I know, I know, I'm supposed to be working on TTHM, but god knows how long I've been working on this one and again, I was supposed to have it up ages ago. I'm so sorry to the requester, I know I've made you wait forever. I hope this doesn't disappoint you, and that you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
I guess I should stop talking—writing?—now.
Request: Suzaku & Leloucia have been next door neighbors for years. Suzaku is older than Leloucia and always protects and plays with her. He makes a promise to her that when she becomes older he will date her. As Suzaku starts to grow older he loses interest in playing/hanging out with her and starts making friends his own age, going to college. But she's been in love with him since she was little and still remembers the promise & hopes he does too.
Title: You Make Promises You Cannot Keep
Summary: For as long as Leloucia has known, her heart has belonged to Suzaku. Everyday of her life, she is helpless to do anything but accept his friendship, and hope. But the older he grows, the less she sees him, and she fears the distance between them and what it means—she fears it because she remembers a time when she was everything to him; she remembers his promise. If only he did too.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
you make promises you cannot keep
because he breaks your heart
1.
She doesn't know it, but he's there even as her mother gives birth to her. Always watching, always smiling. Curiously. Always. He's young, and he doesn't understand yet, but he knows enough.
He knows he will get to see her soon.
2.
He laughs as he watches her crawl towards him, cooing for him.
3.
Nothing can separate them as he finally finds reason to be responsible. His parents chuckle and shake their heads, and he pretends to ignore them as he holds the spoon of food above her, grinning down at her while he feeds her.
4.
No matter what else changes, she is always the same to him.
5.
She understands things a little now. She understands that he is the son of her parents' best friends, and she understands that he is her friend.
(Friend. How things were simpler, back then.)
6.
He is exactly the same as he always is, but she is different. She sees him, now—sees him. She sees all the little things, like how he pays attention to her when she cries and her parents ignore her, like how he goes out of his way to fill her a glass of water even when she's closer to the dispenser, like how he notices when she hasn't eaten.
And she falls for all of it.
7.
Her parents tell her it'll go away. They laugh and smile like she doesn't know what she's talking about and they say that it's nothing. And maybe they're right. Maybe she is clueless.
Only she feels the tickling in her stomach and the nervous quiver of her legs when he nears her. She feels the heat rushing to her head, the embarrassment when he tilts his head in that way of his and stares at her, and she knows it's not nothing at all.
(Looking back, she thinks that maybe she should have just believed it was nothing.)
8.
He likes to run around. She never has, but it's his favorite thing to do—he loves the park and the blue and the greens. For him, she ignores the exhaustion and runs after him. She has always preferred indoors, but he hates it, he enjoys feeling uncaged and uninhibited, and so she follows him to the park—a lost puppy trailing after him, always.
She stares at his hand, leading her forward, and wonders if that's what she is.
But none of that matters when he holds her close and tells her they'll be together forever. He tells her they'll never fail, he tells her they belong to each other, and she wants it to be true.
9.
He bounds up to her gleefully, eyes wild and sparkling as they always are. They have that same mischievous tinge she has learned to look for. He's holding a small box, wrapped neatly in wax paper, and he hands it to her proudly.
She has never taken off the anklet she received from him. From day one, it stays around her leg, chained around it as though she is its home—just like he is hers, she thinks.
10.
He introduces her to his best friend as his kid sister, and she feels a pinch of something ugly twist inside her. She feels something black, something bitter and angry and undeniable as he ruffles her hair and tells her to 'go play' while he chats with his friend.
She childishly makes him promise to be hers always, as he once whispered, and she cries herself to sleep when he blinks at her like he doesn't understand.
How can he not understand?
11.
He distances himself from her and she doesn't understand.
His parents just smile patiently when she brings it up. They tell her it'll pass. She fears it never will.
12.
She loves him still, loves him like it burns inside her, setting her alight and killing her a thousand times over with the power of a hundred dying galaxies, and he doesn't even care.
He doesn't even notice.
13.
She doesn't want to give up. She curls into herself and imagines him on the other side, tugging at her arm and twirling her around and around him. She imagines him holding her to him and whispering into her ear, and she prays for the millionth time.
14.
She keeps believing—because who is she if not a believer?
So she ignores the way the line between them pulls and wrestles as if desperate to break away—it still exists but it's stretched thin—and she starts counting down.
Four years, she thinks. Four more years.
15.
One minute, 37 seconds.
She shakes with nerves. The instant her timer hits zero, she'll have to restart again. All over again. But she'll be one year closer, and it's all she can do to wait for the day it comes.
She spots him again across the courtyard—it's the holidays, and he's returned, but to her it's as if he's still halfway around the world, so separate from her—and her heart clenches in her chest. But he's with his friends—he always is, nowadays—and she forces herself to turn away.
One minute, six seconds.
Part of her screams at her to run, to flee, but temptation wins out and she glances up, frantic. She's almost desperate to catch sight of him again, and when she does, her lips twitch into a familiar smile and she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, blushing.
His eyes are her favorite part of him. They're the greenest set of eyes she's ever seen, bright and vibrant and beautiful. She loves the green, the emerald. They flicker with life and hope and something stirs inside her—that, too, is familiar.
She continues counting down, watching him as he throws his head back and laughs. He used to laugh like that with her. Like there was nothing holding him back, because he was free. With her.
It's almost as if he's in a whole other world now, torn apart from her.
But she can't believe that. She won't.
47 seconds.
She keeps her eyes on him, dragging over him and taking in every new detail about him. But there aren't many things that are new. He looks almost exactly as he did a year ago, and a year before that, and every other year she's spent with him.
Eyes like the burning pits of a flame doused by an unfathomable sea, doused by nature and by calm. Brown locks that can never be tamed. It fits him, all of it.
29 seconds.
Something tells her to step forward. Something she cannot hear, only feel. She does, her legs quaking and her nerves shattering, her mind screaming. She bites her lip nervously. He's right there. He isn't running, isn't disappearing, isn't vanishing like his existence stops being a reality whenever she nears him.
He's solid.
20 seconds.
That same feeling pulls her closer towards him, as though the gravity that affects her isn't dragging her to the ground but instead to him. It's as though she's an asteroid orbiting him, dangerous and yearning to get closer, but always unable to.
He has two lives now—two completely separate lives—and he never lets them collide.
But she wants them to, if that's what it'll take.
17 seconds.
She continues walking to him. Her feet feel like lead, but she can't stop herself. Every step she takes increases the uncontrollable hammering of her heart. She can make out the vague flecks in his eyes, now, blurry and far-off and yet still distinct, so familiar she starts to run.
15 seconds. 14. 13. 12. 11. 10.
She wills him to glance up, to spot her amidst the crowds. (It's completely dark out and so, so close to midnight and yet there are still so many people around, and she doesn't understand why. But she understands the life thrumming in the bodies, in the voices.) She wills him to pause his conversation with his friends and see her.
Five seconds. Breathe in, breathe out.
Three seconds. All you have to do is look up. Please. Please.
She's so close, and yet so far.
Her timer runs to zero. And he finally does stop, his head rising and his eyes cutting to meet hers. His eyes widen slightly, and she presses forward against the crowd hemming her in when a small smile slides effortlessly onto his lips. She stops abruptly.
Happy birthday, he mouths at her, and she smiles back at him. It's enough. For now, it is.
16.
She's in his house when it hits midnight, hidden by his formidable strength, trapped by his inescapable arms. But she doesn't want to escape.
"Make a wish," he urges, whispering into her ear, and it sends a thrill down her spine. She closes her eyes, pretending to do as he tells her to, when instead she's relishing how warm she feels in his arms.
She never opens her eyes, and eventually his own eyes slide close. She thinks he's asleep when she finally shifts her head slightly, staring at his face, at everything she remembers of him and everything that she has never forgotten. "I already have," she murmurs. I'll keep making the same wish, over and over again.
Her eyes close a second time and she begs for her wish, hands clasped and hopes pulsating. The stars explode in the sky above her and still she prays.
17.
Her wish hasn't changed. It never will.
As always, she wishes for him.
18
She looks at the clock and swallows hard. It is nearing midnight. 27 minutes to go…
"Suzaku!" she yells, trying to catch up to him. But she is small, her legs are short, and he sprints tirelessly ahead of her. No matter what, she can never catch up to him. She has never been fast enough to. And she fears that she will never overcome that boundary. She fears that he will always leave her behind. She grits her teeth. "Wait up!"
He laughs, swings around, and catches her in his arms. She splutters for a moment, flushing at the contact, before forcing on an expression of irritation and wrestling away.
"Let go of me!" she demands.
He towers above her, keeping her trapped. "Don't worry, Lulu." He winks. "I'll never leave you behind."
She is reminded of her thoughts and she smiles a little. "Y-you… you mean it?" she asks hopefully. Her voice is small and timid, shy. She looks down so he can't see her blush.
"Of course. I promised you, didn't I?" He laughs again, and the sound rumbles in his throat, bounces in the air, reminds her of home. "I'll always love you. As soon as you're legal, you're mine."
She sighs and shakes her head to clear the memory. He lied. He is always lying. He is always leaving her behind. And yet… and yet she's still counting down.
(Why?)
(Because she'd do anything to have him again.)
23 minutes and 54 seconds until she turns eighteen.
And she doesn't even know if he remembers it, his promise. She exhales roughly and runs a hand through her hair. She doesn't want to even consider the possibility that he doesn't remember. How can he not?
His promise is her everything. It always has been.
He has to remember.
21 minutes and 38 seconds.
Waiting, she thinks, is a horrible thing. It's torture. It feels like climbing an unending staircase to a nonexistent heaven.
But it's worth it, if it's for him. It has to be. It is. She closes her eyes and waits, still counting, always counting.
20 minutes. 49 seconds.
"Let's play on the swings, Suzaku," she whines.
He looks at her, eyebrow arched, and she scuffs the heel of her shoe on the grassed ground. She drops her gaze to her feet. "Maybe later, Lulu," he says with an exasperated sigh, and she flinches. Because she knows that what he really means is 'maybe never.'
17 minutes and two seconds.
"Did you get me anything?" he asks teasingly, smirk in place as he kneels so they are eye-to-eye.
She flushes in embarrassment, but when she hears him start to laugh, she broadens her shoulders and beams up at him. "I did," she says.
He blinks. "Well, what did you get?" He sounds curious, like it's important to him.
She grins. "Myself," she says smugly. His mouth falls open in surprise, and she defends, "Isn't that enough?"
He chuckles, scoops her up into his arms (this time she doesn't even try to struggle; she doesn't understand how he can still lift her up, but she's glad for it), and whispers into her ear, "It's enough. It always will be enough."
13 minutes.
"I miss my sister," she whines.
Suzaku laughs in amusement. But her mother jolts to a start and snaps her gaze to her daughter, turning away from her friend, and the conversation she was having. 'Stop it,' her mother's stare says, better than words ever can. 'Stop it, now. Now, Leloucia. Get ahold of yourself.'
She flinches and looks away, averting her eyes. She inhales sharply, the expectations of her wealthy parents pressing down on her. ("You're my daughter," her father says, "aren't you? My daughters are normal. Be normal." It's his favorite thing to say to her.) And because Marianne is her mother, because she cannot disobey her elders, Leloucia nods and draws herself up to her full height, smiling pleasantly.
Suzaku recoils as if struck. He grits his teeth and rears forward, grabbing her wrist tightly. He leaves her no room for complaint as he drags her to his room. "Lulu," he snaps. "What are you doing?"
She tilts her head innocently, her facade never faltering. "What do you mean?"
"You miss your sister," he says, not asks.
He's informing her, and she almost bristles—until she catches sight of his furrowed brows, laced with worry. She heaves a sigh as her shoulders sag, the weight finally proving too heavy for her. "Yes," she answers, desperately. "I do. I miss her, so much."
Suzaku smiles triumphantly. "You're not your parents, Lulu. And you don't have to be."
'Yes,' she thinks, 'I do, Suzaku.' But he has never understood. She folds against his concern and nods. "I'm not," she reaffirms.
His smile widens, almost in relief. "Never change, Lulu." He's humming contentedly, and she finally smiles back.
11 minutes. She can barely hear the ticking of the clock over the roaring in her ears, in her skull and in her blood. Her heart's thumping along to the passing seconds.
She sulks in the back seat of her father's car. "I don't understand why I had to come," she protests. "I don't even know anyone here. All you're going to do is discuss business. And I hate business!"
"Leloucia," her father growls, his voice low with a dangerous warning. His loud anger is intimidating, but it is when he is quiet that she is most terrified. She tries not to cower as he twists in his seat and fixes her a hard glare. "You came with us because I asked you to."
That's right. He asked her to. And she cannot refuse her father. She manages a weak smile. "Yes, father."
He harrumphs, almost triumphantly. But of course he never lets her see it. "Good," he snaps. "Now get out and be normal."
Normal. Normal, normal, normal. God, she hates that word. What does normal even mean? "Okay." But she can't say no. She has never been able to. "I'm normal." Normal, she thinks firmly to herself. But when she pushes open the car door and glances out at the nameless faces in the crowd of people, a wave of nausea assaults her and she has to hold onto the handle to keep steady. She exhales slowly and lowers her feet onto the pavement.
"I'm normal," she murmurs to herself. Because she is. Because she has to be.
It is Suzaku's face that she spots in the shrieking crowd, voices tumbling into both her ears. The jade of his eyes is what keeps her grounded, and her smile becomes real. She ignores her parents as they step out of the car in perfect unison, trying to catch his attention. She waves at him and grins when he notices her.
"Leloucia." It is her father again, restrained and subdued but not soft. Not gentle, never gentle. Not even patient. "Normal," he reminds her in a hushed whisper. There is a threat in his voice—a promise.
She does her best to contain her frustration. She is normal, after all. And normal girls do not lash out at their parents. ("Careful, Leloucia," her mother used to say, in warning. "Your sisters would never resist, would they?") "Yes, father," she obeys.
When she looks back up at Suzaku, his face is dark. He stares at her and her parents with furrowed brows, biting his lip in concern. She suppresses a flinch and smiles at him reassuringly.
She sees him hesitate. But for her, he smiles back.
She glances at her watch, her eyes tracking the second hand intently. Nine minutes. She shivers. Eight minutes and 58 seconds. So close, so close, so close. Her mind chants. Her skin chants. Her heartbeat chants.
"Happy birthday," her mother says. Marianne grins down at her, eyes twinkling with mischief. "You're finally seventeen."
She laughs uneasily. "Thanks, mom." But her mind refuses to focus on her mother's words, on her mother's joy. Her eyes dart around the restaurant, her gut churning uncomfortably in her stomach.
"Leloucia." She recoils at her father's voice and spins back around to grant him a practiced smile. He nods. "Happy birthday."
She cannot help but notice that he is not smiling, that though he looks comfortable she can tell he is anything but. He does not fidget—he is too composed to—but she knows that he'd rather be at the office than celebrating his daughter's birthday. Still, she accepts his presence as what it is and lets her smile widen. "Thank you."
It's only after her friends swarm around her and present her with beaming smiles and a gushing round of birthday congratulations that her parents return to her side. "We got you a present," her mother chimes in, eyebrows raised.
And she knows what is expected of her. Her laugh sounds forced to even her, but she ignores it and pushes on. "How exciting," she says, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"Oh, I hope so." Marianne shifts to face her husband better, nodding twice. "Charles."
Leloucia's father rolls his eyes but digs out a small box from inside his suit. "For you," he says finally. He exchanges a glance with his wife, and after a moment tacks on, "Our daughter."
Leloucia tries not to sigh. "Thank you," she repeats, holding her hand out and accepting the gift.
"What you've always wanted," Marianne adds with a wink.
Later, she tears it open to find a watch lying inside, her initials carved on the back. She grimaces inwardly and puts on the watch as her friends hover over her and her mother coos. She never admits that it isn't a watch that she wishes for. Her eyes search for him again, but her heart plunges to her knees when she still can't find him.
She sighs and resolves to waiting another year.
Five more minutes. The longest five of her life. She drums her fingers impatiently and drags her eyes back over to her watch. The second hand almost seems to be staying still in her blurry sight; she exhales shakily and drops her face into her hands, counting down the minutes.
"I'm sorry I missed your birthday," Suzaku apologizes two days after. "You know I would have come if I had a choice, right?"
She wishes she could believe that. She stomps down on the wriggling fear in her gut and offers him a small smile. "Of course," she says. "I know you."
She sobs and closes her eyes, her mind still lingering on the time. Four minutes. She forces away her uncertainty. She's waited so long already. She can wait a while longer, she assures herself. Just four minutes left—three minutes and a few seconds.
"Will you wait for me?" Suzaku's voice is but a whisper, but in it she hears everything she has ever desired. In his voice, she hears their past, and she hears a future.
"Always." And she wishes he can hear the same thing. She wishes he can imagine the two of them, together.
Can she still envision it, she wonders? Can she still see a future lying ahead of them?
Yes, she thinks. She doesn't need to dwell on the thought. She has always been able to, and she will always be able to. She'd give anything to have him.
Her eyes cut to the clock. The seconds tick by ever so slowly.
She swallows thickly. Her fingers trace his name onto the skin of her thigh as her lips wrap around the sound and shape of it. Suzaku, she thinks. She trails her finger over the delicate curve of his s, over the loop of his u, over the sharp edge of his z. Over and over again, her finger drags through the path to form him. Always him.
Please, she begs. She grips the wood framing her window tightly and presses her face against the pane, so close her breath fogs the glass. Her knuckles whiten as her eyes hook onto the blinding gleam of a thousand stars. Please, she repeats. Please. Please. Again and again. She would dig her knees into the ground if that is what it takes.
Please, please, please.
She looks back at the clock. Her breath catches in her throat, and she crosses her fingers.
One minute.
Just one more.
"Don't you remember?" he asks breathlessly. His voice is a laugh. "Together, we can do anything."
She laughs with him until their voices mix together into one. They are always one. "That's right."
Her breath hums in synch with the rhythm of their interlocked lives. Her past dies as a new color blows against the canvas of her life. She is stained anew.
"Promise?"
His eyes burrow into hers. In his eyes, she sees hello. She sees them, as they always have been. Young and powerful and immortal. Invincible. They were never supposed to fail, not them. They were always meant to succeed, and she will stake everything on that one hope. Her life, her dreams, her future.
She will risk everything.
Maybe he notices that in her stare. She doesn't know what he sees, only that it is enough to make him smile. The light in his eyes sets ablaze a fire inside her. The jade of his eyes dig deeper into her soul, and she no longer needs to breathe, because all her body yearns for is in front of her. He is her oxygen.
"I promise," he says, and she believes him. He extends an arm to her and twines his pinkie finger around hers.
His smile climbs up her lips. Together, we can do anything, echoes around her, outside her, in her. Together, he whispers into her ears. She hears it over and over again.
Together, they can do anything.
In the distance, a bell chimes with the song of their promise as the last second clicks into place and midnight falls around her. Everywhere she looks, he is all she can see.
Together, we can do anything.
She exhales a rough breath through shaky lips. Zero seconds. She's finally eighteen. Fingers trembling with anticipation—but not fear, she thins, and she is surprised to feel that it is true—she dips her hand into her bag and clutches her phone. She stares at her reflection in the darkness of her screen.
It is herself she sees. She smiles when she recognizes the girl in the makeshift mirror. She doesn't hesitate when she turns the phone on and dials a number she has long since engraved into her memory.
Together. Her thumb brushes over the last digit. Together. She presses call.
Together.
A/N: For now, I'm leaving this finished. I don't know yet for sure, but I think the open ending is a nice touch.