Disclaimer: Don't own Gundam 00
prince of a palace cracked
(some people are born to follow in another's footsteps)
(i)
"Feldt loves Lockon, Feldt loves Lockon," the Haro chirps.
She's a strange little girl, with her grave expressions, the seriousness that sits so easily on her face. Her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, two locks of hair framing her face like cold judges. Lyle is twenty-nine, almost thirty, but next to this girl not even old enough to drink, this girl with emerald chips for eyes, he feels like a child again.
He can see why she loved his brother, Neil of the rich and rolling laugh, Neil with his ready advice and steady smile. Neil who could roll away the world's problems and shoulder your burden.
Of course she loved Neil. Everyone loved Neil.
(ii)
"Don't you want to change the world the way your brother did?"
So this is Celestial Being. The face of the armed interventions that terrorized the world so very recently is a skinny ethnic young man. Kurdish, trained for fighting. Guerilla soldier? He moves like he's constantly searching for cover. Gene-1 files everything away.
One sentence is all it takes for Lyle to realize Neil probably never talked about him. Lyle doesn't mesh with Neil's romanticized family, the spiteful, bitter younger brother. Lyle, the brooding prince of a palace cracked, alone in his room with his drawings, trying to scribble himself a world where he wasn't second place.
There's a pattern to how people fall apart, how they put themselves together. Lyle slipped away piece by piece.
Neil, he shattered right down the middle, a perfectly clean cut. Lyle can't even fucking beat him at losing everything.
There's no hint of skepticism in the boy's face. Who wouldn't want to be like Neil?
(iii)
"My cute instructor," he smiles, puts his hand out.
Tieria pulls back, his entire body coiling away from Lyle like he's something unclean. The tinted visor of his helmet flickers in the light, so maybe the emotion that contorts his pale features for a moment isn't joy.
Tieria composes himself. The twist of scorn in his mouth, the crinkle of disgust that lines his eyes? Lyle's imagining all that.
"Don't make fun of me," Tieria says and Lyle pulls his hand back.
"I wouldn't dream of it."
(iv)
"Lockon? You're alive?"
Allelu-whats-his-name comes dangerously close to spilling his coffee all down the front of his shirt. His brother must have been a god to these people, bringing his warmth into their frigid little lives, giving a taste of heaven. And exiting in a suitably dramatic fashion. Neil never did anything by half-measures.
("I'll make a better world for you, Lyle. I promise it."
Neil had clung to his hands and pressed his forehead against his. With his eyes closed he looked like a priest giving a benediction, a martyr reaching for his God. But Lyle will only think like this years later, with the bitter swill of hatred in his mouth, hatred he hates himself for; because his brother is so damn earnest he can't even despise him righteously.
Right then, with Neil in front of him, all had thought was that he was safe.)
"I'm so sick of that reaction."
(v)
The strange little girl tastes like nothing at all under his lips, nothing but the stale recycled air of the Ptolemaios and the faintest smudge of cherry chapstick.
"We can go to my room," he says, reveling in how he must look. Perfect Neil Dylandy's mirror image, vulgar and dark. Something hideous to taint her memories of his saintly brother. Something to let her know he's not his brother.
She slaps him and turns on her heel, her ponytail swaying to her carefully measured steps before she reaches the hall and runs.
Haro sings "You got dumped! You got dumped!" and Lyle only rubs at his face and wishes he felt more than vaguely satisfied.