30 Kisses (2x6x2)
Goodbye, My Friend
Pair: 6x2 (had to be fair to Z-chan, after all... .;)
Warning: male/male relationship, post-war, various Zechs-related spoilers for the series, the usual breed of angst, fluffy endings. Kind of.. cliché?
This theme is #2 - news; letter.
A man stands at a grave, his head bowed, the long flowing locks of a great blonde mane swaying in a soft breeze-cold, but somehow soothing. He stands there, tall, his body powerful, his expression thoughtful, his eyes shut tight to hold in some kind of faint unbearable pain. In his fist, clenched tight, is a letter. It is sealed in a standard envelope, addressed with the rough, damaged script of an ex-count, ex-prince, ex-lieutenant... and ex-soldier.
Carefully, as if with little air to his name, the man sighs, and slips his tragic, angry eyes open, eyes the color of a frozen lake in a place where no man has ever tread. He looks around him, taking yet another perimeter check, and bends down, kneeling in the snow. He shivers, a wave of doubt washing through his body before he tightly shakes his head, that mane trembling, and sets the envelope on the pedestal of the grave's tombstone. He frowns for a moment, in deep thought, and then lifts the envelope again, smoothing out the creases his tight fist had caused, silently desperate to clear away the agony in such a holy place... of rest.
Knowing his limits, the man sighs, drops the envelope, and walks away.
Some minutes later, a great breeze pulls though and the envelope flies into the wind only to tumble down on the sidewalk running through the cemetery a few feet away. Another man, a different man who had been walking down this sidewalk, headed for the same grave as the previous man, stops before the letter and looks down at it curiously.
The envelope reads in rough, damaged handwriting: mein Freund.
This new man knows the previous man very well, but not well enough to recognize the other's handwriting. He thinks nothing of the fact that he knew full well the other man would be here today and he was going to meet that said man at the grave, to confront him about some rather troubling feelings in just a little while... a little more... no, he wanted to confront the other man, the previous man, the sad and angry man about some feelings that have been driving him away from every human being he'd ever crossed paths with since the day the last of his family had died. He was upset, this new man, and very disturbed, and so when he ran into the letter, provocative and needy as it were, he thought nothing, no ill manner, in picking it up.
The man quirks a little smile, a small, but bright light, and shakes his head ruefully. "My friend?" the soft voice mutters. "I suppose I am a friend to a place like this." The last of the note is bitter and tinged with sheer regret.
He looks around, scratches a chin unshaven and raw, and sighs heavily. His incredibly long brown hair is threaded into a braid, his skin pale from lack of sun, his eyes bagged from lack of sleep, his clothes the deepest black from a life of sin... and his jeans have more shreds than fabric-which are neatly arranged with safety pins-his boots are thick, steel-toed, and the blackest black he could ever hope to find in the back streets of city life. But he is hardly gothic. He knows better than that, especially after all these years. He was death once, back in the war. When he was soldier. And you just don't obsess about the things that give you nightmares, no, you tend to run when you're a broken sobbing heap in your bed every night, clutching a pillow that provided all the comfort of barbed wire and HIV...
Of course now, for the first time in his life, he is a civilian. An unarmed one with no needs to carry a gun nor pretend to, and that makes all the difference for him. He has no friends. No real ones. He doesn't matter to anyone anymore.
He stares at the letter, trembling, and sighs lightly. He knows that he shouldn't, he knows it's not right, he knows it's rude... he knows it's not for him, but fingers peel back the sicker seal of the envelope and before he really knows it, the letter is unfolded and his eyes are roving the page.
When he reads the first to words, he takes a slight breath of air and leans against a nearby tombstone. The shade of a statue towering over him is comforting, and he inhales the scents of nature before plunging down into oblivion.
The letter reads:
Dearest Treize-
You confuse me. You have always-intentionally or not-confused me. I know that is a sad thing to say to a ghost, but honestly Treize... you left me with so many damned questions, and where do I find those answers? You made me die for you, back during the war. Twice. Once you ordered it from me, and the last... you stole my sanity away so that I would give it to you willingly.
I died for you twice.
So why am I still alive?
...And why are you dead? Hell, why did you have to die at all? You were supposed to be immortal, you're own breed of god for all of human history. You were supposed to rule the universe and everything in it. You were made for that, Treize, you were everything, you were always just like that.
You weren't supposed to die.
I was supposed to die.
And I lived.
And you... you're dead. Gone forever.
Sometimes I like to imagine that I hate you, because of that. Sometimes, I like to pretend so that it's easier to except the fact that you're dead and that you will never come back. It's very hard, though. Very hard, even though there are so many things I could hate you for. You're just a hard person to hate, even by me, maybe especially by me.
But I always did adore you, didn't I? I remember the way our fathers would look at us in that accusatory stare, contemplating, while we both sat in comfortable silence without a care in the world for anyone. You were always larger than life for me, always four years ahead and four steps behind, where you could see me clearly, where you could understand me, where I could do nothing about it.
I adored you. I wanted to be just like you. You were the brother I never had-a hero, a rival, and ultimately, a friend. When the Sanc Kingdom first fell and my parents died when I was six, my sister was taken away, and I was abandoned. I had no where to go and no where to run. I was lost and no one gave a damn, because who would care to take in an exiled prince being hunted down by an army of blood thirsty pigs without any regards to innocence? But then of course you found me like you always did, and you took me home, to your home, where you raised me under your wings and your family. You gave me my new name, you made me my new face, you made me that other person and turned me into a soldier. You made me into Zechs Marquise.
I know you trained me into war with little choice-after my first kill, I had no control, and I needed the taste of that vengeance stealing my soul away. I know you admired the beauty of it as well-you took me under your wing and had me join the very organization that had killed me in the first place so that I would destroy them from the inside out. Destroy him, and all he fucking had.
I killed him, and I did it face to face. You gave me his name and his location, Sank, where it all began, and I killed him. For years, I thought I would revel in it and enjoy it, maybe just once, for a little while, but it was just like all the others.
Nothing. I felt absolutely nothing. I felt... hollow. I felt wrong.
I was never meant to be a solider, Treize. You made me something I was never meant to be and that hurt. It hurt me so very badly... I hated it, and for a while, for a day... for a minute, maybe... I wanted-want-to hate you. But again, I could not.
So I left you instead.
I don't know why you said my name as you died. I don't know why you still think of me as your friend after what I did-both to you and to... everyone. I don't know why... I don't think I know anything anymore. I just...
I'm sorry, Trieze. I need to let go, and I need to move on. I can't do this anymore.
I can't miss you, hate you, love you forever. I can't. I just... I can't.
I'm sorry.
I've fallen for someone else. I didn't want it at first, I was so determined to be alone-everyone I'd loved had gotten hurt either by me or someone else, and that's not what I desired anymore. Every time I loved, things went bad, it always did, my entire life. But then I found out that this person who wanted me, that I also wanted... he felt the same way. He had the same problem. The same nightmares for the same reasons.
It felt good to know that I wasn't alone in my misery, and so after years-yes, years-of admiration... I let him in.
I let him know how I felt, and how he felt about me. I told him that I thought I loved him. Maybe.
He didn't say anything, he didn't know what to say, and so I don't know if it will work out or if I am once again left to brood here in my dark little corner where the dried blood keeps me company and the love is a distant thought. I don't know what's going to happen, I can't say anything for sure... I just, I don't know...
But it doesn't matter. I need to leave you in peace, and that's what I came to do today. I will never be free to love him unless I let you go.
I need to let you go. Need to, because... I guess I love you too. And I never want to hurt you.
Thank you for... being my friend.
Goodbye Treize. I'll see you on the other side.
-Milliard
The man reading the letter frowns in wonder and carefully folds it, slipping it back into its envelope. He looks around, ashamed that he read such a private thought, and steps away from the tombstone he'd been leaning against.
But then he catches sight of what name had been written on the stone and he chokes out a sour laugh. It says Treize Kushrenada; hero, friend, and father to many. It is a memorial, not a tombstone. It has the story of Treize's life etched in granite and bronze plating.
Gingerly, the man bends down, his braid slipping over his shoulder, and sets the envelope on the pedestal again. He puts rock on it so it won't fly away.
He stands there for a minute or two, contemplating. He doesn't know what to think.
The other man wanted him.
The other man said goodbye to Treize... so that he could have him.
So that they could be free.
He stands there, deep in his own thoughts, staring at the name on that stone, and he does not hear the steps of the other man approaching from behind, his name a breath on the other's lips.
"Duo..."
The man with the braid spins around and catches sight of the previous man, the one who had set the letter down on the pedestal in the first place. Unlike the man named Duo, the previous man with the long blonde hair wore white in every crevice and looked very much like the angel he was not.
Duo looks away, close to ashamed, but more... uncertain. "Zechs."
The previous man tilts his head to the side, the blonde mass shifting like liquid silk, and frowns deeply. He shakes his head. "It's all right," he speaks quietly. "I wanted you to read it, I wanted you to know... I'm not angry..."
Duo looks at him, his eyes shaken. "Did you mean it?"
"...mean what? The letter?"
"No, did you mean it when you said you... when you said you thought you could... when you thought you..." A tiny line forms between his brow as he grunts in frustration. "Zechs, do you-"
"Yes, Duo."
"-love me?" His eyes widen in comprehension as he hears the words two seconds too late. All the breath leaves him and he is stunned.
Zechs smiles softly, running a hand through his hair and sighs. Then he bends down and very lightly kisses Duo on the lips. "Yes," he says almost invisibly. "I think I love you."
"You mean it?"
A snort. "Yes."
"You're sure?"
Zechs grabs Duo, his arms winding around the other's body, mouths barely touching, breaths mingling. Duo simply stands there, waiting with uncertainty.
"Yes, Duo. I'm sure."
And he kisses Duo again, and Duo kisses back, where Treize could see them both, and know that his friend had finally found a home.