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In French, you don’t really say “I miss you.”
You say “tu me manques” which means, “you are missing from me.”
Rin Matsuoka tries to convince himself that he is not crazy.
He shuts his eyes again, and this time, when he opens them he sees the familiar, scenic skyscrapers of Tokyo. There’s the pale, sheer curtains, the black, granite counters and the dark, wooden floors of his apartment.
No cherry tree. No river. No boy with teal eyes.
Rin stands there in a moment of daze before he notices something wet between his toes and realizes that he had dropped his glass of water, leaving shards of glass everywhere.
What the hell just happened?
It was like some sort of out-of-body slash dream slash delusional experience.
Rin bends down to pick up the pieces of glass, blinking several times to make sure that he’s really here, in this time and place: at home. When he stands up to throw the glass away, he takes in his surroundings once more. Something about the word home feels . . . hollow to Rin. He’s never thought so before, but his moderate, one-bedroom apartment suddenly feels too big for him.
He pushes away the feeling and whatever-the-fuck-trip he just had out of his mind. He wonders if that’s what taking drugs is like (not that he would ever risk his career to know). He hangs his robe in the bathroom and finishes drying his hair. When he slips into his bed that night, he decides that the stress of the upcoming meet must be getting to him.
Hands are on Rin.
No—they’re not quite on him—they hover right above his abdomen, barely , and it’s excruciating because Rin is burning for that contact, and he’s yearning to be relieved. The strong, firm fingers travel down painfully slow, fluttering above his stomach, his hips, the sides of his thighs, until they come up to clutch his ass.
The sudden contact is delightfully cruel. Warm and steady.
He looks down to see the same teal eyes as always. This time, though, they’re not innocent eyes of a teenager or curious eyes of a childhood friend, but almost wicked and sinister of a man’s . He lowers his mouth to taste Rin. To devour him. They’ve done this countless of times, and yet, Rin lets out a moan of a virgin, releasing broken breaths that contain his partner’s name.
Rin wakes up back in his room. He always comes back to the present, to Tokyo.
That was the first time he’s had an erotic dream about this mysterious teal-eyed man. The ‘dreams’ only come in his sleep now, which Rin is thankful for, but he still doesn’t quite know how to feel about it.
Maybe he is crazy.
Then again, maybe, it’s a sign that it’s been too long since he’s gotten laid.
“Congrats Rin!”
Soju bottles clink with one another, and Rin can’t wipe the smile off his face.
“Thanks, guys!” He leans in and pulls his best friends into one big group hug over the kotatsu. “You’re the best. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you three having my back all these years.”
“Ah, Rin-chan,” Nagisa waves his hand in nonchalance after they break-off, “you say that after every meet, but thanks, I’m flattered.” He fakes a blush by cupping his cheeks with his hands, his blonde hair brushing his fingertips.
Rin shakes his head at his friend’s sarcasm, still grinning, showing off his sharp teeth.
“You know it’s true,” Rin says.
Haru gives him a knowing look that says yeah, yeah we love you too . Makoto, who’s sitting beside Rin, gives Rin another hug, and because he’s Makoto, congratulates him again.
His friends can joke all they want about how cheesy and emotional Rin gets every time, but he’ll never stop showing his appreciation for them. Plus, they hardly ever get together like this anymore now that Rin’s the only one left competing. Nagisa has gone into modeling, Makoto into a university studying secondary education and Haru into culinary school. Their schedules get hectic, but somehow his friends always manage to make it to his meets. Just that much is enough.
He’d already had his big celebration with his swim team earlier this afternoon, but he always likes throwing a smaller, more modest one with just his close friends. It was a tradition that they celebrate at Nanny’s , a small, dim-lit noodle shop with the best soju around. Not many people know about the restaurant, making it a nice escape from the busyness of the city.
It also reminds Rin of his Grandmother’s house in Iwatobi, and Rin needs that familiarity every once in a while.
Sometimes Tokyo feels too foreign to him.
And, every once in a while, that feeling would start to form into a sort of unfathomable emptiness, leaving him to crave something more .
But he can’t think about that now, because today, Rin is unbelievably happy not only because of the two gold medals hanging around his neck but he finally qualified for the Olympics. The adrenaline running through him diminishes the soreness he gets in his muscles after a long season. His coach, of course, advised him to take a break from the pool, but Rin feels restless. He can’t wait to jump back into the water. He can almost taste his next victory.
Next time, it would be in front of the entire world.
Maybe that’s exactly what the craving he’s been feeling is. The need for his next chase. After every win, Rin is never satisfied.
He’s not sure if he ever will be.
Rin offers his friends a ride home, but apparently, Nagisa’s night isn’t finished and he’s yet to crash another party nearby, and Haru decides to spend the night at Makoto’s place, which is only a couple of blocks away. They say their goodbyes and send Rin off with more hugs along with sloppy, drunk kisses from Nagisa.
As usual, Rin finds himself stuck in the city’s traffic. He looks out the window idly, people watching. He spots a few children walking with their parents on the streets, going in and out of stores. They’re still awake in the middle of the night, on a school night. It’s a sign that Tokyo never really sleeps. The only way Rin can tell they’re children is because of how short they are. Even with bright, illuminating lights, the city’s streets are too crowded to really make out anyone’s face.
Then, Rin’s eye catches a tall figure in a black hoodie. He doesn’t know why his eyes land on him; there’s plenty of people in heavy sweatshirts. The man’s head is tucked under his hood and bent down as he walks, making it even more difficult to see what he looks like. And for some reason, Rinwants to know . He almost jumps out of his car just to run over to him and find out. When the man lifts his head to seemingly apologize to someone he’s bumped into, Rin does just that.
He’s abandoned his car to run to him —the man with the teal eyes. Rin sprints towards him, relenting to take off his eyes on the hoodie even as he crosses the road. He’s so close, only a few feet away, when a group of tall teenagers crosses in between them, and Rin loses sight of the hooded man.
Shit. Where—
Rin scours the crowd in inexplicable panic. After a few minutes, he’s left panting and confused. He can hear cars honking in the background, no doubt telling his empty car to move. It’s time to give up.
Rin wracks his brain to try and unearth an excuse as to why he ran out of his car to chase a stranger.
There isn’t one.
France, before the Industrial Revolution, runs on their skills men. Beautiful, hand-embroidered cloths, the finest, sharpest steel, shoes claiming to have the most comfortable soles on earth, and soft, fluffy bread that could only be described as heavenly were some of what French artisans could offer. If you were truly skilled in just one area, it wouldn’t be too difficult to make a name for yourself in town.
That’s how Rin— Nicolas —a son of a nobleman, discovered the baker.
The recognizable tinker of the bell above him signals his entrance as he opens the door to the shop.
The baker with the teal eyes nods his head at Rin.
“Good afternoon.”
Rin returns the greeting by slightly tipping his hat at the baker. That’s all the acknowledgment they give each other before the baker returns to his task of kneading dough.
Rin roams the small shop, pretending to carefully inspect each bread roll, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the baker. His arms rock almost leisurely as he works the dough, and his veins are prominent, even when covered in dusts of flour. The baker lifts an arm to wipe off the sweat on his forehead. Rin swears he has never seen anything sexier. And he swears the man is purposely taunting him.
Clearing his throat to get the baker’s attention (although, Rin knows that’s unnecessary; he knows the baker’s eyes has likewise been on Rin the entire time), he slips a piece of paper and a few coins to the man.
“Your bread is up to par, as always,” Rin says.
The baker gives his gratitude as he accepts Rin’s pay. The paper tells the baker Rin will be at his place at midnight.
The clothes are Rin’s only way of concealing his identity, and he despises the damn, heavy layers, but the baker makes them worthwhile as he removes each piece with care.
“Careful there, Nicolas, you were drooling much too obviously at the shop today, and I don’t think it was because of the bread or pastries…”
A hot breath runs from Rin’s ears to his neck, and the baker chases it down with moist kisses. He’s always so tender . . . at first.
“You never make it easy whenever I come to visit,” Rin argues, weakly.
The man behind him chuckles at the lame excuse as he continues his little venture. Each time, it’s like he’s discovering Rin again. Every nook and cranny of him. Every scar his father’s left on him. He inhales Rin like he’s his and no one can take him away, as if no one else can touch him.
They lie in the afterglow beside each other. Rin is completely spent, but he wants to savor every waking moment with him, refusing to be overcome with sleep.
He loves this baker. Loves how he cares for Rin after abuse from his father. Loves how he cares for him even when there are no bruises to tend to. Loves how devoted this man is to his passion. Loves how he just loves Rin for himself.
Rin isn’t a nobleman’s son with him.
He simply is.
The baker holds him tight, whispering atrocities into Rin’s hair. Apparently, the baker knows a sailor that can take them some place far, far away, but Rin knows better. There is no way out. Sure, the baker is skilled, putting him above other middle-class men, but he is still a common person—aman at that—and Rin has responsibilities as a nobility he cannot run from. Still, Rin stays in his lover’s arms, dreaming the impossibility of what could be, knowing that in the morning Rin has to exchange vows with someone he did not love.
Rin’s dreams have become more and more detailed, more vivid , each time. They’re too real that he no longer likes resorting to calling them dreams. More than anything, they resemble memories—which is crazy and terrifying , but a part of him is also eager because it means that the person with teal eyes is here, in this world, at this time, waiting to meet Rin again.
Somehow, Rin is so sure of it. Then again, his friends claim he’s always been a bit of a romantic.
There’s no way, right? Something like soulmates can’t be real. And that’s the terrifying part—if it’s not real, why is he being tortured like this? Why make him long for someone he can’t have?
He grinds his teeth and shakes off his contradicting thoughts for now to focus on his stance on the diving board. Sorry, Coach. It’s difficult for Rin to stay away from the pool for too long.
He bends down and pushes himself off. Like always, the water is there to greet him, bitter cold and familiar, the closest to home Rin knows of. Rin cuts through it with ease. He fixates his attention at the push and pull between him and the water. There’s no time when he swims alone, when there’s no pressure to compete. All he has to do is swim until he’s out of breath.
He plants his hand on the pool’s wall, then rests his forehead there, letting his lungs heave in oxygen, greedily.
“Impressive. Half an hour, non-stop, close to full speed. I guess I have my work cut out for me.”
Rin whips his head towards the voice. He didn’t think anyone else would be at the pool this early in the morning.
Then, he suddenly stops breathing. What was oxygen to lungs?
Rin’s eyes are wide, mouth gaped, but the man across from him remains a cool, smug smile on his face.
Panic rises from the pit of Rin’s stomach.
This bastard. Doesn’t he recognize Rin? Not recognize his eyes? Doesn’t he recognize the amber color that has watched and loved him for over fifty lifetimes?
Because in him , in those teal eyes, he saw every single person he ever was. He was the bored schoolboy who had always been in love with his lively best friend, the beautiful, teenage girl who had a secret crush on the class nerd, the ruthless emperor who changed his ways when he fell for his rival, and the star-crossed lover of the nobleman’s son.
Their love wasn’t always difficult, sometimes it was so easy, like with the boy and the girl: two childhood friends who fell in love and grew old together. Sometimes it was far more complicated.
Far crueler.
A new memory hits Rin.
He’s in Southern Africa, visiting a village for his research. This village, in particular, had never seen outsiders, much less white men. It was a rare, secluded village in the country, and lucky enough to not have had any of its men or women taken into American custody. Rin had never really cared for slaves, sure he had one growing up as a child, but never bothered to buy one of his own as a man.
He liked the idea of self-sufficiency and curiously wondered how this African village operated on its own. How do its people behave? What do they like to eat? How would they react to complete strangers?
It all fascinated Rin.
Rin and his teammates have spent years studying a multitude of African gestures and languages, that they’re able to communicate with the villagers that they’re in need of a place to stay. They welcome them in their village, although Rin senses the tension between his men and the villagers. Women and their children are nowhere to be seen when they are around.
Until one day she comes along—standing in front of Rin’s one-man tent—bold, curious and daring with skin so dark that it blends in with the night. It’s all the more beautiful because it intensifies her teal eyes.
Rin’s breath is caught by her beauty and bravery.
And oh , how forbidden it is to love a skin different from his, but he does so anyway because Rin will love her—her soul— in any shape, form or color, in every time.
Rin forgets about his research. He feels guilty now, knowing how degrading it was that he thought of the villagers as mere subjects, somewhat similar to animals, to be studied. He’s disgusted with himself, but she reassures him. Isn’t this what love is? Someone who comes along and changes you for the better? Who evolves with you, challenges your ideology, and simply loves? He finds home in their love.
But the deeper they love, the more they are left raw and vulnerable.
Rin hears screams in the middle of the night. The blanket beside him is empty and cold. He’s quick to his feet, stumbles outside of the tent, and runs towards where the men are gathered.
But he’s too late.
Her body lies there on the floor. Limp and lifeless.
His world snaps.
“Stoned to death like the white-cock loving savage deserves.”
Rin hears the words said from somewhere far away. The wails coming from his self ring loud and distortedly, numbing everything except for his anger and sadness.
Rin’s tears hit the pool. His chest is heavy, and he’s breathing again, but this time erratically.
“ Rin .”
A concerned voice reaches him. He takes in the teal eyes.
“You’re alive,” Rin breathes, confused.
“Come here,” the man with the teal eyes says gently.
He helps Rin out of the pool, and they sit there at the edge. The man cradles Rin in his arms, reassuring him that he’s alive. That he’s here.
“ Tu m'as manqué,” the stranger whispers.
“I’ve missed you,” he repeats so that Rin understands. He plants a kiss on Rin’s temple.
All these years.
Rin closes his eyes and leans closer into him, his body fitting seamlessly with his. He’s exhausted. And sad. And scared. And happy.
And filled.
Rin learns that his name is Sousuke Yamazaki. He’s Japanese like Rin is, but was pretty much raised in France his entire life, so he can speak both Japanese and French fluently. (Rin interrupts to boast that he can also speak English). He's a swimmer like Rin. The love of his life had always been swimming, though now he’s met Rin, he thinks he’s changed his mind— maybe .
“You jerk,” Rin says, pressing a knee to his thighs. The gesture is starting to become a habit.
Sousuke’s favorite food is tonkatsu , but he surprisingly has a sweet tooth for macarons and cola. Funny, because Sousuke looks the type to only take his coffee black, with his permanent scowl and all. Nothing cute or sweet about it. Although, that’s not entirely true. While his glowers do scare some children, he still manages to attract the little brats anyway. Rin thinks it’s because the scowl just makes him look more like an easy target to tease, but Rin doesn’t say that out loud, afraid that Sousuke might start smiling more, and Rin is a little selfish, wanting to keep the warm, curve of his lips for himself.
Though he would never say it, Sousuke is fond of Rin’s friends. He pretends to have this sort of feud thing between him and Haru, but Rin knows it’s just a bit of friendly fire since the two are so similar and would never admit of even slightly hinting they like each other. Stubborn bastard. He loves him.
He hasn’t said so yet, but he does.
They’ve decided to take things slow. While they said they would wait half a year before doing anything passed kissing—take their time to get to know each other, make sure that what they felt for each other is because of who they are now and not because of memories of their old selves—two months in, and they find themselves entangled in each other.
Rin tries to find the light switch on his wall but quickly decides it’s not important as he drags Sousuke with him further into his apartment. They crash onto his couch. They land with a thud, Rin pinning Sousuke under him. He laughs into their heated kiss. This was ridiculous. They were acting like teenagers, uncontrollable and inflamed as if the world would disappear if they didn’t do anything about their desire. And yet, Rin didn’t care. Instead, he deepens their kiss, grinding his hips against Sousuke. Sousuke lets out a moan at that.
Oh, Rin likes that.
Fuck. Why hadn’t they done this sooner?
Sousuke tightens his grip around Rin’s waist as if replying to Rin's question.
“Bedroom,” Sousuke manages to say in between breaths.
Rin nods, wrapping his arms and legs around Sousuke as he walks them to the bed. Rin is afraid to let go. He feels so vulnerable right now, like he'll vanish from all of this is he lifts a finger off of Sousuke. Or worse. Sousuke would disappear. What if this whole thing is another memory? Another dream Rin will wake up from?
As if reading his mind, Sousuke breaks their kiss as he sets Rin down on the bed. Rin’s heart races faster than before, no, no, no , but Sousuke leans in, body flushed against his, his forehead on Rin’s.
“I’m here,” Sousuke says, hushing the alarm in Rin.
He looks into Rin’s eyes to make sure he understands.
In the dark, it’s difficult to see the color of Sousuke’s irises. But he knows. Knows the color well enough to paint them by heart.
There’s only one response Rin can think of: “I love you. I’ve loved you.” Don’t leave me, again.
“I love you, too.”
Sousuke smiles the smile that Rin keeps sacred.
How brave their love is, because they’ll keep loving even when it hurts—even when they’re torn apart. Maybe it's a curse. Or maybe they’re lucky, because time and time again, they’ll find each other.