Through Your Eyes
CHAPTER ONE: WHAT PERFECTION CANNOT SEE
'There are three classes of people: those who see. Those who see when they are shown. Those who do not see.'
-Leonardo da Vinci
He confuses me. I look at him, and I see a contradiction, an impossibility, something that should not exist.
At least not in my world, but I am well aware that he has no desire to conform to my world—or anyone else's, for that matter.
He smiles. He laughs. He jokes. He lives.
How can he do these things when we are in the midst of war, of a fight every day for our lives and everything that we believe in?
How can he be so human, when we have been destroyed by what we've seen?
Everything about him is a contradiction. His eyes, that impossible violet. His hair, long and braided, but he wears it with so much pride. His black clothes, in direct contrast to his bright personality.
His personality, which burns so bright it hurts to see, despite the bloodshed, the death, the pain we suffer and inflict.
From what I, from what we know of his past, he should be like us. Old, jaded, tired, sad, broken—perhaps even more so.
But every day he smiles. Every day he laughs. Every day he jokes.
Every day he lives.
I cannot see it. How can he bear it? How can he brush it off like it's nothing, and continue to be so damn happy?
Sometimes I think I'm wrong. Sometimes, I think there might be more. A flash, an instant, a single moment where he looks so sad and empty—only to be a moment later swept aside by that damnable grin.
I think he wears a mask, like we do. One far more complex and complete, far deeper than ours could ever be.
He calls me perfect, but he is the one who has achieved perfection—for the mask never slips, only cracks, and is swiftly healed.
I am not perfection. For if I was, I would be able to pierce his masks, to see, and to finally understand why he smiles. Why he laughs. Why he jokes.
Why he lives.
Perhaps I am blind. Looking too deep to find something that hides just beneath the surface—or something that doesn't exist in the first place.
But I am gladly blind, for who could willingly try to see what makes such a contradiction, an impossibility, a puzzle?
How can he be full of such life, when he calls himself Death?
Well, my amazing only (hinthint) reviewer suggested I go into the mind of the other pilots. Duo laments so much on how they see him, but how do they really? This is Heero, in case you couldn't tell—was it too OOC? Sentimental? Deep? (For Heero, at least.)
This will be multi-chapter, so keep an eye out for the next installment—What Empathy Cannot Feel. (I do have a reason for the order, yes.)
DISCLAIMER: I hold no claim to Gundam Wing or any related franchises. The plot, the idea, and the DM series however, belong to me. The quote belongs to Leonardo da Vinci.