Archive of Our Own ^beta

he seemed a lot happier, chekov thought. he enjoyed watching sulu talk with his friends. he liked watching him a lot, because he’s pretty, and because he loved him.

he liked it when sulu was happy. it made him happy.

when they’re together, its like nothing in the world was wrong. sometimes he’d forget that starfleet was life-or-death. sulu made him forget that there were risks. sulu made him forget. he’s the only person who has ever been able to do that.

chekov didn’t like it when sulu was sad. he was awkward, he didn’t know how to help, but he’d subtly let him know he was there. the sleepless nights chekov would have, just worrying about him. hell, he’d make himself so upset he’d have to take a walk sometimes. he couldn’t picture a future without sulu. it felt incomplete. it felt wrong. it never felt like his future.

but when he was with sulu, he’d forget. he’d forget that there's always a future. he’d forget that things were constantly changing, and shaping how the future would turn out. everything he did, from the moment he was born, led up to spending almost every waking hour with sulu, shaping the future. their future.

sulu was doing better. he had a run-in with his mental health. but chekov helped. he was there. he was always there, and he made him forget. chekov wasn’t the only one who’d lose himself in the moment when they were together.

sulu got a friend on the ship. chekov was happy for him. sure, he’d lose out on some time with him, but he knew sulu needed to keep his mind active, and friendships are stimulating. sulu wasn’t chekov’s only friend, so it was fair for sulu to have another. he liked that. he was happy for him, always.

chekov would watch as they’d both walk past him. their shifts changed recently. chekov would work with a different helmsman. but that’s okay, because he still saw sulu walk by. he’d wave to them. sulu would wave back, and his friend would, too. perhaps less enthusiastically than sulu. but that’s okay, because his new friend seemed to like chekov. or at least be impartial to him.

on their time off, chekov would listen to sulu ramble on about what happened on his shift, and chekov would go after. having different shifts meant they had more stories to tell eachother. that was nice. sometimes they feared they’d run out of stories to tell. chekov would fall asleep next to sulu during his half of the story, though. sulu never seemed to get the end of the story from chekov. he was okay with that, he liked hearing chekov speak anyways. he’d always brush his hair from his face when he was asleep next to him. sulu thought chekov was pretty.

it was strange not working side-by-side anymore. it wasn’t upsetting, but it was different. sometimes chekov would get distracted by thinking about what he was going to tell sulu later. thinking of what could be interesting to him. sulu seemed more distracted by his friend, though.

he found that out, since sulu would keep talking about them to him. usually, they’d talk about eachother, or their shared friends; but chekov couldn’t seem to get a word in anymore. he didn’t mind. he liked listening to him speak. he’d sacrifice his voice box if it meant he’d only ever hear sulu’s voice. sort of like the little mermaid— that’s a fun parallel. i’ll have to tell that to sulu, chekov thought. 

chekov was glad he had a friend. he’s glad his best friend is branching out. they were both quite reserved when they first met; but now he’s watching sulu blossom. sort of like the flowers he’d tell chekov all about.

he hasn’t heard about his flowers in a while. 

sulu thought he told him about them, but he didn’t. apparently, he had gotten that mixed up with his friend. his other friend. the friend that wasn’t chekov. he was happy for him. he was. he couldn’t pinpoint why he felt his mood drop when sulu told him that.

chekov keeps getting distracted at work. he’s thinking about sulu. he’s thinking about what he’s been saying about his friend. he’s thinking about the fact that he seems to talk about his friend, more than he’d talk about his plants. chekov always said that’d be impossible.

chekov wasn’t all that into plants. he always thought about sulu when he’d see one, though. he knew far too many names of flowers to be considered the average knowledge. sometimes he’d find himself talking about them at random, and be met with his peers chuckling, telling him that sulu had rubbed off on him a lot over the years.

his friend liked flowers, though. sulu told him that. they’d talk about them together all the time. chekov was happy for him. he found a friend that actually shares his interests with equal passion. that was great. he was so happy for him. why did he feel sick?

chekov hadn’t seen sulu glow like this before. he truly was doing fantastically. that was great. he was so happy for him. why did it hurt? he didn’t know. and he didn’t really want to think about it. so he didn’t. he thought about sulu instead. except, that started to hurt, too.

he’d see him less and less. he was busy. that’s okay, it happens. it happens to everybody. it happens to him. but, he’s busy with work. sulu was busy with his friend. his other friend. not chekov. he wasn’t possessive, per se. he just got jealous easily. that’s okay, it happens to everybody. that’s what he told himself, anyways.

if sulu didn’t want to be his friend anymore, he’d tell him. its not the type of thing to be one-sided. unless you’re drifting. then it just happens. and that’s happening, chekov thinks. that’s what's happening, and chekov can’t stop that. he can’t prevent it, he can’t stop it, he can’t just tell sulu that they’re drifting, surely he’d know? surely. 

sometimes he’d find himself considering telling sulu that he didn’t want to be friends anymore, so it’d be easier. so sulu wouldn’t tell him first. so he didn’t have to put up with the sickness. so he didn’t have to experience the drift. The Drift, as he called it. 

but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. he loved sulu. but sulu loves his friend. his other friend. not chekov. but chekov loves to hang out with him. but he hated The Drift. but he’d always forget about all of it when they were together. he’d forget. he wanted to forget all the time. but sulu was the only person who made that possible. but he can’t forget, when sulu is never with him.

he’d lose sleep. he’d lose track of time. he stopped eating. he was late to work. he was deteriorating in front of everybody, because he was overthinking. none of this could be true. it could all be the furthest from the truth; it could be ten thousand lightyears away from fact, but chekov believed it. there were more signs of it being true, than it just being an anxiety. that’s what he didn’t like. no matter how many times chekov would tell himself that he’s being stupid, that sulu still thinks of him as his best friend, his mind always returns back to The Drift. and then he starts crying.

he starts crying like a baby. sobbing on the floor, crying into his hands. having to stop himself from sobbing, because he ended up dry heaving. he’d laugh at himself afterwards, wondering how it got to that point. then he remembers why. and then he’s sobbing again. and that would be on repeat over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, until he snaps out of it or passes out until his next shift.

and the whole time that’s happening, sulu is doing fine. and thats great. chekov’s happy for him. he’s so happy for him. and he’s sure he hates him, but he’s so happy for him. he’s sure he hates him for making him feel like this, but he loves him so much. he loves him so much it hurts. he loves him so much that everything about this situation is pulling and tearing at his heart and its ripping him to shreds and its killing him, its killing him, its killing him, he’s killing himself on accident. I’m gonna fucking die, chekov thinks.

but he’s so happy for him. he’s so, so happy. he sees him with his friend, and he smiles. it hurts, and yet he smiles. he wants to beat the shit out of sulu, tell him that he’s hurting him, but he smiles. he doesn’t want to hurt sulu, he loves him so much, and so he smiles.

it burns his throat, his chest is tight, he can’t see through his tears. he can barely make out sulu when he waves to him and his friend. his other friend. not me, chekov thinks. but he sees what his friend looks like. and he’s jealous. they’re pretty. they’re tall. they have an aura about them that’s so likeable, and it makes chekov want to exile them from the enterprise entirely.

so, he gets prettier. he’d try. he’d be better than them. he’d do what he could to get sulu back. he didn’t feel like eating. he didn’t feel like sleeping. he didn’t feel like working. he didn’t feel much at all. he felt nothing, so he tried to feel something, and now there’s regret carved all over his body, carved into his bones, carved into his brain and heart and soul and it shows through his eyes, and it comes out in his tears in a thick, black tar that turns into a big monster that chases him and it has huge fangs, and he’s personifying everything that hurts, so it hurts a little less. everything that hurts just looks like him, and what he looks like is something he couldn’t even tell you, because he doesn’t recognise himself in the mirror anymore.

and he feels his soul get ripped from his body from his stomach, out his throat when he sees sulu kiss them. and he feels himself go lightheaded from agony, and he feels like crying, and he feels like throwing up, and he feels like he needs to change the regret in his bones into ruin. ruin. ruin. ruin. ruin himself because he can’t fucking feel, and he wants to feel, and he wants to feel anything but this, but its all thats clouding his mind, and his eyes, and every time he closes his eyes he sees sulu kissing his friend. his other friend. not chekov. his partner. not. chekov. and it should’ve been, and chekov realises he was in love with sulu. and now he’s collapsed against his door as he feels himself come close to passing out.

it was stupid. he felt stupid. sulu was happy, and chekov wasn’t. but every time he sees sulu smile, he’s happy for him. and seeing sulu’s eyes light up as he talks about his partner, he can’t help but smile for him. he’s so happy for him. he’s so happy for him. he’s so happy for him, that its scarred deep into his bones, into every inch of his body from the inside out, that he’s happy for sulu. that he’s so happy for him. and even when sulu’s hugging him, sobbing, because he was so scared chekov was going to die, he was smiling. he was smiling, because he cared. and he was so happy.

and he smiled as sulu watched him deteriorate further, until he was a shell. and he smiled, because he’s so happy for sulu. he’s so happy. he loved sulu, and he didn’t know. and he wished he knew, so he could tell him, but he couldn’t. and he can’t. and he won’t. and he’ll never be happy with him.

and when he sits with sulu, hearing him talk about his partner, he smiles. but he can’t forget. he can’t forget. he knows the future. he knows he isn’t in the picture. he’ll never forget again. he’ll always be smiling for him. chekov wanted so desperately to smile with him– but there’s no us, there’s no fucking us, its you and them, because you’re selfish, and you didn’t notice i’m so fucking in love with you it hurt me, chekov thought. but he knew sulu wasn’t selfish. he knew that sulu couldn’t have ever known. he knows he’ll never forget again, he’s at peace with that now. he’s at peace. and he’s happy for sulu. he’s so happy, and he’s smiling. and they’re telling eachother stories, just like before. and chekov fell asleep next to sulu, just like before. and he hasn’t cried in so long, because he can’t feel it. he’s sure he ran out of tears.

so why did it hurt? why did it hurt so much? why was the only thing he could ever feel, being hurt? why did it manifest physically? it’s burned into his body. it’s burned into his mind. he’s sure he’s going to die. he’s sure this’ll kill him. he’s sure sulu will kill him, and he won’t even notice. he won’t even notice. because of The Drift.

he can’t bring himself to think of sulu. or see him. or talk to him. but he finds himself in sulu’s quarters, sleeping next to him.

sulu doesn’t know why chekov’s crying in his sleep, but he wipes his tears away anyways.