This is heavily based on a roleplay me and my best friend are doing. She's the Dearka to my Yzak and now she's gone away for the summer so I am sad. D: So to entertain my lonely Yzak muse, I've written fan fiction based off our fantastical roleplay.
I'll get back to you guys with some fluff later, so just enjoy this for now. :)
Rating: PG for language.
Genre: Angst.
Fandom: Gundam SEED.
Pairing: Dearka/Yzak.
---------------------------------------------------------
Poltergeist; by Corrupted-Phoenix.
---------------------------------------------------------
The end.
That's what this felt like to Yzak. The end. A more dignified explanation tried to surface, but nothing else made any sense. The end, that's all it was, all it ever would be, and it haunted him like an angry poltergeist.
He didn't want to believe it, but what other choice did he have?
Dearka was gone and he was never coming back. Not now, not ever. Only in his dreams (or would they be nightmares?) would he see that stupid, blond idiot ever again and he hated knowing that. It was absurd. Yzak could have laughed.
But he didn't. There was a memory on the way.
It was the memory of the last time he had been with Dearka. That very last time... those words, those actions, those lips. That last encounter would be forever burned into his memory. It was a poltergeist of its own, and it ate away at Yzak's heart like a hungry monster.
"How could you keep fighting when the Phase Armour gave out? Do you have any idea how vulnerable you were, Yzak?" Dearka was furious. Just how damn reckless could one person be? "Just what the hell were you doing?!"
"Oh, what the hell do you think I was doing, Elsman?" Yzak spun around to face his opponent, a hostile glare on his face. "I was picking fucking daisies. I was fighting the Strike, what the fuck did it look like?!" Yzak felt like hitting Dearka, if only to make him shut up.
"You can't fight so damn recklessly, Yzak!"
"Duel was fucking fine without the armour!" Yzak growled out. "I'm alive, aren't I?!"
.
Yzak stared at the empty bed from his side of the room. The blankets were still lumpy where Dearka hadn't made it up. Yzak scowled. The blond never made up his own damn bed, the lazy bastard. Yzak had always been the one to do it, even when Dearka tried to shoo him away.
Neither Coordinator had touched the bed in a while. The only thing resting there now was Dearka's magazine collection, silently collecting dust with every day that passed.
Yzak narrowed his eyes at the messy, lonely bed. He didn't understand why it made him want to break something.
"You're such a fucking IDIOT!" Dearka grabbed a hold of Yzak's collar and slammed him against the lockers, causing Yzak to spew out a vile string of curses. Dearka ignored him and shouted over Yzak's complaining.
"You're only alive because the Strike was feeling generous today. If he wanted to kill you, he could have!"
"Well he didn't, now did he?" Yzak spat back, a hostile glare donning his features.
The desperate look on Dearka's face didn't click in Yzak's mind.
There was no point in making up a bed that no one slept in anymore.
So why was he so compelled by it that he bothered to get up and do just that? He brushed the magazines aside and started to straighten out the bunched up blankets. The pillow at the foot of the bed was put back in its proper place and he even cared so much as to fluff it a little.
He paused. "...this is so fucking pointless."
If Yzak closed his eyes, he could see Dearka sitting there; grinning that stupid grin of his, reading some stupid magazine. Yzak could almost feel Dearka's warmth, hear his laughter, smell the strawberry shampoo off his golden hair. But Yzak knew better than that. He knew such things would be only a trick played by his desperate mind.
Needless to say, he didn't close his eyes.
"It would have been so damn easy!" Dearka barreled on, too angry to listen to Yzak's snide remarks. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"
"There's nothing fucking wrong with me!" Yzak growled through gritted teeth, eyes flashing dangerously with anger. "Besides," He started, a bitter smile threatening to surface, "I thought you didn't care what I happened to me."
"..." Dearka froze. It wasn't true, those words had only been a result of his blind anger in their previous fight. He didn't mean what he had said then. Didn't Yzak know the difference?
Yzak laughed at him. "Make up your fucking mind, Dearka."
"This is so fucking pointless!"
In a fit of rage, Yzak grabbed the magazines off Dearka's bed and ripped them all in half, throwing the littered remains to the floor. He snatched the pillow and threw it against the wall with an explosion of feathers, ripped all the blankets off Dearka's bed and clawed at the mattress until he flipped it over onto the floor. Try fucking sleeping in that, you stupid fucking prick!
The destruction of the bed turned into an onslaught. Any of Dearka's possessions that were unfortunate enough to fall into Yzak's hands were violently thrown to the floor or into a wall.
Staring into Yzak's eyes, Dearka remained silent. The tension was so thick it was almost hard to breathe. Both Coordinators felt themselves being smothered.
"You don't understand, do you?"
"…" Yzak glared.
Dearka looked away; it was so difficult to stare into those pools of hate. Yzak heard the blond quietly laugh. When Dearka resumed their cruel staring contest, the silver-haired Coordinator was shocked.
The purple eyes that stared back at him were glossy with tears.
Dearka had never shown such emotion in front of Yzak Jule. But yet, here he was, on the verge of tears. His reasons weren't even good, he was just frustrated. So fucking frustrated.
"You don't. You don't understand."
"I don't understand what?" Yzak didn't appreciate being undermined, especially not by Dearka Elsman.
"You're a moron, Yzak." The anger in Dearka's voice had returned, but only in a small amount. "Why can't you see? Why can't you see that I fucking love you?!"
"FUCK YOU, DEARKA!" He shrieked as he smashed the blond's radio to the floor, stomping on whatever remained. "Fuck your damn radio, fuck your magazines and fuck you! If you thought…" The crash of a digital camera. "…for one second…" The shatter of a picture frame hitting the wall. "…that I wouldn't be pissed…" The bang of a lamp. "…then you're fucking wrong!" Yzak screamed and kicked his desk. A leg broke off and it fell to the side, piles of paper being scattered to the floor.
Yzak wouldn't be satisfied until everything that reminded him of Dearka was fucking destroyed. He knew he'd be able to do it too, for there was no one to stop him anymore. Everyone else was fucking dead, what did it matter what he did?
He was alone and there was nothing he could do to change it.
Yzak's eyes widened and lost their venom at Dearka's words. Did he just...?
"...w-what did you say?"
He knew what Dearka had said. He heard it loud and clear. Maybe he was just trying to convince himself of something, he didn't know anymore.
Dearka didn't answer.
Instead, he closed the distance between their mouths with the gentlest kiss he'd ever given the other Coordinator. He pulled back, still only a ghost away, and stared into Yzak's puzzled eyes. Dearka pressed his lips to Yzak's once more in a rougher kiss, pressing his friend back into the lockers again, ravishing his mouth.
Yzak had never melted into Dearka's kisses so quickly before.
Perhaps because he was tired and frustrated, perhaps because he might love Dearka too, perhaps because it meant so much more than anytime before. Yzak didn't know. He gently slipped his arms around Dearka's neck, one hand running through his golden locks.
Instinctively, Dearka put his arms around Yzak's waist. Deepening the kiss came so naturally, and Dearka didn't rush at all with this kiss; he merely enjoyed it. Melting into the kiss, Dearka forgot everything. He forgot the yelling, screaming and insulting.
It was just Yzak and him.
He licked Yzak's lips lightly and teased Yzak's tongue. He loved Yzak. He loved him so much. He had always known he liked Yzak a lot, but "When I thought I might actually lose you because of your stupidity…" Dearka said quietly after he broke the kiss.
"I was scared for the first I've been in battle."
Yzak was running out of things to destroy.
"Fuck you!" Yzak wailed as he kicked Dearka's briefcase across the room, his voice shaking. "Fuck you, Dearka Elsman!" He choked on a sadistic, horrible, laughing sob. He collapsed to his knees, arms gripping the side of Dearka's bed.
"What the fuck were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that?!" He snarled as if Dearka could hear him. "What the fuck makes you think it's okay to tell me that and go die right fucking after?!"
Yzak was listening, he really was. He just couldn't find the right words to say, any words to say. He felt almost helpless and maybe guilty, but he couldn't be sure. "Dearka..." The taller male gripped Yzak's shoulder and silenced him with one last, gentle kiss. Without a word, Dearka turned away from him. He didn't want to see those blue eyes, he was afraid they would tell him the answer he didn't want to hear.
Dearka would rather no words at all than those sorry eyes. It was the easiest and less painful way.
This, Yzak understood.
He couldn't ask Dearka to stay. His feelings had betrayed and confused him. Yzak let his head drop back against the locker and slid down to the floor. Quietly, he started to laugh at himself. Perhaps he was an idiot.
It didn't matter. All he needed now was time.
It was so ironic now. He had asked for time to consider his feelings, and that was exactly what he received.
A lifetime worth of time.
Yzak's eyes stung with angry tears that he refused to shed. Stupid fucking Dearka, how could he do this to him? How could he tell him such a thing and then go and get himself killed? Did Dearka have any idea what kind of pain this would put him in?!
With his last bit of anger, Yzak snatched up a piece of paper that had fallen off the desk when it collapsed. He was about to mercilessly rip it apart when he noticed what it really was.
It was one of the many get well cards Dearka had made him when he was injured by the Strike. It was the one where he was running over Athrun with his car. He had never admitted it, but it was his favourite card.
Yzak laughed, bitterly. Dearka was a horrible artist.
It felt as though Yzak had suddenly lost the will to destroy. He spared the card and let it drop to the floor. Teary blue eyes looked over the damage he had done. Another Yzak Jule would have laughed at the destruction. This Yzak Jule laughed at the useless realization that came to him.
He loved Dearka. He loved him, and nothing he could do would be able to erase that. Not ripped up magazines, not broken things, not destroyed pictures. He could throw all the tantrums he wanted, he could destroy everything he found, but it wouldn't change a goddamn thing.
Yzak could have laughed.
Their end couldn't have been any worse. It was abrupt and sudden and horrible, and now it felt like Yzak was stuck in it. He wanted to change the end. But there was nothing left anymore. There were no more chances, and that was that.
Now all he had left were the poltergeists.