The Tennis Match

Chapter Six: Attraction and Reaction

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Dearka knocked thrice on the hotel door. There was no answer. He sighed, realizing he was tense when the situation didn't call for it. He leaned into the door and called softly.

"Yzak? You in there?"

Silence greeted his query.

"It's me, Dearka, obviously… but, I, uh, wanted to talk to you."

The silence was beginning to grate on Dearka's nerves, but if there was anything he had learned from being Yzak Joule's best friend, it was patience.

"Can I come in?"

Finally, he heard the muffled footfalls approach the door. A latch clicked and the door opened several inches. Dearka took what he was given and pulled the door open fully, prepared to enter the bowels of Hell.

He stopped mid-stride, halfway across the threshold. The picture he had painted in his mind of Yzak's room didn't match the reality of the situation around him. The suite was completely dark except for a single lamp near the bed in the corner, tousled blankets all over the floor, pillows and cushions strewn about with disregard… and Yzak….

Dearka suddenly felt like the world's biggest idiot looking at the wreckage he had allowed his best friend to become. No, he amended, the wreckage he had caused. The pale youth stood out like a sorrowful ghost in the dark room, his hair an untidy explosion, his skin darker under his eyes as if sleep perpetually eluded him, wearing only a large t-shirt and boxers, and wrapped in a blanket. He looked completely and utterly pathetic, like a kitten that had gotten lost and had only managed to find a cardboard box after the rain stopped. Yzak was in a state that Dearka had never seen his former commander in.

And it nearly broke his heart.

He stepped inside cautiously, shutting the door carefully behind him. It made a barely audible click and Dearka was forced to again acknowledge what a mess Yzak was.

"Hey…" he began, not really knowing how to proceed. Yzak watched him for a moment with dull eyes, before turning abruptly and stalking deeper into the room. It had efficiently cut off any response Dearka had considered, and he had no choice but to follow the pale wraith towards the tiny patch of light.

It was shocking, the effect his little prank had on his best friend. If Dearka had known Yzak would transform into something like this… he stopped as he watched Yzak step straight onto the bed, bare feet depressing the mattress. When he reached the center, Yzak seemed to crumple down into a sitting position, the blanket still wrapped around him. He looked back at Dearka, his icy eyes unreadable except for a faint redness. Dearka swallowed uncomfortably. Had Yzak been crying? And why was he allowing anyone, even Dearka, to see him like this?

"So?" Yzak said simply, nearly making Dearka jump. "What do you want?"

Dearka flicked his tongue over his lips, wetting them, before attempting an answer. Yzak's eyes lost a bit of their dullness, the spark of life illuminating them from behind as his gaze lingered on the slight movement. The blond wondered suddenly if Yzak could smell fear; it was the way Yzak's eyes watched him like he was prey. Dearka put the thought out of his head. He was here to… apologize.

Dearka sighed. "Yzak…."

"What?" came the snappy response before Dearka had even managed to draw another breath. Silver hair swished as Yzak jerked his head sideways while narrowing his eyes to look towards the blank television screen. Dearka could tell by the lines of his friend's shoulders through the blankets that Yzak was suddenly moving beyond anger rapidly. Yzak's jaw clenched, his mouth distorting into a snarl. Dearka found himself hesitating.

"So?! Why the fuck are you here, Elsman?!" Yzak exploded, twisting snakelike towards Dearka. The blond stumbled backwards, nearly falling over a fallen couch cushion in his haste to get clear. He couldn't read Yzak right now and it terrified him. Had he pushed the colorless youth too far? Was their friendship at an end?

Yzak suddenly slumped at the edge of the bed, a puppet with his strings severed. Silver hair and shadows covered his downturned porcelain face and Dearka got the distinct impression that all the energy had left Yzak's body without warning.

"Sorry," Yzak mumbled from under his hair. He pulled the blankets up to his chin and rolled over backwards so that he was lying on the bed with his back to Dearka.

The tanned man could only blink, stunned at Yzak's dramatic change in behavior. That, and Yzak never apologized. Not to mention that Dearka was there to apologize to Yzak… it wasn't supposed to be the other way around. What the hell had happened to Yzak? Dearka suddenly didn't feel confident that the prank was the only thing eating at his best friend. Maybe his mother had called? Maybe… Dearka's mind raced in a million different directions, trying to figure out if it was really all his fault. No, it couldn't be solely his, it just couldn't be, Dearka never screwed up this badly….

"No, Yzak," Dearka began firmly, "I'm the one who's sorry."

There was no response from the pile of blankets on the bed. Dearka warily approached the bed, finding his words as he stepped over the fallen pillows.

"Look, I screwed up, I know. I shouldn't have done that without telling you… wait, no, I shouldn't have done that at all. You were against the idea from the start and I'm sorry that I—"

"Shut up, Elsman." Even though Dearka had been cut off, Yzak didn't sound angry. Just weary, as if the light had gone from the world and he no longer cared.

"No, Yzak, let me finish, alright? I said I'm sorry and I'm an idiot and I didn't mean it and I'll never do anything like that—"

"I said shut up!"

"—again," Dearka finished, ignoring Yzak's outburst despite how the silver haired man had been shouting again. Dearka reached the side of the bed, and after watching the mass of blankets and sheets and silver hair for a few moments to make sure it didn't leap at him, he carefully sat into the mattress.

"Dearka," Yzak said suddenly, rolling over. The lamp caught his eyes and they sparkled, ice refracting into a million pieces, contrasting sharply with shadowy ivory of his skin. Dearka found that the breath had left his body, but he couldn't quite understand why—whether it was fear or something else that had caused it. He waited for Yzak to continue, but all he received was the eye contact, a strange ache vaguely apparent in the depths of Yzak's sapphire orbs.

"Dearka," Yzak repeated, this time nearly a whisper. The blond found himself holding his breath, wondering what would fall from Yzak's lips next and praying he wouldn't miss it. His eyes were still hypnotized by Yzak's pale blue ones that were glazed over in a wash of ice. Dearka waited, swallowing slowly, his heart a dull thump in his ears.

Without warning, Yzak broke the eye contact, squeezing his eyes shut as if the sight of Dearka pained him.

"Get out of here," Yzak moaned angrily, rolling back over. Creamy hands yanked the blankets violently over his silver head.

Dearka blinked, confused and his head swirling as if he had just been rescued from drowning. The oxygen flooded back in, and he remembered why he was there.

"Yzak?" He started carefully, trying not to anger the pale demon any further, even if it was a lost cause. His gaze softened as he realized that it wasn't Yzak's fault; Dearka deserved whatever punishment Yzak saw fit to give him. It wasn't as if Yzak had been the one to ruin their friendship.

"I just wanted you to know that I'm no going to pretend anymore. For your sake, you know."

"He's not himself anymore, Shiho… I don't know what I've done."

Shiho sighed into the phone. "It was your idea, Dearka. You can't come complaining to me about it. Take responsibility for your actions; you're a ZAFT soldier."

"You don't get it, do you?!" Shiho gritted her teeth… no, of course she didn't get it. Why was Dearka Elsman calling her when he got in a fight with Yzak? Her military political correctness prevented her from yelling at him, but surely she could manage to figure out how to shut him up through other means if she put her mind to it.

"Yzak was displaying clinically weird behavior patterns!"

"He's always been that way, Dearka," Shiho answered dryly. "And I don't believe 'weird' is a clinical term."

"You're missing the point! I don't know how to talk to him and he's my best friend." The pain in Dearka's voice was real, Shiho realized, but it didn't stop her head from continuing to pound. Even if the commander was going through some kind of crisis, surely it could wait until tomorrow? Or was this another excuse for Dearka to call her? Was he trying to keep her from getting sleep? She crossed that idea off her list quickly, knowing it was simply her irritation getting the best of her. Obviously, Dearka was worried about Yzak Joule… it was just that Shiho found that for once, she didn't care.

The last few days had been a blur. Her sudden engagement to her own commander without her consent, then having to deal with her ex-coworker flirtations, and her own indecision in whether she was even making the right choice in breaking if off with Yzak before anything had started. It was easy enough to say that Yzak was a type A asshole—because it was most often true—but it was harder to make herself believe that when her job was to follow his every command and she found him a more than competent leader. She knew she wavered somewhere between professional distance and the faintest possibility of attraction when it came to Yzak, and then along came Dearka Elsman. He oozed charm from every sun-tanned pore, flashing smiles that gave most girls fainting spells, and proceeded to direct it at Shiho when he was supposed to be pointing it at Yzak. As if she didn't have enough problems already. She supposed the female population of ZAFT and a large portion of Terminal would maim to be in her position, caught somewhere between Yzak Joule and Dearka Elsman, but….

They didn't know what it was like to be ready for bed and have the blond on the phone whining about the silver haired man. It was like a damn soap opera, and she was stuck somehow as the third-wheel best friend trying to mend the lover's relationship—

Shiho shook herself. That wasn't what it was like at all… was it? Her mind gave her a fuzzy answer that she blamed on lack of sleep. If those two really were gay, then why would they be fighting at all over Dearka's antics at the park? Shiho hit her forehead with her palm, hoping to wake herself up some more. Honestly, she should just tell Dearka to call her back in the morning, clearly she wasn't thinking straight.

"Shiho? I just… don't have a clue on how to make things right." Scratch that, Shiho needed to ask him to never call her again. How did she end up as his psychologist? Surely Dearka could be more attractive than this if he tried….

"Dearka," she said finally, "What makes you think I have a clue?"

There was silence on the other line, and Shiho crossed her fingers in the hope that Dearka was actually thinking about her words. Next he would apologize, say good night, and hang—

"I told him I'm not going to pretend I love him anymore. The plan's off, Shiho." Dearka sounded weary, but Shiho suddenly found herself wide-awake.

"What do you mean, 'the plan is off?'" she asked sharply into the phone. It took a moment for her to realize she was gripping the phone tighter than necessary and she slowly relaxed her fingers.

"I'm not going to put Yzak through that, Shiho. I was only doing it for his own good in the beginning, but obviously, it's detrimental to his health. Or mental state. Or something." Shiho could hear Dearka sigh into the phone. This was bad.

"But I can't marry him! He's my commander," Shiho told him, losing her cool. Sure, the two could fight all they wanted amongst themselves, but if they didn't convince Ezaria Joule her son was gay, she would have to marry him. And yes, maybe she had thought about it, because who wouldn't imagine what it would be like to be married to your fiancé? But she had realized that if she hadn't come up with the idea herself, it wasn't best to pursue it. Shiho Hahnenfuss would only marry someone of her own choosing, stubborn as she was. She had decided that Yzak Joule was not that person.

"Then think of something else that he can actually agree to, Shiho… although at this point…. I just don't know."

"Glad to hear that, Dearka," Shiho said, feeling distinctly like she was not at her best. Why was Dearka so upset when she was the one who was going to have to marry the man Dearka now claimed to be psychotic? Sure, they were best friends, but she was going to have to be his wife if they didn't think of something else. The fuzzy cat in her mind stretched, still present even though she had lost her grogginess. Why did a part of her believe there was something else going on under the surface here?

"And I officially feel like shit. Fuck. What have I done?"

Shiho felt the cat dig in some claws. Dearka, crude as he was in many ways, hardly ever swore. Especially in front of women. Her headache kicked up another notch as she realized they were back to square one in the marriage department, and that the blond didn't seem like he'd be able to help anymore. So, maybe that meant she and Yzak were now at square negative one. But if Dearka was out of the picture, why did he care so much? Could there possibly be…?

Shiho closed her eyes and counted to three. "I don't know, Dearka. But perhaps you should be asking yourself what to do now? How are you going to get Yzak back?"

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. Shiho digested her own words, realizing they sounded just like the third-wheel best friend. It was time to go to sleep, overthrowing the marriage be damned.

"That's just the problem… I don't know how to get him back." Dearka's voice sounded small and Shiho wondered if he was scared or if it was just the static over the phone. Then she realized that she didn't really care.

"Dearka, the only advice I can offer is this: go to sleep. Because that's what I'm about to do."

Without waiting for a reply, Shiho hung up on him, glad that she could at least feel good about one thing even if her future was looking distinctly pale and angry.

It was amazing the difference a simple realization could wreak on his life.

Yzak considered losing himself in mindless television dramas, contemplating getting the remote, but found he didn't even have the energy to reach the whole two feet to where it lay on the night table. He found himself shivering in the blankets instead, the physical symptoms something he had never imagined.

His mind drifted back to the moments Dearka had been there, his golden skin nearly glowing in the soft light. He had come to say something, but before he had really gotten it out, he had licked his lips and Yzak had been lost. How was it that the sexy blond had done that purposefully at the restaurant and Yzak had refused to notice? How could a single insight change how he saw everything so completely?

Yzak knew it now. Painfully, achingly, hurting from the very pleasure of it, Yzak was in love.

From the way Dearka ran a hand through his tousled blond curls to the way his skin shimmered under a locker room shower, Yzak couldn't get enough. He wanted to feel the smooth skin under his fingertips, wanted the tantalizing lips under his own, and the mere thought of Dearka in his ZAFT-distributed spandex made Yzak's knees go weak. He could hardly contemplate what it would be like if Dearka were out of his ZAFT-distributed anything, feeling his heartbeat pick up, his breath coming in pants as he let his imagination run wild all over Dearka's body.

Yet it wasn't just his body. Dearka was intelligent, sexy, and fun-loving, but knew the importance of working hard when it counted. They had survived wars together, fighting alongside each other, but Yzak also remembered how it felt to point a gun at his best friend. He remembered better how it felt to lower that gun and trust in Dearka. The blond knew how to keep Yzak from losing his cool and then when he did, Dearka always seemed to know how to bring him back down to reality. Dearka had been his constant companion until Yzak had moved into Terminal, and had been the only thing he had regretted leaving when he had made the move. He had loved Dearka then, too, but hadn't understood it until now. He had always loved Dearka… the incident after tennis had scared him because it had hit too close to home without him really comprehending.

And then Yzak had come so close to spilling his heart out. He had rolled over, intent on telling his golden god the truth, but had gotten lost in those liquid purple eyes so close to his own. He had been reminded of his dream, just by looking at those eyes, the lamplight providing the illusion of fire that had been so apparent in his dream. And Yzak had been lost again, spiraled completely out of control, but not caring, let his eyes drift over the dark skin of Dearka's face, drinking in every detail. He had whispered his name, softly, letting it escape his lips without thinking, noticing how different it sounded suddenly. And Dearka had continued to watch him, unblinking, and that's when Yzak had realized suddenly that he was acting too strange and Dearka had already said he would never do anything that made Yzak love him more again. It wasn't those exact words, but to Dearka, it was all pretend anyway, and now the game was up. For his sake.

It had hurt terribly then, the ache spreading from his chest into his throat. It leapt out like a wild beast, the words that made Dearka leave. He had tried to hide, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep emotions like that off his face. They were too big, too unwieldy, too unfamiliar for him. And the words that Dearka had spoken after that… those were like poisonous barbed spears, stuck in his heart, sending their deadly poison throughout his body.

Dearka wasn't going to pretend… for Yzak's sake. Well, Dearka be damned, it was too late. Yzak would have played along forever now, let himself be played by a seductive smile and tanned hands. Wasn't it just his luck that the moment he realized what he wanted, the offer was retracted?

Yzak felt himself hit the edge of despair. Dearka was out of reach, probably chasing after Yzak's own fiancée, the two of them unaware of how well their plan had worked its magic. He felt something hot slide along his face, falling to wet the blanket wrapped around him. He shivered again, loving his torture and hating his pleasure, the two so intermingled that it was all the same. He fell to his side, pulling the blanket tighter around himself, and felt his breath hitch. Why was love so painful? How could Dearka do this to him? Why didn't he hate the blond for making him like this? Why couldn't Dearka just love him back…?

Yzak shuddered into his blanket, feeling his throat swell enough so that it was difficult to swallow. The hot salty liquid skimmed sideways down his face, from across the bridge of his nose to the side of his face where it met the mattress. What he would give right now to have Dearka hold him and kiss away the tears….

Yay! Another chapter! Okay, sorry for the really long wait, faithful readers. I managed to pick up an amazing beta (The Angelic Demoness), but she's been rather busy with all sorts of things, so there was some delay between writing and betaing and rewriting. But thanks for your patience and with summer nearly here, the ending should be coming soon… I've managed to plan it all out and it should be eight chapters and an epilogue, although knowing myself, the chance that it changes as I'm writing it is high. Please continue reading! Thank you and the button is right below here. You know you want to click it.