10 Works by shegoesbyjoy
Listing Works
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You hardened the parts of yourself that you could, and prided yourself on the stability it offered you. Hard enough to calcify only to be subjected to hit after hit after hit, the fractures later healing into something even tougher, even stronger, even more resistant. This became your armour, the cool exterior—tightly controlled and carefully calculated. This is who you became. This is who you are. Calm under pressure. Unflappable.
And ultimately, this is what people praised you for. For a person like you in a city like Revachol, this was a choice made for you as a prerequisite for survival. To earn the respect of others, a part of you had to be put to rest.
It had to be put out of its misery.
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Harry is released from the hospital after another close brush with death. Kim begins to break under the weight of all that he has built himself to be.
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Some people must find it strange, you think. That you don't miss them, or miss the idea of them, or wish that you could've gotten to know them. Your face is blank whenever the topic comes up, not because you’ve carefully crafted it to be (as so often is the case), but because you’ve long since ceased to feel any one way about it. Not a single stirring of emotion makes itself known during these moments—not in your face, nor in your heart.
It happened so long ago.
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The past cannot be changed. Kim knows this and has long since accepted the hand that he was dealt. So when it comes to the loss of his parents Kim feels nothing at all, not anymore. After all, “family” as a concept feels as foreign to him as Seol itself.
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Maybe it’s the fact that the sun has just started to crest over the horizon, casting a picturesque glow over the streets of Jamrock, tiny murmurings of life starting to make itself known as the earliest risers begin their day. Golden light has begun spilling over the nooks and crannies of a neighborhood that's long since been left to the dogs, rough edges blanketed by a temporary softness. On this day, dawn presents itself to Harry with a sense of delicate serenity that he rarely experiences.
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On the first sunrise, “Kim” is just the name of another stranger to an amnesiac who couldn't even remember his own. By the seventh sunset, Harry is shot and ends up owing Kim his life, while Kim himself starts to reckon with just how much he's being saved in return. This is the story of what follows—a bond that grows with every passing sunrise and sunset, becoming deeper and more vital than either man could have ever expected or dared to hope for.
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He spent the entire winter trying to make you love the snow just as much as he did. The more you resisted, the more he smiled—as if he could convince you just through sheer joy and boundless enthusiasm.
Stretched out in front of you were rows upon rows of gravestones topped with little piles that looked strikingly similar to dollops of meringue. Below, where there would usually be patchy grass and brown dirt, there instead was a glittering layer of white that concealed dying bouquets and broken twigs under smooth, nondescript mounds. Against the pristine surface, long blueish shadows painted the cemetery grounds in a pattern not dissimilar to zebra stripes—light, then dark, then light again. Everything, from the benches dotting the nearby walking path, to the surrounding trees and crumbling stone fences, to the tops of sodium lights and sloped rooftops further into the distance, was dusted in a layer of snow. Much of it still untouched and flawless.
It’s beautiful.
For the first time that morning, you began to feel the warmth of the morning sun on your face.
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HEARING – “It was the loss of my usual human furnace that woke me,” Kim reassures with a crooked smile. A moment passes. “Your whistling skills have improved.”
SIGHT – Neither are looking at the camera. Rather, their gazes are wholly fixed on each other, and in both their eyes—joy, admiration, love.
SMELL – It smells like the comfort of Harry’s shoulder, a sure and solid presence underneath Kim’s head as the drone of the bus engine behind them lulls his tired body to sleep. It smells like Harry’s side of the bed, on the days Kim wakes up alone and flips over to it to enjoy the last of Harry’s warmth as he gets ready for an early morning run. It smells like home.
TOUCH – Work remains as professional as ever, but here at home he and Harry are greedy for each other’s touch, always.
TASTE – He looks up just in time to see Harry's other hand absentmindedly reach toward him to swipe at the top left corner of his lip. Harry’s index finger comes away with a touch of whipped cream, which he promptly licks off.
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Tender moments between Kim and Harry, with each chapter based on one of the five senses.
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“Mhm…so good for me, Harry,” Kim murmurs, “You’re doing so good.” Warmth spreads across your chest at the praise. His words come out evenly, but there is a breathless wonder in his voice that you can’t get enough of. You decide right then and there that your life’s mission is to be good for him.
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Harry has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Kim has the perfect thing to get his mind off of it.
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Of course these weren't dates. Kim was just being efficient, or requesting assistance when needed, or helping Harry reacquaint himself with certain basic aspects of human existence. Dates were purposefully planned affairs that involved things like flowers, a fancy meal, maybe a kiss goodnight—and perhaps most importantly—an understanding from both parties that they were on a date.
Too bad nobody thought to tell Harry that.
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5 times Harry thought he and Kim were on a date, and the 1 time Kim took him out on a date for real.
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Hope is the most fragile thing you have ever had to be responsible for.
It makes its home inside your chest, on a precipice that hangs above a dense tangle of gnarly thorns and deadly spikes. It sits in the pockets of empty space between dark clouds of poison gas, in the quiet moments between anguished screams.
Sometimes, hope takes the form of a sure hand on your shoulder. Sometimes it flashes exactly the same way sunlight glints off a pair of black-rimmed glasses. Sometimes it smiles back at you, warm and genuine and breathtaking. Sometimes it glows aerostatic orange.
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Matvos code is a method of transmitting information using a series of dots, dashes, and spaces. Named after its inventor, Stas Matvos, Matvos code was used extensively for early radio communication before it was possible to transmit voice. Messages in Matvos code can be transmitted as either auditory or visual signals, allowing people to communicate over great distances in a variety of situations.
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Kim picks up a new book, and with it a new method of communication that he keeps entirely to himself. When it becomes clear after a few weeks that Harry has done the exact same thing, Kim's life gets a little more complicated.
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He knows he’s misdirecting all of his frustration at Harry, who’s simply being considerate to someone in need, but he hates feeling like a charity case. He doesn’t need to be babysat. He’s Kim fucking Kitsuragi, he will not be rendered useless by a piece of junk mail.
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Kim calls in sick to work, and he’s perfectly content not to let anyone at the precinct know why. So of course Harry shows up at his apartment, eager to give Kim a helping hand. Turns out you can really, truly screw up something as simple as accepting someone’s help if your name’s Kim Kitsuragi.