Disclaimer: I don't own Megami Kouhosei, nor do I make any money off of it. I do own the plot (should one be forthcoming) and the story, however. Er…okay then. Please ask if you'd like to archive.
Reminder: This has Hiead/Zero SLASH. For those of you unused to fanon lingo, this means there's a homosexual relationship. There also happens to be a few scattered curse words. If any of the aforementioned story content offends you or makes you uncomfortable, please hit the back button now. =o)
I hear you breaking in the night.
You shatter like glass when you close your eyes, and put yourself together again in the morning.
The cracks cannot be seen by day, for you hide them well. Sometimes I think you even forget they're there.
But in the night your defenses fall away, and there is nothing left except for vulnerability.
It's always the same; your breathing grows ragged while you slumber, and you awake abruptly.
You don't go back to sleep again.
I should know; I stay awake with you, though you're oblivious to this.
And you're so incredibly oblivious about everything.
You can't even see that I--no, I'm not going to finish that train of thought.
It could have disastrous results.
I'll just think about other things.
Isn't that what you do?
I find myself suddenly eager to know.
I want to know so much about you, and I'm not even sure why.
I don't want to know why.
Do you face these same questions, I wonder?
Are these the things you ponder when you wake up wet from sweat and tears?
I can feel them, you know; the thoughts, the questions, the frightening answers, as they float by in the air.
They briefly brush across my cheeks and hands and then fly off again as soon as you've beckoned.
Each stray thought is plucked randomly from the harshly sterilized air to be carefully considered and observed and then put back again, in favor of the next.
Do you do this nightly ceremony because you're afraid to go to back to sleep?
Maybe so. Or maybe I'm just overanalyzing things.
It doesn't matter.
Nothing matters.
The only thing I have to concern myself with is my training.
I will be a Pilot.
Have no doubt about that, Zero Enna.
But you are the competition…so my observations about you are alright. Beneficial, even.
'Know thine enemy' is that old Earth saying; though, in the long run, the enemy would be the Victim, right here, right now, it's you.
I need to know you to defeat you.
That's why this obsession of mine is really a good thing.
It helps me learn your fears, your weaknesses; any small tidbit of information can help shift the balance of power from you to me…and back again.
I must be careful not to become too immersed in this nighttime ritual of ours (can I really call it that?); emotional dependency, especially on you, is a dangerous thing.
But that would never happen to me. I haven't a heart to give away--nor one, for that matter, to break.
This keeps me somewhat secure, and I'm not sure whether I should be pleased or somewhat let down at the knowledge that this is all life has to offer me.
Would reaching a decision somehow change anything?
No. I thought not.
I might as well be indulgent and allow myself this brief time of contemplation on your life and character while I've got the chance.
I could be gone in a freak lunch accident tomorrow, after all. Or be brought down three years--hours--seconds--from this instant by a cruel twist of Fate.
Of course it might very well be you who gets his pretty little head blown off by enemy fire, or some such nonsense, and then where would I be?
I'd rather not guess; I like to think I've got the right to spare myself the woeful "what if" scenarios and other such sorrowful speculations.
Honestly, Zero, sometimes I could swear you were the bane of my existence.
Other times I think that you're the only thing that keeps me from loosing the last few threads of sanity I have left.
But neither of these things are important, are they?
What is important is the undeniable fact that you fascinate me, lovely, foolish boy.
You are my puzzle; my purpose; my paradox.
What is it that keeps you awake, 88?
Do your dreams haunt you, like mine do?
Never mind.
I don't care.
I don't--the concept in itself is absolutely ridiculous.
I've never cared about anything before; why should I start now?
You and your fucking mind games.
Ironic, isn't it?
After all, I'm Hiead Gner, the coldest, meanest son-of-a-bitch on G.O.A, and you're the glorious Zero, the favored one, the guy who hasn't got a clue.
It should be me who's in control here.
I'm the one who's good at precisely and coolly detaching myself from a situation and thinking up the course of action that best suits my needs.
I should be your worst nightmare, and your greatest wish.
And yet…
…and yet you're the one getting under my skin, instead of the other way around.
I am your rival, as you are mine, but I seem to be suffering from some kind of warped sense of need for you, while you are afflicted with no such thing.
You're the cause of my prolonged mental suicide--but you didn't know that, did you?
The wake up call has sounded now, the shrill buzz an angry wake-up call for the room's only rested occupant, scholarly number 89.
You painfully gather up the scattered pieces of yourself and put them back together; then you'll be off to brave another day, joyfully disregarding midnight's hauntings.
I would wonder why I always decide not to exploit you in those times you are most weakened, but I'm too busy strengthening my own ice facade to care (let's face it, dear, I'm much better at this game than you).
My barricades, unlike yours, have never broken; not even in the night.
My greatest fear is that, one day, they will.
But I will not dwell on this.
You walk past me and out the door; it's time to smile again, isn't it, Zero?
Yes, it is.
Good morning, my lovely, foolish boy.
