A/N: ... I have nothing to say. Um. Hello, new fandom. As I'm not a native English speaker, grammatical corrections and comments would be very appreciated. Thank you for reading!
Pairing: onesided Kaoru/Hikaru, mentioned Hikaru/Haruhi.
Words: 463
Rating: G or K
Disclaimed.
Echo
eishi (2011)
People always assume that we're the same entity, or even if we are separate beings, we're at least bound by souls, bound to understand each other without words, touches, looks. We never were. We'll never be. Just like snowflakes, we may be born from the same source, float the same way, look the same, but in reality, if someone stopped to really observe, he'd notice how the curves are slightly different, how the pieces just barely don't fit together.
It doesn't matter. We still understand each other much more perfectly than most people do even understand their lovers, siblings, parents. But it's not because we're the same – we aren't – but because we've always been together. We share so many memories, conversations, observations that it's easy for us to predict what the other is about to say, do, think. Our features bounce off each other, we contaminate feelings from one to another. In mere seconds, we will feel the same thing, because the other feels it, too. But it's not because we're the same. It's because we're always together. We know what the other feels and what I'm supposed to feel, in turn.
I take comfort in the fact. When I look into his eyes, I see the reflection from mine. It's hypnotizing. When I'm sad, he is sad. When I'm happy, he's happy. When I love him so much that I want to curl into a ball and hold him forever, his eyes shine the same way, reflecting every single lustful emotion that my head keeps popping up.
But it's not the same. I know it's not real. His feelings are an echo from mine: a mild reflection of what I feel, a mere shadow of the intensity that my roams my chest. He doesn't understand. He can't. When he sees the gripping happiness in my eyes, he reflects that, but it's not the same. He cannot understand the reason behind it. All he sees is what he wants to see, and he'll never understand.
He'll never look at me the way I'm looking at him. He's merely echoing what I'm saying, doing, feeling. Because he's looking the same way at her, and she returns the look. She doesn't reflect. She feels the same. She not an echo – she's a real being that returns his transmission perfectly, beep by beep.
It doesn't matter. Whatever I feel, he reflects it right back at me. It's not his decision. We're just wired that way. He can't help responding even if he wanted. He'll keep echoing right back to me till the day he dies, whether or not he's receiving some other transmission. I take comfort in the fact. I have to. Because the echo is all I have and everything I'll ever have.
End.