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?
Iâm sorry this took me an actual, literal year to fulfill. I hope youâre still around!Â
Title: Canât 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 Â
Something was different between them after that trip to Cape Cod, but Sing couldnât 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 â smiling, scowling, pouting, smirking, sleeping, eating â 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 Eijiâs 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 Eijiâs house for dinner. Eijiâs 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 âgood nightâ before going to bed.
Everything was the same, seemingly, until one night it wasnât.
They climbed the stairs together, like usual, and Sing mumbled out his customary, sleepy âNight, Eiji,â and then Eijiâs fingers wrapped around Singâs wrist before he could turn away. Singâs gaze flicked back to Eijiâs face, brow furrowing when he took in Eijiâs expression.
It was⌠sober, serious in a way Sing hadnât seen in years. âThereâs something I didnât say to you, that day,â Eiji said, softly spoken in the dim hallway, but solid, intense.
ââŚWhat day?â 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.
âI apologized, but I didnât say thank you,â Eiji finished, not even bothering to clarify. âYouâve 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 wasnât alone andâŚâ Eijiâs expression softened, lips curling in a sad smile. âI know some of that was probably because you felt guilty, but still â I canât even begin to tell you how much it means to me that you stayed. So thank you, Sing. Thank you so much.â
There was a lump in Singâs throat, monstrously large and impossible to swallow, but he kept trying, over and over again, because he couldnât think of anything to say. He didnât deserve to be thanked. Heâd only done what was his responsibility to do, considering what happened, and no amount of effort would ever make up for everything.
But Eijiâs feelings were sincere and Sing wasnât going to reject them, wouldnât throw them back in his face by voicing his own thoughts even though Eijiâs were sorely misplaced. So he worked up a nod in acknowledgment and squeezed Eijiâs hand, hoping that was enough. Enough to get across a message Sing couldnât put into words.
Tension drained out of Eijiâs shoulders and his fingers tightened around Singâs, the curve of his mouth shifting to a more genuine smile. But there was something knowing in his gaze as it roved over Singâs face, and sad â suddenly, inexplicably sad â and Sing braced himself for the kind of brutal, efficient honesty heâd come to expect from Eijiâs mouth.
âYou know, Ash wouldnât want you carrying that burden for the rest of your life,â Eiji said, apologetic and soft, so soft, but it still didnât keep his words from punching the breath out of Singâs chest like a physical blow. âI know he would have gone for help if he wanted it,â Eiji continued, âbut he decided not to. Thatâs not something you can be faulted for, Sing.â
The lump was the size of a mountain now and Singâs eyes burned , but he swallowed it all down, swallowed through the ache and shook his head, once, sharp, pulling his hand out of Eijiâs even as he mourned the loss. âYou know it doesnât work that way, Eiji,â he said, voice rasping. âGuilt doesnâtââ
âI know,â Eiji cut in, stepping forward and snatching Singâs hand back, tangling their fingers together. âI know, but I had to say that, too. Maybe one day weâll both believe it.â
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 couldnât be weak on the streets, you couldnât be weak in the conference room, you couldnât be weak when your heart was on the line.
But he couldnât be angry with Eiji, never Eiji, and that only left quiet surrender. Sing didnât agree with the sentiment, couldnât fathom agreeing, but he didnât 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 Singâs hand go with a final squeeze of reassurance. âThatâs all I wanted to say. Thanks for listening, Sing.â
Sing backed up a step, and then another, swallowing through his still-tight throat as he headed toward his room. âNight, Eiji,â he said, repeating his words from earlier; he had nothing else to say.
And this time, Eiji murmured back, the way he always did, âGood night, Sing,â 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 hadnât 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 itâd never been like that before. And Eiji kept looking at him, gaze gentle and smile sweet, and Sing didnât 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 Singâs 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 didnât 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 wouldnât 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 â no matter how much Sing tried to tell himself he shouldnât  because heâd 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 Eijiâs hair, listening to his soft sights of contentment as Eiji let himâŚ
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 Singâs face made his eyes widen, mouth parting sweetly, and Sing â as he had a countless number of times before â 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 Eijiâs waist and tugged him impossibly closer, something in his chest going soft and warm as Eiji practically melted into him. âI havenât⌠I havenât been reading this wrong at all, have I?â Sing asked, hardly above a whisper.
Eijiâs fingers tangled in Singâs shirt and he shook his head, eyes shining. âYou could have figured it out a little sooner, though,â he said, lips quirking in a teasing grin.
âShut up,â Sing said, and pressed their lips together.
Eiji hummed, still smiling even as he pushed back against Singâs mouth, the sheer delight radiating out from him making Sing feel like maybe heâd 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.