[220. A fate worse than death - "Love is"]
I can't write romance, I remembered suddenly.
Maybe, if he managed to grow up, even the smallest bit, he would understand how it was to not need love and affection- at least, not at such a committed level as required of in a relationship. Maybe, if he grew up, he’d realize what the difference was between “troublesome” and “tolerable”. Maybe, when he was grown up, he’d be able to go to him, and this time not only to ask, but to convince him- that he could take care of him, that he could be the one he relied on, the one he shared his life with.
Maybe, Fuuta thinks, when he’s older, when he’s more mature, when years have passed and he’s drunk them in, allowed them to travel through his veins, maybe then he’d understand what Spanner meant when he said “I’m sorry Fuuta, but I can’t.”
--
“Wh- what do you mean, you can’t?”
The bare years of Fuuta’s existence on this earth show and reverberate in his voice, which trembles and sounds as if it is on the verge of dissolving into the incoherent babbling which usually accompanies a crying fit. Spanner is awful at comforting people, and this is why his brow furrows- travelling alongside that particular train of thought makes him uneasy, and he murmurs his little brother’s name in what could have been a plea for a few moments of consideration.
“Do you- Do you like someone else?”
“No,” Spanner answers immediately, but what did Fuuta mean by ‘like’? Of course he liked a lot of people, now that he was properly socialized and such. He liked Shoichi, and Enma, and Bluebell, and Ghost (who was gone, but-), and Mukuro Rokudo and Julie. But perhaps he meant like in the romantic sense? Of course he did, hadn’t he just- confessed to him, mere minutes earlier?
So the answer, the immediate “No,” is not a lie. It’s the truth, but Spanner’s stomach rolls in a knot at the expression that Fuuta makes. He thinks I’m lying, is what Spanner thinks, and he shakes his head, repeats, “No, I don’t like anyone else.”
“Then… do you just… not like me…?”
Which was a ridiculous assumption. Fuuta was bright, cheerful, and reasonably pleasant company. Spanner couldn’t find a reason to dislike him.
Similarly, and quite sadly, he couldn’t find a reason to be invested in him romantically.
“I do… I’m sorry, Fuuta, but I just can’t…”
And, to Spanner’s horror, Fuuta runs.
--
What is it to love? I do not know.
It seems that it is a fate worse than death.
--
The next time they see each other is at Vongola Decimo’s instigation. A party, meant to be relaxed and intimate, a gathering of friends. It has been three years since Fuuta last spoke to Spanner, and while Spanner felt the initial guilt and self-loathing for a respectable three months, he was in a relatively pleasant mindset when they met each other at the buffet table.
“Spanner,” Fuuta begins, and Fuuta is sixteen now, a sharp-eyed, sweetly-smiling sixteen. He has grown taller, perhaps a little wiser, but Spanner can still see the young boy who trailed his shadow from years back, and he smiles at him, genuinely pleased (and Spanner does not see the recoil in Fuuta’s eyes, the sudden gut-wrenching realization that the man still saw him the way he knew him- in effect, a child).
“Fuuta,” he greets, and Fuuta wants to say I understand now, I think, what you meant, but I’m willing to keep loving you without- without anything else, without asking for anything, so will you let me love you? Will you? All I need is your permission- but then Spanner asks about his health, his studies, his teachers, and Fuuta swallows the words and the tears that threaten to rise to the corners of his eyes, and he answers politely, and says, at the end of their conversation, “I’m glad I got to talk to you again, Spanner.”
The blonde mechanic nods, a fond smile on his lips, “Mm. Me too, Fuuta.”
--
What is it to be broken hearted? I know.
It is a fate worse than death.
Maybe, if he managed to grow up, even the smallest bit, he would understand how it was to not need love and affection- at least, not at such a committed level as required of in a relationship. Maybe, if he grew up, he’d realize what the difference was between “troublesome” and “tolerable”. Maybe, when he was grown up, he’d be able to go to him, and this time not only to ask, but to convince him- that he could take care of him, that he could be the one he relied on, the one he shared his life with.
Maybe, Fuuta thinks, when he’s older, when he’s more mature, when years have passed and he’s drunk them in, allowed them to travel through his veins, maybe then he’d understand what Spanner meant when he said “I’m sorry Fuuta, but I can’t.”
--
“Wh- what do you mean, you can’t?”
The bare years of Fuuta’s existence on this earth show and reverberate in his voice, which trembles and sounds as if it is on the verge of dissolving into the incoherent babbling which usually accompanies a crying fit. Spanner is awful at comforting people, and this is why his brow furrows- travelling alongside that particular train of thought makes him uneasy, and he murmurs his little brother’s name in what could have been a plea for a few moments of consideration.
“Do you- Do you like someone else?”
“No,” Spanner answers immediately, but what did Fuuta mean by ‘like’? Of course he liked a lot of people, now that he was properly socialized and such. He liked Shoichi, and Enma, and Bluebell, and Ghost (who was gone, but-), and Mukuro Rokudo and Julie. But perhaps he meant like in the romantic sense? Of course he did, hadn’t he just- confessed to him, mere minutes earlier?
So the answer, the immediate “No,” is not a lie. It’s the truth, but Spanner’s stomach rolls in a knot at the expression that Fuuta makes. He thinks I’m lying, is what Spanner thinks, and he shakes his head, repeats, “No, I don’t like anyone else.”
“Then… do you just… not like me…?”
Which was a ridiculous assumption. Fuuta was bright, cheerful, and reasonably pleasant company. Spanner couldn’t find a reason to dislike him.
Similarly, and quite sadly, he couldn’t find a reason to be invested in him romantically.
“I do… I’m sorry, Fuuta, but I just can’t…”
And, to Spanner’s horror, Fuuta runs.
--
What is it to love? I do not know.
It seems that it is a fate worse than death.
--
The next time they see each other is at Vongola Decimo’s instigation. A party, meant to be relaxed and intimate, a gathering of friends. It has been three years since Fuuta last spoke to Spanner, and while Spanner felt the initial guilt and self-loathing for a respectable three months, he was in a relatively pleasant mindset when they met each other at the buffet table.
“Spanner,” Fuuta begins, and Fuuta is sixteen now, a sharp-eyed, sweetly-smiling sixteen. He has grown taller, perhaps a little wiser, but Spanner can still see the young boy who trailed his shadow from years back, and he smiles at him, genuinely pleased (and Spanner does not see the recoil in Fuuta’s eyes, the sudden gut-wrenching realization that the man still saw him the way he knew him- in effect, a child).
“Fuuta,” he greets, and Fuuta wants to say I understand now, I think, what you meant, but I’m willing to keep loving you without- without anything else, without asking for anything, so will you let me love you? Will you? All I need is your permission- but then Spanner asks about his health, his studies, his teachers, and Fuuta swallows the words and the tears that threaten to rise to the corners of his eyes, and he answers politely, and says, at the end of their conversation, “I’m glad I got to talk to you again, Spanner.”
The blonde mechanic nods, a fond smile on his lips, “Mm. Me too, Fuuta.”
--
What is it to be broken hearted? I know.
It is a fate worse than death.