Aurora Borealis

My Heart in You:

The ride home is quiet, as far as that sort of thing goes. Dearka and Yzak cramped together for several hours is usually a noisy and rather violent affair, but tonight is calm. Of course, Dearka has no doubts that this is largely due to his aunt's presence; his pale friend can behave when he needs to, a fact easily forgotten because he so seldom wants to.

Dearka too, like any well-educated and well-brought up son of an important family, can act pleasant and polite, but where Yzak draws a strict line between brat and gentleman, Dearka enjoys exploring the limits, testing the boundaries of society's rules.

Here in the car, under Aunt Elthman's not-so-watchful eyes in the rear mirror, Yzak does not show his elbow into Dearka's ribs like he normally would when faced with the other boy sliding an arm around him. The blonde smirks; Yzak refuses to learn the subtle ways, is always everything or nothing. Since he isn't beating the living shit out of Dearka, he is a warm, pliant weight allowing itself to be draped over the other. The feel of Yzak is agitated but tired – the first is usual, the other not so. And why indeed, his friend did seem surprisingly taken by the whole Kira deal. Hardly fair, considering that Dearka's the one who lost fifty lovely bucks that could have earned him a whole lot of stuff much more enjoyable than Yzak's cheeky, self-satisfied grin.

That, however, is an expression Dearka is infinitely more fond of than the troubled, weary one presently gracing his friend's face. Of course, most of all he likes to tease…

Yzak tenses but makes no sound as Dearka's fingers push underneath his sweater to probe his side, from sharp hip to thin ribs, searching for the ticklish spots that have to be there somewhere. Dozens of failed attempts to find them would have discouraged a less dedicated man, but Dearka refuses to give up. It just can't be right for Yzak to be completely immune to this when he himself has been totally defeated so many times by a few light touches to ticklish places. Despite mocking him for that, his friend rarely uses that technique, supposedly because it's just too easy, but when he does Dearka is reduced to a howling, begging, laughing, crying, desperate mess in no more than moments.

One of these days he's going to get his revenge for those numerous disgraceful defeats, but though Yzak squirms against his hand, finally catching it through the fabric of his clothes, it seems it won't be today. Which doesn't mean he's giving up. After a little bit of struggling he manages to slip out of Yzak's hard but cloth-hampered grip, and decides to ensure there won't be a new one by sliding his other arm around his friend's front, embracing him completely. He has to lean over rather heavily to do it, but successfully pins Yzak's left hand between their legs (thank god it's such a small car that the backseat's cramped even with just two people in it) and grabs onto the right one, entwining their fingers to ensure the pale-haired boy can't get loose.

He has to fight down laughter as Yzak struggles, furiously but fruitlessly. Dearka has a good grip, and tonight his friend lacks his usual fire.

Fire, indeed, the intoxicating drought of victory is hot on his tongue as Yzak finally jerks under his hand, biting his lip in what can only be interpreted as a desperate means to stop some rather loud and more than rather rude exclamation. Dearka muffles his snickers against Yzak's neck, grateful that his aunt spares them little or no attention. Now, where exactly did he gain such a reaction from? He's about to find out when the tables turn, Yzak having freed the hand pinned between them sufficiently to pinch. Dearka yelps against the soft skin of his friend's neck, getting silver-white hairs in his mouth. Yzak shudders a little as the sudden exhalation hits him just below the jaw but doesn't stop his dirty attack. Army regulations have kept his nails short, but they're viciously sharp all the same, attached to fingers made strong from endless hours of wielding weapons.

Mentally cursing, Dearka tries to regain the upper hand, fingers skimming wildly over Yzak's chest in search of that winning spot, but his ego folds in defeat under his pain as the next pinch hits his bottom.

"Why you…!" he mumbles close to Yzak's ear as his hands still.

"Fucking jerk," his friend replies, he too tilting his head to speak quietly but still be heard. Thankfully he also stops his attacks, rescuing the formerly pinned hand and dropping it in his lap. "I'm not in the mood." That much is plain to see, since if now were anywhere near normal he'd deliver a swift blow and pull away until finally offering an apology in the form of some painkillers or a gruff offer to look over the bruise, not slump against Dearka, silver-white head on the other's shoulder, no attempts to remove the hand still clutched in the darker boy's. Dearka doesn't need much time to decide that he can live with this; his arm around Yzak's back relaxes until his hand rests against the other's stomach, still underneath his sweater, feeling the gentle movement of breathing under his finger-pads.

"What is it?" he asks, still whispering, leaning his cheek against the top of Yzak's head.

At first the other only huffs, but a couple of streetlights later he says, "It was weird. Seeing that… Kira or whatever. Traitor. And how Athrun."

"Yeah." It surprised him too, to be sure. Not the part about the pilot being a fellow Coordinator, but certainly the history with Athrun. "It might've been worse if a natural could handle Strike, though."

Yzak snorts. "Then at least it wouldn't have been a betrayer! How could he turn his back on PLANT?"

Dearka shrugs a little, unsure just why his friend is taking this so much to heart; it doesn't sound like the kind of rants he normally gives about people who've beaten him. "I'm sure Athrun will cure him of that."

The other tenses in his arms, and he can suddenly feel his pulse beating beneath the smooth skin of his stomach. "That's worse! How can he ever be trusted again? He left Athrun already!"

It doesn't seem like the right time for a comment about how Yzak is not in the habit of caring for the blue-haired boy. "I assure you," he says instead, "that it'll snow in hell before you get rid off me."

Fortunately that's when the car stops, his aunt undoing the safety-belt and killing the engine – were it not for that distraction, Dearka is very certain that Yzak would have belted him a good one, audience or not. Now he stops at delivering a furious glare before climbing out of the vehicle.

"Thank you so much for the ride, Ms Elthman."

He has no parting words for Dearka and disappears very swiftly after speaking, but he does pick up the phone when Dearka calls later in the evening. Long experience has taught the darker blonde that his friend is vastly easier to talk to like this, through one of the old-fashioned cells that connects only voices. Deprived of all physical expressions, Yzak's words and tone freely pour out emotion.

It's one of the few things Dearka's never teased him about, and they've probably talked for at least three hours before deciding to meet in the park midway between their houses tomorrow.

Upon arriving there and seeing his friend, Dearka can tell at once that the practically purring Yzak from last night isn't whom he meets. There are good days and bad days, and when they're at home those are clearer than otherwise where Yzak is concerned. The stiff set of his face screams Bad Day at Dearka even before he registers the high neck and long arms on the dark sweater, the baggy pants not wholly covering the rigidity of the steps.

He's met Yzak's mother, a nice lady spoiling her son rotten but having sky-high expectations of him. However, through all the years, he's never ever heard a single word about his friend's father. Which, he thinks sometimes, could perhaps explain a lot of things.

xxxxx

"Kira," Athrun says softly as fast as Le Klueze has closed the door behind him, right hand hovering tentatively in the air. Brown head falls forward in a nod, and they move about until they're sitting face to face, solemnly. Only then does Kira take hold of his hand and place it against his heart, leaving Athrun to do the same with his. The increasing beat below his palm and Kira's fingers pressed against his chest are part of a connection the traditions of which originates from the first weeks they were roommates.

Some silly misunderstanding or other had led to an argument which left them both miserable. "Mom says the truth is the same in almost everyone's hearts, though," Kira confessed, and from that it wasn't far to see if she was right. Athrun has long since lost count of how many nightmares and bruises and holidays apart have been made all right by linking their bodies in this childishly comforting way.

It's sufficient, even now, to wash away the conflicts and close the distances. Athrun feels…sappy. This is admiration and attraction, certainly, but also love without the demand of instincts, in love without the girls and flowers and blushes.

He wonders, briefly, if the goofy grin he suspects he sports is half as endearing as Kira's. Briefly, since he can only admire it during the few moments before he leans forward and presses their mouths together. It's a very nice feeling, getting only better, and it's not very long at all until Kira's half-lying against the headboard, Athrun bending over him with an arm at each side of his neck.

Absently, he decides it's a very good thing he's never had any literary ambitions, for any attempt to describe his feelings would contain far too much love and bliss and perfection to be anything but utterly unreadable, but it remains fact that it's more than how they touch, more than the mad beating of both their hearts. Somewhere in the heated kisses lies serenity. Never knew I was such a would-be poet. It might have made a greater impact if he could focus on anything but Kira right now.

Kira, who breaks the mood by giving a sudden yelp, startling Athrun from his occupation with his neck. Sure, he was nibbling, but he was certain it wasn't hard enough to hurt. It turns out, when he backs off sufficiently to get an overview of the situation, that his assessment in that was correct – what has Kira complaining is the way he has somehow pressed the IVs too deeply into his arm.

Laughing a little, still too comfortable to be embarrassed, Athrun sits up to let his friend relive the limb in question of pressure.

"Do I still need to keep these?"

"I doubt it." After all, the needles supplying water-based nutrition and pain-killing substances are no longer necessary, and the rest of them are only for measurements, displaying pulse and the like. "Here, let me take them out for you."

Returning the sweet, uncertain smile fluttering over Kira's face with a slightly more confident one of his own, he accepts the obligingly offered arm and puts his nimble soldier's fingers to use reliving it of the needles. After the twin limb's undergone the same treatment, they end up lying face to face on the bed, curled together. There are a lot of words, but Athrun doesn't really pay attention to them; what is offered and accepted, chiefly, is "I love you", and, a little later, "Tell me everything."

"After you left," Kira says, "I didn't stay long. Just to take the last few tests to get the year's exams. My parents, they wanted me home; the war was approaching, I guess, and they weren't very comfortable having me in a military prep. school. They're very pacifist, so Orb was a natural choice. We lived in the capital for a while, then moved to Heliopolis.

"Everything there was so normal it was almost numb. Almost everyone there was a natural, and they thought we were too. I went to this public school, on a technical education. I sort of made friends with some people, too." He gives a small, miserable laugh. "I never dreamed they'd stand up for me even after they found out I was a Coordinator. I mean, I'd known them for a fairly long time, and I never told them, never brought them home, never really… got close. They did, though. Stick with me, I mean.

"It was just an ordinary day, when the war came. I was doing some work for one of the professors and there was this big explosion. Everything was in a panic, and I got separated when I tried to help this visiting girl. Somehow we ended up in the factory where the G-units where, and Captain Ramius was about to get shot, and I called out, and then you were there, though I couldn't believe it actually was you at the time… After, she got into Strike, and pushed me in too, and we were attacked." He takes a deep, shuddering breath; obviously very upset to give away the identity of the Archangel's captain like that. "She couldn't pilot it, so I did.

"That seems to be the way it goes, you know. They can't do it by themselves, and they don't deserve to suffer, so I do it for them. Only time it was different was when Lacus Clyne-san was there. I don't want to think it's because she's a Coordinator too that she understood things the way she did, but… Oh god, she said she was engaged to you." Kira tenses under his hands, voice carrying a note of hysterical laughter – clearly this would be the right moment for brunette to pause and get some sort of explanation. However, it's equally clear that he's much too upset for that, words continuing to pour out of him. For the next hour or so Athrun holds and hugs and sooths a Kira crying out how lonely he was, and how afraid, and angry and frustrated, and I missed you so much, and I couldn't believe I had to fight against you but I suppose you had your reasons and I couldn't just leave them to die not that I'd have probably survived if I did and it was horrible everything was horrible and Athrun please never disappear.

He feels like crying himself when tightening his grip around Kira, pressing the other's face against his neck and whispering lofty, achingly sincere promises of forever into his ear. At length a little wiggling and a soft kiss laid on his mouth announces that his… friend doesn't really seem like the right word… has cried himself out. The purple eyes are still glossy with tears, but Athrun has known him long and well enough to wager that not all of those are due to grief.

"You?" Kira says against his face. He nods, he too needing the reassurance and bond of knowledge between them.

"I was sent to an even more elitist and advanced military school in PLANT, at my father's insistence, though without actually joining ZAFT, at my mother's. It was kind of… very empty, without you there. Then came Junius Seven."

The time that has passed since the incident has turned Athrun's voice to ice when he speaks of it – sharp, brittle, transparent, cold, light, most of all numb. Kira snuggles closer, leaving him uncertain as to whether he feels better because of the increased closeness or due to the fact that his old friend is attempting to comfort him. It works, so perhaps it doesn't much matter.

"I'm sorry," Kira says. "I'm sorry that happened. I'm sorry your mother was there."

She was far from the only person he lost there, but this is not the time for that.

"That was when you joined ZAFT?"

Athrun shrugs a little. Speaking hurts. "My mother was against war, my father for it. She's the one who died, though."

"Your father never liked naturals." The quiet sentence is a number of acute, demanding questions, and Athrun is not in the habit of denying or deceiving Kira.

"He considers them relics from a past era that should be weeded out. I'm a bit more discriminating. I only aim for the destruction of EA. Naturals are no more inherently bad than Coordinators. It seems a tad stupid to entrust them with advanced war-technology, however."

"The people on the Archangel aren't bad," Kira replies.

"They are part of EA," Athrun argues with the same quiet conviction that could be found in the other's tone. "EA isresponsible for Junius Seven and for the war."

"Do you hate them?"

Athrun considers. "No," he says at length. As for now, he doesn't. The cold, hard darkness rising in him sometimes is kept under control, only allowed to come forward every now and then during battle when he needs the strength and ruthlessness it can give. Hatred is consuming and dangerous, and he tries to keep it at bay even when he thinks of his mother and thousands of innocents slaughtered and dumb naturals who are still intent on repeating such tragedies, of Kira gone and comrades dead. In the future, if they fight him long and hard enough or if they steal Kira away from him, then he might very well hate the crew of the Archangel. Now, with them far away and Kira here and caring for them, he does not.

"I'm glad. What happened then?"

"After graduation I was accepted to ZAFT:s elite forces, soon directed to the Le Klueze team. The war went along, you know what that's like." He's short and non-graphic about that, would like to say it's because this isn't the right place for the soldiers he's killed or seen die, for the pain and loneliness in a struggling space, but he carries that with him everywhere – suffice, then, to say that he won't let it out to taint this moment. Taint? It's part of who he is. A small part, much lesser than the part embracing Kira and loving him in the infirmary now. "My father furthers his political ambitions, and, eh, he and Mr Clyne, also of high standing in the Supreme Council, decided to engage me and Lacus Clyne.

"It's completely arranged. I hardly know her. I mean, I've met her ten times, tops." He smiles, can't help smiling now even though he probably shouldn't, still not through explaining his betrothal to his… friend? boyfriend? "And now I obviously need to speak to her."

Kira attempts to smile back but is hindered by a yawn. "She was nice," he mumbles. "God, I'm tired."

Athrun casts a glance at the clock on the wall. "Well, it's 9 PM, and it's been a hectic day. Look, how are you feeling? With the potion, I mean." The very idea of it, particularly the idea that it's currently in his Kira, still sickens him, and worry has him fixating the brunette's tired face with a most watchful look.

"It's like… Like I'm going in slow motion, but it doesn't hurt or anything. And either it's letting up or I'm getting used to it, for it was worse at first. I'm fine, Athrun, just a little sleepy."

"Maybe you should go to bed."

"I am in bed. I've been all day."

"You know what I mean."

Kira grins a little, disentangling and tucking himself in beneath the coverlet. "You too?" Ostensibly it's worded as a question, but Athrun thinks it'd be more truthful to call it either a demand or a prayer. Not that he minds, not in the slightest. Stripping down to unbelted pants and undershirt he too takes place in the bed. For one person it's rather large, but with two occupants it's about as narrow as the prep. school beds they used to curl up on.

"How'd I get here anyway?" Kira asks sleepily.

"One of my comrades found you on an abandoned satellite when he went there to investigate an eventual battle against the Archangel. He didn't find any traces of the ship, but you were there, hurt and half unconscious."

"And he rescued me and brought me here, just like that?"

"Apparently you said something to him. Remember?" Because, yeah right he did. This is Yzak we're talking about doesn't seem a proper reply.

"…"

Which probably means that Kira has fallen soundly asleep. Which is a good thing, and what he should try and do too.

xxxxx