Warning: character death, implications of deterioating mental health

She was his world. To wake up every morning to see her peaceful face, breathing so softly as she gently nuzzled into his chest; that was all he wanted, all he needed. As long as she was by his side, he was happy. He cried when she cried and he laughed when she laughed. Anyone else who made her spill her precious tears would be an enemy of his, and he always made sure to pay them back dearly.

He wanted to be the reason for her smile, the reason why she laughed so brilliantly. He wanted her face to glow with warmth, to look at him with her light, bright eyes and smile. Just the sight was enough to make his heart race and a large, lopsided grin to form on his lips. He had no idea why someone as perfect as her would ever love someone as awkward as him, but he would always be grateful.

He would never let her go.

His favorite thing to do was make beautiful clothes for her, elegant dresses that flowed down her body like silk, accentuating everything that was already there and making her that much more. He worked day and night to make the perfect colors that blended well with her skin, spending hours under the dim light of his lamp as he dyed the fabrics and hung them to dry. There were times where she would sit by his side, speechless as she watched him work, her fingers gently caressing his shoulders and her face buried in his hair. He loved her touch, her presence, her everything.

There were times when he didn’t feel like working, lying in bed with her by his side, letting her fingers trace up and down his stomach playfully. Only she could make something so childish seem so comfortable; he would close his eyes and let her tell him about her day, her voice so soothing it could put him to sleep when not even his pills could.

He wanted to give her the world.

And yet…there were also times when he couldn’t believe that someone as perfect as her wanted to be with someone as awkward as him. There were times when she smiled that he felt she was hiding something, that she was thinking horrible thoughts about him. There were times when she had her fingers on his shoulders, her face in his hair, and he wondered if she was tired of always showering him with love when he never offered anything in return. There were times like now, when she hadn’t been over in a few days, that she decided she had enough with him and went off to find someone better.

But he couldn’t have that. He loved her so much, wanted her so much; he couldn’t fathom letting her go to anyone else. On those days, he would turn over and grab her close, whispering how much he loved her repeatedly, unable to let go until he felt her kiss his head, returning his love with gentle reassurances. He loved her so much. She was so, so perfect.

He the smooth fabric of the dress he was currently working on, the faint hues of white and red mixing beautifully. Their one year anniversary was coming up, and while he wasn’t one to care about such things, she was so excited about it, constantly mentioning it when she was over. She was so happy when she talked about it; he wanted to create the perfect gift for her, to create something that she would never forget. As he spent sleepless nights going through every fabric he owned to find the perfect color and texture, he imagined how her face would light up, crying out his name with joy as she jumped into his arms. He could almost hear her laugh ringing in his ears.

But she couldn’t see it. It would ruin the surprise. The dress shouldn’t take that long to make, but she just kept visiting, laughing and playing when he was trying to work. Why couldn’t she see that he was busy? He didn’t want to but he pushed her away, snapping at her that he was working and why couldn’t she see that? He didn’t have time for her. His heart broke when she stared at him in disbelief, her striking smile fading away as she whispered his name. But he wouldn’t have it, grabbing her by the arm and forcibly shoving her out the door. She cried, her tears spilling down her perfect cheeks, and he spent the next hour punishing himself for being the cause of her tears.

She tried the next day to see him, knocking on the door and calling out his name. He pretended he didn’t hear her, even when he she knocked on the window.

Then she stopped coming. He was happy at first, having so much time to work on his dress and nearly finishing it. Their anniversary was quickly approaching, and he wanted to make sure everything was ready. Despite hating leaving his home, he slipped on his coat and headed outside, the snow crunching under his feet and frozen flakes decorating his long hair. He kept his head down low and headed into the supermarket at the end of his street, avoiding anybody that walked nearby as he scanned the aisles.

He bought all of her favorite foods, planning on cooking everything. He couldn’t really cook, but he was sure she would appreciate the sentiment. She was sweet like that. He bought a bottle of wine, and while he didn’t like the idea of his beautiful woman drinking, he knew it was important for the occasion.

He called her that night. She always picked up his calls, no matter where she was or who she was with, ready to laugh with him and chat. He loved that about her. But when he called that night, she didn’t pick up. His whole body tensed when it went to voicemail, and he hurriedly ended the call, thinking that he must have misdialed. He somehow misdialed the number that he had punched in millions of times. He dialed it again, this time checking each number over and over before calling, near hyperventilating when it went to voicemail again.

He left her a message, saying how he missed her and wanted to hear her voice.

She came over the next day, smiling and happy, saying she missed his call because she had fallen asleep. “Work is hard,” she commented in that soft voice of hers, and he immediately felt horrible for bothering her like that. Of course she would have a good reason for not answering him.

He hid the food and wine and dress. He didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

He called her again that night, and he wondered how hard work must be that she slept through another one of his calls. He tried calling her in the morning, thinking it best to talk to her before she went to work. Maybe work would be better if he wished her a good morning. She answered, but her voice was clipped and angry, and it was the first time he ever heard her sound like that. He didn’t know what to feel about it, and he was so distraught that he didn’t try calling her the rest of the day. So he worked on the dress, giving it the finishing touches.

It would look perfect on her.

He called again the next morning, and she didn’t answer. He called again and again, calling her over a hundred times. She wouldn’t be missing calls like this. Something was wrong. He texted her, something he really didn’t like doing as he liked to hear her voice more, and his text went unread. He grew more and more agitated as he paced the room, wondering what was going on that she couldn’t answer him. Was she sick? Was she hurt? The last time she was sick, she called him and he was over to her place in a heartbeat, tending to her and treating her like a princess.

Why wasn’t she answering him?

After two excruciating days, she finally texted him back, saying she was sorry, that she was busy and couldn’t answer his calls. He wanted to call her right away but was hesitant, seeing as she was so busy his calls bothered her. He stared at his phone for so long that it was over half an hour later that he felt his phone vibrate in his hands, a simple ‘I love you’ shining on his screen. He called her immediately, and when she picked up, he nearly shouted that he loved her too. She laughed, and he felt his whole heart swell. He loved her laugh. He reminded her of the anniversary, telling her it was only days away and that he wanted to see her. He the edge of the dress he made, running his fingers through the soft silk as he said they had to celebrate together.

She suggested going out to a fancy restaurant to eat and he panicked, the idea of going out somewhere so crowded and loud frightening. Cutting her off mid-sentence, he told her no. He told her to just come here. He made sure to tell her about the wonderful present he made for her. She had to come see it.

“Taek-woon,” she said, her voice as beautiful as it was scary, taking a soft reprimanding tone, “I don’t want to spend such an important day hiding away. I want to go somewhere nice.”

“No,” he repeated stubbornly, his hands clenching into fists as he tugged dangerously on the fringe of the dress. She would look beautiful in fringe. “Come here. It will be good.”

“Taek-woon-”

“No!” he screamed, slamming his hand on his desk, his body shaking in swelling rage. Why couldn’t she see how much he didn’t want to go? He couldn’t go. He wouldn’t go. “I have a nice present for you. You have to come here. Here is better than anywhere else.”

“Taek-woon,” she started exasperatedly, and he cut her off again.

“No!”

The phone clicked, the dial tone ringing in his ear, and he looked down at his phone in disbelief.

She hung up on him.

He felt his heart break. She never hung up on his before. Was she that angry? Why did she suddenly want to go somewhere else? She knew he didn’t like outside. She knew. Why did she want him to go out? Was it because she was tired of him? Was she tired of loving someone who could only respond to her words, who couldn’t express himself and got angry at the smallest things and took them out on her? Did she want to leave him? He wanted to ask her all those questions, wanted to see her shining smile and feel her arms wrap around him, tell him to not worry, that she loved him with all her heart.

Unable to just let it go, he called her, wanting to apologize and try to see if she would at least come to his house for a little while. He didn’t want to, but if it meant this much, he would try to figure out a way to make her happy. But she didn’t answer. He realized she must be extremely angry to ignore his call like that. But he still didn’t like that she didn’t answer, so he called her again. And again. And again. He called her so many times that at one point the phone wouldn’t dial anymore.

She turned off her phone.

No. No no no no no no no. Why was she like this? Why was she changing? He grabbed the dress, tears welling in his eyes at how everything became so difficult. It was all because of this dress! He knocked the mannequin to the floor, screaming. Why was everything different now? He wanted to see her smile, to feel her tight against his chest as he held her so tightly she wouldn’t be able to even think of leaving. He wanted to press his face into her hair, to smell the sweet shampoo she used that smelled so much like her. She hadn’t visited in so long, he was beginning to forget how white her teeth were when she laughed, how her eyes crinkled ever so slightly.

He screamed as he swiped his arms across his desk, throwing everything to the floor, crying out frustratingly when nothing made him feel better. Why? Why why why why why why why?

Then the door opened, and there she was. She looked radiant, wearing a simple dress that hung on her loosely, a baby pink cardigan hanging off her shoulders. She looked nice in pink. He brightened at the sight of her, calling out her name, but she wasn’t focused on him, her eyes trailing over the mess he had made. His cheeks flushed embarrassedly, mortified that she had caught him in the middle of a tantrum.

“Taek-woon,” she murmured, and he ran right to her side, sending her apologetic looks. She didn’t say anything, just shaking her head and running her hands through her perfect hair, and he fidgeted. Finally, she sighed as she wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face into his chest, and he felt everything was right in the world.

He pulled his arms out from her grasp and hugged her back, bringing her to bed and covering her nicely. It was the first time they slept together in a long time, and it felt right to have her nestled in his arms.

The next morning was their anniversary, and he opened his eyes excitedly to wish her a good morning, only to find her gone. He shot up, looking around wildly to see where she could have gone, when he saw a note left on his desk.

Taek-woonie, it read, I have to go finish a few things. I’ll be back later.

She’ll be back.

She’ll be back.

He got a text, saying she had ordered some flowers but was too busy and didn’t have time to pick them up. She said it was absolutely necessary to have flowers for their dinner, though he only focused on the fact that she had agreed to eat here. He didn’t even mind it when he put his coat on and headed out, more than willing to get her flowers. He paid, she forgot to pay for them, and hurried back home, not wanting to waste another minute.

He got back to see her with a box in her hands, papers and books shoved haphazardly in it. The flowers fell to the floor.

“Taek-woon,” she called in shock, her pretty eyes wide in surprise. “What are you doing here so soon?”

“F-flowers,” he said weakly, the bouquet forgotten next to his feet. “What…what are you doing?”

“I-I’m just…just cleaning. Y-yes, I was just moving things around-”

“You…you aren’t leaving, are you?” She looked conflicted, an expression he never wanted to see on her face, biting her pretty lip for the longest time before sighing.

“I can’t do this, Taek-woon.” He flinched at the harsh tone she used, a tone she only ever used when he did something that really upset her or hurt her too badly. “You’re too demanding. I love you, I really do, but I have a life outside of you. I can’t have you calling me every day, every second. I can’t always talk to you.”

He panicked, barely registering that she was trying to leave him. No, she couldn’t leave him. She was his world. He couldn’t live without her. He stumbled forward, arms outstretched in an attempt to hug her, and she hurried back, shooting him a look. “I mean it. I’ve tried to get used to it, but you’ve gotten worse recently. You called me two hundred times yesterday.”

“You wouldn’t answer,” he tried to reason, his voice coming out no louder than a whisper.

“I was at work!” she cried out, waving her arms exasperatedly. “I can’t answer you! Taek-woon…Taek-woonie…I-I…I’m done.”

“No!” he cried out, running forward and pulling her into a violent hug, smashing her face into his shoulder. He held her head firmly, his fingers digging into her scalp as he buried his face in her hair. He could smell her shampoo, the scent so familiar.

“Let go of me!” she screamed, struggling to break free and slapping her dainty hands against his arms. “Jung Taek-woon, let go!”

“No! You’re not allowed to leave. You have to stay!”

He cried out when she stomped on his foot, stumbling back and he looking up at her in shock, hurt, when she glared at him. Why were her pretty eyes looking like that at him? Why was she like this? He loved her, he told her he loved her every day. Was that not enough for her? Did she think he didn’t love her? She shook angrily, huffing, and pushed past him, her muted voice saying something about how she’ll be back for the rest of her things later.

Her hand reached out to open the door and he snapped, whirling around and yanking her back.

Everything was a haze, his break heart crushing his mind and fueling his pain all at once, his body moving on its own as it did whatever it could to keep her here. This didn’t happen often anymore, not since he started taking his pills, and he had been proud of how little her skin had been discolored by his hands, how her body remained perfectly unmarked from him. Yet now, with the sound of her voice telling him repeatedly that she was done, that she was leaving, he couldn’t hold back anymore. He couldn’t stop himself when she was trying to leave him.

At one point he could see past the fog to see his hands around her neck, squeezing harder and harder, relishing in the sight of her gasping desperately for air. He couldn’t see clearly, the tears clouding his vision. He could feel her claw at his hands, his fingers wet and slippery. He dug his nails into her soft skin when she tried to kick at him.

“I love you!” he cried, his voice hitching, knocking her head against the floor. He did it again and again and again. “I love you so much! Why can’t you see that? I can’t live without you!” With each shout, her fingers slowed, her eyes dimming as the shining tears that ran down her cheeks began to dry. With each press of his hands, with every second his knees pushed into her chest, her body shivered. Eventually she fell completely still, her body limp as it shook underneath his fingers.

He nearly dropped her, the whole world suddenly clear as he stared down at her still body in front of him. He scrambled away, gasping in disbelief. She…she…he…he killed her. She was dead. He had killed her, ripped her away and destroyed her. Her eyes were wide open, the dried tears creating small rivers that ran down her cheeks and dripped to the floor. hung open, her jaw slack, in her last moments trying to gasp for air.

Her face…the face that he had once thought was beautiful and unique and nothing like the world, was now just like the others.  

He crawled forward, pushing a lock of hair from her face. They could have been happy forever.

Sobs racked his body as he cradled her still head in his arms, crying her name and pleading for her to wake up. He told her about his present, that he never gave it to her and never got to see her wear it. He told her to wake up, to tell him she was okay and was only playing a game. She liked games. He didn’t like them much, hated when she would scare him, but he told her he wouldn’t mind this time.

His pleading turned to angry accusation. He blamed her, told her it was her fault he killed her. If only she realized how much he loved her and stayed with him. It was all her fault.

But…it wasn’t all bad. He cupped her cheek in his hand and gently held her in his arms. Now, no one else would be able to touch her. No one else would be able to make her cry.

As tenderly as possible he wiped the tears away and lifted her up, cradling her as she was the most precious thing in the world and bringing her to the bathroom. He gently placed her in the bathtub, kneeling by her side and caressing her cheek. She was so still, like a doll. He kissed her fingers, rubbing circles on the back of her hand.

“I love you,” he whispered.

He kept her there for a few days, washing and dressing her in the dress he made. The dress he made just for her. She was stunning. If only she could have worn this when she was still alive, he was sure she would look beautiful.

But after a while her body started to rot, making a foul odor that he couldn’t stand. He didn’t like bad smells. She was falling apart.

But he couldn’t lose her.

He still loved her more than the world itself.

He couldn’t lose her.

So, he did the only thing he could. He grabbed a knife, sawing into her chest and pulling out her heart. He had waited a little too long, the organ soft and squishy, falling apart too. He hurriedly placed it into a jar, sealing it with a sigh.

He had really wanted to stop. He wanted to be with her forever.

But she wasn’t meant to be.

He opened his cupboard, the one that he had never let her go near, and held the jar tighter to his chest. With a sad smile, he placed her next to the others.

Hello!

I wrote this forever and a day ago, so the plot is a little generic. I do want to stress that this is not okay, and shouldn't be considered a healthy relationship (at least until the end, because that's not healthy even outside a relationship). Just wanted to put that out there.

This is also posted on my livejournal, but since it was so long since I touched this (and wow, my writing was terrible), I edited it first before posting it here. I hope this makes up for me disappearing for months, and I hope you enjoyed reading!