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windandwaterHa! The perfect time of night to be hit by a crackbunny. I'm so weak. .____.;;
Warnings for: ... angst, implied sex, angst, surprise POV!
I love you.
It was such a frighteningly easy thing to say, when you're motivated to do so. Standing here in the dark, pretending to be something more than a whisper of shadow and dreams and a future never met, it was so easy to say 'I love you,' especially when those words wouldn't be heard by mortal ears. And it was equally easy to hear those words directed at you, to believe that they were real and whole and not merely a figment conjured up by some twisted god.
And yet, he craved those words, as much as he loathed them.
Craved them because, yes, they were for him. Those words were for him and only him and no one else besides him. Those were HIS words. They made him real. They made him whole. They made him long and linger and crave and ache and dream. And when he spoke them back, in the dead of the night with only the stars and the moon to witness, they felt good to say. Because he was HERE. He was right here, where he wanted -- deserved, longed, would always, hoped -- to be. They were the words that bound him, and he went so willingly that he would've followed those words into any fire or doom or damnation, just to hear them.
Loathed... oh, but he did loathe those words. Because... because they belonged to him. What truth was in those words? Words spoken repeatedly through the years. Words that had lost their meaning and substance and could never ever be made whole. Because what were those words but shadows of the past -- dreams, memories, wants, desires -- clinging and lurking in the dark corners of the present. Did those words have any meaning anymore? And when he said them in return in the cover of the night -- too afraid to speak them in the day, too afraid of not being heard -- what could he help but feel besides that desperate longing?
He wanted those words heard (no, he didn't) by the one he loved.
And he stood, shadowed in the dark corner, the long drapes hiding the light of the moon and the stars and the night his words lived for. He watched as two figures stumbled blindly, then fell into bed, tangled and laughing and hopelessly entranced. He said nothing as passions raised and the one he loved arched and gasped and moaned and cried out for that cruel and unforgiving god. And then... and then... panted, sated, happy... "I love you...!"
Words! His words! Those words that belonged to him! Given to another... so easily... too easily. And they had to be just words because there was an answering rumble, a whisper of some language he didn't understand but knew to be Words, as well.
'I love you...' he whispered into the dark, into the dreams now shattered and scattered and thoroughly dead beneath the rumpled bed. And he wasn't heard.
And Solo turned away, fading into nothing and vanishing into the night.
Warnings for: ... angst, implied sex, angst, surprise POV!
I love you.
It was such a frighteningly easy thing to say, when you're motivated to do so. Standing here in the dark, pretending to be something more than a whisper of shadow and dreams and a future never met, it was so easy to say 'I love you,' especially when those words wouldn't be heard by mortal ears. And it was equally easy to hear those words directed at you, to believe that they were real and whole and not merely a figment conjured up by some twisted god.
And yet, he craved those words, as much as he loathed them.
Craved them because, yes, they were for him. Those words were for him and only him and no one else besides him. Those were HIS words. They made him real. They made him whole. They made him long and linger and crave and ache and dream. And when he spoke them back, in the dead of the night with only the stars and the moon to witness, they felt good to say. Because he was HERE. He was right here, where he wanted -- deserved, longed, would always, hoped -- to be. They were the words that bound him, and he went so willingly that he would've followed those words into any fire or doom or damnation, just to hear them.
Loathed... oh, but he did loathe those words. Because... because they belonged to him. What truth was in those words? Words spoken repeatedly through the years. Words that had lost their meaning and substance and could never ever be made whole. Because what were those words but shadows of the past -- dreams, memories, wants, desires -- clinging and lurking in the dark corners of the present. Did those words have any meaning anymore? And when he said them in return in the cover of the night -- too afraid to speak them in the day, too afraid of not being heard -- what could he help but feel besides that desperate longing?
He wanted those words heard (no, he didn't) by the one he loved.
And he stood, shadowed in the dark corner, the long drapes hiding the light of the moon and the stars and the night his words lived for. He watched as two figures stumbled blindly, then fell into bed, tangled and laughing and hopelessly entranced. He said nothing as passions raised and the one he loved arched and gasped and moaned and cried out for that cruel and unforgiving god. And then... and then... panted, sated, happy... "I love you...!"
Words! His words! Those words that belonged to him! Given to another... so easily... too easily. And they had to be just words because there was an answering rumble, a whisper of some language he didn't understand but knew to be Words, as well.
'I love you...' he whispered into the dark, into the dreams now shattered and scattered and thoroughly dead beneath the rumpled bed. And he wasn't heard.
And Solo turned away, fading into nothing and vanishing into the night.
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(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 02:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 02:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 02:38 am (UTC)Excellent snippet, love Solo angst...unrequited love *hearts*. I don't know whether to ask for more or let it be. It is so perfect as it is.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 03:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 04:00 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 04:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 07:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 11:19 am (UTC)Poor guy. ;_;
(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 11:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 11:00 pm (UTC)>:D *torments you*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 11:04 pm (UTC)I'm glad you like the fic and think it's... well, whole. I know it does have that sort of jarring ending that could have a sequel. But that would mean I'd have to write. :P
You were confused? I want to say good, since it's supposed to be confusing, but I also want to know what confused you. And yes, the implication (okay, it was in my head) is that it's Duo and Heero on that bed. Solo is everywhere Duo is, afterall, and the language Solo doesn't understand is Heero saying he loves Duo in Japanese.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 11:06 pm (UTC)And yes, it's sad to think of Solo being "replaced," especially since all that is really keeping him a ghost is Duo's love. ;__; *cuddles*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 11:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 11:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 11:10 pm (UTC)... and if I may ask, who did you think the POV was?
(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-22 11:11 pm (UTC)And yes, I do love Solo so much. There aren't enough fics with him in it.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-23 12:26 am (UTC)hm. it could sorta be the solo from 2AM/4AM, except i kinda assumed he couldnt leave L2 and by the time duo comes back, heero's already dead.
Still, OMG angst ;__;
(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-23 10:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-23 06:43 pm (UTC)<_< ... actually, this fic started out being from Heero's POV for 2AM/4AM. The bunny plinked after the first sentences or something, and then Solo kicked the crap out of Heero to take over the fic. T_T I need a Solo icon.