It had been three years. It had taken me three years to get to this point. And people call me fearless. I knew where he was. How could I not? At first, I told myself it was only logical to keep track of the other pilots. Keep tabs on those who could pose threats to the world that we had worked so hard to save. One person learning how to manipulate...
I'm so chill, no wonder its freezing
I'm so still, I just can't keep my fingers out of
anything
But in reality, I was lying to myself. I wanted to keep track of them because they were my friends. I kept tabs on them because I wanted to know how they were doing. After six months, I began the visits. First was Trowa.
He was easy to follow. The circus posted their performances on a website. Albeit, it wasn't the safest thing for a troupe containing one of the Earth Sphere's best terrorists, but whoever the circus folk couldn't take care of, the lions would deal with. The lions always liked Trowa.
It had been a while since my stay with Heavyarms' pilot, but everyone seemed to remember me the moment I set foot onto the grounds. They even welcomed me with open arms and smiles. This was shocking, considering that I would have killed them all at one time if the mission requested it, but none of them knew that. What was more shocking was the greeting Catherine gave me. I was almost knocked off the ground from her hug. I wonder when she had gotten so strong. Trowa was in good hands.
I'm so cool, too bad I'm a loser
I'm so smart, too bad I can't get anything figured
out
Next was a trip out to L-4 to see the Winners, and more importantly the Magurnacs. It seems so unreasonable to be pulled aside at a spaceport security checkpoint, only to be pulled away by Mr. Winner's personal bodyguards, but you do what's necessary when dire needs come to attention. It had been about six months since I visited Trowa at the circus, but Quatre was expecting me. I should have figured those two would keep in touch.
Once, I was allowed to spend some time on one of the family's holdings on Earth. At the time, I asked Quatre why they needed so many houses. He laughed and joked, "With twenty-nine sisters, my father needed someplace to send them all." I didn't think it was very funny at the time, but then I met some of the female Winners. It wasn't so funny after all. I wondered during the war how so gentile a creature could be fearless when faced with an arm of mobile dolls, but I'd rather face all of OZ's Tauruses at once rather then spend a day with twenty-nine Winners. Childhood was nothing more then training for battle.
I'm so brave, too bad I'm a baby
It was back to Earth after that. Back to Sanq, where the overly-eager arm of the Queen of the World awaited me. I really have nothing against Relena, but I don't think I would ever want someone who needed me that much. That isn't love, its codependency. If the fledgling romance we had in the war were to have gone anywhere, it would have been sick and perverted. Also borderline abusive, on her part. I didn't need any more abuse in my life, whether it was intended or not.
I'm so sane, it's driving me crazy
After avoiding the Perfect Stalker, as I secretly called her post-Marimeia Incident, I made my way to Preventer Headquarters to see Wufei. It was almost two years after he joined the substitute army, and he had adjusted well to the more domestic way of "fighting the world's injustice." His language had even cleaned up. He had really matured into a well-adjusted individual. Working with Sally had been good for him. He had loosened up noticeably and was actually glad to see me. But that was mostly because he was looking for recruits.
I'm so fly, that's probably why it
Feels just like I'm falling for the first time
Since the fighting had ended, I'd lived off of money I procured as a defensive measure. Siphoning funds from Romfeller helped the war efforts considerably and gave me something to sustain me in my post-solider days, but I was getting restless. Up until now, that's what I had convinced myself of. In reality, I was putting off the inevitable. The last pilot to visit.
I'm so green, it's really amazing
I'm so clean, too bad I can't get all the dirt off of
me.
Which brings me to now, sitting in a dim, rundown bar on L-2 in my Preventer's Uniform, trying to blend into the shadows and nursing a glass of something that tastes more like malted piss rather then alcohol, but what could I expect in a place like this? They could barely afford the water to go into the drinks, why would good whiskey be any different? Probably didn't get much call for anything refined past grit, but then again, you didn't come to places like this to savor the drinks. You came to kill brain cells, and that's what I intended to do.
A month ago, he ran out on his wedding. His wedding. I don't know what hurt me more; the fact that he was getting married or the fact that it wasn't me standing at the front of the church promising him forever. I didn't even know the girl. It wasn't that one who smuggled us data during the war, it was some blonde with big breasts. For an American it would seem the ideal women, but he left her standing in a church full of people, billowy white dress cascading around her, and came back here. To a place where dreams don't come true. Here, there are no princes on white horses. There are no ivory towers. There's nothing except drugs, rape, and dirt. This was his childhood.
It's so strange, I can't believe it
Feels just like I'm falling for the first time
Now he's standing fifteen feet away, the closest he's been since we last met on Peacmillion, playing pool and drinking beer, and I can't even get up and talk to him. He was once my friend and partner, but I lost touch with him. I can't even place the blame on the braided baka. I was the one who didn't reply to e-mail. I was the one who didn't answer my phone. I was the one who lost touch.
I'm so thrilled to finally be failing
Trowa once told me that alcohol was full of "Dutch courage." That night, almost two-and-a-half years ago, we sat around a campfire sharing a bottle of scotch and memories of the war. Who would have thought something so violent could have caused something so fun? That was the night that I realized my heart broke not six months before. After Marimeia, when I watched my former partner's braid bounce onto a shuttle to L-2. He was going to live with Hilde again. Domestic bliss. Even then the thought raised bile to my mouth.
Anyone perfect must be lying, anything easy has its
cost
Anyone plain can be lovely, anyone loved can be lost
So I was in love with Duo Maxwell. That I could deal with, but patching the rift that my non-communication had caused wasn't something I could deal with, so I did what Duo would do. I hid. I ran from the problem, because that was the only solution that made sense. They once called me the perfect solider. I knew that it was meant to tease, and perhaps hurt every once in a while, but it didn't. I'd never had a nickname before, and it fit. Not even Odin gave me a name, let alone a term of endearment. I was the kid. The fact that my fellow pilots thought enough of me to dub me anything was rewarding. It was nice to have friends. But now I couldn't even live up to that.
I thought that if I didn't see the self-named Shinigami, then I wouldn't be in love with him anymore. I even suspected it worked, until I was sent to L-2 to straighten out a power struggle between several of the local gangs and I caught a glimpse of him again. It wasn't a long one. It wasn't even a good look, but it was more then enough to send shivers running through my body and cause my heart to race. So I'm a sucker for blue-violet eyes, I can't help it.
Someone once told me that I have cobalt eyes. I didn't know what cobalt was, so I looked it up. My childhood training never went past the basics: red, blue, yellow, cyan, magenta, green, etcetera. It was used to describe a type of blue glass that almost glows purple when the light reflects off it correctly. My eyes are definately not cobalt, even though it is a shade of blue. Cobalt is more vibrant then my eyes. More lively. Mine are a dull grey-blue. Cobalt is Duo's eye color. Sometimes the brightest blue, like the clear sky moments before a summer sunrise, and sometimes as violet as the flower. That's cobalt blue. Mine are Prussian blue. Named after a fallen empire. Duo's glass, I'm an ex-country. Seems fitting somehow.
I was working on my third double whiskey sour. Yeah, a mixed drink, but they didn't have scotch to put on the rocks, and I hate whiskey straight. Even now, it still tastes like distilled urine, and I'm still glued to my seat. So much for Dutch Courage.
What if I lost my direction? What if I lost sense of
time?
What if I nursed this infection? Maybe the worst is
behind
"Hey Charlie, can I get another beer?" Duo's moved over to the bar now, waving his empty beer bottle at the bartender. He seems so at ease, albeit not happy. Me, I just try and shrink back into the shadows. Hoping to escape notice for yet another moment.
'Sure thing Duo, just gimme a sec,' the short-haired blond calls back as he finishes pouring the caramel-colored shot.
"'Kay." That's all he says in response. So he'll be here for a minute. I can hide that long. But then he shocks me. He doesn't even look over, he just stares straight ahead, at the bottles full of hard alcohol, leaning of there counter and purred in that low seductive voice that made me cringe during the war, "So are you going to stay there in that corner all night, Yuy, or are you going to come play a game of pool with me?"
I'm so done, turn me over cause it
Feels just like I'm falling for the first time
That was it. No "Heero you bastard why didn't you call?" No "I can't believe you followed me here." Nothing, just the challenge.
"Maybe after I finish my glass of distilled piss," I reply snidely. I wanted to say that all night. I knew he'd appreciate it, and he did.
Anything plain can be lovely, anything loved can be
lost
With a little chuckle and a smirk he replied, "I wouldn't have pegged you for a whiskey man Heero." He began to approach me, like a predator stalking its prey. This was the Duo I knew I could handle. Any moment he was going to reach out and smack me. He had three years of frustrations to let out, and I could take them all. But instead of the fight I was expecting, he set out to confuse me more. Wrapping his long, slender, well-worked fingers around my glass, he pulled what precious courage I had left out of my grasp and drained it in a single drink. "Mixed too. I would have figured you to be someone to take it straight up. Well, looks like your drink's done."
Maybe I lost my direction, what if our love is the
cost?
"Seems so." That was all I could manage with him that close. So sue me; I was horny, and the star of all my wet dreams for the past three years was six inches from me. Even the perfect solider couldn't stand up to that pressure.
"Hey Charley, another beer for my friend too." It seemed like nothing to add me to his order. Like he wanted me to be there as much as I did. But then he turned and walked away, back to the game, and all I could do was follow.
He set the ball up with a practiced ease, in perfect regulation order, before looking up, his fingers still on the triangle. For the first time in three years, our eyes met. Cobalt meeting Prussian. Glass meeting empire, each as fragile as the other. "Let's make this interesting," he smirked. "If I win, you tell my why the fuck you're here. And if you win, I'll tell you why I left Lindy. Deal?" Something in the statement made me think that the two answers were related. I think he knew it too, but neither of us acknowledged that.
"Deal."
"Good. You break." He tossed me a cue stick, the right length too, and set the eight ball a spin with a cocky grace. I knew that was another challenge. Hit the balls before it stops spinning, so I did what I should have done all along. I dove in, hitting the scuffed-up white ball straight for the solid yellow. A dull thud, some loud clanking, and then the soft brush of air as one went into a pocket. "Looks like you're stripes Hee-chan."
Anyone perfect must be lying, anything easy has its
cost
"Hn," was all I said in response. A simple non-committal grunt. I didn't need to say more. Not yet. I had my next move all planned out. I just had to move into the right position...thud...clank...whoosh...and it was over. Looks like the Dutch Courage finally kicked in.
Anyone plain can be lovely, anyone loved can be lost
"You just lost." He seemed in shock.
"Aa."
"You did that on purpose."
"Aa."
What if I lost my direction? What if I lost sense of
time?
"So you gonna pay up? And I don't want any bullshit about a Preventer's mission, 'cause that don't explain nothing about why you're here now." Now he was flustered. Like I would feed him a line of bullshit anyway.
What if I nursed this infection?
Mustering the rest of my courage, real and false, I looked him in the eyes again. The energy around us was almost tangible with unresolved sexual tension. Something that had been building since we were fifteen, and something our nineteen-year-old bodies could barely handle, or at least that's what I felt. One deep breath and then out with it...
Maybe the worst is behind
"Oi, Duo. This ain't a hotel. If you want your beers ya gotta come get 'em." Why do people in the food service industry pick the worst moments to talk to you? Are they trained to do that?
"K'so," I heard him swear under his breath. He swore in Japanese. How...cute. "Yeah I'll be there in a minute. Heero..." Whatever he had to say wasn't that important anyway. At least I hope it wasn't, because he didn't get a chance to say the rest.
"I love you." There I said it. Nimru kanryu.
It's amazing what those three little words, eight letters, did to him. He stopped, his jaw dropped, and he looked at me, but only for a moment. The initial shock. Then his mouth shut, twisting it's self into a smirk, his beautiful eyes sparkling at me. "Yeah, me too. Wait a sec. I'll go get the beers."
It feels just like I'm falling for the first time
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