we were never loves
Title: We were never loves
Pairing: Subaru x Yoko
Rating: PG
Word Count: 800+
Notes: Blame stirfried_lies. And Neil Gaiman.
Summary: His days spent with Yoko are defined by the things he will never say.
We were never loves
(We were never loves, and we never will be, now.
I do not regret that, however.)
Sometimes, Subaru dreams in sounds. The jingle of a convenience store door, opening and closing, opening and closing. The unsteady drip drip of water down the shower drain. The buzz of flickering neon lights. Chirping crickets and the roar of planes crashing. The purr of car engines. A perfect and unwavering b flat. Cicadas.
He dreams of all of these sounds, sometimes beautiful and other times cacophonous, but he mostly dreams of the one. That traitorous sound, torturous in Subaru’s ears. The sound of Yoko’s high-pitched squeals that clang loud and boisterous. A laughter that bubbles from the depths of Yoko’s diaphragm like fireworks. Laughter that bursts forth heavy and aching, fizzling in the air, leaving sharp and lasting imprints in Subaru’s mind.
“Your giggle is so annoying,” Subaru whines one occasion, one tipsy occasion in their shared hotel room. And, as if to spite Subaru, as he is oft prone to do, Yoko only giggles more, rolling onto his bed and pulling around him crisp vanilla-scented sheets. Yoko’s face is alit with a special sort of happiness as he laughs even louder, freshly scrubbed skin stretches across the soft apples of his warmed cheeks.
And Subaru falters.
Your laughter leaves the deepest impression on me, is what he wants to say.
But instead he chucks a pillow at Yoko’s face, and Yoko just smiles, simple and joyous, before he exhales and hides beneath down covers.
(I regret the conversations we never had, the time we did not spend together.
I regret that I never told him that he made me happy, when I was in his company.
The world was the better for his being in it.)
His days spent with Yoko are defined by the things he will never say.
One of the dumbest things I’ve ever done is love you, he thinks. This, Subaru wholly believes.
“Hi,” is what he says instead.
Yoko looks up and his eyes light up, “Hey.” Subaru sits down next to Yoko the moment he yawns. Yoko coughs, sheepish, “Want to come over later?”
No, I’d really prefer to not feel stupid tonight.
“Yeah, sure,” Subaru shrugs, “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. Beer, beer, and maybe some more beer?” Subaru chuckles and Yoko grins, “Who cares what we do? It’ll be fun!”
Subaru chuckles again, a little more sardonically. “Yeah,” he repeats, “Fun.”
And it is, just like always. Just like every other day. Just like every other man-bonding moment when Yoko looks at him with a pleasant sort of warmth that soaks into Subaru’s pores but at the same time chills him to the very bone.
That night, like all nights with Yoko, the things Subaru doesn’t say pile up haphazardly in his mind. Little things, big things, but things nonetheless, threatening to pour out in floods at the slightest break in Subaru’s mental defense.
Because Yoko, in the countless moments when his eyes connect with Subaru’s as they burst into peals of laughter, makes Subaru feel bursting and breathless and alive. And all Subaru wants to do, in those simple and ordinary moments, is tell him.
One of the dumbest things, Subaru thinks. Even though Yoko is splayed drunken and asleep, chin digging into Subaru’s forearm with a painful insistence, his voice refuses to speak the words aloud. But they ring low and profound in his mind, and in that moment he desperately wishes Yoko will hear them anyway.
Because I’ll never say it.
(These things alone do I now regret: things left unsaid.
And he is gone, and I am old.)
He likes to think of himself as his own sacrificial lamb. Sacrificing for the happiness of someone else, an action he likes to think is entirely selfless, yet, if honest, is equally as selfish.
Subaru really does want Yoko to be happy, though, and he often wonders if Yoko is. If Yoko truly is happy, if he is filled with the kind of earth-shattering happiness that clings like a slippery second skin, elusive and perfectly fitting and wonderful.
But mostly he wonders if he should just tell Yoko, tell him to make up for all the years he didn’t.
“Are you happy?”
The cell phone sits heavy in his hand as he waits for a response. On the other end, Yoko exhales and the shallow sound fills Subaru’s ear.
“Are you?” Yoko counters. Subaru’s mouth curves in an irony-laced smile he is grateful Yoko can’t see, and for seconds neither of them say anything. Subaru imagines what Yoko looks like on the other end, if he looks like Subaru does, tired and pensive, drained. He imagines, and eventually Subaru hears Yoko fidget with his phone, “Hey listen, I-”
A pause.
“What?”
“Oh. Nothing.” Yoko clears his throat. “I have to go,” he says softly, “Do you still have something to say? Because if you do, you should say it now.”
Subaru nearly laughs aloud.
So many things, he thinks to himself, thinks to Yoko, So many things I need to tell you.
“Not really,” Subaru says.
We were never loves, and we never will be, now.
I do not regret that, however.
I regret the conversations we never had, the time we did not spend together.
I regret that I never told him that he made me happy, when I was in his company.
The world was the better for his being in it.
These things alone do I now regret: things left unsaid.
And he is gone, and I am old.
Neil Gaiman-The Sandman Series
AN: …Why do I keep trying to write K8 Why can’t I write just straight out happy K8 fic?
Um, I’m really nervous about this one, so…comments, if you have any, would be lovely?
Pairing: Subaru x Yoko
Rating: PG
Word Count: 800+
Notes: Blame stirfried_lies. And Neil Gaiman.
Summary: His days spent with Yoko are defined by the things he will never say.
We were never loves
(We were never loves, and we never will be, now.
I do not regret that, however.)
Sometimes, Subaru dreams in sounds. The jingle of a convenience store door, opening and closing, opening and closing. The unsteady drip drip of water down the shower drain. The buzz of flickering neon lights. Chirping crickets and the roar of planes crashing. The purr of car engines. A perfect and unwavering b flat. Cicadas.
He dreams of all of these sounds, sometimes beautiful and other times cacophonous, but he mostly dreams of the one. That traitorous sound, torturous in Subaru’s ears. The sound of Yoko’s high-pitched squeals that clang loud and boisterous. A laughter that bubbles from the depths of Yoko’s diaphragm like fireworks. Laughter that bursts forth heavy and aching, fizzling in the air, leaving sharp and lasting imprints in Subaru’s mind.
“Your giggle is so annoying,” Subaru whines one occasion, one tipsy occasion in their shared hotel room. And, as if to spite Subaru, as he is oft prone to do, Yoko only giggles more, rolling onto his bed and pulling around him crisp vanilla-scented sheets. Yoko’s face is alit with a special sort of happiness as he laughs even louder, freshly scrubbed skin stretches across the soft apples of his warmed cheeks.
And Subaru falters.
Your laughter leaves the deepest impression on me, is what he wants to say.
But instead he chucks a pillow at Yoko’s face, and Yoko just smiles, simple and joyous, before he exhales and hides beneath down covers.
(I regret the conversations we never had, the time we did not spend together.
I regret that I never told him that he made me happy, when I was in his company.
The world was the better for his being in it.)
His days spent with Yoko are defined by the things he will never say.
One of the dumbest things I’ve ever done is love you, he thinks. This, Subaru wholly believes.
“Hi,” is what he says instead.
Yoko looks up and his eyes light up, “Hey.” Subaru sits down next to Yoko the moment he yawns. Yoko coughs, sheepish, “Want to come over later?”
No, I’d really prefer to not feel stupid tonight.
“Yeah, sure,” Subaru shrugs, “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. Beer, beer, and maybe some more beer?” Subaru chuckles and Yoko grins, “Who cares what we do? It’ll be fun!”
Subaru chuckles again, a little more sardonically. “Yeah,” he repeats, “Fun.”
And it is, just like always. Just like every other day. Just like every other man-bonding moment when Yoko looks at him with a pleasant sort of warmth that soaks into Subaru’s pores but at the same time chills him to the very bone.
That night, like all nights with Yoko, the things Subaru doesn’t say pile up haphazardly in his mind. Little things, big things, but things nonetheless, threatening to pour out in floods at the slightest break in Subaru’s mental defense.
Because Yoko, in the countless moments when his eyes connect with Subaru’s as they burst into peals of laughter, makes Subaru feel bursting and breathless and alive. And all Subaru wants to do, in those simple and ordinary moments, is tell him.
One of the dumbest things, Subaru thinks. Even though Yoko is splayed drunken and asleep, chin digging into Subaru’s forearm with a painful insistence, his voice refuses to speak the words aloud. But they ring low and profound in his mind, and in that moment he desperately wishes Yoko will hear them anyway.
Because I’ll never say it.
(These things alone do I now regret: things left unsaid.
And he is gone, and I am old.)
He likes to think of himself as his own sacrificial lamb. Sacrificing for the happiness of someone else, an action he likes to think is entirely selfless, yet, if honest, is equally as selfish.
Subaru really does want Yoko to be happy, though, and he often wonders if Yoko is. If Yoko truly is happy, if he is filled with the kind of earth-shattering happiness that clings like a slippery second skin, elusive and perfectly fitting and wonderful.
But mostly he wonders if he should just tell Yoko, tell him to make up for all the years he didn’t.
“Are you happy?”
The cell phone sits heavy in his hand as he waits for a response. On the other end, Yoko exhales and the shallow sound fills Subaru’s ear.
“Are you?” Yoko counters. Subaru’s mouth curves in an irony-laced smile he is grateful Yoko can’t see, and for seconds neither of them say anything. Subaru imagines what Yoko looks like on the other end, if he looks like Subaru does, tired and pensive, drained. He imagines, and eventually Subaru hears Yoko fidget with his phone, “Hey listen, I-”
A pause.
“What?”
“Oh. Nothing.” Yoko clears his throat. “I have to go,” he says softly, “Do you still have something to say? Because if you do, you should say it now.”
Subaru nearly laughs aloud.
So many things, he thinks to himself, thinks to Yoko, So many things I need to tell you.
“Not really,” Subaru says.
We were never loves, and we never will be, now.
I do not regret that, however.
I regret the conversations we never had, the time we did not spend together.
I regret that I never told him that he made me happy, when I was in his company.
The world was the better for his being in it.
These things alone do I now regret: things left unsaid.
And he is gone, and I am old.
Neil Gaiman-The Sandman Series
AN: …Why do I keep trying to write K8 Why can’t I write just straight out happy K8 fic?
Um, I’m really nervous about this one, so…comments, if you have any, would be lovely?