「25 lives in which i’ll find you」
🗝️ general with a sprinkle of romance?
🗝️ based off a comic titled “25 lives” by tongari!
ao3 link to this fic here
"ah, but I don’t blame you; i’ll never burn as brilliantly as you. it’s only fair that i should be the one to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes until i find the one where you’ll return to me."
alternatively, something like a short overview of luke's emotions over the course of the time he knew rosa ?? but in pretty words.
The very first time I remember you, you are blonde, and you don’t love me back.
He felt a gust of wind past his shoulder, and something in him told him to look back. A familiar silhouette- he could recognise it even with his eyes closed. He knew exactly who it was, then he remembered that he shouldn’t run to it. He really shouldn’t- run and what he’s been planning for the past three years would all be in vain.
As much as he couldn’t bear to take a second look, he knew something felt different.
The next time you are brunette, and you do.
He woke up, startled by the faint buzzing he felt on his sheets. 4:02 a.m., the time reads. Through blurred eyes he could see that there was an incoming message- grabbing a handful of water from the glass by his mattress, he rubbed his eyes vigorously with his wet knuckles to wake his mind up a little more.
The phone reads: Luke, what are your training plans for the team today? Is it possible for you to clear out the afternoon for a group training session?
After scanning the message a few times, he shakes off the dizziness in his head as he lets out a soft sigh. It wasn’t her. But why would he want her to text him when he’s been forcing himself to ignore her texts for the past six months?
I wish I could tell you how much I miss you, I wish that I could kiss you every morning, that I could give you the warmest hugs that are enough to melt the snow away. But I know this is for the better of our relationship; the better of you, he thinks to himself.
He tried going back to sleep, but with every turn and flip of the blanket was his head telling him time and time again that she could be his first and last sight of his day. Frustrated, he throws the blanket aside and took a cold shower.
After a while I give up trying to guess if the colour of your hair means anything. Because even when you don’t exist, I’m always in love with you.
Luke doesn’t dream often, but when he does, it feels real. In the dream, a woman was sitting on his lap, warm breath dancing across his face delicately as she looked at his lips in a half-lidded gaze. He doesn’t know who the woman is, but he does find it strange that he remembers every single detail about the woman. The way the corners of her emerald eyes crinkled when he brushed his thumb across his cheek to the way his name rolled off her tongue in a barely audible whisper.
He didn’t find it hard to say it back. She’s so near yet so far; so familiar yet so foreign, as if the lingering warmth of her hand on his chest was real; so real that it’s tangible. How does one remember every single detail about a person they’ve never met in their entire life?
Their foreheads parted, so did their hands. And he felt like he was drowning; sinking into the depths of her eyes, until the world around him was pitch black without a sliver of light.
I remember most fondly those lifetimes where we get to grow up together,
He fondly remembers a brunette haired girl through the glass panelled windows of their neighbouring houses. The weather was always pretty; the curtains were always pulled to the sides. It wasn’t uncommon for her to see an orange haired boy with his elbows against the table; face against palm as he pursed his lips to hold a pencil between, eyes gazing into the distance.
She’s known that his name is Luke for the longest time ever. So did he know hers
when you share your secrets and sorrows and hiding places with me.
I love how you play along with my bad ideas, before you grow up and realise they are bad ideas.
The thought that these years spent in the NSB would be lonely has never crossed his mind before he left. He had a hard time growing close to people, because the girl next door has always been his muse since young. It’s almost like his world was a secret that only the two of them knew; no one knew him the way she did, nor did anyone know her the way he did.
“Companionship is something we really take for granted, huh,” he muttered under his breath, amber eyes fixated on the screen that displayed the last picture the both of them had taken together. Her eyes were like crescent moons, delicate edges pushed upwards from the ear to ear smile on her face, while his hand was gently placed on top of hers that was wrapped around his shoulder. “Because I should’ve told you that I appreciated your companionship… that I liked……”
He paused. All of a sudden it’s like his hazy thoughts had been fathomed into constellations he could see; it was her all along. The word “you” never left his mouth.
“But was it really a bad idea to not tell you? It’d be so stupid and selfish of me to tell you this right before I’m supposed to leave to study abroad…”
(And in those times together I have many many bad ideas.)
Some things are better left unsaid, after all.
When we meet as adults you’re always much more discerning. I don’t blame you.
It’s only fair for you to distrust me because I was the one who walked out of your life without an explanation. But I’m cursed with the knowledge that if I ever attempted to say anything to you, I wouldn’t be able to hold back; it’s as if the weight of the past 8 years and of the times we could’ve spent together would come raining down on my shoulders; my weight crushed beneath it. No matter how thoroughly I was trained for my missions, nothing prepared me to bear the weight of all the guilt and shame and all the other emotions that come with it the second I look into those pretty emerald eyes that I fell in love with a decade ago.
Yet always, you forgive me.
She doesn’t respond. She looks at him pensively, eyes scanning his face several times over as if to confirm that it is indeed the same boy who she once loved many, many years ago.
And yet, once again, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything to her. It felt as if she cast a spell that twisted his tongue and trapped all the words he would’ve said inside his chest.
As if you understand what’s going on, and you’re making up for all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn’t exist,
So instead, he takes a step closer to her. And another step, and another, until he can feel her warm, tangible breath on his face. And he holds her arm with the gentleness of a warm sun on a rainy day, and he saw her eyelids flutter shut gently with every millimetre he closed the gap between them.
Wait, no. Wasn’t he supposed to stay away from her at all costs? But their lips touched, and he anticipated the soul-crushing weight.
Instead, it felt like they were standing, embracing each other amidst a rain of a thousand feathers- everything felt so fleeting; so ephemeral. His heartbeat never felt more real.
and the ones where we just, barely never meet.
Through tears, she pleaded, “Never leave me again?”
The answer he wanted to give was a firm, solid no. But he couldn’t bear to tell it to her, not when his emotions had the better of him, not when he knew he wanted this just as much as she did.
For once, he felt like he was selfish. He nodded slightly, his eyes wavering.
(i’m sorry that i’m making promises i know i can’t keep.)
I hate those. I prefer the ones in which you kill me.
But even after all the times we talked and we dated and we kissed and we spilled our hearts out, and even after you knew the truth, you still loved me all the same.
Every now and then I still have those self-dejecting thoughts- that you shouldn’t be with me. I think you deserve to be happy. You deserve to be with someone who will be with you through all the walks of your life.
Time and time again, you choose me.
I may never believe you when you say that you’ll never love someone else like you did me, but the truth is that I feel the same way. I’ve felt love once, and I don’t think I can go back to a life without you in it.
But when all is said and done, I’d rather surrender to you in other ways.
Even though each time, I know I’ll see you again, I always wonder
I hope that this engagement ring is a stamp that seals our promise; that fate will never separate us again, and even if it does, it’ll reunite us time and time again. You’re the one I love in every lifetime and in every universe; not even death can do us part.
Is this the last time? Is that really you?
It’s always been you. I’m sure of that.
And what if you’re already perfectly happy without me?
I’d rather not think about it.
Ah, but I don’t blame you; I’ll never burn as brilliantly as you. It’s only fair that I should be the one to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes
He’s running, and it feels like his legs are burning. It’s like Icarus had legs for wings.
Where to? Her heart, of course. And he’d do it a thousand times over.
until I find the one where you’ll return to me.
