Ship: matsuoka rin & matsuoka gou Fandom: free! Major Tags: mention of character death, themes surrounding death (drowning) Other Tags: storms, drowning, drugs as metaphor Original Work:here by dw user horchata Word Count: 413
i have a habit of referring to gou as kou i can't break, oops (might end up remixing all of robin's fills about the matsuoka curse, double oops)
***
he feels it everytime he's near the ocean.
he knows, by now, that it's not the same draw that haru feels. that's something else—something pure, something simple, where haru is one opposing pole and the seawater the other, pulled together by laws of physics.
when rin looks at the ocean, he's reminded of haru, always—in australia it had been impossible to look at the horizon and not think of haru, thousands of miles away.
but under that is something else, something he usually leaves untouched, unexamined, because he knows he's better off not dwelling on it, lest it pull him down like an anchor.
when he's home in iwatobi, it's harder to ignore.
with haru, it's magnetism.
rin, though—rin feels it like a siren song, ocean air becoming a drug in his lungs, in his veins. the longer he lingers, the headier it becomes.
he dreams, sometimes, about the storm that took his father. some nights rin is on the boat with him, and he calls out for his father, reaches for him, but he's always drowned out by the storm and the shouts of the crew. other nights rin sees it as if he were his father, feeling the sting of rope in his hands, salt and water filling his nostrils, squinting through the rain that's pelting on his face—
he always wakes from those dreams with his heart racing.
and still he hears the ocean's call, the same way his father did.
(and so he wonders, to this day, if his father felt most alive in those last few moments, because the way his heart beats on those nights isn't all fear. he almost hopes the answer is yes, because at least then he'd know this is something that runs in the family.)
he doesn't talk about it with anyone.
"you heading home?" kou asks him one year, after they've visited the shrine.
rin's neck is lighter then when they first arrived. "not yet," he says. "gonna head to the shore for a bit."
kou looks at him from the corner of her eye. "you know mom expects you for dinner."
rin smiles, rubs the back of his neck. "yeah, i know."
they stop at the bottom of the hill, kou turning to face him before they part ways. "i'll see you back home," she says, and rin has to wonder if he's not imagining she says it like a question.
"see you," he says, and hopes it's promise enough.
FILL: TEAM KURAMOCHI YOUICHI/MIYUKI KAZUYA, T
Fandom: free!
Major Tags: mention of character death, themes surrounding death (drowning)
Other Tags: storms, drowning, drugs as metaphor
Original Work: here by dw user horchata
Word Count: 413
i have a habit of referring to gou as kou i can't break, oops (might end up remixing all of robin's fills about the matsuoka curse, double oops)
***
he feels it everytime he's near the ocean.
he knows, by now, that it's not the same draw that haru feels. that's something else—something pure, something simple, where haru is one opposing pole and the seawater the other, pulled together by laws of physics.
when rin looks at the ocean, he's reminded of haru, always—in australia it had been impossible to look at the horizon and not think of haru, thousands of miles away.
but under that is something else, something he usually leaves untouched, unexamined, because he knows he's better off not dwelling on it, lest it pull him down like an anchor.
when he's home in iwatobi, it's harder to ignore.
with haru, it's magnetism.
rin, though—rin feels it like a siren song, ocean air becoming a drug in his lungs, in his veins. the longer he lingers, the headier it becomes.
he dreams, sometimes, about the storm that took his father. some nights rin is on the boat with him, and he calls out for his father, reaches for him, but he's always drowned out by the storm and the shouts of the crew. other nights rin sees it as if he were his father, feeling the sting of rope in his hands, salt and water filling his nostrils, squinting through the rain that's pelting on his face—
he always wakes from those dreams with his heart racing.
and still he hears the ocean's call, the same way his father did.
(and so he wonders, to this day, if his father felt most alive in those last few moments, because the way his heart beats on those nights isn't all fear. he almost hopes the answer is yes, because at least then he'd know this is something that runs in the family.)
he doesn't talk about it with anyone.
"you heading home?" kou asks him one year, after they've visited the shrine.
rin's neck is lighter then when they first arrived. "not yet," he says. "gonna head to the shore for a bit."
kou looks at him from the corner of her eye. "you know mom expects you for dinner."
rin smiles, rubs the back of his neck. "yeah, i know."
they stop at the bottom of the hill, kou turning to face him before they part ways. "i'll see you back home," she says, and rin has to wonder if he's not imagining she says it like a question.
"see you," he says, and hopes it's promise enough.