easier said than done

(after David Levithan's The Lover's Dictionary)

Disclaimer: I own nothing and I am nowhere near as good as David Levithan.

A/N: There is (kinda short and badly written) lemon ahead. I am very sorry. Plus they're 16 y/o and 20 y/o. I wrote it that way for a reason. If the underage-ness and/or the age gap offends/triggers you, it's okay to go away now.

Also, the entries are not arranged in chronological order. Some entries are connected to other entries, some are completely independent, but they are all part of the same story.

abrasive, adj.

they just want to hurt each other as much as they can. pain is the language he's most fluent in, and when he's with her, he is talkative as hell.

he knew, from the moment he first saw her, that someday she will end him.

apology, n.

i'm sorry, china.

well, i'm not, sadist.

bruise, n., v.

marks on her skin don't last long. part of him is relieved that he doesn't have to see what he has left behind on her body. that no matter what he does to her, she will move on from it, unchanged, unhurt, indifferent.

another part of him hates her for it. sometimes he hits her harder than he wants to, just to see himself on her surface. she grins at him, just as wild, just as fierce, and strikes back with a viciousness he is almost proud of.

that's not what i meant, he wants to say.

curious, adj.

she is sixteen when she tells him she wants to try fucking him. his insides flood with cold and warmth at the same time.

she says this after a particularly rowdy fight. they are lying beside each other on the floor of an abandoned building, its wall now in splinters from her kicking him through it. around them, huge broken machines and contraptions cast long shadows.

her words hang in the air. for a long time, their breaths are all that speak for them.

finally he asks: where is this coming from, china?

she turns on her side, facing him. she smirks. is it that small, sadist?

nothing is ever easy with her.

nah, you just might not be able to take it, is all. he sits up. you answer everything i ask and i'll answer anything you ask. deal?

she scowls. i was reading gin-chan's porn. it is natural that i wonder about these things, yes?

he sighs.

she sits up too, glaring at him. it is your turn. no cheating.

hmm.

have you fucked anyone?

crude and graceless as always. still, he can't quite look away, so he keeps his gaze on her face. he tries to imagine what expression she'll make when she's coming, and he curls his hands into fists to prevent himself from doing something stupid.

yes, he says, and watches her expression change. when she opens her mouth, he covers it with his hand. my turn, china. why me?

mmph.

he lets his hand fall to his side.

because gin-chan says men are scum, and you're the scummiest. so that means you know plenty about being a man, yes?

he pinches her cheeks and yanks at them. big mistake. he can feel just how soft she is, and the mewling sounds she's making is fucking with his head.

he stops and squishes her cheeks together instead. we don't lie to each other, china. don't start now.

she wrenches herself out of his grasp. because right now, you are the one i'm closest to liking in that way, yes? you're an idiot if you don't know that yet. a big idiot!

he has, in fact, suspected, but that doesn't dull the surprise he now feels. he reaches for her slowly, and it startles her into stillness.

he gathers her to his lap, his face in the curve of her neck, and speaks to nobody in particular: i don't think we should do this, china. i don't think we should do anything at all.

departure, n.

when she tells him she'll be gone for a while—possibly years—because she is going to join her father in space to get stronger, he is reminded that giving a shit about people also means watching their backs as they walk away.

since when do i care which part of the galaxy you doom with your presence, china? is what he says when she first mentions it to him. but he does not look at her.

this is china, after all, and they have known each other for five years. she sees right through it. her lips tremble and not a single insult makes it out of her mouth. she tells him when she's leaving and from where.

at the station, everyone who came to see her off shamelessly weeps, except for him and the boss, who simply puts his hand on her head as if she's still a little kid, and tells her to have fun out there. it is what finally makes china cry.

when it's his turn to say goodbye, a big fat lump lodges itself in his throat. he can't look at her. he can't do it. so he turns to her father instead and wishes him good luck, warning him that his shitty daughter has no chance of learning anything from him, wherever they may go, because her puny little brain won't be able to handle it.

his voice doesn't crack, but it comes pretty close to wavering. this is all it takes for china to throw herself into his arms and squeeze the life out of him.

i will be stronger when i come back, yes? and you will never win again.

he threads his fingers through her hair. i suppose i can go easy on you if you're that desperate to win, china.

you tax robbers and gin-chan and everyone will protect each other while i am gone, yes?

as if. we have better things to do.

you will not go around fucking other people, yes?

he snorts. no one will ever touch me again after i fucked you, china.

you will miss me, yes?

he tightens his hold on her. yes, he says, his voice softer than soft.

dishonest, adj.

what's that hideous hairy creatu—oh, it's just you, china.

when the hell did you get so attractive?

equal, adj.

he waggles his eyebrows at her, raising the cake box and the forks to her eye-level. i come prepared, he declares.

hmph. she rolls her sleeves back and sits on their park bench. you'd better be, sadist.

he sits beside her and opens the box, handing her a fork. the cake is divided into two: one side is peppered with spices, and the other is sukonbu-flavored. he eyes the spiced one with some longing, and catches her forlorn look at the sukonbu-flavored side.

but a challenge is a challenge. he wrinkles his nose at the smell of the sukonbu and digs in, stabbing it with more force than necessary.

they race to see who will finish the other's favorite food first. it's disgusting and he wants to throw up, but her face is red and she is gasping instead of breathing, so all is well.

in the end, they finish at the same time.

he clutches his stomach, taking slow, deep breaths. she keeps her hand over her mouth. tears are still streaking down her cheeks.

he snickers at her misery, and when she drops her hand, prepared to insult him, he sees that there are still remnants of his favorite cake around her lips. without thinking about it, he leans closer and licks some off the corner of her mouth.

he draws back, astonished at himself. but of course, china is never to be outdone, and she has already licked icing off his cheek before he can process what has happened.

they freeze.

he stares at her. what are you doing?

she stares back at him. what are you doing?

excuse, n., v.

you don't care what people think, sadist. you're just stupid and you have emotional hemorrhoids!

he has no idea what she means.

family, n.

i've met your brother and your father. they're both batshit insane.

yes, but they are all i have. plus my earth dad and earth brother and earth sister and...

...and me?

you're not any of those, idiot. you're...something else.

what the hell is 'something else'?

fickle, adj.

today, they try to kill each other and almost succeed.

tomorrow, he will treat her to dango and she will try to assassinate hijikata-san.

gap, n.

she is still sixteen when he ends up fucking her anyway, even though he should know better, and he knows better.

i told you we shouldn't, he says as he takes her clothes off.

we're not going to, sadist, she tells him as she straddles him, trying to claw his uniform off. we're not really gonna do it, are we?

no, he says, kissing her. their teeth clack against each other, their tongues frantically seeking, exploring. he grips her thighs, his nails digging into her skin, leaving marks that will not last. she tugs on his hair like she's going to rip his scalp off, her hips grinding against his. he swallows sound and breath and is hungrier for it.

when they part to catch their breaths, he tells her, only an idiot would fuck you, china.

she reaches for his belt and helps him out of his pants. as if i'd let you touch me, sadist.

as if i'd want to touch y—fuck! her soft, warm mouth closes around his length, and his hands jump to the nape of her neck, the curve of her skull.

you read—too—much—porn—china—

her enthusiasm makes up for her inexperience, and soon he has to pull her off him before he loses control.

she licks her lips, lying down on her back with her feet in the air. none of your business how much porn i read, sadist. not that we will benefit from it, yes?

no, he rasps, pulling her underwear off. no benefit at all.

she is already wet when he touches her. her hips jerk and her hands nearly tear into the sheets when he inserts a finger. then another. then a third. ragged sounds escape her. he leans over her and scrapes his teeth across the skin just above her pulse. he begins there and travels downward, leaving his marks on her, marks that will fade sooner than he likes. it makes him bite harder, makes her gasp louder. soon his face is between her thighs, his tongue joining his hand at its work. her heels dig into his shoulder blades, and she is trying not to scream and failing.

she comes violently, like everything else she does. her whole body arches, and she claws hard enough at the sheets to rip through them. he is sure he has bruises on his back, but they're pretty easy to ignore at the moment. he relishes the taste of her in his mouth and the sight of her lying limp and panting on his bed.

he calls himself weak as he watches her spread her legs. he barely hears her whisper: i would never trust a sadist with my body.

i'm not interested in your body anyway, he tells her as he enters her slowly. she is hot, tight, sucking him in, and a series of curses leave her mouth. if he were the gentler sort of man, he would say something loving. if she were someone else, she would need such a thing. instead, he buries himself in her hilt-deep and they both swear over and over, getting used to each other.

he starts moving gently, but it doesn't last long because that is not how they are. soon his hands grip her hips so hard his knuckles go white, and he is pounding into her and she is alternating between screaming obscenities and screaming his name. i'm sorry, is what he wants to say, but there is no breath left for speaking and she's fucking—screaming—his—name—

she tears the sheets again when she climaxes and is even louder than before. he's not sure how long he lasts before he pulls out and comes, gasping her name like it's holy. he spills himself on the side of her thigh, then lets himself collapse beside her.

for a long time, their breaths are all that speak for them.

finally he tells her: china, this cannot happen again.

her hair covers most of her face and he wants to know what kind of expression she is wearing at this very moment.

i do not know what nonsense you are talking about, sadist. it's not like anything happened, yes?

haunted, adj., v.

the only thing he fears is failure. there are too many of those on his back, and in his line of work, failure equates to lives lost. they are all his ghosts, his little pets. he feeds them every chance he gets to remind himself that he is not yet strong enough. that he still needs to work harder to ensure he will not fail again.

because now, he has more to lose.

in his nightmares, she dies because he fails to protect her. every single time.

idle, adj.

on his day off: he naps, poisons hijikata-san's mayonnaise, draws gorillas on the reports to be submitted to kondo-san, takes care of his sword, 'takes care' of his 'sword' if he's in the mood, finds new slaves, gets bored with them, discovers that hijikata-san is still alive, wanders around looking for stronger poison or at least stronger laxatives, gets some snacks, wanders some more, comes across the yorozuya, tries to arrest the yorozuya, somehow ends up helping them because they are never boring, tries to kill the china girl, gets almost killed by china girl, walks her home because he is a gentleman and he wants to see as much of her annoying face as possible before the day ends, and tells her—in his own roundabout way—that he looks forward to seeing her again.

joke, n., v.

china.

mmm?

i love you.

wha—

just kidding.

you sadistic bastard! you do not play with a maiden's heart like that, yes? gin-chan was right, men are—

i was just kidding about the just kidding part.

i do not even know if i should believe you anymore!

you're an idiot, china. a big idiot.

but i'm the biggest idiot of all.

killer, n.

her brother once tells him: with that kind of disposition, you should've been born a yato.

when china hears this, she looks at her brother, then at him. she doesn't speak for a long time.

then suddenly: you'd look like a moron carrying an umbrella all the time, yes? it does not suit you at all.

love, n., v.

she wakes up in the middle of the night crying. she says his name over and over, and doesn't shut up until she realizes he is awake and right beside her.

hey, he says, holding her. she only cries harder, and he knows, instinctively, that his usual schtick about her crying face looking like a pickle-stuffed frog will not work this time. he doesn't know what to say, so he just lets her bury her face in the crook of his neck.

don't leave me, stupid, she says again and again. she sounds in pain and it kills him. he touches the back of her head with his fingertips, she calls him several more variations of 'stupid', and his entire chest feels like it's unfolding.

shit, is all he can think when he finally realizes why. shit.

momentary, adj.

with china in space with the baldy, his days are always not-quite-complete. he finds himself wandering kabuki district as if he will find her there.

he remembers that she will be gone for years. fuckin years. he realizes how pathetic he sounds even in his head, but what the hell. hundreds of china-less days. how is he going to fulfill his quota of people to annoy? (to be fair, he only needs two per day: hijikata-san and china.)

he thinks of all those days he avoided her and wants to smack himself.

instead, he makes it part of his routine to drop by the yorozuya and pay them to run around solving unnecessarily elaborate problems he created. the boss and the glasses whine about it all the time, but they seem to understand just what the hell is wrong with him. besides, he's loaded.

you are a pathetic excuse of an officer! commit seppuku now! is what hijikata-san says when he realizes what he's doing.

kondo-san wordlessly pats him on the shoulder, his eyes brimming with tears.

at least he now has two people to assassinate.

naïve, adj.

she blinks at him. her hair is a mess, and a pillow is tucked under her arm. what are you doing here?

that's what he wants to know, too.

she begins to close the front door. i need to get my beauty sleep, yes?

he grabs the edge of the door. i'm sorry, china.

she stares at him. well, i'm not, sadist. i slept with you because i was curious and i wanted to try it, yes? and i did it again and again, because i trust you, even though you are dumb. is that not how it usually works?

he has no idea what to say. everything that comes to mind is a flippant dismissal, something to throw at her while he escapes, but he has a strong feeling that if he lets even one of those come out, he will lose her.

she scowls. i do not know why you are being such an idiot about this. do you not want me?

i do, he manages. he doesn't think they have ever been this direct before. how the hell did they turn into these people?

then there is no problem, is there?

he wonders about that.

opinion, n.

a random stranger to some random guy who isn't even him: isn't she a little too young for you?

opportunistic, adj.

hijikata-san: the phrase you're looking for is 'taking advantage'.

him: die, hijikata-san.

permission, n.

if a meteorite crashes directly into him, it will probably hurt less than a single punch from the umibouzu.

china kneels beside him and peers closely at his face. she is trying not to look concerned and failing, which makes her look a little constipated. he wants to laugh, but even breathing hurts. moving is out of the question.

well? she asks.

his voice is barely louder than a whisper when he speaks. i lasted several minutes. plus i'm still alive. apparently it means i'm qualified enough to date you.

papi still doesn't know we have been together for five years now. she looks even more worried and thus tries harder to hide it. her face scrunches up. now she really looks constipated and it's even more hilarious than before.

he doesn't deserve her.

go take a dump already, china girl.

peruse, v.

the first time he gets to watch her sleep, he draws dicks and facial hair on her face. he finishes his work off with a huge heart on her forehead and writes his name in it. that would disturb the hell out of a lot of people, her included. he's rather proud, and he admires his own artistry for a while.

but he notices dumb things, unimportant little details he is just discovering now. the shape of her ears. the length of her eyelashes. the exact shade of her hair. the angle of her jaw. the narrowness of her chin, streaked with drool.

he backs off and squints, contemplating the sight before him. he tries to see past the scribbles on her face, then comes up with a highly disturbing hypothesis:

china girl is adorable.

he twitches. annoyed with himself and her, he works on her beard and adds drawings of poop.

questions, n., v.

a list of things he will ask should he be given the chance to interrogate himself:

1) do you feel guilty? yes.

2) would you consider yourself a willing party? yes.

3) given the chance, would you do it again? yes.

4) with toys? hell yes.

5) dude. seriously? of course.

a list of things he will ask should he be given the chance to interrogate her:

1) right now i'm the one you're closest to liking in that way?

2) closest?

3) right now?

4) you don't know what you're doing, i don't know what i'm doing, so how come i'm the only one who needs answers?

race, n., v.

i'm going to die first, he declares.

she bristles. i am yato. i am fated to die in battle, yes? of course, i will be in more battles than you, so i will die first.

nah, i'll die earlier. dumbasses live long lives, didn't you hear?

in that case, you should be relieved, sadist. because i'm going first!

nope. me first.

me first!

they don't let up, neither of them willing to let the other have the last word, even as the terror in their voices betray the mutual realization that one of them will turn out to be right.

regret, n., v.

china: if you're going to look like that after every single fuck, we are better off not doing it again, yes?

repetition, n., v.

afterwards he tells her the same thing: this cannot happen again.

eventually he stops before it becomes a permanent part of the routine because he has enough unhealthy habits already. and because she tells him he has no originality and he should change his lines.

since when do they need lines?

return, n., v.

she comes back from space three years later. her earth family swarms around her, hugging her, marveling at how she has grown, how she looks stronger now, how bald her father is, etc.

he keeps his distance and stays out of sight, watching her squeeze them to death, one by one. it's the boss who makes her cry again. must be some kind of natural talent. umibouzu beams at all of them, his pride evident.

when she is done greeting her family, he approaches her casually, leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world and he could not care less when he will reach his destination. he walks past everyone else as if they aren't there. he will greet them later.

hundreds and hundreds of china-less days.

when he is close enough, he cradles her face with his hands and kisses her.

he did not intend to hog her for too long, but soon her legs are wrapped around his waist, he is holding her up by her ass, and her fingers are digging into his scalp, his back. they suck on each other's lips, tongues, reminding themselves what they taste like.

a shrill shriek: what do you think are you doing to my daughter, you piece of shit!

they separate, panting, and she lowers her feet back to the floor. they ignore the baldy. he'll pay for it later, but for now he touches her face, looks at the skies that are her eyes, the hunger that is her mouth. when he has looked his fill, he buries his face in her hair.

sadist, she whispers.

mmm?

papi is going to kill you.

don't worry, china, i brought my katana.

good, because i want to unpack and take a nap.

mmm.

i will come back for your corpse, yes?

he meets her father's gaze over her shoulder and nibbles on her ear, smirking. umibouzu's entire body twitches so hard his toupee falls off his head.

give me five minutes and i'll give you his, china girl.

silence, n.

she slides his bedroom door closed, her back still turned towards him.

no one will know anyway, she tells him.

he leans down, his fingertips skimming over the sides of her thighs. his sigh is warm against her ear.

no one, he agrees.

silhouette, n.

she slides the front door closed, but neither of them go away. he stares at what divides them. he is almost sure she is no longer the least bit sleepy. he imagines her glaring and fighting the urge to punch something.

no, he says. there is a problem, china.

her voice shakes when she speaks. you're damn right there is, sadist. you avoid me for weeks, and this is how you think you will make up for it? you cannot even apologize properly, yes?

he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. he has never been a natural at apologies or at any form of sincerity, only half-assed, nonverbal, insult-laden displays of affection. he has always thought they would be enough.

she, on the other hand, seems to be filled with things to say. i love you even though you are a big dummy, but you cannot even get that, yes? do you think it is funny to underestimate how i feel?

he gapes at the door, his throat desert-dry. his own skin feels too tight around him.

she continues, and now he's definitely sure she's crying. you think it makes me happy that you think so little of yourself? that you think i see you as just some pervert taking advantage of my inexperience? that you can be replaced for my own good? do you think i am that weak?

she snorts and sniffles and he wants her to open the door.

instead, she keeps going. you do not get to decide what is good for me! i get to decide that for myself, yes?! i thought you would eventually understand even if i said nothing! but it's been months and—

china—

oi! what's that racket! hardworking men need their sleep, you know!

he idly wonders if the boss has been awake the entire time.

neither of them react or talk for a while. then he hears her footsteps. a closet door closing.

he stares at the door, breathing hard as if he has just run a long, long way.

summer, n.

after the conversation through the yorozuya's front door, she starts avoiding him.

for a while, he lets her. he doesn't know what to say yet, anyway.

when he does have a vague idea of what to say, he catches her at their usual park bench. apparently she's had enough of avoiding him.

her snores greet him as he approaches. her parasol is tilted at an angle that exposes her to the midday sun. she is drenched in sweat and her skin is pallid instead of just pale.

he swears as he removes his jacket and wraps it around her. he grabs the umbrella and closes it, then hefts her into his arms. he fixes his grip on her parasol and begins the short walk to the yorozuya.

when he gets there, the place is empty and unlocked. he supposes being broke also means being confident they won't be robbed. he lays her down on the couch, leaving his jacket on her.

he fills a glass of water, sets it on the table. then he sits on the floor and waits for her to wake up.

eventually she does, her mouth opening into a yawn so wide his fist could fit in it. she turns her head and looks at him.

shadisht, she mumbles. she closes her eyes again.

he pokes her cheek. how long were you out there, stupid?

she opens her eyes to glare at him. it was not that long, yes? otherwise i would be very sick right now.

he hands her the glass of water and she sits up to drink it. she gives him the empty glass and he puts it back on the table. she lies down again and stares at the ceiling in silence.

that is the longest time they have interacted without someone insulting, demeaning, disparaging, provoking, fighting, and/or trying to kill the other.

china, he says.

why are you still here? she asks.

will you shut up? it's my turn to get emotional.

she snorts. like you would know how.

he takes his jacket and uses it to cover her face. there. this is the only way i can do this.

are you stupid, stupid?

china.

she heaves a long-suffering sigh.

he begins with three words he will probably never say again: you were right.

he pauses to let her and the universe take note of such a monumental event, then continues: i don't care what people think. but you came to me because you wanted to try it with someone and i was the most viable option out of all the idiots you know. and i took advantage of that. if you had more choices, we wouldn't be here.

still quiet.

it has been proven over and over that i am replaceable, china. but i know you aren't.

tailor, n.

three years after umibouzu 'allows' him to date his daughter, he asks her for the last time, before he gives her away: are you sure?

her, with annoyance, with affection, with complete certainty: we were practically made for each other, papi.

much later, him, addressing the boss: aren't you going to ask her if she's sure?

the boss, yawning: eh, i've heard her speeches. she seems pretty sure.

undo, v.

they put their clothes back on. they are reversing their taking off, they are turning back the clocks, their moments are unhappening, and they are going back to a simpler time.

surely even she must realize that this is a lie.

vulnerable, adj.

him: out of curiosity? is that it?

hijikata-san: what the hell do you want it to be, dumbass?

wake-up, adj.

her hand shoots out without warning and grabs his face.

replaceable? she repeats, sitting up.

his skull feels like it's going to be crushed. my speech isn't even done yet—

it is a terrible speech, yes? she shakes his jacket off her. i gave you more than a week to prepare and this is what you have for me? i have heard better from better men!

you mean from soap ope—mmph.

silence! since you are no good at this, i will take over now, yes?

he tries to bite her hand, but she just tightens her hold on him.

she screws up her face and mimics him: it has been proven over and over that i am replaceable. she gives him a withering look. what planet have you been living on, huh? do you think there is someone else who will poison mayora's food every day? do you think there is anyone else's sword he trusts to protect and stab his back? do you think the gorilla keeps you by his side along with the mayora because idiot sadists like you can be plucked from trees? who is the gorilla's first and last line of defense? huh? and when she fell in love with the mayora, did you think that your sister, who raised you from the ground up even though most people would have thrown you in a ditch somewhere because i am sure you have always been a complete bastard from the beginning, had replaced you with a mayonnaise freak? sisters value their brothers more than you think, yes?

he blinks at her. his chest feels abnormally warm and tight and there's a big fat lump in his throat that refuses to go away.

she leans closer to him.

and i did not go to you because i had no choice, you dummy. i already told you i love you, yes? but either you do not believe me or you did not listen to my speech. if i must repeat it, then i will. because even if a better man with a better speech were to show up right now, i would still choose you, sadist.

he only realizes his mouth has been open for a while now when she snatches her hand back and yells, ew! don't drool on me!

because he has never been good with nice words or speeches, only at half-assed, nonverbal, insult-laden displays of affection, he kisses her knee. he snakes his arms around her waist and rests his head on her lap.

he whispers, all that sukonbu is going to your thighs, china.

and because he doesn't know yet how to properly tell her what she means to him, he adds: but i don't mind at all.

xenophile, n.

he considers her brother and her father and the rest of her damn clan and the majority of the amanto and what they have done to the things he has tried to protect.

nah, he thinks with fond resignation. it's just her.

yes, adv.

her answer when he finally pops the question.

(see also: if you insist, chihuahua.)

zero, adj.

an eight-year-old makes a list of things he must accomplish within twenty years:

1) give his sister a long and happy life

2) kill v-shaped bangs

3) discover a new planet, name it sadism, and become its king

4) be the strongest samurai

5) marry the strongest girl

end

A/N: Holy. Shit. That was so hard. See, this is why I don't like writing dramatic stuff. I'm bad at dramatic stuff. Plus their relationship hasn't had much drama in canon, so I have only the scantiest bases for characterizing them in dramatic situations. I was just basically stabbing in the dark here. I don't know, you guys. Please let me know what you think of what I did to them.