Notes: ^^ Here's a biggie - This chapter takes place about a year and a half after the last chapter. This occurs after the Marimeia incident, in other words, after Endless Waltz. This is when the Wild Wing Boys have joined the Preventers, so if any of them talk about 'missions' they're talking about the Preventer missions, to stop possible wars from occuring.

Captive
By Ashura no Miko
Captive by Sarah McLachlan
___________________________

[The streets are dark and empty now
time for another day]

Faint light rolled down the long streets of a city on Earth. Above the towering buildings, the real sun sunk towards the horizon, its desperate rays reaching out over the faded blue sky. In the last part of its daily journey, it descended as though reluctant to leave, clinging to its last light. Finally, the Earth rolled away, and the golden rays disappeared completely. Night swallowed the streets, and man-made lamps flickered to life, bathing patches of sidewalk in sickly yellow light. Neon signs flashed and illuminated the walls with unnaturally bright, colored beams.
Time dragged on through the night, and despite the late hour people continued to wander the noisy streets. A man pushed the collar of his coat up further, trying to cover his face: half to hide himself from the beggars at his feet, half to warm his frozen cheeks up. Another man walked confidently, his briefcase swinging in one hand, his head held up with the look of one who knows where he's going - home. A crowd of teenagers pushed their way through, laughing loudly, drink fresh on their breath and their dress outrageous. Among the crowd of marching people, a man staggered and bumped against others, his face shadowed by a ragged coat, full of alcohol and loss. On the corner, bathed in yellow light that shadowed her face, a young girl of about thirteen held tightly to a lamp post. She wrapped a leg around the post, sliding herself down it, her head lolled back in fake ecstasy as her short, ragged skirt rode up her thigh. She twirled and ran herself back up the pole, then lightly stepped off as an older man approached her, money in his hand. No one turned a head at anyone. They blended into one living mass of crawling futility, each bump and jostle no more than a hinderance to them.
Among them, the dark figure fit right in, its long braid fluttering out behind it.

[Well I walk alone collecting my thoughts
that have gone astray]

Duo's dark cap was pulled low, his bangs shadowing his face as he wandered the cramped yet lonely streets, as though a ghost. No one appeared to see him, and he dodged the crowd without even moving. His head was hung, staring at the filthy ground passing beneath his feet. He looked up briefly as he passed a particularly raucous bar, but walked by it like all the others, not entering. He hated the men inside them, the noisy music, and the smell that hung heavy in the air. But most of all, he hated the alcohol itself, and rarely ever touched it. He couldn't stand the acidic taste it left in his mouth when he woke up, and the stench of smoking sickness on his skin. He did enjoy its temporary relief, the feeling of freedom that it gave him for one night, but the putrid feeling in his stomach and mind wouldn't let him. Besides, escape was for cowards who couldn't deal with their own life. He was a Gundam pilot...had been a Gundam Pilot, and by definition, he could deal with anything. He laughed to himself. So what if he had more reason to escape than any drunk tonight? The pain reassured him. Only the living feel pain.
He stumbled slightly as a pedestrian hit his shoulder. He pivoted with practiced ease, narrowly avoiding the other passersby, carefully falling against a wall, leaning his back against it, never taking his hands out of his pockets. He slouched against the wall, no longer moving, just watching the crowd shuffle past him. None of them turned an eye.

[All of the memories, all of the dreams
still remains entwined]

Duo's face was obscured by his bangs, the shadows hiding his usually bright violet eyes. His breath floated in the cold air, his cheekbones stung slightly pink by the wind. He couldn't recall how long he stood there when he finally looked up, when his dilated violet eyes took in the cold night air and the unnaturally bright light of the city. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten there, or how long he'd been there. All he remembered was leaving the small, dingy hotel room he was sharing with his fellow Preventer.
He remembered leaving that evening, looking at the walls of the room, decorated by strangely lit night shadows, and in the center of the room, cradled in the embrace of the half broken mattress, Heero Yuy lay tangled in sweat-dampened sheets. And over him, one lost American pilot stared down, his eyes studying him with the curious intensity of one who didn't understand. Couldn't understand. Duo had left then. In fear, in anger. He couldn't remember which it was, or maybe that it was both. But what ever it was, it hurt. More than he wanted to hurt. And so he had run away from his pain. He would admit that. He didn't deny the fact that he was a coward. He even introduced himself as one....
'I am Duo. Duo Maxwell. I run, I hide, I do everything. But I never lie. Duo Maxwell.'
He repeated it to himself silently, trying to reassure himself.
'Yes...you never lie, do you? Except to yourself. Yes, whenever it's convenient, you lie to yourself to make it feel better. Because you see? You run from everything that frightens you - even the truth.'

[All that we've had, and all that we've known
are little by your mind]

With no little effort, Duo managed to bring himself back, pushing himself off the broken down old wall, the jagged edges leaving indents in the coat he was wearing. He edged his way back into the flowing crowd, moving in the direction of the hotel, where his fear slept. A fear he couldn't conquer.
'Don't fear the Reaper, little one.'
What was able to frighten Death? What could possibly worm its way into Shinigami's mind, and scare the Devil itself? Add that to the Perfect Soldier's list of perfect missions. And one that he didn't even blink twice at. Of course, Heero never acknowledged anything save a good 'Ninmu Kanryou'. He told others to act on their emotions, to follow their feelings, and he dismissed their feelings at the same time. How did he manage to keep everything so neutral? Only Heero Yuy could be passionately dispassionate. Only the perfect soldier could achieve such a goal.
Duo coughed into his hand, the cold air nipping at the inside of his throat. The movement of the crowd pressed bodies against him, and he felt as though he was being carried back to the hotel. Like an unrelenting river of fate carrying him back. He chuckled dryly. Yes, this was where he was supposed to be. This was where he wanted to be. Only the living felt pain, and he wanted that pain so badly.

[I only wanted someone to believe in oh,
but your words they're seldom found]

'Tell me I'm still alive Heero. Make me hurt until I can't scream anymore, let me know that of all the dead bodies, I am the one that can still hurt. When you come after me, I can see it. You hate me. Because I confuse you, because I cloud your mission. But I don't mind. That only makes you hate me more. And when you hate, you hurt. You'll kill me one day, I know. That's why, Heero. I'll make you hate me more than anything else. I believe in that, because you can't tell me anything else.
'I swore I'd always be strong, so that no one could hurt me ever again. I was a little fool, wasn't I? I didn't see that it's the strong who suffer the most. The weak take the hurt, but it's the strong who have to shoulder the weak. So what am I doing here carrying a colony on my back? Why am I a soldier? I once told myself that I had been pushed into being Shinigami's pilot by Dr. G. I hid behind the excuse that I killed because I had to, that I was forced into killing because of the world I grew up in. Isn't that childish, Heero? Don't you think? But you see, I realized, Heero, I realized the truth. For once I really saw it. And I liked it. Because I liked killing those people, Heero. No, I loved it. I'm Shinigami. I'm Death. Every life I touch disappears.
'People think that it's silly that I call myself that, because I'm always smiling, always joking. But you see through that, and I hate you for it. You told me not to lie, and I wanted to kill you. Just like you wanted to kill me. But we can't, can we Heero? What is it? What is it that can hold Shinigami back? You avoid death so many times in battle, and you're still avoiding it. You cheat Death. You cheat me.'

['Cause when it comes to the problems that were meant to be shared
you were not around]

'So where are you now Heero? Where are you now...?'
Duo stared at the empty bed. Dust floated in the air, illuminated by the light shining in through the small window, creating a single neon beam of moving light. The bed lay in the center of the room, half broken and splintered. The rickety desk that had held Heero's laptop an hour or two ago was now empty. Water dripped absently from a brown-stained sink in the corner, and the pipe leaked onto the damp carpet below. Other than that, the room was empty, save for one pale American pilot.
He just stood there for a moment, then took off the warm jacket, hanging it on a door peg. He slowly made his way towards the abandoned bed and reached down to press his hand to the pillow. Still warm. Heero had left only moments ago.
'Again, we're passing one another by a moment.'
Duo let himself sink to the bed, as though the energy had been pulled out of him. He curled up against the warm linens, breathing in the bitter scent of recent sex, and found despite it's reserved heat, it was cold as ashes. Bright violet eyes stared out the wall, surrounded by skin whiter than the sheets, which was covered by the black outfit of saintly death. He curled in on himself, clasping the stained sheets in tightly balled hands, looking like a small child afraid that there was something was in the closet.
A mission. He was fairly sure that was the reason. He couldn't think of another one for why Heero would leave so abruptly. Not that he expected to get a 'Good morning' out of his sullen partner; he rarely even got an audible greeting. Despite that, he had hoped to at least have breakfast with him the next morning. He had to laugh at himself this time, at his expectations. After all, their odd coupling was no more than a convenience, wasn't it? The Deathscythe pilot sighed and released the sheets.
They didn't necessarily work together during missions. So it didn't really surprise Duo that Heero had left without so much as a goodbye. Heero didn't need to tell Duo where he was going, so he didn't. It was simple as that. And the next time he completed a mission, he'd be back in Duo's bed once more. No explanation, no apologies. He'd just be there at the door waiting, and Duo let him in every time.
'That's it...' he swore to himself, 'This is going to be the last time...really the last time.' It didn't matter he had sworn that before - many times before. 'Next time...next time...'

[Oh but you'll plead with me now
you always stay]

"Nn...Heero...?"
Duo found it hard to breath between each painfully taken kiss placed on his skin. Heero's hands were firmly holding Duo's thin waist as he nipped his way down the other boy's neck. Duo put his hands against Heero's shoulders, knowing that if the perfect soldier didn't want to be dislodged, he wouldn't be, but still hoping the action would distance them somehow.
Surprisingly enough Heero did back off, though he didn't release Duo's waist. The cold blue eyes gazed stonily into Duo's. He looked no different, but Duo was aware that he was being given a chance to leave now, to make good on his word. He didn't know why Heero was giving this time to consider. He usually came and took what he wanted in his usual childlike manner. Not that Duo complained - often. He rarely felt the want to refuse Heero, and when he did, he never voiced it. He couldn't tell how the perfect soldier would deal with rejection, so he just accepted whatever happened.
But here, now, he was being given a choice. More than a choice; he had to make a decision. Heero would just stand here until he told him to go away-...or until he told him to continue. He searched Heero's dark blue eyes and found...nothing. As always. Not even Duo, his lover, could get past those built up shields, just as Heero could never get past that smiling face. Duo lowered his head slowly...he had sworn to refuse Heero this time - to end it all. To end the pain, end the obsession...
Duo brought his hands to Heero's cheeks and leaned in to press his lips to his, his violet eyes half shut in defeat.
[You're giving it one breath then
you're taking it all away]

Duo stared at the body dozing his arms. For someone with such cold eyes, it was almost a shock to feel the burning skin now pressed against him. Usually after their coupling, Duo would curl up under Heero's chin, but tonight their positions were reversed. Heero lay tucked up against his chest, his breath warm on Duo's shoulder, while the American pilot cradled him gently. He considered the silent boy in his arms, running long, thin fingers through Heero's messy brown hair and over his shoulders. He wondered if Heero would leave again in the morning. Or if he himself would leave that night, leaving Heero in bed alone again. One left during the day, and the other during the night. But they just kept missing one another by a moment.
Heero had offered him a choice this time. Heero had asked him. Asked him. It was the closest Duo would ever get to a token of affection. He had somehow pulled the great Heero Yuy into something he couldn't escape. But as for the perfect soldier himself... Duo knew that if the mission called for it, Heero would sacrifice him for the good of the war. And Duo didn't mind. That was their job. And this was his job. To try and care for a machine, a boy who had forgotten he was human. It was the blind leading the blind in this situation. But Duo knew Heero, and even if he was blind, the Wing pilot would lead them forward, even if it meant walking to their deaths.
Heero stirred in his arms slightly, and Duo relaxed them. The Japanese pilot sat up, gazing down at Duo with his unrelenting stare. Duo's deflated violet eyes didn't flinch away from Heero's intense blue ones; there was no fear in that threat anymore. Heero's eyes widened slightly, and Duo wondered, for a moment, if Heero was as frightened as he was. Then Heero's hand hit his face with unbidden force, and Duo's head snapped to the side.
[What is this love that holds me captive in your eyes?
Well I wish I had the strength to leave it all behind.
What's done is done, and you do not give a damn.
Just another heartfelt blow by your careless hands.]

When Duo awoke, it was midday. He just lay there for awhile, staring up at the white, flaking plaster on the ceiling. He was dimly aware of the throbbing pain in his head, demanding the attention that he would not give. There was something else he had to think about, around the stinging sensation in his temples.
Why? What was that look in Heero's eyes? Why had he asked Duo? Why?...Why why why? He could feel the headache amplify itself. He laughed bitterly. Only Duo Maxwell could get a hangover without getting drunk. The laughter dissolved into chuckles, then into a high pitched giggle. He curled into himself slowly, pulling the thin sheets over his equally thin body, and dimly registered that he was hysterical. He didn't care. Or he cared too much to deal with it. Either way it was killing him.
'I told you once... I am destined to be killed by you.'
He rolled over onto his stomach, pushing himself to his hands and knees, still laughing, his head bowed. The weak feeling in his arms spread to his hips and legs, causing his body to tremble. The muscles of his stomach contracted, heaving up whatever he had eaten last, and then some. He hoped that it would help, but it didn't, it only made him feel worse. The trembling continued, saliva running from his mouth to the bile on the pillow as he sobbed brokenly. No tears came though. There were already too many tears that were needed for the living, and the dead weren't allowed to cry.
'Boys don't cry.'
He moaned, curling up more as spots filled his vision, the ache in his middle intensifying, spreading out through his bones. His back shook in loud gasps, trying to breath in the air to accommodate the sobs. His muscles ached. He had worked himself too hard yesterday, and it was taking its toll now. And on top of that, he had let Heero into his house again, even after all that work. Because he couldn't say no to him. It was like an addiction. He couldn't say no, and Heero couldn't stop coming back to him. But there was nothing left now, nothing but a dark, angry mark across his face that proclaimed Heero's ownership of him.
Because he couldn't stop now. He hated him because he loved him. And he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop shaking, or running, or hiding, or lying. He couldn't escape those blue eyes that held him down and forced him to live more.
[I never thought in my life I could feel so much pain
trusting in your kind]

Everything hurt.
Duo rammed his hands down against the Mobile Suit's controls, hurtling the huge mecha towards the small base. A World Nation resistance group had started up in this area, and he and Quatre had been sent to destroy the main base, using two Taurus suits. Even with the inferior Suits, the two would still be able to win, or so they had thought. The line of defence that the resistance had put up was quite impressive, and already the two were having difficulty breaking it.
Gunfire surrounded him, and they knew they were outnumbered, even for their power. Distantly he could hear Quatre calling him back - telling him that he had to stop before he hurt himself. Quatre was silly though. Everything hurt already. This wouldn't make a difference. But he would make one. He'd break the line of defense that would get the other pilot through to the base.
Quatre was so kind. Of all the ex-Gundam pilot's, the young Arabian was perhaps the only one who actually gave a damn what happened to the others. His mission was to protect people. The other four were fighting alone, fighting their own wars. Duo wondered, briefly, how his life would have been different if he had chosen Quatre instead. People said their natures matched, both always smiling. It was silly, couldn't they see the difference? Quatre smiled so sincerely. He was far from innocent, but he was gentle, and he truly lived and enjoyed life. So maybe, in truth, they were opposites. But then again, people said that he and Heero were opposites too, like day and night. So maybe Heero and Quatre were complete opposites and he was just in the middle.
A missile barely missed Duo's Suit shoulder.
Or Trowa. So he was equally as cold as Heero; at least those green eyes were just shields to deeper sadness. As far as he could tell, Heero was just cold upon cold upon cold, with nothing to warm him underneath. Trowa though, had locked them all away in an OZ prison to rot while he continued on his merry way. He had just been acting to deceive the OZ personal, but the acting had almost been too flawless. Too real. But besides that, Duo could deal with quiet types, he could talk enough for both of them. He could see it, really. One day all that grief would come tumbling out with tears and then life would go on. And there'd be perfect times, perfect days. Yeah, just add the smiling sun and Bambi, and it would be complete. No worries at all.
Something exploded at his Suit's feet, and he felt the Taurus begin fell back.
What about Wufei? Not that the Chinese pilot ever expressed any interest in coming to know any of the others. In fact, he seemed to dislike being in their company at all. And when he had to be, he remained silent and aloof. But hell, like he said, he could deal with the silent type. Then again, unlike Trowa, Wufei would probably be willing to blow his brains out when he became annoying enough. But what an easy way to get out of it all. Annoy your lover into killing you. He wondered if that would be counted as suicide. Well, he had annoyed Heero into beating him, so he couldn't be that far off, could he? So close...
...The sensors blanked, the sounds of rapid fire dulled by the thick walls of metal around him. Inside the cockpit, the red alert light flared against his closed eyelids. Fuel line burst. Electrical cell line disengage. Without command, the Taurus was trying to save itself from destruction at the hands of the enemy Leo's.
Small explosions racked the Suit's frame. The air in the cockpit became so hot it was like breathing lead. The faint buzzing in his ears escalated to a roar, shuddering through his aching head. As he opened his eyes, the static of the screens faded in the dark purple fuzz, blurring in his eyes until it became a solid black. Blood flow burst. Brain disengage. Without command, the small spectre of Death was trying to save itself from destruction at the hands of itself.
So close...
"DUO!"
[I never thought I could feel so alone,
a faith in love so blind]

'When did I give in this far? When did I expect you to save me? I remember hearing Quatre calling my name...no, I thought it was you. I thought it was you calling out my name in desperation. But it wasn't. It was just my friend, worried. But still, I wanted you to come. And I knew you would. Yes, you came.
'But when I woke up, you weren't there. And you hadn't come at all. I had broken the line of defense, just like I told myself I would, and Quatre was able to get through. Mission Completed. Would you be proud? Would you care?... Would you even look at me when I told you? Where I come from, your name means something different. Heero. Hero. You're supposed to be the knight in white armor, riding in to save the day. Not that I could play a damsel in distress well, but at least you'd be there. And I'd know you came for me. But you didn't. You didn't even come at all. We finished our mission and Quatre took me back to the safe house and patched me up. Over and done with. Quatre was worried, but he worries about everyone. He worries because he feels he can't be what everyone expects him to be, so he tries to make everyone like him. Then, no one can be angry at him. It's a foolish policy, but it's worked for him so far. More than it's worked for me.
'But maybe that's because his is genuine, while mine is just a pretty picture to show the world. Maybe they can tell. Maybe they all see straight through me, just like you do. Maybe that's why you hate me so much. Why you hit me. Why you fear me. I thought I was in control of this! When this started, I was comforting you. When this began, I moved you. I was able to touch you. When did everything change? When did I lose control of this whole thing? When did it develop a life of its own? When did it run away with mine?'
[But after all is said and done,
the song remains the same.]

Duo healed fairly fast, but to him it seemed slow. He waited for a week, but Heero never came. When he managed to get himself to a computer and hack into the system, he found that Heero had been on a mission. He hadn't come back for him, and he didn't for a long time.
Duo studied the end of the knife. It reflected the light in one sharp band over the sloped edge of the blade. The handle was rough and warm from being held, and so wonderfully real in his hands. The American considered why, now. So Heero had run off with his life, had he run off with his death too? Duo had always considered suicide the coward's way out, and though he had always called himself a coward, he had never thought he would take that way out. He didn't deserve to die. Living brought the pain that he needed to fill himself. What then, was he doing here, sitting in the bathroom of a cheap hotel room, drunk out of his mind, contemplating a knife?
In fact, hadn't he told himself just awhile ago that he hated to drink? He wondered briefly why he had stolen the drink in the first place, but found he couldn't even remember, and that he didn't particularly want to remember. What ever it had been, it had almost killed him. Because it had led him to an easy path. A path far to easy for one so far gone as himself. He didn't deserve to die. He had too many sins to atone for.
He flicked the pad of his thumb over the edge of the small blade. Blood welled up from the crevasse it created in his skin, flowing slowly over his hand to pool in his palm before dripping onto the floor. Razor. Had he made the right cut, this knife would have been his death - easily. He sighed and let it drop to the floor, standing on fairly steady legs for a drunk man, and made his way back to the unmade bed, too tired to bother with his cut.
[You please yourself and nobody else,
will you ever change?]

Crushed violet eyes looked out on the splayed bodies. Stone rubble surrounded the tiny figure, curled into a ball.
Duo rocked slowly back and forth, his knees pulled up to his chest. His arms were wrapped tightly around them, and his mouth and nose were hidden behind them, so that only his wide cobalt eyes gazed out over his bony knee caps. Somewhere, a bell tolled.
It started slowly. It always started slowly. Blood welled up from the rocks, filling in between them like the cut on his thumb had. The blood would just slowly trickle its way over the burnt rubble of the church, creeping over the floor at a snails pace. Then the ground would be soaked with crimson, and the tiny bodies of the children would shift, being moved by the blood, floating just a little on the shallow pool. Duo was dimly aware that the red was soaking into his pants and shoes, but he still didn't move. He couldn't do anything but rock. Yes, it always started slow, but before long, it was racing towards him.
The blood was thick, and Duo struggled to keep his head above it. He felt the cold lump of an unknown body press into him, and he shoved it away with a strangled cry. The liquid was too thick for him to swim in, and it's stickiness was bringing him down. The bell tolled again: this time it's sound was warped, as though it were ringing underwater. Underblood.
When he saw that almost angelic figure moving towards him, he couldn't help but feel relief flood him. He reached an arm towards its bright light, but the blood was like hardening rubber now, stretchy and like elastic. He couldn't reach far enough. And the angel moved on, not able to hear the boy's hoarse, almost inaudible cries...

Sheets tangled around Duo's body as he came up, struggling for breath. Desperate cries came from his raw throat, but they produced no sound. Outside, someone was knocking on his door, telling him to shut up.

Summer passed into autumn.
[Oh, but you'll plead with me now,
you always stay.]

A few months later found Duo working on L-4. There hadn't been a mission in a few weeks, and so he had picked up his job as a space sweeper again. Sally had e-mailed him, telling him that there had been rumors of a possible conspiracy mounting in colony V50677, within the L-4 cluster, and had asked him to check it out for her.
When he had finished packing, he heard the footsteps coming towards his door. He knew then. He hadn't been panicky, but he knew now. The knight in shining white Gundam had come. Finally. Only he was too late. Duo laughed. How perfect. He was too late, and he didn't even have a Gundam anymore.
Heero saw the mark his hand had left on Duo's pasty white skin. Even though the bruise has healed, one of the cuts the violent punch had caused Duo had sutured himself to help it heal, and the thread had left stitch marks in his skin. Heero hadn't seen Duo since that time, and he said nothing about it. But something was somehow different. Duo tried to tell him to leave, but the words got no further than his throat, where they caught and stayed until Heero's forceful kiss pushed them back down. And like an addiction, Heero called to him again, as strongly as ever. And Duo knew that he had surrendered any hope of escape then. His fight was over, and the perfect soldier had won again. Mission completed.

[You give it one breath,
then you're taking it all away.]

But that day Heero didn't leave. He just lay there, with a curious look to his eyes. Duo gazed at him. The long-haired boy wanted to laugh, but it didn't come. Nothing did.
The American gazed blankly at the ceiling and tried to come up with words or thoughts that made any sense to him, but he found it was just so much easier to remain silent. So he did. Inside and out, Duo remained still. Heero lay beside him, breath coming in short pants, prussian eyes studying the boy next to him. Duo vaguely wondered what it was he saw. Did he see an ex-Gundam pilot, broken by war, then by love, then by peace? Did he see a whore, willing to give his body over without asking for payment in return? Did he see the tired, hollowed out shell that Duo had become? Did he see a corpse...?
Whatever it was that Heero saw, he didn't comment on it. But Duo never expected him to. So without knowing the damage they were doing to one another, they lay there and let their wounds bleed inside.

[What is this love that holds me captive in your eyes?
Well I wish I had the strength to leave it all behind.
What's done is done, and you do not give a damn.
Just another heartfelt blow by your careless hands.]

The minutes passed away. Day and night passing one another again, just by a moment. And in Duo's head, the gears turned, yet nothing came. Shinigami was down again in battle, and there was no one there to repair it. Every machine has its limitations.

After everything that had happened, Heero had never noticed. He didn't notice that night, nor the day after, nor the next time he saw Duo. He never noticed that he was holding a doll that had been played with one too many times, and was now broken beyond repair. Everything had been taken and used, and now there was nothing clear or clean left. There was just a hollow smile now, and blank violet eyes. A warm body and cold fingers.

Duo cradled his lover's body in his arms. He was tired, but sleep would be long in coming. Heero's arm was tucked possessively around his waist, his head resting against the jut of Duo's collar bone. Warm breath flowed over the American's skin. In the night, his unnaturally bright violet eyes glistened out into the darkness, unblinking, unnoticing as silent tears tracked down uncaring cheeks, soaking into the pillow his head rested on. In his arms, his lover slept on, unknowing.


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Thank you to everyone who ever gave me feed back. I appreciate it still, and maybe one day I'll finish all those unfinished GWing projects in my folders.