maybe it's true . . .
Title: Bye
Series: VAT CANON?
Characters: Saya, Matthew (SALAD TIME-)
Summary: Temporary partnership. That's all it was. CAL MADE ME.
Warning: YOU ASKED FOR THIS. NO COMPLAINTS. I SWEAR I WROTE THIS WHEN I WAS HALF-DELUSIONAL.
He'd be gone before the words even left her lips. The conversation would stall and then they'd realize they'd spent hours together now. However they had separate lives- or at least that's what would be expected. So for a few hours a day, they would do the predictable thing. They'd be alone, even if they didn't particularly have to be. Or particularly want to be.
But they'd do it. It wasn't unbearable no, they were too self-sufficient for that. Yet it wasn't all that fun either. They were too close for that.
"Bye Matthew," she'd sigh and cross her arms, shaking her head absently as he was already out of sight. He never spared her a farewell. Technically, they never really had a genuine goodbye.
After all, they'd never be apart for long. One hour, two, three- but never more than four. Four hours was the difference between lunch and dinner, and she couldn't remember the last time they missed a meal together if they had the option to attend.
What was the point of a goodbye if they never really said hello either? So rare that an actual greeting would be exchanged between them. After all, it never took more than a tap tap tap.
Whether it be on a door, a windowsill, or the other person's shoulder.
And that was when they bothered to catch the attention of the other person. Often Saya would find herself all too used to Matthew peering over her shoulder as she checked the SFC, looking over the news for himself. Or she would invite herself into his apartment, a half-hearted and pointless complaint already tossed out before she descended unceremoniously on his bed or couch- whatever he was using, she'd follow suit. For what was personal space between the two of them?
Then they'd continue like that. Take whatever conversation they started on and would continue, covering stories of their home worlds and politics, then jumping the bridge to discuss literature and swordplay all in the same breath.
Anything, everything, and nothing all the same. It was all worth discussing while showing no obvious worth at the same time.
Then the sun would set- or so they'd presume as the underwater bubble got darker. Perhaps a comment on their goal of seeing the sun-
"Together", as Saya would occasionally tease, hoping against hope and waiting for the day to come that he would finally openly reject her naiveté. She would count on him to dash her dreams for her, having convinced herself it would hurt less overall if Matthew cut her down then.
But he never would. Always, without fail, and completely unfairly, a witty response would always remain poised upon his tongue- neither encouraging nor rejecting. Just accepting.
Then she didn't feel like hoping for much anymore.
Sometimes he'd follow her back to her apartment, where they'd continue to talk aimlessly until she found herself yawning on the couch, curled up next to an ever familiar giant teddy bear, listening to him prattle on about some form of government or other. Then when her eyelids became too much of a burden, more trouble than they were worth, she'd cut off connection with him without a single goodbye.
Not a word about it the next morning. Nothing concerning the hilariously obvious way she tried to stay awake despite it being 3 AM, the completely locked doors and windows that had Experienced Paranoid Spy written all over them, or the newly-added blanket she found on her person the next morning.
No, it would be a brief exchange starting off wherever they wanted.
Closing the window audibly for her benefit, the thief would approach and take in the smell of toast before taking the extra piece present on Saya's plate.
"Way to ruin a perfectly good Tuesday morning, Matthew."
"I hate to break it to you Saya, but your Tuesday is shaping up to look a lot like my Monday, and the Sunday before that and the Saturday and- well, you get my point, don't you?" he would give her a cheeky grin and take a bite out of the stolen toast. Everything tasted better if it wasn't yours.
She'd return the smile, "Whose fault is that?"
The rise and slump of his shoulders. "Whoever decided to enter my apartment and proceed to drag me out for equally stolen bagels, if I had to hazard a guess."
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. December, January, February. 2010, 2011, 2012.
A perfectly set schedule of absolutely nothing. In an underwater bubble where people came and went, there remained a single constant. And that's something Saya would've preferred not to think about.
Thankfully, when he was around, she was too distracted to.
Up until they had to say goodbye, at least.
Series: VAT CANON?
Characters: Saya, Matthew (SALAD TIME-)
Summary: Temporary partnership. That's all it was. CAL MADE ME.
Warning: YOU ASKED FOR THIS. NO COMPLAINTS. I SWEAR I WROTE THIS WHEN I WAS HALF-DELUSIONAL.
He'd be gone before the words even left her lips. The conversation would stall and then they'd realize they'd spent hours together now. However they had separate lives- or at least that's what would be expected. So for a few hours a day, they would do the predictable thing. They'd be alone, even if they didn't particularly have to be. Or particularly want to be.
But they'd do it. It wasn't unbearable no, they were too self-sufficient for that. Yet it wasn't all that fun either. They were too close for that.
"Bye Matthew," she'd sigh and cross her arms, shaking her head absently as he was already out of sight. He never spared her a farewell. Technically, they never really had a genuine goodbye.
After all, they'd never be apart for long. One hour, two, three- but never more than four. Four hours was the difference between lunch and dinner, and she couldn't remember the last time they missed a meal together if they had the option to attend.
What was the point of a goodbye if they never really said hello either? So rare that an actual greeting would be exchanged between them. After all, it never took more than a tap tap tap.
Whether it be on a door, a windowsill, or the other person's shoulder.
And that was when they bothered to catch the attention of the other person. Often Saya would find herself all too used to Matthew peering over her shoulder as she checked the SFC, looking over the news for himself. Or she would invite herself into his apartment, a half-hearted and pointless complaint already tossed out before she descended unceremoniously on his bed or couch- whatever he was using, she'd follow suit. For what was personal space between the two of them?
Then they'd continue like that. Take whatever conversation they started on and would continue, covering stories of their home worlds and politics, then jumping the bridge to discuss literature and swordplay all in the same breath.
Anything, everything, and nothing all the same. It was all worth discussing while showing no obvious worth at the same time.
Then the sun would set- or so they'd presume as the underwater bubble got darker. Perhaps a comment on their goal of seeing the sun-
"Together", as Saya would occasionally tease, hoping against hope and waiting for the day to come that he would finally openly reject her naiveté. She would count on him to dash her dreams for her, having convinced herself it would hurt less overall if Matthew cut her down then.
But he never would. Always, without fail, and completely unfairly, a witty response would always remain poised upon his tongue- neither encouraging nor rejecting. Just accepting.
Then she didn't feel like hoping for much anymore.
Sometimes he'd follow her back to her apartment, where they'd continue to talk aimlessly until she found herself yawning on the couch, curled up next to an ever familiar giant teddy bear, listening to him prattle on about some form of government or other. Then when her eyelids became too much of a burden, more trouble than they were worth, she'd cut off connection with him without a single goodbye.
Not a word about it the next morning. Nothing concerning the hilariously obvious way she tried to stay awake despite it being 3 AM, the completely locked doors and windows that had Experienced Paranoid Spy written all over them, or the newly-added blanket she found on her person the next morning.
No, it would be a brief exchange starting off wherever they wanted.
Closing the window audibly for her benefit, the thief would approach and take in the smell of toast before taking the extra piece present on Saya's plate.
"Way to ruin a perfectly good Tuesday morning, Matthew."
"I hate to break it to you Saya, but your Tuesday is shaping up to look a lot like my Monday, and the Sunday before that and the Saturday and- well, you get my point, don't you?" he would give her a cheeky grin and take a bite out of the stolen toast. Everything tasted better if it wasn't yours.
She'd return the smile, "Whose fault is that?"
The rise and slump of his shoulders. "Whoever decided to enter my apartment and proceed to drag me out for equally stolen bagels, if I had to hazard a guess."
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. December, January, February. 2010, 2011, 2012.
A perfectly set schedule of absolutely nothing. In an underwater bubble where people came and went, there remained a single constant. And that's something Saya would've preferred not to think about.
Thankfully, when he was around, she was too distracted to.
Up until they had to say goodbye, at least.