the things you try and tell yourself to make yourself forget 2/2
anonymous
August 4 2011, 10:08:14 UTC
*
Instead they head out to the nearby temple. The roof is covered in frost-laced golden gingko leaves. A young attendant to the priests sweeps at the door. Japan watches as Greece ties paper strips upon the trees. Last time he wished for Turkey's death, but this time he seems more solemn.
Japan wishes for what he always wishes for. Success for his country, a warm Spring. Nothing more. His fingers tremble slightly as he ties his wishes. The snow covered branches bend under his touch, and snow breaks free and falls over them. He reaches up to brush the flecks from Greece's hair, but it melts on contact. Drops of water drip from his chin as if he's been caught in a downpour. Japan stays paused there, his hands almost touching Greece's hair, his face.
It's a public place. Japan flushes as he drops his hands and murmurs an apology. But when Greece asks what for? he cannot say why.
*
Greece leaves the next morning. The goodbye is quiet, a short exchange of pleasantries. Greece slouches off, sleepily taking his things up. Japan cannot tell if the sadness is Greece's perpetual melancholy thoughtfulness, or a show of feeling; whether he's mourning the loss of Homer, or himself.
When he looks at Greece's back, facing away to the ship, he feels a profound sadness. How many others will visit him and see his bed? Feel his touch, even his kiss? Was this just this to him? It isn't the first time Greece has visited him, but it feels as if something has broken free between them, or perhaps just himself.
No, he has no right.
When he arrives at home Japan brews himself a pot of oolong tea. He reminds himself the facts he has always known: Love is owned by the humans in all their transience. Countries have no place for love. Love to humans can only bring sorrow at their death, and other countries may one day break away and become enemies.
He thinks of the teachings of Buddha. Love, connection and affection are only things which will keep him in the suffering of the world. But then, for the nigh immortal there are no incarnations, no promise of release.
He is half owned by Buddha, half by Amaterasu and Raijin, the kami of his country down to the smallest spirits in the stones. For a while, Christ almost came to take residence between the sun goddess and the Enlightened One. But Christ was an Anglo god, and soon his people turned on him, cutting off the converts like a malignancy.
He stares out the window a long time, his tea gradually becoming cold on a fall day that felt like winter.
He wonders how long he can fight a battle against his heart and win.
Re: the things you try and tell yourself to make yourself forget 2/2
anonymous
August 4 2011, 16:42:55 UTC
This was beautiful, author!anon. I wasn't sure what "snow angst" would be like, but this has a perfect tone of subtle melancholy to it with the sex being somewhat cold and distant but with enough warm sensuality intermingled with it.
I loved Japan's voice and his reluctance to let himself open his heart to others. The latter makes me a bit sad, especially since Greece seems to be depressed by it too, but the last line has a kind of inevitably to it as if Japan knows that someday he will give in. Beautiful, thoughtful writing.
Re: the things you try and tell yourself to make yourself forget 2/2
anonymous
August 5 2011, 01:11:34 UTC
"Love is owned by the humans in all their transience. Countries have no place for love. Love to humans can only bring sorrow at their death, and other countries may one day break away and become enemies."
"He wonders how long he can fight a battle against his heart and win."
;~; This was beautifully written, author!anon, You almost made me cry, especially with the two parts above (my most favourite parts of the fic ~ ♥).
There's so much unsaid feelings going on in this fic it's just so aasfdfklhgjklhkt I'm at a loss of how to describe it! But I love this so very much. It's so very them.
And the descriptions of the temples and wish-tying and the priest's attendant sweeping at the door... aaaaaaaaaaahhhhh I miss being in Japan!
Instead they head out to the nearby temple. The roof is covered in frost-laced golden gingko leaves. A young attendant to the priests sweeps at the door. Japan watches as Greece ties paper strips upon the trees. Last time he wished for Turkey's death, but this time he seems more solemn.
Japan wishes for what he always wishes for. Success for his country, a warm Spring. Nothing more. His fingers tremble slightly as he ties his wishes. The snow covered branches bend under his touch, and snow breaks free and falls over them. He reaches up to brush the flecks from Greece's hair, but it melts on contact. Drops of water drip from his chin as if he's been caught in a downpour. Japan stays paused there, his hands almost touching Greece's hair, his face.
It's a public place. Japan flushes as he drops his hands and murmurs an apology. But when Greece asks what for? he cannot say why.
*
Greece leaves the next morning. The goodbye is quiet, a short exchange of pleasantries. Greece slouches off, sleepily taking his things up. Japan cannot tell if the sadness is Greece's perpetual melancholy thoughtfulness, or a show of feeling; whether he's mourning the loss of Homer, or himself.
When he looks at Greece's back, facing away to the ship, he feels a profound sadness. How many others will visit him and see his bed? Feel his touch, even his kiss? Was this just this to him? It isn't the first time Greece has visited him, but it feels as if something has broken free between them, or perhaps just himself.
No, he has no right.
When he arrives at home Japan brews himself a pot of oolong tea. He reminds himself the facts he has always known: Love is owned by the humans in all their transience. Countries have no place for love. Love to humans can only bring sorrow at their death, and other countries may one day break away and become enemies.
He thinks of the teachings of Buddha. Love, connection and affection are only things which will keep him in the suffering of the world. But then, for the nigh immortal there are no incarnations, no promise of release.
He is half owned by Buddha, half by Amaterasu and Raijin, the kami of his country down to the smallest spirits in the stones. For a while, Christ almost came to take residence between the sun goddess and the Enlightened One. But Christ was an Anglo god, and soon his people turned on him, cutting off the converts like a malignancy.
He stares out the window a long time, his tea gradually becoming cold on a fall day that felt like winter.
He wonders how long he can fight a battle against his heart and win.
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I loved Japan's voice and his reluctance to let himself open his heart to others. The latter makes me a bit sad, especially since Greece seems to be depressed by it too, but the last line has a kind of inevitably to it as if Japan knows that someday he will give in. Beautiful, thoughtful writing.
Reply
"He wonders how long he can fight a battle against his heart and win."
;~; This was beautifully written, author!anon, You almost made me cry, especially with the two parts above (my most favourite parts of the fic ~ ♥).
There's so much unsaid feelings going on in this fic it's just so aasfdfklhgjklhkt I'm at a loss of how to describe it! But I love this so very much. It's so very them.
And the descriptions of the temples and wish-tying and the priest's attendant sweeping at the door... aaaaaaaaaaahhhhh I miss being in Japan!
Great job! :)
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