“And if I didn't trust you, I'd be-” Just an example, but I like this and all the other times when one of them cuts off the other because it makes me wonder what they were going to say and think of all the things they never said. Wonder what it would be like if life had been a little different and they'd gotten to say some of them.
Their life is full of other things and sometimes, Yamapi regrets the swallowed moments that they've lost. By the time he finds the right moment, Jin is asleep.
And meeting Jin – he dreams of meeting Jin.
“There's no apples tonight,” he says. And, true enough, no treasures fall down from the sky. There's just Jin. Just one person, one old, familiar face. One familiar body. Yamapi looks at him and that's enough, so that he can taste him. That old, familiar taste. It's been a month, perhaps more. And yet, the taste is so strong that he tries to swallow it down, to capture it.
When he kisses him, it's like coming up out of water and breathing in.
Ripe isn't the right word. Nothing is the right word. For this, Yamapi wouldn't trade anything. Not for all the treasure in the world, or all the Indian spices, or all the large, blue stones. Not for anything. Not for anything at all.
It's not so much a question as a slice of vulnerability, and Yamapi leans in.
It's what he imagines the afterlife may be like. There's just himself, and Jin, and nothing else matters. No treasure, no gold falling from the sky. The sky is white, like clouds or snow, and when he opens his eyes he only meets Jin's face. Nothing more. Nothing less. All of this because they're just so sweet. longing and maybe loneliness, but also not-loneliness and incredibly, incredibly sweet. And beautifully written.
Yamapi leans his head on Jin's shoulder, his hand on Jin's leg. Jin smiles.
“I like them,” he says. “You have your storms and your thunder. I like stars. They're quiet.”
“I don't like storms,” Yamapi. “I don't like them. They just make me feel small.”
“Stars make me feel small,” Jin says. “I feel like they're watching us. Like I should be quiet.”
“Don't be silly.”
“What are you most afraid of?” Jin says, suddenly. They don't often have a chance to talk like this.
Yamapi thinks about it. There's lots that scares him: failure, hunger, losing a battle, death. Most of these, he thinks a life in which nothing means anything to him, that'd be the scariest. So, he answers very simply:
“Losing you.”
Jin laughs. Probably doesn't believe him. Typical. “You?” Yamapi asks.
“I don't know,” Jin says. “I've never really thought about it.” This whole section. I can't describe it.
“You're depressing. Finished that love letter, yet?” This is perfect. I'm not sure why. it just is.
Yes, the map says. Everyone looks towards Jin. And Yamapi looks at them, looking at Jin, and he wishes they'd never come. This is where i stopped breathing. I almost couldn't read past it.
He needs Jin, but Jin isn't adventure. Jin is what happens between adventures, the familiar, the mundane and the uninteresting. It doesn't make him a bad thing. It just makes him rounded. The parts of life worth living. The everything, Yamapi supposes. ;_;
He feels like all the things he ever wanted to say are raining around them and there's nothing he can do, now. There's a storm of lost words and he can only hope that Jin knows a fraction of what he feels. He can only hope that Jin's getting a little bit wet. oh god. I can't even.
He closes his eyes and memories flood the whites of his eyes: the time he and Yamapi first met (he fell off a pier, he thinks, or perhaps Yamapi did), their first loot, the first time they worried they'd never set off, they had so much treasure aboard. Bartering, drinking, their first kiss. And the sex, lost things said in the dark. Feelings not vocalized. Life not lived.
And I've done the rest already. Essentially. Incoherently. God, I'm still incoherent. And this is just. So heartwrenchingly, heartbreakingly beautiful. and and and just i. I don't even know. You are perfect. Never change.
no subject
Just an example, but I like this and all the other times when one of them cuts off the other because it makes me wonder what they were going to say and think of all the things they never said. Wonder what it would be like if life had been a little different and they'd gotten to say some of them.
Their life is full of other things and sometimes, Yamapi regrets the swallowed moments that they've lost. By the time he finds the right moment, Jin is asleep.
And meeting Jin – he dreams of meeting Jin.
“There's no apples tonight,” he says. And, true enough, no treasures fall down from the sky. There's just Jin. Just one person, one old, familiar face. One familiar body. Yamapi looks at him and that's enough, so that he can taste him. That old, familiar taste. It's been a month, perhaps more. And yet, the taste is so strong that he tries to swallow it down, to capture it.
When he kisses him, it's like coming up out of water and breathing in.
Ripe isn't the right word. Nothing is the right word. For this, Yamapi wouldn't trade anything. Not for all the treasure in the world, or all the Indian spices, or all the large, blue stones. Not for anything. Not for anything at all.
It's not so much a question as a slice of vulnerability, and Yamapi leans in.
It's what he imagines the afterlife may be like. There's just himself, and Jin, and nothing else matters. No treasure, no gold falling from the sky. The sky is white, like clouds or snow, and when he opens his eyes he only meets Jin's face. Nothing more. Nothing less.
All of this because they're just so sweet. longing and maybe loneliness, but also not-loneliness and incredibly, incredibly sweet.
And beautifully written.
Yamapi leans his head on Jin's shoulder, his hand on Jin's leg. Jin smiles.
“I like them,” he says. “You have your storms and your thunder. I like stars. They're quiet.”
“I don't like storms,” Yamapi. “I don't like them. They just make me feel small.”
“Stars make me feel small,” Jin says. “I feel like they're watching us. Like I should be quiet.”
“Don't be silly.”
“What are you most afraid of?” Jin says, suddenly. They don't often have a chance to talk like this.
Yamapi thinks about it. There's lots that scares him: failure, hunger, losing a battle, death. Most of these, he thinks a life in which nothing means anything to him, that'd be the scariest. So, he answers very simply:
“Losing you.”
Jin laughs. Probably doesn't believe him. Typical. “You?” Yamapi asks.
“I don't know,” Jin says. “I've never really thought about it.”
This whole section. I can't describe it.
“You're depressing. Finished that love letter, yet?”
This is perfect. I'm not sure why. it just is.
Yes, the map says. Everyone looks towards Jin. And Yamapi looks at them, looking at Jin, and he wishes they'd never come.
This is where i stopped breathing. I almost couldn't read past it.
He needs Jin, but Jin isn't adventure. Jin is what happens between adventures, the familiar, the mundane and the uninteresting. It doesn't make him a bad thing. It just makes him rounded. The parts of life worth living. The everything, Yamapi supposes.
;_;
He feels like all the things he ever wanted to say are raining around them and there's nothing he can do, now. There's a storm of lost words and he can only hope that Jin knows a fraction of what he feels. He can only hope that Jin's getting a little bit wet.
oh god. I can't even.
He closes his eyes and memories flood the whites of his eyes: the time he and Yamapi first met (he fell off a pier, he thinks, or perhaps Yamapi did), their first loot, the first time they worried they'd never set off, they had so much treasure aboard. Bartering, drinking, their first kiss. And the sex, lost things said in the dark. Feelings not vocalized. Life not lived.
And I've done the rest already. Essentially. Incoherently. God, I'm still incoherent. And this is just. So heartwrenchingly, heartbreakingly beautiful. and and and just i. I don't even know.
You are perfect. Never change.