place. The knobby trunks of the trees were obscured this time of year in the shower of blossoms-it looked like a scene right out of Shakespeare’s midsummer nightmare, albeit Japanese-styled and a lot more twisted that it appeared. And the idea struck a chord of nostalgia that he hadn’t felt in months. It was a little haunting, and it took him completely off-guard, almost like a police siren that had chosen to show up after the witnesses had all been shot. He tried to clear his mind of the memory.
Police sirens…
He repeated his name to the receptionist in the clean, many-cushioned office. The polite nurse assured him that Koyama-san will be with him shortly, and told him to have a seat. Stifling an impatient sigh, he positioned himself in one of the lace-covered sofas and tried to think of something peaceful.
Phone calls…
I think I’m losing control.
Koyama looked extremely pitiful in his white cotton robe. It hung limply from his gaunt shoulders, draped over his thin body like the veil of someone who had seen death and escaped by leaving his soul behind.
∞∞
“I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”
“I don’t want that,” Ryo said. I just want you.
Koyama paused, and then his question was abrupt. “Why did you have to sleep with me? Why couldn’t you have left me alone?”
“Do you think you could have stopped me?” Ryo asked.
There was no reply. The birds chirped outside.
What d'you think? Did I kill it? Continue or abandon while I still can? X_____X
Author: me. the pathetic little ezyl. [
ezyls_girl ]
Pairing: Koyama/YamaPi. Ryo/Ueda.
Rating: PG-13 ~ R
Warnings: Angsty, much.
Summary: Death comes as quick as it leaves, whisking away all sanity and all love for living in the moment. AU.
Notes: As I've got to take a break from that pesky School!AU. This is based on Norwegian Wood, by Haruki Murakami. Many plot-points are similar, and some characters distinctly resemble ones in the book, but the rest of the idea is mine. And, as ever, I'd never think of owning JE. What a thought. In any case, I'm trying out a different style. It's pretty much the same, with some subtle changes that I'd never have done anywhere else. This fic is low-priority.
--------------------------------
He saw Koyama again, last month.
It was the cherry blossom season. The clinic where Koyama stayed, the ten-thousand-yen-per-day hospice situated in the crook of a magnificent, sweeping mountainside, was swathed in a dress hemmed from threads the shade of crimson and coral. Riding the travel bus there, all the tourists had been sighing in the pleasure at the view-a storm of pale and deep-hued petals scattered themselves over the windshield and slipped into the cracks of the windows, and the marvelous scent the flowers gave off tickled the nose and made people sneeze.
He did not speak. At the end of the road, when the conductor had ordered everyone off the bus, he bought a thin sandwich and a tin of crackers at the convenience store in the village and hiked into the mountains with his duffel bag.
The trail was dull, steep, and very muddy. His hiking boots squelched and sunk into the dirt and it was probably the loudest sound around for miles. It was so quiet, here. No distractions, no people, no drama. A perfect setting for a mental hospital.
After half an hour, he arrived at a set of swinging wooden doors bearing a sign, Murasaki Hotel - PRIVATE PROPERTY. An old man in the navy blue guard uniform sat napping in front of the door. On the wooden table, he had laid out, like a cobbler selling dirty wares, an empty coffee mug and a few half-eaten riceballs on a plate. There was also a clipboard on the ground and an old transistor radio next to it.
There was label on the clipboard. Sign-in if you see your name. Please leave the facility if you are not listed. He reached for the paper with the list of visitors and the man jolted awake, grunted rather sleepily, “Who are you? Identification?”
“Sorry,” he apologized, and reached into his wallet for his driver’s license, only then remembering that it had been confiscated six months ago. He took out a health passport.
“Nishikido Ryo.”
His name was checked, his image verified, and then he was given directions to the white-washed building on the left after turning right around the north corner of the old ivy house.
It’s very beautiful here, he thought. For a final resting place. The knobby trunks of the trees were obscured this time of year in the shower of blossoms-it looked like a scene right out of Shakespeare’s midsummer nightmare, albeit Japanese-styled and a lot more twisted that it appeared. And the idea struck a chord of nostalgia that he hadn’t felt in months. It was a little haunting, and it took him completely off-guard, almost like a police siren that had chosen to show up after the witnesses had all been shot. He tried to clear his mind of the memory.
Police sirens…
He repeated his name to the receptionist in the clean, many-cushioned office. The polite nurse assured him that Koyama-san will be with him shortly, and told him to have a seat. Stifling an impatient sigh, he positioned himself in one of the lace-covered sofas and tried to think of something peaceful.
Phone calls…
I think I’m losing control.
Koyama looked extremely pitiful in his white cotton robe. It hung limply from his gaunt shoulders, draped over his thin body like the veil of someone who had seen death and escaped by leaving his soul behind.
∞∞
“I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”
“I don’t want that,” Ryo said. I just want you.
Koyama paused, and then his question was abrupt. “Why did you have to sleep with me? Why couldn’t you have left me alone?”
“Do you think you could have stopped me?” Ryo asked.
There was no reply. The birds chirped outside.
What d'you think? Did I kill it? Continue or abandon while I still can? X_____X