Disclaimer: GUNDAM SEED does not belong to me. This story does.
Sakura-Angel: Hokay, so. My first GUNDAM SEED piece ever. (I haven't even finished the series yet.) Please excuse any possible technical errors (such as Heliopolis' weather). I just got an idea for a story and slotted it into Athrun's life. It'd be really awesome if you enjoyed this and decided to review. Tell me what you liked, didn't like, and whatnot.
Dandelions
All children are cruel one time or another, too demanding and brash, rough and inconsiderate. But whether or not they feel the reprecussions is another story.
Here is one such story.
It was a fair May day, an average day for the time of year. He remembers there being no rain scheduled, so he left his coat behind at home, slamming the door and running down the steps before his mother could tell him to bring it anyway.
The turf was springy beneath his toes as he raced around that recess, a second grader edging on third. He can't for the life of him recall why growing up seemed so wonderful, but he smiles a little at the memory anyway. (And then he remembers bigger being synonymous with better - better bikes, better chocolate bars, better people. He smiles wider, knowing the truth now.)
He was retying his shoelace when a group of bigger boys came up to him. Each boy had a surprising, impressive swagger for their nine years, slapping him on the back and voicing a proposal with almost overeager gusto. They were bored: they wanted him to do something for them.
So it was with his boyish reputation to uphold (playing house was for ninnies, girls were gross forever and always) that he led the group to a purple dress standing on the gravel next to the slide. She watched them approach, one hand tugging at her ugly braid and the other clutching a bundle of sticky yellow dandelions. (To this day, he remembers the feel of the sap on his skin.)
Her dress hung on her like a rag and her eyebrows were drawn down from either annoyance or plain dislike. She had crossed her arms already, though she had no reason to.
He kept these things about her in mind, told himself it was no big deal.
That was when he wrenched the flowers from her hand and flung them to the ground.
Behind him the boys high-fived and cheered, telling him nice work. But his eyes were stuck to the dying blooms and the gravel of the playground. And then he looked up at her.
She had been looking too. She looked him straight in the eye, scorn and sadness building. It was then that he noticed her eyes glinting fiercely from tears uncried.
"I hate you!" she screamed at him, and he flinched, closing his eyes. When he had opened them again, she was gone. The dandelions remained.
The boys went on cheering as he opened and closed his hands, sap stretching again and again to mix with the sweat of his palms.
He vowed to never make anyone cry again.
(Years later, he finds himself sitting in a cockpit with his jaw clenched, eyes glinting fiercely from tears uncried.)