Author's Note: So uh, this is was going to be character study of Kira, but rather turned out to be nothing more than an overlong drabble with rambling run on sentence.
His essence is calming, but I am never at ease in his presence. His smile exudes warmth, but he's cold to touch. His is a murderer but he is the saviour of the world.
He is a walking contradiction and I idolize him, and I want to be near him, and I want to be him.
And I love him.
He loves his girl, and they all say that he's so in love, for they really loved beyond love. She loved him all those years ago for his weakness for his humanity, his guilt, and she put him back together ever so lovingly when he broke to pieces.
And I know better now because they love each other so far beyond love that it isn't even love anymore.
A love that isn't love.
He's at peace with her, not in love, for love is passionate and consuming and desperate and there's nothing between him and his girl like that, because they're not in love.
But he needs her like he needs no other, leaning on her for support, for she's strong, the strongest I've ever known; this little girl, made of petals and smiles and steel.
He can never let go of this peace he's achieved with her, because if he's not happy this way, this is the only way he can live without going insane. He knows this, and I know this, and she knows that he will never let go.
And I despair.
The blame lies to Lunamaria, and I know she's a beautiful lady, a smart girl, but the world is linear in her mind, and things really aren't that simple anymore.
Soldiers can march in straight lines to death, but the war is over now and there's no fighting and what need is there for soldiers now? Their blind faith, and trembling courage have no place in this world without war, and so Lunamaria and I, lost little soldier boy and girl, flounder in a world where the lines are curved and looped and not really lines at all.
She loves his legend, the world loves his legend, and she convinced me to love that story too. A young civilian boy, desperate and scared for his loved ones, became the greatest soldier in history saving the world time and time again, the stuff of legends.
She sent me to him, to observe, to talk to, to learn from, for he was the prime example of how people gone through, messed up, destroyed from war should survive. I should learn.
His preternatural calm always unnerves me, for doesn't he remember January seventh, on top of the waves of the ocean, like I do?
But he is the eye of the storm, and I am safe in his presence.
And the years fly by, and I am more in love with him than ever before. He's married now, too young they say, but he and his girl are as in love as they're ever going to get and they're happy enough to make peace with the jeers and disbelief.
She's all but running the world now, an icon and goddess beloved by all, every nation, every child. The peace has lasted for so long, but humans and depraved and disgusting and sometimes she has reach out a benign hand and subdue bubbles of discontent. She never uses force or threats, for she has not need to when all she has to do is speak and they will listen.
Her words shake the foundations of the world.
A press conference in Orb, of all places, is where they reached the end.
A gun shot in the adoring crowds.
And bang bang they shot his girl down
He was too late, too late, across the universe in space, and by the time he was at her side, they had closed her dead eyes and wiped clean the blood.
They killed his girl, his lady of peace and steel.
And the world fell into chaos.
Look, he says, this is your Saviour, your Destiny and your Freedom. We fought and broke and killed each other in war, but here we are standing together, because war is desperate and it is nothing. Nothing can come of it.
Remember Lacus Clyne and that she never fought for the sake of revenge though she could have so often, for her mother, her father, her friends and allies. Lacus Clyne fought for peace, and we stand here today as your Saviour, your Destiny and your Freedom to implore you to take up her fight.
And people remembered the death and the guns and the machines and the Freedom and they hated, they hated war they hated fire, but they could not hate him. He was this young man with tired empty eyes, far older than his years, a young man who loved the greatest woman in the world and lost her far too soon.
They pitied this brave young widower and they believed his words.
He saved the peace his wife had died for.
But he couldn't save his own peace.
His best friend and his sister were angry, oh so angry, at him. Why couldn't he grieve, why didn't he cry for her death, why did he never mourn her as a person, as his wife, not some cheap image sold to the public.
He ignored their accusations and their angry claims, closing his eyes as if not seeing meant he couldn't hear and had no reason to reply. They grew violent and loud and the anger bubbled beneath their skin, as tears streamed down their own cheeks in exasperation and frustration. They loved him but they couldn't understand him anymore, and it's always so much harder to love something they don't understand.
His best friend confused and angry shouted you bastard; you never loved her at all.
And he told them to get out but they wouldn't and they kept yelling and he had enough.
He retreated to the kitchen and locked the door, slumping in a chair, as his perfected wall, his peace, crumbled and collapsed.
I watched him fall apart, shoulders shaking and trembling, and I realized that I had never loved him more, for this was not the mentor, the icon, the politician, the soldier, husband, nor the friend; this was Kira.
When he noticed me he wiped the tears and tried to pull the shreds of a mask together, but I don't care for the brave face that he wears to world. Because I love him I pulled him close and let him break.
Because I love him I know things broken can be fixed.