Disclaimer: I do not own GS/GSD, Bandai and Sunrise own this franchise.
Summary: I met her on one of the worst times of my life, but I know that if I had met her any other time, I would still remember her as clearly as I remember her today. (Athrun POV)
Character: Athrun and Cagalli (One-shot AU)
A/N: Even though this is AU, I tried hard to make sure they are still in character. Please review.
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I met her on one of the worst days of my life, and trust me I have had many of those. It was the end of a troubling month—my life was slowly falling apart and I had nowhere to go, better yet no one to turn to.
As I sat in my darkened room, rain splattering against my window, I was contemplating the easiest way out of my miserable life. It was a debate between the effectiveness of a bottle of pills or a twine of rope. But I have no flare for the dramatic, so the bottle of pills was looking more and more appealing—easy and quiet escape. I walked through the hallway for a glass of water, my mind drafting the letter I could leave behind, before slapping myself in the forehead. Why bother? It's not like anyone will care to read it. And the thought just hit me like a pile of bricks, a couple of weeks ago I was invincible…and now I'm invisible.
The sudden barrage of knocking on my door, almost made me drop the glass of water I was holding. My initial reaction was to ignore it, but whoever it was became encouraged by my silence and continued to persist. You see that's how she always was. She likes to knock down doors that are closed, especially if it's closed for her.
I roughly pull the door open, ready to scold at the oblivious intruder, but like always she beats me to it.
"Geez! Finally! I'm freezing my ass off here!" A drenched figure greeted me, and from the high-pitched voice I was sure it was a woman and from her coarse language—an un-lady-like at best. "What were you doing?!" she asked me accusingly, "did you think that the door was going to open by itself?"
I closed my eyes in silent irritation. Mother always told me never to hit women, even though at this point it seemed like she really deserved it. "Who are you?" I asked, side-stepping her ridiculous questions.
That seemed to remind her of her purpose as she rummaged through her back-pack. "Uhh.." she cleverly responded, squinting her eyes at a piece of paper. "I'm looking for Apt. 586…someone named Arthur Zara?" Her eyes turn to mine hopefully, her prior irritation gone from those wide-eyes of amber. I must have stared too long because she whipped her head and pointed down at the hallway. "Look alright? I don't mean to bother you…but this apartment building doesn't have numbers at all."
I shook my head and answered her dryly. "This is apt. 586."
"So you're Arthur Zara?"
"No, my name is Athrun."
"Oh, so where is he?"
I sighed, a headache worming its way to my head. "The ink must have bled out the letters." I said pointing at the slightly sodden piece of paper in her hand.
"Oh that makes sense." She said thoughtfully, oblivious to my growing irritation.
"What do you need?"
"Don't be grumpy. You're not the one who has been running around for hours in the rain."
I was about to apologize out of politeness when she again cut me off, another one of her characteristics. "I'm here because of your ad in the newspaper." My quizzical look caused her to frown. "Don't you remember?"
Aahh…yes, the ad. I had put it out because at the age of 21, I was really actually on my own and found that I couldn't afford an apartment on my own. A little dazed, I simply nodded.
"Well good," she answered chirpily, and I quietly wondered how someone can easily fleet from one emotion to the other in a matter of seconds.
"What are you doing?" I asked curiously, being pushed to the side. She just smiled cheekily and extended her hand.
"My name is Cagalli and I'm your new roommate."
And just like that, she pushed some of my belongings aside to make room for her meager ones.
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By the end of the first month, I noticed she didn't do much with her time but stay mostly at the apartment—lounging around with not a care in the world. And a part of me envied her, another wondered as to where she gets the money to pay for her part of the rent.
But I never found out, because the first time I asked, her eyes swept the apartment and then turned to look at me—more like appraised me from head to toe like a piece of meat, before her lips curled in to a malicious smirk.
"You're a pampered rich boy trying to make on his own."
"Excuse me?" I ask incredulously.
"You don't fit in this apartment. Your suit is more expensive than that dining table."
Irritation flowed to my voice, as my patience thinned, "I don't see what it has anything to do with you."
"My thoughts exactly." She said pointedly, before walking away.
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It took some time for me to get used to having her in my life.
Because she simply stuck out.
She left her dirty clothes on the bathroom floor, more so after I told her not to. She let the empty cartons of Chinese takeout sit on the table for days, after finally the stench was too much to handle. She would then proceed to scold me for not reminding her about it. She would often forget where she put her keys, and take hours finding it (even when they are in her pocket).
After finally, one day I just told her straight out that she was a mess. Her eyes narrowed and I could tell that she was going to snap at me, but she suddenly held back and smiled sadly.
"Isn't that what life is? Why pretend what we're not?"
And before I could ask her exactly what she meant and why she used we rather than I, she turned around and slammed her bedroom door in my face.
I didn't see her for two days.
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As a sign that she had forgiven me, or rather forgotten what had transpired between the two of us, she took me out to lunch.
And I simply had to wonder, how a girl like her could eat so much spicy food.
I watched her eat at the corner my eye, while I nibbled at my food. And I could tell there was something more about her. Though, she tried her best to suppress it by stuffing food in her mouth, table etiquette slipped naturally from her, the kind that was reserved for the high-end upper classes, and I should know because I used to be one of them.
She caught my eye and curiously frowned. "Don't you like the food?"
"I do. But it's more interesting watching you gobble your food." I smiled, watching her cheeks reddened.
"Stop being a prick." She mumbled, eyes straying away from mine.
The deep sound rumbled from my chest, as I laughed openly.
A frown returned above her eyes. "What's so funny?"
Right then, I realized that for her to stick out in my life like a stubborn pinhead made her fit even more. There was no need of getting used to her. It was fine the way it was.
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One day I came back from work and found her sitting on the couch. I joined her and she handed me a takeout box of chow mein. I grunted a thank you and accepted her offer. She was more quiet than usual and she stared at me from the corner of the eye. I turned to her in question. It took some time before she said anything.
"I read about you today." She started quietly. I nodded in response unsure where the conversation was heading. "I didn't know until now that you are the Athrun Zala, heir to the Plant, Inc." She gave a small laugh, albeit a nervous one.
I almost choked at her revelation. I could feel my anonymity from her, something I cherished as I am free of expectations, slipping.
"Why are you staying here in this dump? And you definitely don't need a roommate." She said in an almost whisper.
I shook my head. "You didn't finish the whole article, did you?" I muttered grudgingly, digging my chopsticks on noodles, "Due to differing ideologies regarding the company my Father saw it fit to practically disown me."
"Is that why you always seem to be sulking?" By now she had put her food aside, and turned to look at me, "Being on your own is not easy, but unlike other people you still have your name and the influence that comes with it, you should take advantage of that."
"It's not as easy as it sounds."
"Going against other people's expectations is never easy. Sometimes, you just got to let it go and just listen to the most important person," She leaned in and touched my arm assuredly, "yourself."
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She didn't need to, but she helped me bring my own company to life. I should have known that there was more to her, once she was able to give contacts from specialists that wouldn't normally give me the time of day, fearing my father's wrath. But she pulled strings, and as an unspoken agreement, my gratitude was shown by not inquiring as to how she managed.
And those times we spent together, bouncing ideas, munching on Chinese takeout, I started noticing little things that she did. Like how she would blow her bangs when frustrated, how she would continually rub her eyes when she's sleepy, or how she would drum her fingers against the table when in deep thought.
Sometimes, I would catch myself staring at her, this young woman who gave so much to a stranger and asked nothing in return—except, perhaps, to not ask about her past. And as if feeling my eyes on her, she would turn her head at me and did her best to glare, despite the hint of redness on her cheeks. "What?"
I could feel my lips form a smile, as I tried to fight my cheeks from reddening like hers, "I just don't know what I'd do without you."
"Just don't get used to it." She brushed off gruffly, turning back to her work.
I should have realized then how those words held some truth in them, so that maybe—maybe I could have given her more reason to stay. I can't tell you the exact moment that I started caring for her. Maybe it was that night when she gave me back my self-confidence. Or maybe it was that time she began helping me in starting my own company. Or maybe it was that time she took care of me when I got sick with the flu.
It doesn't really matter. By the time I realized what I felt, it was already too late.
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Almost a year since she moved in, she came home and entrusted in my hand a bottle of wine. Glancing at her in question, I noticed her eyes slightly rimmed in red, my heart thudded against my chest. "Is something wrong?" I implored, but she swathed my hand and shook her head.
She moved to the kitchen with me following her trail. By the time I reached her, she was rummaging the cabinets for wine glasses. I stilled her hands, and lifted her chin, "Cagalli, what is it?"
I could still see her eyes, staring right at me. She looked at me quietly, almost tenderly, but her eyes they were unreadable. "You're worrying about nothing," she shrugged and for emphasis, she plastered a grin. "I just didn't get enough sleep last night. Now, why don't we celebrate your new company?"
There was no winning with her, so I had no choice but to let it go for the moment.
I'm not much of a drinker. Growing up with a father who drank a bit too much, made alcohol less appealing. So once the bottle of wine was half full, I could feel my veins warming and my head getting lighter.
Huddled in the couch together, we watched and laughed over a rented comedy movie. From time to time, my glance would be directed at her, noting her reddened cheeks and a genuine smile on her face.
"Oh, I just remembered!" she exclaimed, as she refilled our glasses with wine. "Your father left you a voicemail on the phone."
I cringed, taking a sip from my glass. "I know I already checked it."
"Are you going to call him back?" She asked warily.
"My father is not an easy man to get along with."
She stared contemplatively at her glass, swirling its contents, before her morose voice broke in. "Most fathers are hard to get along with," her voice sounding timid. "But it doesn't change the fact that he is your father." She drank her wine, before turning to me, "and should anything happen, you would never forgive yourself for leaving things as they are now."
I ran my hand through my hair, and sadly smiled at her.
"I know," I replied somberly, "I'll call him. I just can't bring myself to do it right now."
She reached for my hand and squeezed it assuredly, giving me a small smile.
Maybe it was the liquor that made me bolder. Or maybe it was her hand on top of mine. But before I realized what I was doing, I reached out to tuck her wild hair behind her ear. Surprise was evident on her face, and she moved to turn away from me. Undaunted, I softly grasp her chin to stop her. "Why do you hide from me?"
I noted her flushed cheeks, as her startling amber irises met mine. And for a moment, I didn't think she would reply or better yet push me off. Almost inaudibly, I heard her whisper, "because…maybe, with no past to hold me down. I could be anyone with you."
I felt my heart racing. Because in that rare moment, I could see the vulnerability that she had been strongly guarding, and the desire to protect her grew in me.
"You don't have to be anyone else." I whispered as I leaned in, and pressed my lips against hers. At first she responded hesitatingly on my advances, before wounding her arms around my neck and pulling me closer.
I didn't hear it then. But that night as we held each other, she was already bidding me her goodbye.
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I woke up in the middle of night, feeling someone half drag and half carry me down the hallway. I glanced to my right and to see her struggling to maintain our balance, my arm slumped over her shoulder. "What's going on?" I muttered sleepily.
"About time!" she grunted, "Can you walk? I'm trying to put you to bed."
I righted myself as best as I could, my head still swimming in intoxication. With her steely determination, we continued to clumsily make our way to my bedroom.
She practically dumped me to my bed upon reaching it and began tucking me in. Satisfied, she started to move away, but I steadily held her hand. I tried to pull her closer to me, "stay with me."
Seating by my side, she run her fingers through my hair, as a sad smile escaped her lips. But my attention was latched on her eyes, as they intensely regarded mine.
At my muddled state, I couldn't fathom what those amber eyes were trying to silently convey, but I suddenly felt alarmed. The same feeling I had earlier in the evening seized me, but before I could ask her, she leaned in kissing me softly on the lips. "I'll be back," she whispered to my ear, before slipping in the darkness.
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I can't even begin to explain how I felt when I woke up the next morning to find her and her meager belongings gone. I was worried, but anger—anger was not far behind. To me her sudden desertion, felt like betrayal and my heart was heavy.
My apartment was pristine, as if she was never there to begin with. The only evidence of her existence was in the form of a letter she left me.
She gave me no excuses only to tell me that it was her turn to face her own fears. And that one day, when all things has come to pass, maybe…maybe if I have forgiven her, we could talk over some Chinese takeout. It almost made me smile.
It took all of my will-power not to search for her. Even though I had the means, I realized that this was something she wouldn't want. And though it's been six months since I last saw her, I still find it hard to forget about her.
I met her on one of the worst times of my life, but I know that if I had met her any other time, I would still remember her as clearly as I remember her today.
She left me on a bright sunny day, and I never forgot the irony in that.
I may have an aversion for the dramatic but she had a penchant for ironies. And she was just that: a woman full of ironies; with a heart open in a smile and a laughter that shrouded her secrets.
I never found out her full name nor found out if her first name was even what she claimed it to be. But somehow I know that it doesn't even matter. Because when I close my eyes and think of her—I can see her laughing and running in an open field, following the scent of the wind to her next journey.
And I hope she finds the courage she had given me; so that she too can face her own fears.
Someday, we'll meet again.
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