Spriggan Fan Fiction ❯ Voice ❯ Voice ( Chapter 1 )

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Voice
by Shella

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Summary: The bonds holding everything together are thin, and sometimes even the voice you love isn't enough to keep you there. (shounen-ai, YuxJean, char. death)
Rating: PG
Warnings: yaoi (male homosexual intimacy), angst, character death
Archive: Please, take it - maybe then I'll be able to find a place with more Spriggan fanfiction
Disclaimer: The movie Spriggan & its characters are not mine. The people who do own them know who they actually belong to, so I won't bother listing them.
A/N: Set after the Noah's Ark incident, movie canon. I didn't mean for this to end up as a deathfic, it was supposed to be fluffy with silly bits. However, as you'll see, it ran away with me. I recommend reading it at the wrong end of a long week for maximum effect. Sure as hell worked on me when I was writing & re-reading it.

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Yu wasn't sure when exactly everything had gone fuzzy, but it seemed to have happened sometime after he'd sat down. Possibly when the car had started moving. The clear light of dawn had become foggy, and he couldn't be sure what direction they were going. He assumed the shadow falling over them from behind was that of the mountain, but he couldn't have taken their bearing from this information. Neither could he remember the mountain's name.

When he swayed too far with the motion of the vehicle, strong arms caught him as he fell.

"Ominae, you are a fool," muttered a voice close by his ear. "The medics said you didn't have a concussion - why don't you let yourself sleep?"

The person speaking had a voice like grey sunshine - cold, with the possibility of warmth chased away, but still graceful, artistic. Expressive whilst denying expression. Maybe it was just the accent, but Jean had a nice voice, or so Yu thought.

"…not comfortable."

"Here. You can lean on me. Get some rest."

A firm, rounded corner was beneath his cheek. Yu identified it as Jean's shoulder. He realised that he'd been positioned without having moved a muscle. Voluntary motion seemed to be beyond the realm of possibility, sashaying about as if to advertise its unattainability. Or maybe it was Jean's smell that was making Yu's head play tricks on him. He smelled like blood and sweat, like musk and snow … like pain and strength and winter mornings.

He felt like frowning, but wasn't sure if he actually did. Jean's shoulder was not comfortable at all.

"Hm? Ominae, what is it?"

What's the matter. What's wrong. You want to be closer to Jean than this, don't you.

"…mm. Not comfortable."

"Hn. You're so fussy." Yu felt his vision and thoughts going blurry and indistinct again as he was shifted, and a vague awareness approached his mind that Jean was also moving in his seat. The next time he'd collected his thoughts enough to form a coherent idea of where he was, he was leaning against Jean's chest and had an arm across his collarbone, in something that could almost be called an embrace. He was partially conscious of resting on Jean's leg, the other's thigh supporting his lower back. It was more comfortable than before. Thoughts entered Yu's mind and suggested quietly that the closer he got to Jean the happier he felt. They didn't explain why this was so.

Still, his eyes wouldn't close completely. He watched the road running past the car window with his lids half blocking his view and leading him to believe that the entire world didn't exist above the height of the sturdy four-wheel-drive. If Jean was out there, he'd have the top of his head cut off.

"-unh."

"Ominae? What did you say?"

Had he spoken? He hadn't meant to … but it had prompted that quicksilver voice to begin talking again, so he supposed it wasn't such a bad thing.

"Ominae, are you listening?"

Listening? You can't help listening to Jean. He's much wiser than you, he knows more and he makes the better decisions. You've always looked up to him and wanted to be like him. That's why you want to be close to him and to see a part of him nobody else sees, that's why you want him to think well of you and respect you, because you already do the same for him.

"…no."

There was a moment's pause. Yu was mildly surprised - and just a bit impressed - that he'd managed to register Jean's words enough to respond to them.

"Idiot teenager," Jean grumbled. "And you're making my leg fall asleep."

This time when Jean shifted him it was rougher than before, and his knee hit Yu's elbow. As usual a few steps behind him, Yu realised belatedly that this was because Jean had turned fully sideways and was resting his bent leg along the back of the seat. When Yu leaned back against him he found that he was now between Jean's thighs, and something cosy and warm suffused his body with a pleasant ooze. He could hear Jean's heart beating, and realised that his own was labouring in his chest.

"…Jean…" Yu murmured.

"What is it?"

Doesn't have a name. Or if it does, it's far too dangerous and confusing to mention. It means something different to everyone, after all.

"…talk to me."

"Talk to - what for?"

He could imagine Jean's eyebrows furrowing in confusion, imagine the other's eyes examining his face, half-hidden as it was by the overhanging mop of hair. He could imagine him waiting patiently for his fatigued and injured comrade to collect his thoughts, but rolling his eyes at the illogical and mercurial teenager.

"…just cos."

Because his voice is beautiful. Because hearing it makes sense of the shadows and bravery of the fear inside you. Because it's the one thing you know you'll never tire of hearing.

"Just because," Jean echoed, muttering. He swallowed, and said, "Fine. Whatever."

Yu realised his breathing had become shallow and quiet and the sun had gone behind a cloud. He couldn't actually hear the sound of his own respiration. All of him was listening to Jean, peacefully anticipating the sound of his voice.

"For you, Ominae."

You're happy now that Jean is talking.

"Always. Anything for you."

An inward sigh; his accent is thicker than usual and caresses your ears.

"I would like to be able to tell you how much I understand you, and how much you understand me. Even when I'm talking in a language you don't know, you still comprehend me better than anybody else."

You don't know what that's supposed to mean, and you don't care. Just hearing his voice…

"Ominae … Yu…" He said your name. He said your name. "…I would like to tell you I care for you. I would like to tell you that I admire and respect you, and that you are as strong as you need to be in all the ways that matter." Both Jean's arms were around him now, holding him close, but Yu was still most aware of his voice. It was a slender strand keeping him gently bound to wakefulness. "I would like to kiss you. I would like to hold you close and protect you, and be protected. I would like to know that whenever I wake up you will be there."

It doesn't really matter that you can't feel your hands or feet. Jean's words are so much more important than these thin ties keeping you here. They're everything you want and need. You'll be fine now…

"I want to make you breakfast in bed, and feed you croissants and coffee. I want to show you the places where I grew up. I want to meet your friends from school and I want you to meet mine. I want to be with you." You're still listening for his voice, aren't you? "Your hair's a mess, Ominae." Your eyes are closed, but you still linger on for that voice. "You've got bruises everywhere. You need to take a shower."

Where do you end and where does he begin? With his voice? No. It's a part of you now. It always has been.

"But I'm holding you, and I'll keep holding you for as long as I can and as long as you'll let me."

Jean's words are daylight, but the sun is in shadow. You're too tired to listen, aren't you?

"All that I have is for you…"

Much too tired…

"Everything I am is yours."

Jean's voice is dimmed.

"Yu?"

Everything is quiet. Rest now.

"Yu, say something…"

But Yu doesn't respond; he's sleeping.

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Jean wasn't sure when exactly everything had gone fuzzy, but he was pretty sure it was when the rise and fall of Yu's ribs had ceased. For achingly long moments he'd held his own breath, willing that the cessation of his respiration would restore that of his friend. He wouldn't be able to bear it if it didn't. Not after everything. Not Yu.

When his own instincts forced him to gulp in a sobbing breath, he knew. And even as he shouted for the driver to stop, even as he tried desperately to coax Yu's lungs to accept air, his heart to reach for blood, even as he called his name and begged him to return Jean felt himself falling to pieces. Finally he was silent, as he buried his face in Yu's hair and let shuddering gasping grief overwhelm him. He clung to the teenager, to everything they could never have had, and allowed it all to dissolve.

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