I stared.

No one was around to see, so I stared openly.

I committed the scars to memory, I stared so long and so hard that I'm sure that the lexicon of lines on his chest were imprinted onto the wrinkles of my brain.

I was disgusted.

I was in disbelief.

I was impressed.

He did that to himself?

Why?

Whose fault was it?

Mine?

I doubt it.

I sighed heavily, and sat, in the chair beside his bed.

I placed my elbows upon my knees and I held my head in my hands, watching his still form, trying to understand, wanting to understand, but missing everything entirely.

He shifted his position.

The medicine was wearing off, and he was becoming slightly mroe conscious of the world around him.

I decided then, was my time to leave, I didn't want to be the first one he saw when he awoke.

And I did not want to give an explanation for my prescence.

I stood, and adjusted the stiff jacket I usually wore, the high collar agitated my neck, and made me feel claustrophobic.

I spared one last glance at the shock of red hair attached to the head with eyes unseeing and made for my exit.

As I turned my back though, I heard a noise.

Like the clearing of one's throat.

"Yuu?"

Uncertainty was laced in the soft whisper of his voice, followed by the rustling of sheets as he hurried to cover his scarred, and previously bare chest.

"Yuu."

Not a question this time, a statement, more firm and frightened of what I saw.

I felt anger towards him in that moment.

He wanted to know if I saw, of course I did.

I'm not blind.

I saw, and I wanted, so badly, to yell at him for it, but I didn't.

Instead I carefully kept my expression blank, and looked back, over my shoulder, at his pathetic face.

When our eyes met, he knew, without me having to waste breath saying it, that I saw his crimes.

I saw them everywhere.

I saw the crusted blood, and the even fresher blood that seeped from the bandages wrapped, hastily, about his torso.

He knew, and he hung his head in shame.

His face burning red hot with guiltiness.

I scoffed, and swiftly turned around, bringing my gaze back to the door in front of me.

"You're weak Lavi."

I took a few strides, willing myself not to look back, and in a flurry of righteousness I flung open the door, and slammed it behind me.

As much as I tried to ignore it, I couldn't.

His soft and pleading voice, as I tried to run away, caught me.

"Yuu...wait..."

Everytime he says that name, my name, it brings me to my knees.

The sensitivity in which he said it made me want to cry, but I wouldn't.

I am not like him.

I'm strong.

I closed my eyes and leaned against the door, my head tilted slightly upwards.

Anger began to choke my windpipe, and cause my breath to come out in jagged gasps.

Damn him.

Damn him to hell.

--

I sat up in the pristine and white bed in the infirmary.

I stared at the door, willing for it to open and Yuu would run inside, demanding an explanantion, demanding something from me.

But nothing happened.

The reality of what had transpired became too real, and I had failed again.

I ran a shaking hand through my hair, and let a barely audible sigh escape my lips.

"Yuu..."

He had seen them.

He saw my scars.

Now he knew, he was the bane of my existence.

But the reason I live as well.

What does that make him?

A contradictory thing?

Better yet, what does that make me?

A nuisance?

I knew it hurt him, to see me like this, to see my sacrifices, to see what he does to me, it hurt him.

I saw it in his eyes, the blue of them swirling with a wetness and creating a soft watercolour.

He wanted to cry.

He should have.

I would've understood.

But Yuu is to prideful for that.

He's still a man.

Just like I'm still a prisoner.

A prisoner to my own self.

Man versus self.

Me, and myself, against I.

I gritted my teeth together, and clenched my fists.

Did I destroy what we had?

Was that bad?

Or...was it what I wanted all along?

"DAMN IT!"

I flung the covers off of my body, and stared down at my mutilated chest.

I did that to myself.

And here's the consequence.

I sat up, and threw my legs over the side of the bed, and sat there, my back hunched, my elbows placed on my knees, and my arms dangling listlessly.

My hair, in surrender as well, falling into my face and nearly obstructing my view.

"I'm too weak to continue."

"Does it beat still?"

I looked up quickly , caught off-guard by the raspy voice, but quickly recognized it as the voice belonging to my mentor, The Bookman.

He was sitting in the chair across from me, his eyes, surrounded by black, peered into my weary face, searching for my answer.

When I hadn't replied, he spoke again, this time blowing smoke from the pipe in his mouth directly into my eyes.

I coughed and turned my head to the left, avoiding the smoke, and refused to answer him.

Because I knew, how humiliating my answer would be.

His leathery, and wrinkled hand came up to my face and grasped my chin, with much force, he turned my head around, and stared me directly in my face.

His hand squeezed my chin as he leaned in closer, his eyes narrowed and his lips barely moving as he spoke.

"Look at me."

I winced slightly at the amount of pressure on my jaw, and blinked slowly, realizing that I was under his authority, and I had been for awhile.

"Yes sir."

He nodded, as if pleased, and quickly let his hand fall from my face.

He resumed his blank expression and leaned back, a considerable amount, in the stiff chair.

"Now, I will ask again. Does it beat still?"

I blushed, I was guilty, and it was showing, why hide it?

I've already been exposed to the person whom it matters most.

Let's put myself in a more vulnerable position.

"Yes."

A sharp, stinging sensation flooded the right side of my face, a large red blotch began to spread across my face.

I had been slapped.

By the Bookman, no less.

It stunned me for a moment, but I quickly adapted to the tingling pain.

I was used to this kind of discipline from him.

"You're a disappointment Lavi."

I struggled to hold my composure, he was so forthright in my failure, it hurt, and I wanted to say something, anything, to defend myself, but I knew that wasn't wise.

it would only end up in another slap in the face.

Or maybe something worse.

Maybe he would leave me alone in my moment of despair, and leave me to solve this for myself.

Leave me wallowing in my misery.

I didn't want that.

I spared a quick glance to my chest, and followed the lines there.

No.

I didn't want that.

I resorted to violence then.

And that solved nothing.

--

More smoke.

And another pair of peering eyes.

"You're a failure Lavi. It's even written on your chest in blood!"

He pointed a gnarled into my chest, irritating one of the cuts there, and dragged it along, his long nails leaving a fresh line of blood in their wake.

I looked up, into his eyes, I saw no malice there, I saw no spite.

All I saw was the weathered and wise look of a man that suffered the same as I did, to become the machine he is today.

The Bookman, withdrew his finger, and wiped the blood, my blood, onto his uniform.

He sat in front of me, quiet for a moment, as he puffed broodingly on his pipe.

A time had passed before he spoke again, his voice had lost that ferocity, that tone that demanded respect, and now sounded like the weak and fading voice of a true old man.

"Do you want this? Lavi...do you really want this?"

"I do."

I didn't feel the conviction anymore in those words, now they were an automatic response, I didn't want to be Bookman as much as I used to, I just wasn't sure.

He sensed it, he always does.

"The truth Lavi."

I felt my heart beating sluggishly inside of me, as if it were tired of the conspiracy against it.

As if it were tired of defending itself.

I was tired too.

I was tired of everything.

"That is truth."

The fleeting expression of hurt I saw in Yuu's face, the disappointment in The Bookman's eyes, the surrender in my own reflection, flashed quickly through my mind as I lied, unashamedly, through my teeth.

A silence ensued my Lie, and draped the two of us in a white veil, the muffled sound of my heart, as if covered in cloth, the only audible sound, while the abscence of beating from the Bookman's chest mocked me and my noisy beast.

Is this how I am to live?

Like an abomination in the eyes of others?

I shuddered, and broke the silence, tearing down the gauzy veil and giving my heart beat a friend in the noise.

"It's those eyes. They're so blue, everytime I see them, I can't do anything to stop myself."

The Bookman sent me a look that was neither sympathetic, nor condescending.

"Cut It out Lavi, or you will never achieve greatness."

He stood and left, the door closing silently and retreating to it's frame as if it had never been opened in the first place.

The atmosphere had settled around me, and the smoke that had failed to escape with the other plumes had drifted towards me, and embedded itself into my skin.

I was choking in this silence now, all by my lonesome.

I had to cut it out, he said.

I had to, or I would never achieve greatness.

I had to ask myself, as I mulled over The Bookman's parting words, what greatness was.

And what was so great about being heartless?

What was there to achieve in being a machine?

I fell backwards, onto the pillows and sheets of the bed, and stared at the ceiling, looking for some sort of divine sign from above.

What is greatness?

Do I still live for it?

"No."

I felt a pressure heaving itself from my chest at the revelation.

"I don't. I live for Yuu now."

I closed my eyes and imagined a world without machines, a world where it was okay to have a heart.

And I felt all right in that fantasy place.

I felt like I belonged.

And as the minutes went by, my body began to seep itself, more and more, into this vision until it was real.

And I was living a dream, the dream, my dream.

A world with love, a world with me, a world with Yuu.