Even the tiniest fragments, once decoded, can be recognised as part of a pattern. Maybe it was oversimplification, or maybe his mind was complicating the mundane - Spock didn't really know anymore. His thoughts kept racing in circles, only gaining in intensity and vagueness, creating a constant hum of unpleasing emotions.
James once told him about how his mother used to propose a certain action with enthusiasm that gave no place for doubt about the action taking place. But once the time came, she acted as if the unsaid promise was never mentioned, never even came to existence in her head. It bothered Jim, but in essence, he was not so very different.
Of course, in Jim's case, it concerned only trivialities and didn't bear any consequences. It was a minor flaw, so minor it could barely be called that, but still - James didn't escape this curse of his blood.
The problem was, neither did Spock. He carried his own flaws tightly kept under his skin, not to seep through, slowly envenoming his body and mind.
James said he would come. They were sitting on the bed together, watching a holovid, when the words escaped his smiling mouth. "Next week Spock. I could come over, stay the night. I have some business in the afternoon, but until then.." Spock couldn't help it. Everything he felt in the moment got brighter as he heard his lover speak. Warm. Happy. Excited.
That's where his weaknesses always started. In the expectations. In the feelings he held for his Captain.
Spock cleaned his already tidy room. He chose the best clothes. Took a shower. Chose different clothes he considered more appealing than the previous "best" set. Went through his collection of movies. Changed his clothing again.
Still, it was all to vain in the end, thought Spock as he sat down on his bed, not finding the strength to keep his back straight.
James promised they would spend the night together and yet.. it was nearing midnight and there was no sight of him, nor any reply to Spock's queries. The Vulcan felt stabs of fear at times, but they quickly faded, leaving only the dull ache of knowing. He simply forgot. Or got too tired. Or preoccupied by more important things.
Why did it matter so much to Spock, then? It was a little thing, he was aware, but the heavy weight of loneliness, of seclusion, of... guilt, kept pushing his head into his arms.
Worst of all was the guilt. It kept attacking him, pointing at him, reminding him of things he wanted to keep afar. Not only did he feel hurt, a fact that was showing in the lines on his face and especially in his eyes, a fact that in itself was inappropriate. What was worse was that he felt hurt when he had no right to do so. By feeling this way, it could be understood that James had done something bad, something that damaged him, while the opposite was true - it was all Spock's fault.
He was too demanding. Put too much weight on the relationship. Relied on his lover more than was acceptable. Kirk told him that he didn't want it to be too heavy - not an one-night-stand, but neither a happily-ever-after. A year or two, maybe.
But Spock couldn't help picturing James in his future. Dreamed what it would be like to share a bond with his chosen mate. A life.
And by caring this much, he suffocated that which he held the dearest.
He simply forgot. Or got too tired. Or preoccupied by more important things.
It had a good reason, Spock was sure. He would never hold it against his t'hy'la. It just happened.