Author's note: I am back, muha. Anyways this little bit of my story will be split into two or three parts all about the change of view they all go through... blah blah blah. Once again thanks for the awesome reviews, I seriously mean it when I say they're awesome because they are, each and every one of them.

The day was dying and the sun was setting. A sense of calmness drifted over all those who accepted it and it brought upon such a silence, one that nobody had experienced before. All was well in the city where the Mafia ruled over all and played such a huge role in everyone's lives. That is, except for one man in particular.

Only two days had passed after the mansion incident and Athrun Zala, son of the great Don of the PLANTs, was still feeling the pain. It wasn't physical pain, but it was both emotional pain and mental pain, all from the loss of a friend he had once spoke so casually to, but was now nothing more than an enemy.

He hadn't slept for forty-eight hours and was now feeling the side effects. A massive headache accompanied by the want for sleep drove him crazy as he fought both of them, refusing to let himself slip into the world of dreams, fearing that they would turn into nightmares and the bitter truth.

Athrun looked like a disaster and nobody dared to question him while he locked himself in his room. His hair was a mess of blue and he hadn't changed his clothes since that night, the one he despised with all his heart and wished had never happened.

Yet again he was denying the truth. How many times had he done this within these two excruciating long days? It had been more than enough to drive Athrun over the edge, but he couldn't help it. There was no way that Kira could be dead even though he saw that house burn down and didn't even see a single sign that his former friend had made it out alive.

While wrapped up in such sorrowful thoughts, Athrun failed to notice his bedroom door being opened. He kept his head low, almost to the bed sheets scrunched up underneath his rump, and even as he heard hard foot falls on his wooden floor, he refused to look at whoever it was.

Patrick Zala stood over his son's slouched form and narrowed his eyes, shooting invisible icicles at the weeping boy's body. He noted how awful and messy he looked and placed a strong hand on his shoulder. This brought forth no reaction from Athrun, causing the Don's terrible temper to rise tremendously.

"Weakling."

His bitter words bit Athrun a million times harder than they were supposed to. Athrun cringed when they sunk in and fell to the floor roughly when the Don used his hand that rested on his son's shoulder to send him flying.

"What does this have to do with the incident that happened two days ago? I'll tell you what, absolutely nothing!"

"Father I-"

"You are a disgrace showing such weakness. Quit arguing with me and get dressed into something more proper. I want you to be present when Crueset comes by and don't even dream of showing yourself with such a look stupidity on your face. Understood?"

Athrun looked at the floor instead of answering his father's questions and was rewarded with another push, this one not being so hard and cruel.

"Understood?"

The Don knew Athrun would do nothing but protest and left the room as quickly as possible in a fit of rage. He slammed Athrun's door with so much force that it almost ripped the poor thing off of its hinges.

Athrun didn't even budge as he stared blandly at the floor. He knew that if he didn't attend that meeting that he would probably be run out of the Mafia or punished severely.

"Kira..."

Slowly, his head turned to face the door and it brought forth memories that he had purposely tried to forget. How they resurfaced was beyond him, but when images began to flash inside of his mind he wished that they hadn't come back.

Athrun pressed the palms of his hands up against the window of his father's red car as they sped away from Kira's house. He helplessly watched as his friend ran after them, his new birdcage with the tiny green bird inside of it tucked securely under his arm while he reached for the car with his free one.

His father had yelled at him and told him to sit down, but he refused to. In turn the would be Don of the PLANTs stepped on the gas and forced the car to depart faster from the crying boy behind them. It was the last thing Athrun saw before the car rounded a corner and his friend was lost to him forever.

That night when he eventually returned home, Athrun went straight to his room and stared at the ceiling for who knew how long. He felt paralyzed as he lay on top of his bed, numb from the pain that was slowly setting in.

A sob escaped from his mouth, followed by many others. Tear after tear spilled from his emerald eyes and stained his pillow permanently, even thought they were invisible they remained there as a painful reminder. At least it forced Athrun to move.

The first thing he had done that night besides wallow in a hole of sadness was search for a phone. When he had found one laying around, the ten year old took it back to his room and dialed Kira's number.

"Hello?" A man with a wise voice, Kira's dad, answered.

"Is Kira-"

The door slammed open, revealing a very angry Patrick Zala. He ripped the phone out of his small hands and smashed it onto the floor, shattering it into a hundred tiny little pieces.

Athrun watched as each part of the phone hit the floor and closed his eyes as loud noises filled his ears when the only link to Kira was ripped from him. It was like getting your heart ripped out.

"Father, why?"

"You are not aloud to see that boy anymore, Athrun. He is nothing but scum under your feet."

"No father."

His son's disagreement shocked Patrick. He became angered rather quickly but left the room before it could escalate into anything worse. That left Athrun all to himself as he stared at the door, wishing that Kira could be there with him.

Of course, that would never happen.

Athrun walked across the room and gently picked up a photograph of Kira and himself playing a game of basketball. It was a happy picture and Athrun wanted nothing more than to go back in time and relive that event and cherish it more than he already had.

Athrun felt one last tear slip off his face. It splashed onto the picture and created a wet mark. He cleaned it off with his sleeve and lay down, into his bed.

Silently and soundlessly, Athrun rolled over and carefully placed the picture under his feathered pillow, hoping for better times.

He never removed it. Not even once.

Athrun shook his head lightly and raised himself off of the floor. He looked at himself in a mirror positioned in the far left corner near his closet and checked himself over. He really was awful.

His father's voice came from down the hall, shouting his name. Athrun removed himself from in front of the mirror and sat back down on his bed. He buried his face deep into his pillow and wanted to stay like this, but lifted his head when the Don's footsteps came closer and closer to his room.

The blue haired mobster reached under his pillow and grabbed for the picture of them playing basketball. When his fingers wrapped around the edges, Athrun withdrew it and walked over to an old looking bulletin board. He quickly tacked it up and left the room in a hurry, not even remembering that his father wanted him to look presentable.

For once in over six years the picture was out from under Athrun's pillow and now hung where it had when things had been peaceful.