She whispers in witty remarks and time-wasting syllables; He answers in a profuse of silence and light, implied glances. First impressions do no justice, but perhaps second impressions do, especially since their ways of communication differ so much. Yukari did not expect him to be so sensitive and quiet, thoughtful and all together too serene for the man with a face of a rebel. Yuuma expected nothing, actually. Though to have a bunny-centric appearance accompany such a sarcastic and uncaring girl- it certainly confuses him.
But neither of them mind. Not that much, anyways.
Yet it begins to matter to her. (and maybe to him, but he'd never admit it or imply anything of the sort anyways) Because whenever they spend one more rain kissed day together, any second more than they should, discussing and dreaming and thinking and clashing, the more Yukari needs to inhale and exhale. And for him, the more the need to write poems and splatter his feelings into badly thought up metaphors and similes, but Yuuma doesn't care. Not at all, because
he wrote these for her.
Neither of them also mind to confess.
Days and weeks pass, minutes flying off and departing faster than Yukari could count off her fingertips. A gathering at a cafe is marked on the calender, everyone and their all so familiar smiles come together, and laugh with her. She finds socializing stupid; The synth favours nights and days in solitude with nothing but tireless strolls across the city. But she'd never admit how much she loves to stick around them, the VOCALOIDs, the people she knows best. However, Time betrays them all and soon she finds herself bidding goodbye to all of them, even Rin, and Miki, and IA. Soon, the only figures besides the clueless stares and incessant tittering of pairs of passersby in the cafe are her and him. As usual, there is a pad of scribbles and hardly legible cursive, messy and yet somewhat fitting, like his rose coloured hair. They laugh, she aids in his "poetry", and he ruffles her hair.
Yukari has yet to tell him that she's leaving tomorrow, to a place where he is not.
I haven't told you I loved you yet.
The opportunity does not appear to present itself at all, and as the two begin to exit and part ways. Reluctance sticks to her mumbled "Bye." An inhale, and she exhales. About to leave, she carelessly tosses a wave as a sign of departure. Breathing is difficult; she's hardly the type to cry. Exhale, exhale, she tells herself. Exhale what I feel away.
But she can't.
And Yuuma can see that.
He speaks no more than a second. Every time. Every chance. Every moment where those pale lips of his twist open and meet air. The rush of words, bathed in his soft, husky tone arrests her attention whenever the occasion arises. The glassy amethyst in her eyes avert the chartreuse irises of his, not wanting eye contact nor the language of his wordless connotations, but only his voice.
"Do you have something to say, Yukari?"
Sensing her emotions again. He's sharp, she thinks.
She does. Beyond desperation, a rather pitiful question graces her mind. An answer, a direct and straightforward reply from him: It is all she needs, all she has ever wanted in contrast of wanting nothing for the last nineteen years. Because throughout all the subtle gestures and nonchalant stares, Yukari has yet to know if her company is something he enjoys, or if he doesn't care. She wants to know, badly. Of all the accidental rendezvous and whimsical exchanges, the girl has fallen for him. Hard. Fluttering butterflies and rosy, flushed cheeks are not her indicators of "love", but rather that his visage, his face, and his murmurs seem to arise in her thoughts so ironically. Nonetheless, the very itch of her longing to seek an answer is enough to tell her. She is in love, and she doesn't care to be shy about it.
Breathless, eye contact resumes, and she nods. "Don't you like me?" The words come out trembling, timid, and absolutely nothing like she expects them to sound. He raises an eyebrow, and the lilac maiden has the choice of whether to consider it as a bad or good thing. Black and white, black and white, there is no middle ground in her opinions and impressions. Blankets of lavender locks sway behind her as she rotates away, her back facing the contemplating man. She has half a mind of muttering a last 'never mind' and striding away with no need to interact with him again. A footstep, one clearly her own, begins to resound, but it mingles with his voice and reply. Coming to a halt, Yukari bates her breath and believes it is the finale of words she will ever care to pick up from him.
"What makes you think that I don't?"
She scoffs. Out of a million possible ways, what does he see her question as? A friendly type of like? A lover type of like? Her question was ambiguous, but there's only one way she wants him to answer in.
Yukari notices that her voice trembles, but weakly, unlike his smooth vibrato. Her mouth opens to say more, but resorts to swallowing a handful of cold air. Yuuma is speaking again.
"Look at me." Hesitance is sewn into her veins, but like an obedient little child, she does.
His lips crack a smile, and it is absolutely perfect.
"I do like you."
That is all she needs.
a/n: wow I probably do not know how to write a proper story but I needed this out of my system. because I ship this so much sobs