i don't have any specific prompts but your singeiji fic was like MANNA to me so would you consider writing something post-GoL for them?
I’m sorry this took me an actual, literal year to fulfill. I hope you’re still around!
Title: Can’t Put It Into Words Rating: General AudiencesArchive Warning: No Archive Warnings ApplyFandom: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)Relationship: Okumura Eiji/Sing Soo-LingAdditional Tags: Post-Side Story: Garden of Light | Fluff and Hurt/Comfort | First KissWords:1545
Something was different between them after that trip to Cape Cod, but Sing couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Akira went home and life seemed to have gone back to normal, all the usual patterns of their lives reestablishing themselves with little effort. The only visible change was the extra frames on the walls, a scattering of new-old photographs, all of Ash — smiling, scowling, pouting, smirking, sleeping, eating — never as bright or present or powerful as he was in life, but close. As close as Sing could imagine a picture getting to the real thing, thanks to Eiji’s adoring, talented eye.
But otherwise, everything was the same. Sing went to work and bickered with Yut Lung over the phone and battered a punching bag every evening before dragging his sweaty self back to Eiji’s house for dinner. Eiji’s face would still be glued to whatever project he had piled in haphazard, precarious stacks on the table and they still chatted absentmindedly about inconsequential things while they ate, the random events of the day they thought the other would find interesting. They still veged out on the couch with a movie or night show most weeknights and still did the grocery shopping together every Saturday morning and they still parted ways at the top of the stairs with a quiet “good night” before going to bed.
Everything was the same, seemingly, until one night it wasn’t.
They climbed the stairs together, like usual, and Sing mumbled out his customary, sleepy “Night, Eiji,” and then Eiji’s fingers wrapped around Sing’s wrist before he could turn away. Sing’s gaze flicked back to Eiji’s face, brow furrowing when he took in Eiji’s expression.
It was… sober, serious in a way Sing hadn’t seen in years. “There’s something I didn’t say to you, that day,” Eiji said, softly spoken in the dim hallway, but solid, intense.
“…What day?” Sing asked, though he had a pretty good idea what Eiji meant. It had only been a few weeks, after all, and nothing monumental had happened aside from that trip to Cape Cod since… Well.
“I apologized, but I didn’t say thank you,” Eiji finished, not even bothering to clarify. “You’ve stayed with me all this time, Sing, even when you thought I blamed you for what happened to Ash. You looked out for me and made sure I wasn’t alone and…” Eiji’s expression softened, lips curling in a sad smile. “I know some of that was probably because you felt guilty, but still — I can’t even begin to tell you how much it means to me that you stayed. So thank you, Sing. Thank you so much.”
There was a lump in Sing’s throat, monstrously large and impossible to swallow, but he kept trying, over and over again, because he couldn’t think of anything to say. He didn’t deserve to be thanked. He’d only done what was his responsibility to do, considering what happened, and no amount of effort would ever make up for everything.
But Eiji’s feelings were sincere and Sing wasn’t going to reject them, wouldn’t throw them back in his face by voicing his own thoughts even though Eiji’s were sorely misplaced. So he worked up a nod in acknowledgment and squeezed Eiji’s hand, hoping that was enough. Enough to get across a message Sing couldn’t put into words.
Tension drained out of Eiji’s shoulders and his fingers tightened around Sing’s, the curve of his mouth shifting to a more genuine smile. But there was something knowing in his gaze as it roved over Sing’s face, and sad — suddenly, inexplicably sad — and Sing braced himself for the kind of brutal, efficient honesty he’d come to expect from Eiji’s mouth.
“You know, Ash wouldn’t want you carrying that burden for the rest of your life,” Eiji said, apologetic and soft, so soft, but it still didn’t keep his words from punching the breath out of Sing’s chest like a physical blow. “I know he would have gone for help if he wanted it,” Eiji continued, “but he decided not to. That’s not something you can be faulted for, Sing.”
The lump was the size of a mountain now and Sing’s eyes burned , but he swallowed it all down, swallowed through the ache and shook his head, once, sharp, pulling his hand out of Eiji’s even as he mourned the loss. “You know it doesn’t work that way, Eiji,” he said, voice rasping. “Guilt doesn’t—”
“I know,” Eiji cut in, stepping forward and snatching Sing’s hand back, tangling their fingers together. “I know, but I had to say that, too. Maybe one day we’ll both believe it.”
Usually, when Sing faced situations like this, had this whole mess shoved into his face and was incapable of voicing the mess inside himself, he got angry, he cussed and pushed back until his opponent backed down or gave up. Because you couldn’t be weak on the streets, you couldn’t be weak in the conference room, you couldn’t be weak when your heart was on the line.
But he couldn’t be angry with Eiji, never Eiji, and that only left quiet surrender. Sing didn’t agree with the sentiment, couldn’t fathom agreeing, but he didn’t want to argue. So he nodded again, letting it go, because he knew Eiji was kind enough to let him.
And he did. He smiled softly in that way of his and let Sing’s hand go with a final squeeze of reassurance. “That’s all I wanted to say. Thanks for listening, Sing.”
Sing backed up a step, and then another, swallowing through his still-tight throat as he headed toward his room. “Night, Eiji,” he said, repeating his words from earlier; he had nothing else to say.
And this time, Eiji murmured back, the way he always did, “Good night, Sing,” and slipped behind his own door.
He thought it would be an anomaly, everything about that night, but when Sing stumbled into the kitchen the next morning something had shifted, beyond the change in the air from before that Sing hadn’t been able to name. And this time it was so significant it was impossible to miss, but he was even more at a loss.
Eiji was… closer. Physically. As they puttered around the kitchen preparing their breakfasts, they knocked elbows and brushed hips over and over again, all deliberate touches as far as Sing could tell, since it’d never been like that before. And Eiji kept looking at him, gaze gentle and smile sweet, and Sing didn’t know what the hell was going on. They sat next to each other at the table instead of across because Eiji slid into the chair at Sing’s side, completely breaking the status quo. In the tiny kitchen at the miniscule table, their thighs pressed together, warming Sing up from the inside out, even though that was completely backwards, heat spreading from the center of his chest out to the tips of his fingers and toes.
He didn’t know what was happening.
Well, he knew what it looked like, but he had to be reading things wrong. Sing pushed away from the table and deposited his dishes in the sink, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t take any of this the wrong way.
But he came home that evening and it happened all over again at dinner, and then again the next day, and then the day after that. Casual touches and soft smiles, more and more frequently, until he expected it, welcomed it — no matter how much Sing tried to tell himself he shouldn’t because he’d already taken enough, too much. And still, Eiji drew him closer and closer, moth to warm, soothing flame, until one day Sing looked down at where Eiji was snuggled up to his side on the couch, some movie playing that Sing had barely paid attention to because he was too busy running his fingers through Eiji’s hair, listening to his soft sights of contentment as Eiji let him…
And he must have said it out loud too, because Eiji pulled away enough to look up at him, expression curious, and whatever he saw on Sing’s face made his eyes widen, mouth parting sweetly, and Sing — as he had a countless number of times before — thought there was nothing more beautiful in the entire world than the spark of life in those rich, brown eyes.
Sing wrapped his arm around Eiji’s waist and tugged him impossibly closer, something in his chest going soft and warm as Eiji practically melted into him. “I haven’t… I haven’t been reading this wrong at all, have I?” Sing asked, hardly above a whisper.
Eiji’s fingers tangled in Sing’s shirt and he shook his head, eyes shining. “You could have figured it out a little sooner, though,” he said, lips quirking in a teasing grin.
“Shut up,” Sing said, and pressed their lips together.
Eiji hummed, still smiling even as he pushed back against Sing’s mouth, the sheer delight radiating out from him making Sing feel like maybe he’d fulfilled his promise to himself from all that time ago to see Eiji happy again, that maybe Eiji was finally free.
Something had been different ever since Cape Cod; Sing could put it into words, now.
