A/N: -poofs into existence- HELLO AND GREETINGS, dear people. I have returned...with yet another one-shot of the anime series Gundam SEED. This one was inspired from an email I once received. I just happenned to think of it last week so I wrote something to go with that thought. ' Inspiration comes in many ways.

I dedicate this wholly to Storms-winter, my wonderful new beta. Words cannot express how grateful I am to you for taking on this task. Thusly...I tip my hat to you. -tips random hat- I actually have hats now, so I can tip 'em if I like. XD

Happy readings! -poofs out of existence-

-poofs back- Oh, and I will try to update my stories Faith and NOTV soon! -poofs away again-

Disclaimer: Hajime Yatate and Yoshiyuki Tomino own Gundam SEED, not Carmen Takoshi.

Before You Go

Dearka was leaving today.

No sooner had he gotten up and remembered this did Yzak eagerly, dearly, sorely wish that he could simply turn around, fall over and allow himself to wearily collapse onto his bed.

But it was five fifteen. In an hour and a half, he would have to see Dearka off at the spaceport.

Let it be known that Yzak's have was but a self-obligatory have. No one had set his internal alarm to ring at precisely five fifteen this morning, and yet it did. No one had spread out the outfit, in which he would say his farewells, on the washing machine, nor had they, with unseemly haste (who was there to see him anyway?), percolated the two cups of black coffee, and yet there they were.

Everything was in order. His clothes were on the right way, all buttons and zippers buttoned and zipped; his hair and teeth flawlessly brushed; his shoes on and the apartment door locked behind him. Hell, even his watch was keeping exact time as usual, to the freaking second, and right now it read five forty three, just as he thought it should.

Stepping into his car, Yzak was thinking that he would much rather drown himself in the two cups of steaming liquid than to go where he had promised to go that morning. To be spared the shame that was already starting to burn in his gut as he thought of the future self-imposed declaration that he was to make, before he left and Yzak would have no other opportunity to voice his thoughts.

But Dearka was stubborn and surprisingly, some would say, proud. Who was to say that he would even believe him? No one. Life was a joke for him. A huge, screaming joke.

Would he take Yzak's words as a last, friendly moment of tongue-in-cheek?

As though complying with its owner's frame of mind, the black coupe reluctantly inched its achingly slow way into the parking lot surrounding Dearka's apartment building. Typically, he was already there and waiting. He rushed over as soon as the engine gracefully died and tugged on the passenger door handle, face twisted in some mock let me in! expression. Yzak sighed and unlocked the doors.

They exchanged no words during the trip to the spaceport, save for Dearka's jest about the offered cup of coffee. ("For me? Sure it isn't poisoned?") It was slow progress through the lot, slow progress to the port, slow progress through the line.

Finally came all too soon.

They stood there, amidst the bustling, sickeningly cheerful crowd. Just standing and staring at each other. Dearka returned the empty cup to Yzak, who accepted it without a word.

Dearka spoke. Yzak listened.

It had always been this way, during their moments of calm. Yzak seldom said anything, and Dearka seldom remained silent. He babbled on and on, but Yzak could only think of how incredibly childish, how incredibly stupid the other would be to not believe what he was steeling himself to say.

But then Dearka was picking up his overstuffed bag, saying something about calling, writing, anything. Thanks for the coffee, even though it was black. See ya around.

He looked at him. His eyes twinkled. Twinkled. Just like…

Dearka turned. Then he turned back and threw his arms around Yzak, pulling him into a tentative hug. Surprise played across Yzak's normally pristine features. What choice did he have but to return the obvious display of affection? He did, slowly, carefully. His hands on Dearka's shoulders, his face pressed close to his neck. A whispered name, bare, low, laced with atypical tenderness.

Then he was really gone, his waist, back, shoulders and head disappearing as he let the escalator carry him down to the lower floor. And the second he was gone from sight, Yzak knew that he could not hold it in any longer. It suddenly hurt to realize that by keeping his silence, he was forfeiting an all-trusting friendship. It hurt to know that he was letting his best friend go into the world without realizing what he had been trying to tell him for all these years.

He dropped the coffee mug, not caring if it bounced, cracked or shattered. He ran to the edge of the floor, latched his hands onto the aluminium railing and leaned out over the abyss of linoleum. It did not matter if people heard him. It did not matter if he was looked at, ridiculed, scorned.

He screamed Dearka's name. Dearka turned, looked up. Yzak screamed again, his voice echoing across the open, crowded space.

"SANTA CLAUS DOESN'T EXIST!"