A Ten Minute Session
"Heero..."I turn my head to look at Duo laying beside me on the bed, and immediately his shining cobalt blue eyes catch my gaze. They seem so happy and alive, as if they are twin mirrors, to show of their owner's disposition. I could stare at them all day and be content, but of course, there is the fact that I've been trained to do boring jobs like that. No, my contentment would come from it being Duo's eyes I'd peer into. And I don't think it'd be boring; just hard to achieve. Duo never keeps still for a moment. He has to be moving, doing something; he's so restless like that. He make everyone more relaxful in that sense, that he can bring great exhilaration into our mundane, almost morbid lives. It'd have to be morbid, for the line of work we're in. But I digress.
I look at him, so close to me on this small single bed that I could smell the citrus shampoo of his hair and feel the warm potato breath (for he had chips earlier while watching TV) on my cheeks and nose, and then I see his smile. I swear, he's beautiful. Maybe it's wrong that I think of another boy that way, but I can't help it. If it's within my power and ability to recognize beauty, then should I be limited to what I find beautiful? But it's a curiosity, that I of all people see what is aesthetically pleasing. I, Heero Yuy, the so-called Perfect Soldier, incapable of emotions, impossibly dedicated to all his missions and assignments, who can and will kill those that get in his way, can see beauty. It's amazing, but it's ultimately Duo's fault. But how can I blame him? The wars are over, and the soldiers may move along in their lives as civilians now. We're not needed like that anymore; our job is done. The Gundam pilots that fought for peace on Earth, the Moon, and the colonies, aren't to be used as tools of destruction; we're not even really remembered anymore. I have little doubt that we're be recalled only in textbooks, and not even by our names, but by our designated numbers. Heero Yuy, 01, pilot of the Wing Gundam; Duo Maxwell, 02, pilot of Gundam Deathscythe; Trowa Barton, 03, pilot of Gundam Heavyarms; Quatre Raberba Winner, 04, pilot of Gundam Sandrock; and Chang Wufei, 05, pilot of the Shenlong Gundam. Of course, we had our modifications over the battles, and thus I ended up with Wing Zero. Duo got Deathscythe HELL, Trowa Heavyarms Custom, Quatre Sandrock Custom, and Wufei Altron. Our beloved instruments of death and destruction. Can we be forgiven, as well? Heaven, hell, you are not our judges; we are.
I digress again.
I realize that Duo has been saying my name over and over again, and his voice is starting to show the irritation that he must feel, that I've been ignoring him and not responding. I shake my head slowly, to get rid of my incessant reverie; why think about the past when the present is so much more important? Duo is here with me, at this moment, and I can live for it fully. No wars, no fleeing, no hiding, no lies; just simple togetherness with my former comrade-in-arms. My best friend, I know now. Perhaps the only real friend that will ever get a glimpse at what I truly am... but no. The other pilots may keep their distance from one another, maybe share what Duo and I might have, like Trowa and Quatre, but though we're friends through mutual situations and goals, we'll never be the sort of friends that get together on a whim to reminisce about the days of old. We're still teenagers, but without bodies, we'd be ageless.
Duo's smiling again. It's pure warmth and light, emanating into my sight for me to absorb visually, then bodily, then spiritually. But he's the one that believes in higher powers, so I think I'll leave that line of thinking to him. He reaches out to finger at my bangs, at the mess that is my hair. He looks like he's totally fascinated with what he finds; I wouldn't be able to see it. My dark chocolate mop is a disarray of fibrous strands of dead cells, so what could be so special about my hair, or hair in general? But ah, when I look at Duo's own hair, I think otherwise. Sleek chestnut silk flowing like a waterfall from the top of his head down to the middle of his back, gathered in a neat, tight braid with no strays, with wild, exotic bangs partially covering the front of his upper face. That's what hair should be like, it should be as wondrous as his. Yet if it were so common, it wouldn't be so special, would it? So I'll treasure what I can see and feel, from now on forward.
The grin has toned down to a casual stretch of the mouth, like it's no effort whatsoever. He makes it so easy, smiling; I wonder what it would be like to have a happy face most of the time, instead of a scowl. I should try that more often. My mouth is so sulky, always looking like it's on the verge of pouting. And I glare all too much. I know it scares people off, but maybe, they find something past that, like Duo did. Or it could be that they know it won't go away, and just deal with it as they go about their business. Duo accepts me for who I am, and doesn't try to change me in any way.
Unlike that girl. Relena.
She saw me that first day I came to Earth with Wing; I crashed into the ocean and drifted unconsciously to the shore. She found me, tended to me, then called an ambulance. Perhaps if I had been anyone else, and not a Gundam pilot, I wouldn't have been so rude and ran away. And taken down the medics, too, with various blows to their bodies; not enough to kill them, like I could have done, but just enough to incapacitate them for a while so I could get away in the ambulance. I left Relena there without giving her a name for myself (which would have endangered my mission even further), or asking her name (which wouldn't have mattered since I was determined to kill her). She had seen my face, my Gundam; she was a liability that I couldn't afford. When I saw her the next time, at the St. Gabriel school, I ignored her until she finally approached me with an invitation to her birthday party. I took it, then tore it in two, much to her dismay and confusion. When she appeared to be crying, for some reason unknown to me, I reached out and wiped away her tears. But it was only a guise. As I moved to go, I looked at her through the corner of my eye and said, "Omae o korosu." I'm going to kill you.
She had invited me to celebrate another year in her life, and I had threatened to take that life with one swift, smooth bullet. Fifteen years reduced to one senseless act of violence, in her mind. But I retained the belief that because she had seen the Wing Gundam, she had to be removed. She couldn't be captured by OZ and tortured for the information. But... for whatever reason, I couldn't bring myself to kill her, except that one time, which, incidentally, was the first time I saw Duo. I was about to shoot Relena, but then I was shot in the arm. Faltering, I lunged for my fallen gun, prepared to finish the job, but Duo shot me again, on my thigh. They were only flesh wounds, but it was still... something to consider. Later, I would be with him abroad Howard's boat with our Gundams, and man, he talked. Nonstop chattering, mostly about nothing that mattered. He kept my busy (trying to ignore him, that is), I'll give him that. I had stuff to do in the first place, but I suppose a distraction wouldn't have been all so bad. This is, of course, all in retrospect. I had to be totally focused on my missions, nothing else. I had to be concentrated solely on getting the job done, and not on talking, unless it was part of what I was supposed to do. No more, no less.
Now I don't mind when he tries to talk my ear off; I embrace the gesture. I want more time with him, with Duo. Can I safely say that he's mine now? He's here with me, on this bed, close enough to... what? I guess I don't want to think about it until I really have to. If I have to.
Smiling, he caresses my cheek with the tips of his fingers, very lightly, always with care and ease. Like he's done this before, perhaps... but it's better not to question it. Would he tell me, if he was ever with anyone else in the past? But it's his past, and as Gundam pilots, we watch over our pasts carefully, rarely ever letting our guard down for anyone. However, if I want to get close to Duo, I'd have to tell him something about myself, more than what he all ready knows. Which is what, exactly? I guess I would ask, then. And he'd have to reciprocate, right?
Right?
I realize that it wasn't my mind's voice that said the last word, but Duo. Confirmation on some question asked, or some statement said; this is what he wants now. I blink in confusion, then ask, "What'd you just say?"
Maybe he should be annoyed with me again, but his smile seems to increase. Amazing. "Ne Heero, I just said that this is going to take some getting used to. Right?"
I respond with a noncommittal noise that's interpreted as a 'yes.' He nods once, then sits up, much to my surprise. "Well..." he begins. He looks like one of those fairies, those magical, mythical creatures in children's stories, made up to amuse and sate with wondrous contentment. Fictional pixies have nothing on him, though.
"You want to get something to eat now, Heero?"
He wants food? But of course; he's always thinking of food, if not how to find something to entertain him for a while. Without waiting to see if I'll eat or not, he jumps up off of the bed and strolls to the window opposite of the little bed in the room. I have to close my eyes, then, for at that time I become conscious of the pale, grayish light filtering through the glass and off-white curtains. After blinking a few more times, I too rise and walk to the window. As he's staring off into space, I can observe him better. Short, lithe, wiry; he seems not to be that little when compared to his enormous spirit that overflows from every motion, action, thought, or saying he performs. Of course, I can't say much about his physical stature, since I'm just as small. Well, I have a slightly bigger build. But all in all, he appears tiny.
Not so to me.
Finally he turns back to look at me with large, bright orbs for eyes, saying, "C'mon Heero, let's go get that food." How can I resist such an offer? Food isn't bad, and I could use some energy. He pivots on a foot and marches out of the room. His room. My room. Our room. We sleep in the same room, yes, but in different beds. I glance at them, one a jumble of sheets, pillows, and comforters; the other is a neat, clean spread of precision. So if I were to tell you the first one was mine, I'd be lying. Other than that, the room is modest in not only its size, but also its design. The door near one corner, with two parallel beds along that wall; a table between them; a door leading to the bathroom on the next wall, adjacent to the beds and door; a window with off-white curtains adjacent to the bathroom; and a dresser against the last wall. All of this decorates the room. Oh yeah. And carpet on the floor. Yeah.
I hurriedly walk after Duo before he leaves me in the dust of his wake to the kitchen. The boy's a glutton, and he freely admits it. I suppose the amount of energy he uses in a day would constitute why he has to eat some much. Another amazement. He's not rooting through the refrigerator for stuff to make a sandwich, I think; something like that. But he's going through the fridge in any event, and randomly putting things on the counter next to the machine. Lettuce, tomato, cheese (Swiss and provolone), meat (salami and roast beef), mustard, and pickles (dill and Kosher); one two three. From atop, rye bread, then more potato chips from a different cabinet. I then proceed to watch him make his masterpiece, step by step: lather mustard on both slices of rye; put Swiss cheese on one half, provolone on the other; lettuce; salami; tomato; and roast beef. Slap them together (but only figuratively), and you get a nice sandwich. In Duo's opinion, that is. Grabbing his work, the jars of pickles, and the bag of chips, he moves to the table and sits down on a seat, I taking the one next to him. He chows down, and I snatch the occasional chip from him. Other than that... nothing happens. Silence, save for the rustle of eating. I'll say something, then.
"...Duo..."
Wow, I'm fluent in expression, aren't I. Yeah. But he looks up and... well, looks at me, as he's chewing on a bite.
"Yeah, Heero?" And he's no better; that's life.
I struggle to think of what I could possibly say, what could fill this void of noise for us. The stillness is, oddly enough, driving me nuts. I reflect back to what he said earlier, and now I have a question. Good.
"Duo, what did you mean when you said, 'This is going to take some getting used to?'" I glance back at him, since I'd moved my gaze to the wall since then. So what does he do? He keeps on munching on his food. Mash, mish, mush. Repetition is king in his life at the moment, and staring at me co-rules.
"Well..." He's drawling at me; why why why? Is this something that needs to be drawn out any longer than necessary? No! At least, that's my opinion.
"Just that..." Just that what? Just that you're going to keep stalling this matter until I grow a beard and die of old age?
"You know..." No, I don't know, otherwise I wouldn't be asking.
"This." He waves a hand vaguely at his invisible, floating words. I can't seem them, obviously, so what are they supposed to mean to me, the gesture mean to me?
"Us." That makes sense... to an extent. 'Us.' So I'll ask another question.
"What about... 'us?'": I ask. Simple enough, right? Saying it, I mean. But if you think about it long enough, it's not really that hard to find an answer to my question. So why am I asking? To clarify it with Duo first, I could guess. I'm not sure anymore, so perhaps that's really why I'm asking.
"Heero, I mean you and me. As in... a couple, I guess. You know what I'm saying?"
I know what he's saying; the understanding part is another matter. A couple. Him and me. Heero, and Duo. Heero and Duo. Heero Duo... And thus the lines between one and two become blurred. So this is what it means to be a couple?
He nods, so I realize that, yet again, I've thought out loud. I'll speak. "This... as in, what we're doing now?"
Nodding.
"Eating, talking?"
More nodding.
I frown and make another noncommittal noise for 'yes.' But he hesitates to give me some sort of feedback this time. Duo gets up to grab some bottled water from the fridge, and downs a good portion of it before he speaks again.
"Not just this, Heero, but the two of us being together, enjoying each other's company. Talking about things that matter, and don't, and sit down in front of the TV without really watching it, but one another... You know? Really, do you understand what I'm getting at, Heero?"
His eyes are so dazzling at that moment, when he's looking for one of the most complicated answers known to man: understanding. More importantly, understanding between people that care about others. Care as in affection, fondness, and, dare I say it, love.
Love...
Duo reaches out gently to take my resting hand from the table and gives it a slight squeeze. I look down at the touch, and I just marvel at it. When I glance back at him, he has the most brilliant smile upon his lips, and my heart literally flutters with inconsistent beating while my cheeks grow warm. Is this what that word means, love? The quickening of the blood, the heating of the body? He's begging with his whole being to be recognized and adored for this one lingering expression, so I give him back what he wants. I smile, and squeeze back with my hand.
His breath catches, and he stands, tugging at me to rise as well. I do, and just as I'm at my feet he embraces me so tightly it feels as though I might come apart at the seams. He's shaking; in my small worry I rub his back soothingly. It seems like the best thing to do, but then he pulls back and gazes at me again. This time his eyes are watery with unshed tears. I can't fathom the reasoning there, so I don't say anything.
"Heero..." His voice gives way and cracks then. He's endearing. And now I know that all those earlier thoughts, about the wars, the Gundams, and Relena, are insignificant and meaningless beside the feelings I have at this instant. I know what to do, too, what other couples do at points like these, to show their emotions.
I kiss him, of course. And that's all that really matters to me.