Theirs was not a marriage of love, Athrun thought ironically while his voice was vowing aloud the exact opposite at his wedding, a blonde in blinding white right by his side, her face void of any emotion.
That night, though they fell asleep on the same bed, he didn't touch her, nor she him. Dawn awaited them impatiently along with the duties they had as future Heads of a now fused company. There was no time for self-pity - or any emotions, for that matter - when bureaucracy would consume them day in, day out.
After suffering a break-up with a pink-haired angel (because she had chosen his best friend over him), he had had no intention of letting his heart out of imprisonment anymore. He had steeled himself to give his everything for the welfare of his company. When his engagement had been announced, he had questioned the extent of his dedication, but nothing would crack his resolve any more. He would go through with this marriage.
Months blurred away in a blink, what with all the paperwork and meetings they both had to attend. There was no end to them.
The blonde, he had noted during his time with her, was fierce in her business, fulfilling her part as co-CEO of their enterprise while working under a different set of rules than he did. He was stern and cold - a force to be reckoned with - but fair, judging people by their merit. She, on the other hand, would be friendly, not caring about their position and spent too much time with her employees. He never understood her methods and manoeuvres but admitted she was invaluable to the business with all the loyalty and respect she received from them.
That the pair complemented each other in the workplace was evident in the results. The annual revenue was raising since the company was passed over from the elders. Their subordinates worked willingly and diligently under them. The value of the enterprise increased steadily. Everything was going excellently.
Their personal lives were the exact opposite. How Athrun wold love to scoff, laugh out loud or what not every time he'd catch wind of all sorts of rumours swirling in their subordinates' office - as if the complementarity would cross over beyond their desks. His 'wife' had no part in his personal life, nor he in hers - it was an unspoken agreement that this marriage would be business only.
Every night, they'd fall asleep in the same bed, bidding each other a simple good night and minding their affairs afterwards. Every morning, he'd wake up with a blonde still softly snoring on their bed and a steaming cup of coffee he would empty before preparing himself for another mountain of documents he had to go through. It was a simple routine.
This status quo changed one day.
It started with a sudden request for leave from the female CEO. Athrun could easily approve her leave, she would have her reasons to go - and off she went. The first oddity was an influx of mail for his wife, in postcard size.
Two weeks passed before she came back. She became thinner, he perceived. Something was wrong with the girl.
The third peculiarity he noted was the absence of a mop of blond on his bed every morning since her arrival. He wondered more often than not where she could be, but he shrugged it off since it wasn't his business.
His routine never changed - get up, drain his coffee, get to work - until a phone call did.
His father died.
He needed time. He needed time to take care of the aftermath. He needed time for this turn of events to sink in. He needed time to grieve.
Hence, he asked for leave. He knew her enough to assume her capable of holding down the fort. Before he left, she offered him her condolences, telling him to spend as much time away as he needed. Understanding and sympathy was written clearly on her face as he closed the door to catch his flight to his father.
It took him two weeks to take care of all formalities. Now that he had to accept the death of his father, he decided to not grieve. He couldn't grieve, lest he not recover from the emptiness he felt. He needed a distraction. He needed to return to his company, the only thing left from his father.
He finally understood. He finally knew what was wrong with his wife.
It was her cheerfulness that had been missing since her leave. She was faking it - the evidence laid in her eyes that told of supressed sorrow. "You have a lot of mail", she told him, "Condolences from everyone in the company. They told me to pass it on to you."
He spent no time in adjusting himself to the rhythm.
When he woke up the next day, he took note of a change of taste in his morning coffee, which, though it wasn't steaming, was much better than anything he had drunk before.
A nightmare stirred him from sleep. The clock informed him that he woke up at least three hours earlier than usual. Oddly enough, there was no sight of a sleeping blond, only the warmth and creases in the bedsheets indicated she had gotten up earlier. He looked around. The horizon had brightened just a bit. Curiosity got the better of him; where was she?
He knew from a look in the corridor that she hadn't exited their house. But she wasn't in any of the rooms.
Faint music reached his ears from above. The roof. He climbed up the attic and the open window confirmed his suspicions. Surprised at her physical prowess, he climbed onto the roof from the open window.
He saw her, looking at the sunrise, her back facing him. She didn't seem to notice, lost in her world. He heard a sob.
"Dad… you promised we'd watch the dawn together."
And all peculiarities added up; the postcard mails, her leave, the fake cheerfulness - everything.
Her father had died.
"And now I'm here, and … you're gone.", she murmured, laughing dryly afterwards.
She sat there, her body shaking, and he felt compelled to sit by her side. His wife - Cagalli - who had to deal with her own dad passing away.
And she knew why he asked for leave without asking.
"And you leave me here with a guy named after the dawn … but feels like dusk."
And he saw that she stood by him like a comrade in arms, unlike him who had never given a damn about his own wife. She may have never spoken to him, but it had to be her brewing coffee for him since he returned. And what has he done besides drowning in his self-pity and misery?
"Dad … give me strength to see another dawn. Give me strength to find happiness."
She stood up to leave. And stopped immediately as she met his eyes.
Tears don't suit her eyes, he decided. I don't like them on her face.
I'll do my best to make her happy, he vowed.
Since then, every morning, they'd watch the dawn together, her head resting on his shoulders, his hands resting on her.
Hi, I'm back! After reading a few masterpieces in the Asucaga fandom I couldn't help but write something. As for "Essence of Fire", I am sorry to say that it will be on indefinite hiatus since my original plot made no sense at all. I might review the story and turn it all around in the distant future.
Disclaimer: If Gundam SEED were mine, Asucaga wouldn't have sunk. Damn it, Morosawa and Fukuda! I demand a third season with Asucaga!
Please review, and thanks for checking this story out!