Archive of Our Own

‘It’s not working anymore,’

Those were one of the last words he said to you all those years ago. You looked at the dejected curve of his shoulders and the ashen complexion on his already pale face and how he wasn’t supposed to say those words to you. Not him.

You were never charitable, so with a hardened gaze you played dumb. ‘Huh?’

Because maybe it was killing him to say those words, but you’re certain you’re hurting more, and you’d make him spell the words if you have to. He’d have to say those words out loud and see which one, between the two of you, got hurt the most.

You know what had stopped working though. Him turning a blind eye at the trinkets, the rumpled sheets, the cloying scent left by your fuckbuddies around the apartment had stopped working. Him pretending not to see you taking your liquid courage before touching him— that’d stopped being effective too.

(Although he’s wrong on the second count. The spirits weren’t for courage, they were for cowardliness. Because he’s beautiful when he broke apart beneath you, surrounding you, tiny ripples traveling through his skin seemingly lodging themselves at your core. And if it weren’t for the spirits you’ll break too. You’ll want to inhale his scent, imprint yours into him, and when he looked at you with reference as you pumped your seed into his body, tender lips mouthing ‘I love you’ and you’re torn between wanting to push those scary intense emotions away or wishing for your babes in his belly, the spirits were the only thing holding you shattering from your own three words wanting to retched themselves out).

‘I’m leaving, Yonekuni,’

He should’ve been the last person in the world to say that. Mothers, fathers, brothers—they all come and go as they pleased, but he wasn’t supposed to be like them. Not him.

So you were left with your feet rooted in the apartment you both were supposed to build your lives together in as he uncharacteristically walked away.

-

‘You haven’t changed one bit,’

He said that after years of years of absence and you’re left wondering if that’s supposed to be a good thing.

But you hated the me back then. Isn’t it bad if I haven’t changed from then?

You didn’t say that out loud because you have change. You’ve forgotten all the mind games you used to play. You’ve forgotten how to carry your insecurities in your back pocket like Swiss knives you can use to lash at him, just so you could see him cry and feel like you’re loved, and rained kisses like papercuts on the trembling ridges of his spine.

But there’s a gaping wound in your soul now, perfectly his size, and it had drained out all the anger that you would’ve lashed out if you were whole. You’re just a portion of what you were. And the shape of his body still lingered with you like the ghost of an amputated limb.

(To be fair, you haven’t changed that much. Somewhere in you there’d always be that petty child that felt younger brothers would take mothers’ and fathers’ kisses away from you. So when you saw his husband earlier you sneered at the grey streaks on the man’s black hair, the bag of diapers he carried in his hands, and the fact that he smelled like baby talcum. Aren’t you happy he settled for you? Your bitter mouth said. The man looked at him, eyes level, in that infuriating way people content with reality do, and said;

Yeah. Yeah, I am.)

‘You’ve changed.’

Were the words out of your lips, years and years after he dragged his presence out of your life.

And you’re right. He had changed. He’s softer around the edges now, like the years had mellowed him. Like the scars you left on his soul had healed.

There were red, tiny fingerprints on the edge of the shirt that he wore loose, because he’s round in the middle, heavy with babes in his belly. He smelled like baby talcum too, and you wanted to bury your face in his stomach, but you knew if you’re to do that you’d smell the seed that wasn’t yours growing in him.

Your head’s screaming, it could’ve been yours, should’ve been yours, would’ve been yours, over and over and over again, until you heard Norio’s nasally voice calling his name. You could sense him stopping on the edge of the garden, his eyes going back and forth between you and him.

He visibly straightened his back before stepping closer, prattling on about how everybody’s here now, the New Year’s dinner is about to start and c’mon, Shirou, Suzuran’s starting to get fussy without her mom.

You should come in too, Yonekuni,

…Yeah. Okay.

For the second time in your life, you watched his back walked away from you.

You haven’t even been touching, but his scent stayed with you, lingering in the air around you, clinging to your skin like first spring dew. Just like it’s always been.

Later, you’ll try to shed him off of you like old skin.

It won’t work.