Let me break your kokoro ^_^ ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To set the mood, please consider putting aside 4 min of your time, and listening to Serenade by Schubert. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- UPDATE (08/01/2021): there are some typos in the first version. I already rewrote it, and will edit the chaps soon Title: Under the Veil of an Early Spring Status: Completed Spoiler: Cover Synopsis: "Hmmm...Since you carried me out of the house, you should naturally carry me back in. Thinking of escaping the responsibility for your actions? That's wicked." He grinned. "Aye, love, I am so wicked. But only for you." Spoiler: Genres Romance, Tragedy Spoiler: Setting Modern Day Table of Contents: Chapter 1 - Wicked for you Chapter 2 - Spring Devotion Chapter 3 - Lies of Summer Chapter 4 - Autumn Thunder Chapter 5 - Echoes from Winter (End) ---------------------------- Comments: (nuffians' comments begin after this post)
Chapter 1 - Wicked for you He inhaled a light scent of spring on her skin, that tone of coldness that spreads in the forest, when the winter is still lurking around the corners, clings on to the last few days, only to silently retreat in the end. He immediately thought of her as a wild spirit dressed in greenery and with a crown of lily of the valleys on her head. "Did you put on the perfume?" She giggled in response – his nose was tickling her neck. "You noticed?" He sniffed again, letting the fragrance sweep over his mind. His hands encircled her waist and held her closer. He lifted his head. She felt his gaze, full of devotion and oh, such tenderness, and next, he brought her hand to his lips. A light kiss fell. The floor slipped from under her feet. "Where are we going?" She asked softly, trying to tickle his ear with her warm whisper. "I want to feel closer to you. Much closer." He said, mischievously, causing a small tremble in her chest. He walked from the window towards the end of the room. But just as she was mentally preparing herself to be put on the bed, she noticed he walked past it. Swiftly, he opened the door. Holding the precious person in his loving embrace, he walked out of the old villa that sheltered them for the past few days. The small staircase creaked under their weight. Next, he walked down the path to a familiar wooden bench. Over the years, its layer of rich brown paint started cracking and falling off, yet it was still as welcoming as ever. He sat down, still keeping her in his arms, and placing her on his lap. She frowned. Unlike him, she had a very thin layer of clothing. The wind traveled down her collar and was getting into every crinkle of her blouse. She shivered and tried to squeeze herself into his coat. A sound of pleasant laughter broke the silence. He shifted a bit and opened his coat in an invitation. Soon she found herself to be wrapped in his coat. It was just as warm as it looked. "Your idea of being close is quite different from what I imagined." She murmured and snuggled up to his chest, rejoicing in the very comforting warmth. "You were hoping I'd be more... indecent weren't you?" She humphed at his happy voice. She wanted to get out of his embrace, but the bench started ominously creaking as soon as she moved. It was quite an old bench and looked like it would fall apart the next time you sat on it. She gave up any effort to get out. "Maybe I was thinking of something like that." She gave out a sullen pout. "Unlike you, I am a very indecent person, you see." "You are." he agreed, "Very much so." "Hmph. And yet I'm not as wicked as you." "Wicked, my love?" "Yes, wicked. Dragging me out of the house, without a pinch of consideration for the fact that I do not like cold. Tricking me into thinking we will be doing some indecencies and then just keeping me outside, in this freezing weather. Ah, so wicked." "I am not preventing you from going back into the house, love." Yet contrary to his words, his hands tightened their hold on her, as if he was scared she would truly walk away. She gave him another glance. "Hmmm…Since you carried me out of the house, you should naturally carry me back in. Thinking of escaping responsibility for your actions? That's wicked as well." He grinned again. "Aye, love, I am so wicked. But only for you." After a while, they headed back inside.
Chapter 2 - Spring Devotion As he was massaging her legs, he suddenly caught a whiff of her spring perfume. He looked at her questioningly. "Did you spray the perfume on your ankle?" "Not really." She blushed, seeing him lift her ankle to his nose. "Oh? Not spilling the truth?" There was mischief in his voice. Next moment he started tickling her. She resisted for a while, before finally squeezing out: "Ah, will you stop it now? It's... it's nothing. I just thought it'd be more fun. Somehow..." She felt her cheeks getting hotter under his curious gaze. "Whatever! Just...just forget about it, will you!" She jumped off the sofa, and quickly run out of the living room. He let out a small smile. He liked finding out her quirks. After that day, he started noticing how each time the source of the delightful fragrance changed its location. She still kept using the perfume on her neck, yet she never failed to put it on another, seemingly random, spot on her body. Once, he found it on the hips, another time it was on her left shoulder-blade, then he caught the scent while kissing the inside of her elbow. It became the game they played, for him to find out where she put the perfume on. He loved it. He loved roaming through her body, going through every spot of her smooth skin, to find those traces of spring. It made him go crazy for her. The little mind games that she played, he adored them. He loved mysteries, he loved riddles and puzzles, and he loved weird things that didn't belong to their places. She knew that and used it to make him fall for her even harder. And he himself knew as well, that it was on purpose, and he still loved it all. Loved her. And was willing to fall for and play every little of her games. So that he could love her even more, love her deeper. Because that's what she deserved.
Chapter 3 - Lies of Summer One day, he returned to the villa and found her resting on the coach. He paused to appreciate the way the sun and the soft wind played with her hair, and how the windows cast shadows-spots on her relaxed face. She slightly shifted her body, and her eyelashes fluttered. Then she stayed very still. Almost too still. With a smile, he lifted her up, and held her in his embrace. "You really don't know how to pretend, do you?" As if he believed she was sleeping. Suddenly, her body quivered. "I'm home, love." He said, wondering why she became nervous. "Mmm. The wicked lover is home at last." She murmured, and then wriggled her way out. He followed her to the kitchen. "Do you want me to cook something for you, love?" "Nah, I was home all day. I'm not hungry." She answered, rubbing her chin. He paused. She had a habit of rubbing her chin when she was hiding something. "I thought you'd go out to that art store with your friends. You were telling me about it for a while, love..." He let the coat slip out of his arms. "Weren't you planning to go there today?" She gave him a glance, before turning away and going to the cupboards. "Nah, change of plans. We decided to go there later this week." She took out chamomile tea and started preparing the teapot. "I stayed home." She repeated. "Really." He nodded and went to change clothes. He didn't say anything, even though he knew that she makes chamomile tea to calm herself down. He used to prepare it for her whenever she was feeling flustered. ------------------- It'd be a lie to say he wasn't hurt when the next time they hugged, she again trembled in his arms. At last, he asked, "Is everything alright?" She seemed taken aback. "What do you mean?" "You... You are very quiet these days." She glanced away from his face and into the window. "It's because I'm afraid to make any movements." He was confused. "I don't want to scare away the treasure-moment of hugging you." She said, and touched her smiling face. 'What a forced smile.' He thought. To tell the truth, he was also afraid. Scared of what was to come. Because he had a premonition that what was coming could be too much for him. In the evening, while lying beside her, he studied her sleeping face. He made sure to stay very quiet, as to not wake her up. He looked. And, at that instance, he realized what she had meant previously - he didn't want to scare away this "treasure moment", when he could look upon her like this. And it was also that night that he noticed the perfume was suddenly absent. He realized it when he was kissing her neck. When the discovery hit him, he frantically started searching through her body, for the scent that he became so addicted to. The scent of happiness. And yet, he couldn't find it. 'Maybe, she just forgot about it.' But, it wasn't so. He suddenly noticed that the body beside him became very rigid. He thought she was cold, and snuggled closer, yet, when he tried to kiss her neck once again, she resisted. She struggled out of his embrace. Silence. He reached out to her, and again, she avoided his hand. "My love, what's wrong?" "I'm sick." She said. Then nothing. After that, she refused to respond to his questions if she's unwell, and just went out of bed. She slept on the couch. The next morning he saw her standing blackly in front of the window. She heard his footsteps and turned around. As she walked past, she pretended not to notice his outstretched hand, and just slipped away into the kitchen. He looked at his palm, but in the end, he said nothing. She was now avoiding him. He thought he must've, somehow, made her feel uncomfortable seeing now kept she was refusing his touch. When he moved out of the bedroom and said he will sleep on the couch instead, she nodded. Later that day, he noticed she was changing the sheets after him. He likely made her despise him. She was probably disgusted with him. Several months ago, they had bought two special cups for couples, but she accidentally broke her own, and since then, always used his, teasing that he should feel honored her lips graced his cups with their touch. But, now, she didn't drink out of his cup anymore. Instead, she kept one of the plain cups separately from the other, and always drank from that one. He noticed that she started sneaking out during the day, and yet was always at home whenever he returned. The chamomile tea started running out. Their relationship grew cold, albeit one-sidedly because he still continued showing his affection for her and only ceased doing things that were making her obviously uncomfortable with him. The thought of separating seemed ridiculous to him, and he was sure one day they would be okay again. 'It will be fine. We will work it out somehow.' He thought, brewing the tea for her. And, one day, she suddenly returned to her previous self. She hugged him, she took him by his hand, she rubbed her head on his chest affectionately. He tried to discuss with her if something was wrong, yet she ignored any topic that referred to the past few weeks. "Love, you can't ignore that something's changed! Please!" He pleaded desperately. But she kept slipping away. When they were laying in bed that day, he was unrestful. Here she was, so close, yet it felt so far away. A week ago, she started using a new perfume. It was strong and crude, and somewhat nauseating. He felt she used it to mask out another scent, to cover something up, and he didn't like that. He didn't feel they were back to "normal". They couldn't be. He moved his arm and touched her. And, as he expected, yet also, as he feared, she shivered, and her body stiffened. "Why are you keeping this up?" He whispered weakly. She moved her body to face him and opened her eyes. He noticed they were no longer gleaming happily as they did before. Instead, they were boringly glancing at him, tired of what they were seeing. Her pale lips moved slowly: "I met someone," she said. His body went limp, and he felt a long needle striking through his heart. She met someone. For a moment, he forgot how to talk. Or maybe, he just didn't want to. "Someone very special." She said. It was so painful he could barely hear her next words. "Now that I met that…special someone, I don't think we can stay how we were before." He didn't move. He didn't retract his arm. He only laid there, with his eyes now closed to fight the tears away, and kept listening. "Ever since I found out…Now that I think about it, we were destined for each other. I can't imagine us not being together…" "Who?" He asked, feeling oh so very miserable. "What good will it be even if I say?" She answered in a strange manner. Her stillness was very bitter to him. "Is he handsome, my love?" He felt sour saying this. He recalled how, way before they'd started dating, she insisted on painting his portrait. Then as they started a relationship, she persisted saying that it was probably because of his looks that she had fallen for him, and that he definitely has to take care of his face, else she will run off with another man. She was a painter. She loved beautiful things. And most of all, beautiful people. It was not unusual for him to find her admiring a certain male or a female, because of a "special look" they possessed. He sometimes asked if he also had that "special look", as she called it. And her answer was that he is the most special of them all. Later on, he understood that by saying "special look" she didn't necessarily mean an attractive person, but rather an interesting twinkle in their eyes, some aesthetically pleasing nose, or a beaming smile. Sometimes, it was the aura of a person that she was after. He understood that. Yet now he couldn't help asking her if her "special person" was handsome. He knew she wouldn't appreciate the question. It was as if accusing her of being a cheap character, that was solely looking at faces. He knew it would hurt her, yet he still asked: "Is he handsome, my love?" He heard her sharply inhaling the air. "Handsome…Hard to say, even for me. But I would never be able to run away." It became very stuffy in the room. He was trembling. The short silence broke under her crisp voice: "He is my ultimate lover." His heart had been dangling on the string, and finally, the string snapped. Inside of him, there was a never before known emptiness and an intense cold. His heart fell into a sea of despair. "And if-, if he-, if he is your ultimate lover…Then, love, my love-, if he is your ultimate lover, what am I?" He asked. Silence again. At once, she hugged him. Firmly. So that he almost imagined that the large distance between them never existed. Then, she spoke. "I was hoping…That maybe, just maybe I could get to keep you as my side lover…" She said in a tiny voice. The embrace tightened. A side lover. His deep sea of affection, the tender feelings he held for her, what were they for? He laughed madly, and pulled himself up from the bed, smoothly pushing the female away from him. "Do you think I could ever be a side lover?" His words fell softly, yet inside he felt roaring anger. It hurt to be discarded by her. It hurt when she said another man was her ultimate lover, and not he. But how could that pain compare to the anger that he was drowning in now? How can she hope, that she can still keep him as a side distraction? How can he bear it? He offered her his purest part, and she thought it dirty enough to deserve being offered a title of a "side lover"? He looked at her, feeling it was the last glance he'd send her way. Her silhouette, blurred by his nearing tears, looked somewhat sad. He could not comprehend it. What answer was she expecting? Somehow, it hurt him even more seeing her expression, full of deep pity. What was she pitying him for? He stormed out, knowing that if he didn't get out now, he would end up lashing out on her or pressing her with some, now useless, questions. Once outside, he gasped for cold air and stumped towards the bench. At first, he wanted to give it a good kick, and take out the anger that he couldn't bring himself to take out in front of her. But looking at the little bench, memories overcame him, flooding over his anger. He hesitated. Ultimately, he threw himself on top of it, letting go of the pain that welled up inside his heart. The bench collapsed. Yet he didn't move away. His body was shaking like a leaf under the unruly wind.
Chapter 4 - Autumn Thunder He didn't see her after that. He also didn't return to the house. Nevertheless, his heart couldn't simply let go of the warmth, or rather, of the reminiscence of the warmth that used to accompany him whenever they got together. Several times he called her. "Good morning, love." He'd say. It was a habit, really, to call her 'love'. He wondered if one day he'd be able to stop. Although it didn't matter what would happen one day. Presently, he couldn't. Or maybe he just didn't want to. "Good morning, love." He said. A chuckle. He breathed in and calmly continued. "Where are you, my love?" "Hospital." A short response. He stopped in his tracks, a feeling of worry creeping in on him. But before he could ask anything, she continued: "…I'm seeing my lover." His throat felt dry. "Oh?" "Yes. And I have to go now. " The tone suddenly got harsher. " And don't call me 'love' if you aren't ready to accept the position of my side lover. Better yet, just don't call me in general." She hung up. And so he never called again. At least, he never called her. He'd contact her friends instead, asking for any news. But the only response he ever got was: "She's in the hospital." He often wondered how good of a person her new lover must be, for her to date him even though he's that sick. You don't do that for a stranger, for someone you just met, for a fling. He reckoned that the affair must have begun quite a while ago when she was still using the perfume, and when they were both living in the villa. Or maybe, it all began long before that? Now that he was thinking about it, it seemed logical. The pieces started falling together - she started coming back late; she stopped being cuddly with him and instead avoided him. That's probably when she met her new, "ultimate", lover. Perhaps it was his fault for never really confronting her. It was probably his fault. At some point, he stopped asking about her. He even stopped bugging her best friend. What good would that do? They've already fallen out of love. He'll simply be a bother to her new sweet life. Everything grew grey and monotonous. The colors belonged to the past. The laughter, the dreams, the hopes, the happiness – all that had no place in his current life. He told himself he was okay. But, at night, he'd wrap himself tightly in a blanket, and feel deeply lonely. But humans are very adaptable. And one day, he felt it wasn't as unbearable as he thought. He thought if he didn't pay attention to his wound, it would stop festering. He carried on with his life, accepting the barrenness, the emptiness, as a mere part of his existence. Of course, he searched for remedies. He tried to turn a new leaf. New hobbies, new activities, new places. However, not new people. He couldn't see new people. Because after tasting the blissful happiness with her, he couldn't imagine finding a match for their relationship. Truth is, he actually felt afraid of finding someone with whom he could be together. He avoided potential partners as he felt it would taint his image of a romantic relationship: Unique. Unrivaled. One and only. His ultimate lover was her, even if it wasn't requited. And, his mind birthed a hysterical idea that he kept in one far-off corner of his conscience – what if she wants to get back together? A funny thought. Yet, he couldn't help it. The possibility, no matter how small, still existed, and he was ready to be called a lunatic if he could be allowed to entertain it. If ever she wanted to go back, what would he do? He didn't know. He didn't want to think that far. But it was possible, wasn't it? He wouldn't be a fool and get into a new relationship, then. And as he thought this, it had clicked. He still wasn't over. He wasn't over and he wasn't done, and he wasn't ready to let go of the hand of the person that hurt him so much. With a quivering heart, afraid of what was to happen, he decided to call her once more. He felt like fainting. Scared she will pick up. Scared she won't. And, she didn't. He dialed several times and each failed. Bracing himself, he decided to go to the hospital. He knew which one, but he didn't know which exact room she would be in. He roamed around the little building, feeling at a loss. Seeing a cleaning lady emptying a bin, hope overcame him. "Excuse me," He came up to her, and took a phone out of his pocket. "I was just wondering if you ever saw this woman, she-" The old lady glanced at the screen. It was a picture of a happy couple hugging. The lady looked up at his face, then down at the screen, and then gasped. "Young man, you…you wouldn't be-…" She seemed very worried as she kept glancing at the picture and then at him as if to check if he was the one there. He regretted showing a photo that made them appear as lovers since it could complicate things. After all, the lady must have witnessed Her being affectionate with another man, that is to say - the ultimate lover. "She, umm…" He continued. "I think she visited this hospital a lot." "Oh, she did." The woman nodded, quite upset. "And, I was thinking of umm…seeing..." What was he thinking? He fell silent. "Who?" He hesitated. Because he couldn't explain the relationship between them. "Her… Or, umm…Well… The patient she was visiting." He squeezed out the words. If he saw the ultimate lover, he could potentially catch a glimpse of her. "See the patient?.. Oh, dear." The woman was very sad. She appeared a bit confused as he was speaking, but finally, when she was just about to answer, she saw someone passing by. She quickly hurried to stop the person, who was dressed in a white coat, visibly one of the doctors. From the distance, He could hear parts of their conversation. "The young man over there…he came to see the patient in 24." The cleaning lady said panicky. The doctor was just as perplexed as a cleaning lady was before. "The one in Room 24?" He asked. "That's the one." "But that patient passed away." "Shush!" The lady urged the doctor. They glanced at the young man, who was clearly in a daze. "Oh dear…" The lady went back to Him and didn't quite know what to say. She kept looking at Him, remorseful. He nodded to the doctor and thanked the woman for her help, and then slowly moved a bit farther from the hospital to gather his thoughts. "He's dead." A wave of shock hit his mind. Her ultimate lover, her special someone that she couldn't imagine being apart from, is dead? He ran his fingers through his hair. No wonder she isn't picking up. She must be feeling dreadful. He paced around, before trying to dial her again. She didn't pick up, and he became distressed. He decided to call her best friend. "Hello?" He asked, ill at ease. "I'm calling to ask about-" "-about her?" The other person interrupted. "Don't bother calling me again." "She's not at the hospital." "No. She's not at the hospital." The voice sounded angry. "Is she with you?" "She's not with me, though I wish she would be." The female voice paused, and then, as if a water current after a dam breaks, it burst forward, and the woman started shouting. "She's not here. She's not here, alright?!" The sobbing broke out. After a moment, it lessened, and a voice weakly whispered. "She's not here. She passed away. Don't call me for a while, alright?" The call was cut off. He felt everything blackening for a moment, dumbfounded. What was that about? Who passed away? What is really going on?? Frantic, he turned around and ran up to the cleaning lady, who was about to go inside the building. "Is…Is the person I showed you on the picture really…really…did she really pass away?" He squeezed out of himself. "Was She the patient who pass away? Is She the one who's dead??" He was confused. What about that other man? What about her ultimate lover? Was that all a lie? The cleaning lady weakly patted him on the shoulders. "I am so so so sorry. It happened not long ago. She…She frequented the hospital a lot, and was ultimately moved here. I saw her a lot… I am so sorry for your loss…" How come...How come?? He felt very detached. Even when they broke up, he never felt this empty. Not quite believing it, he asked if he could see the room where she stayed. Like a doll, he moved forward. He stared at the number "24" when the door was being unlocked and mechanically walked in. A strong smell of antiseptics hit his nose. And he remembered the strong scent of her last perfume. He stumbled and then sank to the floor.
Chapter 5 - Echoes from Winter Days later, her best friend called him and asked to meet up. She didn't say anything, only placed a small box into his palm and left. He hasn't opened the box yet and instead decided to go to the villa. Once he entered it, he saw that all the things that he bumped into on the day they parted, were still on the floor. It was unkempt, it looked abandoned. Most likely that she left the villa right after they broke up. He stepped out of the house and headed towards the bench. It was no longer broken. She had fixed it. He sat at its side and opened the box. It was a small flask of perfume. He took off the cap and inhaled, already anticipating the softness of the forest under the veil of an early spring. His senses were engulfed in this scent, to which he chained his heart. And at last, he recalled. One day, a long time ago, on the anniversary of her mother's death, she started telling him of her parents. When telling the story, she was grief-stricken. --------------------- --------------------- The scent of spring in the air was bringing back her presence into his life. He lifted his tear-stained face, and, stared out of the window, at the beautiful landscape that she had painted at least a hundred and six times; the very same landscape that would never get painted for the hundred and seventh time; at the landscape that he would never be able to look at with Her. He breathed. --------------------- --------------------- At that time, how did he respond? Ah, what did he say?..
EDIT: changed the synopsis. I know the second version's not great, but it's better than what was before Spoiler: earlier version “I met someone.” She said. “Now that I met that…special someone…I don’t think we can stay how we were before.” "What about me?" He asked. I feel like the 1st version doesn't contribute anything to the story, except for spoiling the plot. The 2nd, current, version is at least fun.