#singeiji

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All shippy/pseudo-shippy things will be marked with a ＊

~~

BANANA FISH ART

“Little Akira seemed to take a liking to you,” Eiji says on the way back from the airport.

“Lay off, Eiji,” Sing says with a sigh. “She’s a kid.”

“You were a kid when I met you, too.” He doesn’t finish the rest of that thought—that Sing being a kid didn’t stop him from developing feelings for Eiji. They both know. It doesn’t need to be said.

“Eiji ...” Sing starts. Or will Sing decide to say it after all? “That’s ... different.”

“How?” Eiji challenges. “Don’t all kids get crushes on their babysitters?” So maybe he’s a little bitter. Maybe he has a right to be.

“Not ones that don’t fade,” Sing murmurs.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Sing,” Eiji says. “For ... everything, really.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sing asks. “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew about the letter?”

Eiji hesitates. “It was easier to blame Lao. To blame you. I’m not the selfless person you see me as. But then ... you did always have a habit of idolizing those you cared about.”

Another unspoken crush of Sing’s. Another unrequited crush. Another heart already taken with another, and another person Sing refused to see any flaw in.

That’s what was different, with Ash and Eiji. They saw each other’s flaws, but loved each other anyway.

“This is more than that,” Sing tries. “This is ... Eiji, I really love you.”

Eiji: Yesterday you were crying about snakes.

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  

AO3

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.

Since.

“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 thought — Oh.

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.

~~~

Pairings: Ash Lynx/Eiji Okumura, Sing-Soo-Ling/Eiji Okumura

Summary: Sing sees the same golden hair, same jade green eyes, same blue hoodie, brows furrowed with his lips turned into an unamused grimace.

It’s been seven years, he thinks, and he has not aged ever since.

“Ash,” he says.orAU where AI Ash becomes the catalyst for Eiji to move on (And Sing's and Yue's)

Chapter 1: Don’t squander yourself, giving what you don’t have    

My dearest friend Sing Soo-Ling,

A gift especially made for you to celebrate the long years of our friendship.

I hope you like it.

 Sing wants to think this is a prank. That perhaps, Yut-Lung finally had some free time and he decided to spend it by carrying out an elaborate and over-the-top prank, because of course, this is Yut-Lung, it has to be overdramatic. It has to be sent from overseas, delivered inside his room, trespassing Eiji’s house in the process without any trace at all. And then there’s the card with a stupidly expensive Smythson paper, with neat and elegant strokes of Mandarin probably written with a stupidly expensive Montblanc pen.

 But as amusing as it was to imagine that Yut-Lung had finally grown a funny bone in his Barbie doll body, Sing knows the punchline would be, ‘This is the beginning of our pact. Chinatown needs you once again.’ And Sing does not mind, he knows this life of normalcy and comfort was temporary. Perhaps he has to start practicing his swings for his Flying Dragon Fang and work on his boxing skills not as a stress reliever but as another weapon.

 He leans back, tipping his head up, allowing the ceiling light to go through the thin sheet. Perhaps there is a secret code here? Perhaps he needs a UV light to decipher the real meaning behind this message?

 There had to be something, anything .

 Because there’s no fucking way, Yut-Lung would send a ‘surprise’ gift to Sing as a ‘friendly’ gesture. There has to be a catch.

 Suspicious, Sing thinks, rolling his eyes back to the unoffending box on his desk.

 He places the note on top of the package.

 A gift for our friendship, huh, he thinks.

 Yut-Lung had given him a lot in the name of friendship. ‘Go to school. Then you decide the future you’d create for yourself,’   Yut-Lung had told him. And Sing did, despite the reluctance of owing anything from the new boss of the Lee Clan, cautious that anytime the snake in him would slither back and collect this debt threefold. But Yut-Lung never did. He has left them alone for years, gone were the days where he hired everyone, anyone to assassinate Eiji, or the days where he whined about jealousy and bitterness with his life, desperate to drag everyone to the pits of hell with him. He has grown up and moved on.

 Yut-Lung never said it, but Sing believes he made that offer because at that time everything was in chaos, he had no direction in life —after hearing the news, after standing in front of Ash’s lifeless body, of Lao’s, after knowing the truth, filling him with guilt and regret, with anger mostly to himself, I should’ve talked to Lao, I should’ve come back, I should’ve— He stops the thought right away. Yut-Lung was reaching out to Sing in his own unorthodox and round-about way.

 So this Yut-Lung would never send something as shallow and impersonal as this materialistic gift for the long years of their friendship. Not to Sing, at least.

 “Suspicious,” Sing says to no one. “Very, very suspicious.”

 What if this is a trap? He thinks, propping his chin on his palm once again, unamused eyes staring at ‘Ash’. It was merely a passing thought, just something to enumerate all possibilities. But would he really mean harm after all these years? Would he hurt Eiji again? But didn’t he owe this to Yut-Lung? Having the right to live with Eiji, belonging inside Eiji’s world without constantly worrying about the threat in his life. Even if it’s temporary. (Just until Eiji is happy again, Sing thinks.) And this is where Ash failed, where the line was drawn, where everything fell apart for them. For Ash and Eiji.

 He stares at the screen, and Sing thinks that if this were the real Ash, he’d be looking straight into those fierce yet beautiful jade green eyes, always, always on guard, creating an impenetrable wall between him and everyone else (except Eiji, where those intimidating eyes would melt into affection and trust ). What do you think, Ash?   Sing ponders —and perhaps, he should stop this line of thought— that if Ash were alive, would they be the same height? Would he still be looking up at Ash? Perhaps Sing could be towering him. Or would they be equals?

 If Ash were alive, would Sing still be by Eiji’s side—

 Sing covers his face, shaking his head as he breathes out a mirthless laugh.

 “It’s always about you .” He grits his teeth and sighs. He props his chin on the other side, brows furrowed with a lopsided smile, as his gaze softens. “We just can’t escape from you, huh, Aslan Jade Callenreese—”

 Ding!

 Sing freezes. It was faint and muffled but he was certain he heard a start-up sound from a device. He leans back on the chair, staring at the ceiling and discreetly, he moves his eyes to every dark corner of the room. Was he being watched? Just a bug? A camera? He tries to feel his surroundings, enhancing all of his senses. Maybe he was right, it was a trap all along. But why—

 “Oi.”