It's been ten years.
Ten years since he said to me: "Duo, I like you." Followed by a timid, almost shy: "I like you more than that."
How could I refuse? How could I break his heart? Simply. I couldn't. I couldn't refuse, I couldn't break his heart. His words were the one I was waiting for, hoping for... praying for. I had lost faith in praying, and it was Heero Yuy and his unapproachable demeanor that made me search for support from the God I once forsook to take up a thermo-electric twin scythe, in the name of peace.
I remember clearly that I didn't answer him then, but opened my arms for an embrace. I'll never forget how... hesitant he closed the distance between us, unsure, not knowing exactly how to respond because I hadn't said a word. The moment he finally returned the embrace, searching for warmth and confirmation, I closed my arms around him like a clamp, to never, ever let him go. I dug my fingers into his back, fingers clenching at his shirt, and heaved a sigh, a sigh of relief, the weight of insecurity and uncertainty lifted off my shoulders. He nuzzled my neck, his lips brushing past my skin, and the only sound was our breathing, silent and calm breathing, even though my heart felt like it was pounding right out of my chest.
"Do you... like me too?"
I never forget that question. He sounded like a child, afraid of rejection, and he was prepared for one- I saw it in his eyes. We were soldiers, we just lived through two wars, lived through the horrors of wars- we saw people dying, people crying, people betraying, people... surviving. We survived, all in once piece, and I'm sure he didn't expect it- to survive, I mean. He wasn't suicide-happy for the sake of dying, but for the sake of his mission. He learned through the horrors of war that dying never was the answer. Dying is easy. Staying alive, that's the hard part. For someone who became inavertedly renowned for being the 'Perfect Soldier', he sure showed some faults, but who's without faults? He could've demanded me to listen to him, he could've forced me to anything, God knows how physically strong he is. Heero Yuy didn't do any of those things- he asked me, whispered to me, his voice was low and controlled, and his eyes showed the same, determined look as always... because he just figured out that in comparison to all we've been through, asking the guy you've fought with side by side if he reciprocated your feelings was just peanuts.
How could I say 'no'? Simply, as I've said before- I couldn't. I liked him, and yes, more than that too. I'm not really sure when it started, it wasn't like I woke up one morning thinking to myself: "Hey, let's like Heero more than just that". I guess that Heero grew on me. His aloof demeanor and his stoic character weren't very inviting, and the fact that he stole Deathscythe's part to fix his own Gundam didn't help much. However, when I saw him again, before the debacle at the Edwards Base, I didn't call him on that particular little stunt. Why not? I would've done the same if I were in his position. I may not have been always involved in the missions we were given with the same intensity, but I did get the job done- and I would've stolen my fellow comrade's Gundam parts if it were really, truly necessary.
We snuggled, holding each other close, and he didn't press the question- our arms around each other was answer enough to him. That was ten years ago, and if it's up to me, lots of decades are going to be added to that total. I know he thinks about it the same way, and nothing without that 'being destined for each other' crap- we just belong together... and no, I didn't think that the first moment I saw him either. I shot him the moment I saw him. It's still a hilarious joke between friends, the small circle of good friends we have. I don't mind when they bring it up; in the beginning it hurt and irritated me a little, now I laugh about it as if it's a good joke myself. There was a war going on, and he was aiming his gun at a young girl- who could've thought that the same girl was going to cheer the loudest when we announced that we were together?
I look down at the table in front of me, neatly set. We're expecting our most intimate circle of friends- our fellow comrades in war, the ones who fought in their own Gundams beside us, struggling to survive on their own. I've arranged the seats in the same order as our numbers; Heero as 01, sits at the head of the table, I'm on his right side as 02, Trowa sits next to me as 03, Quatre has the seat opposite of Trowa, being 04, and Wufei as 05 sits next to him, closing the circle. We don't refer to each other by numbers, of course. The war is over, more than a decade, and we're the ones making sure that it's never going to happen again.
We're both not that fond of cooking, but to serve take-out to your best friends is cheap, in my opinion. I composed a menu with dishes reflecting each and everyone of us- a lot of work, but so very much worth it. We don't see each other that much, and being with the five of us is even more seldom. We all have our careers, our own circle of friends, our responsibilities and our obligations. Did we ever think everything would turn out like this? That we, of all people, would end up "domesticated", worrying about mortgages and getting paid next month? I know I'm smiling, imagining all of us wearing silly pink aprons and getting worked up about dinner. No, we're not that domesticated- our jobs are still important, though not that life-threatening any more. We don't hold boring office "9 to 5" desk jobs- I doubt any one of us would feel the need to actually want one- , but we're not actively searching for danger either. We left that behind after the Eve Wars... we now do a guarding job, intervening when we see peace's being threatened.
"What are you thinking of?"
He doesn't ask me what I'm smiling about. He once told me that my smiles were difficult to decipher, even for him. I can smile wickedly while thinking of something as completely innocent as devouring a slice of chocolate cream cake, and I can smile very sadly even when I'm not specifically thinking about something sad. He mostly looks at my eyes, and sometimes, listens to the volume of my voice to determine what mood I'm in. As I'm standing next to the table, apparently smiling at the plates, he doesn't know what to make of it. That's when he asks. I told him to ask, because I don't want anything between us- no secrets, no fights, no petty quibbling. No misunderstandings, no brawls... nothing that could cloud our relationship.
My words are a little mumbled as I tell him that I was thinking about our years together, and I tilt my head. He kisses me- not on my lips, but on my neck, a soft, gentle kiss. He's given me many kisses, and each one of them was different. I don't know how he does that, how the most simplest of his touches makes me wonder how gentle, how caring, how much love he can pour in just that touch; it makes me wonder and it makes me smile. Sometimes it makes me sad, because I know I don't have the same touch as him- I love him, of course, but somehow my touches seem less... valuable than his. I never asked him, though, and yes, I'm a hypocrite- I don't want anything to stand between us, but sometimes you just don't ask, you know? It's probably something silly.
"Our years together and many more to come," he says, while he brings up his left hand to put on my shoulder. I lean into his touch; he's a few inches taller than me, and this way, I can tuck myself under his arm. His fingers are warm, I can feel it through the cloth of my shirt. He averts his eyes for a moment, inspecting the table; everything is set for dinner.
"Many more to come," he repeats, with longing in his voice. I think this is something we both longed for; something akin a family, being together, having someone by your side. We didn't hook up out of fear of not finding a suitable partner, or out of fear of being left alone. What's between us, is love- friendship and love.
"Do you remember?"
I answer affirmatively, knowing what he's talking about- the moment when he told me, when he mustered up all his courage, when he put his own heart on the line. Rejection was a possibility, after all, I had never shown him or let him know that I felt the same way too. Why? Because it was war, and even though we survived, I often thought we... I wouldn't live to see another day. I came very close to execution after being captured with my already battered Deathscythe, and when Heero rescued me, I thought he was simply repaying the favor, when I got him out of that military hospital.
It wasn't repaying a favor, he told me afterwards. He didn't want me to die, end of story. He never told me his 'exact moment' when he fell in love with me, and I doubt he can pinpoint it. I probably grew on him too... I'm not a firm believer of love at first sight. I believe in strong bonds, a bond that has been strengthened and intensified throughout the years. A solid base, a firm fundament. Strength... strength is important. Belief, hope and love. I don't think you can make it on love alone; you need more to keep a relationship going. I close my eyes, because I know what's coming next. I heave a content sigh when I feel his fingers running through my bangs.
"Dinner's almost ready," he whispers in my ear. Not that romantic, huh? My smile widens- this is why I love Heero so much. He can even make something as "Dinner's almost ready" sound incredibly sexy and send shivers down my spine. Despite everything, Heero is and will always be more strained in human interactions than me. He mellowed out a great deal, but there'll always be some... caution, some distrust he shows everyone he meets, until he decides he's put you in one of his categories: trusted, to be trusted, to be distrusted. He doesn't think in gray areas that often, and that's where I come into the picture- the more outgoing, gregarious Duo Maxwell. Even so, his comment that dinner's almost ready is not only to inform me of that simple fact, but also to let me know everything. That he loves me, that he cares for me, bad habits and good habits, that he wants to be with me. Everything that he says is destined for me, even in company of others.
I answer by thanking him, and that's my answer to him: thank you for being with me, thank you for loving me, thank you for doing the things you do for me. The most simple and littlest words carry the biggest and most important meanings; I know what my 'thank you' means to him. The world. I'm his world, as he tells me when we're in bed, and the air is thick with our breathed passion. I'm his world, as he tells me on the phone, when he texts me or when he calls me for whatever reason. He'd been searching for his world, for someone to accept him and to love him and to care for him, and he found it with me. To him, the world is me- a thing that sometimes scares me, as I'm prone to make mistakes and I'm afraid that I'll fail him... somehow, someday. There's nothing I want to do more but to make him happy and satisfied, with his life, with me, with everything.
He brushes the strands of my hair, some of them are still slightly damp from the shower I took. I'm a disaster in the kitchen- I make the greatest desserts by combining the most outrageous ice cream flavors with sugary biscuits and fresh fruit, and that's about it. Like I've said, we're not that overly fond of cooking, but for this special evening together with our friends, we didn't want to do something cheap as to call for takeout. The menu has five courses, one for each one of us; Japanese chicken teriyaki, American coleslaw and fries, Arabic molokeeyya soup, French coquilles St. Jacques, and Chinese foo yung hai. From every dish just a little of course, and the combination may not be that refined or at the same level of some gold star restaurant- I don't care. It's the thought that counts, and the thought is that our friends and us together are far more worth than anything else.
"When will they arrive?"
I'm not sure about the exact time, as I reply to him that I expect them in about half an hour. I enjoy the gentle caresses, almost purring if that was humanly possible. I can't get enough of his fingers running through my hair, and he's so close I can smell his cologne. He smells... raw, pure. A diamond in the rough, sort to speak. His unruly hair, his slanted, scrutinizing eyes, his trained, well-defined body- perfection with a only a few slight imperfections. I love him, with everything that I am, with everything that I can give him. Everything about Heero Yuy is raw and pure, but not innocent. He told me about his youth, when I told him about mine, as if we were comparing which one of us suffered the most. I doubt I'll ever forget the look on his face when I told him I roamed the streets for so long, without parents, with only the gang to fall back onto. I told him about the slums on L2, where help always came late, where government enriched itself above their citizens. He almost cried when I told the tale of Maxwell Church, the burning building and the lives lost in that... event. It's an event for me, a milestone in my life- just like the other milestones as obtaining Deathscythe, meeting Heero, meeting the others, hearing out of his mouth that he loved me.
I don't dwell much. The tragedy with the Church is nothing but what it is- a tragedy. Yes, I thought for the large part of my life that it was all my fault. I blamed myself for the death of Father Maxwell, in whose honor I took his name, and for the death of Sister Helen, in whose honor I keep my hair braided all the time- she was the one to teach me how to do it. No matter how much pride I took in being clever and cunning enough in stealing enough food for myself and the lil' urchins of the gang, I still hadn't figured out at that time how to keep my long hair from flying in my face and being a nuisance altogether. To this day, I still wonder why no one just yanked me at my hair when I stole something and was on the run; God knows how long the strands were to grab a fistful and discipline this little kid with a big mouth.
It was a tragedy, and, only when I'm in my most alone hours, I think of it as a blessing. It freed me and it captured me; if this all hadn't happened, I would've never become a Gundam pilot, I would've never met Heero, I would've never met the man I'd end up sharing my life with, for ten years and counting. Would I've been happy as a priest in a dilapidated church in a rundown neighborhood, to fight against all the unfairness in life, seeing youngsters getting broken and beaten by the system? A milestone in my life, like I've said. Maybe I was selfish for choosing to get out of L2 when I was offered the opportunity to pilot a Gundam, maybe I served a greater purpose in life. I'm well enough satisfied to see and to know that in that decade, the decade I've been loving Heero, the political and economical situation on L2 has changed enough to warrant almost everyone a life, as in a roof over the head, food stamps for anyone who can't make it on his own, and more facilities in general, for young and old.
I don't dwell much...anymore. Things have turned into 'events' for me, something I can place a certain memory at, 'tag' it if you will, in my mental library. I've been alone the first part of my life, but for ten years now, I'm with someone, who I wouldn't want to miss for one day. I remember how incredulous I looked at him when he was about to cry from my tales of my youth. I'd asked him why he wanted to cry, and he simply answered me that he wanted to shed the tears for me that I hadn't. That's Heero. Do you see him? The same man who is brushing my bangs, presses soft, tender kisses on my neck, who has his other arm wrapped around my waist, holding me close- that's the same man who self-destructed himself and his Gundam without a second thought, who can bend steel with his bare fingers, who prioritized his mission above anything and everything. He's not running behind me to clean up my mess, he's not holding my hand with everything I do, he's not shielding me from every bad thing in the world.
A soft moan escapes me as he kisses me right under my earlobe, fingers still in my bangs, stroking my face. We don't need words to affirm our love for each other constantly, nor do we need to touch each other continuously. It's moments like these, rare as they might be, that we bond again... over and over again, because there's already something running between us that's stronger than anything I can imagine. A level we're both standing on, equal as we are, both human, both... with mistakes and faults and errors, both with goodness, kindness, compassion. I make mistakes, I say things wrong, I sometimes take the wrong decision. I yell, I scream, but I also talk, discuss, philosophize, ask. I don't need a 24/7 bodyguard, protector, slave, master, housekeeper, boss. I need Heero for everything he is, and for everything he'll ever be. My man, my friend, my lover, my everything. His world, his center, his all. If the moment comes that I have to look back on my life, I don't want to spend it dwelling on things that have happened or could have happened, I only want to look back and say that all those years I've spend with Heero, were the best years of my life.
He still holds me, the minutes, seconds, ticking away. Our friends can arrive any moment now, the half hour's almost passed. Wufei and Trowa will be strictly on time, Quatre will probably arrive a little later as his business meetings tend to delay. It's fine... it's all right. As long as we're together, as friends, as comrades, as fellow pilots, it's fine by me. Until they arrive, I have Heero to hold onto, because with his persistent kissing he's sweeping me off my feet. This is going to be one night full with love, laughter and happiness, and no one's going to take that away from me. I tell him that I love him, and his smile is the last thing I see before I close my eyes for that passionate kiss he's giving me, capturing my lips, fingers clenching at me, holding me, for everything that I am, Duo Maxwell
.
It's been ten years, three hours and seventeen minutes.
Ten years, three hours and seventeen minutes that he opened his arms to me for an embrace, after he'd been silent for a little while, freezing my heart in fear, stopping my heart from beating, overcharging my veins with surging adrenalin waves. I didn't really know how to react to his embrace, as I still thought he was going to reject me. I expected a 'yes' or a 'no', not his arms wide open to me, and the look on his face... starting to radiate warmth and joy. I was hesitant to return the embrace, yes. I wasn't sure, I wasn't certain why he choose to respond to me with a physical gesture instead of a simple, three or two letter answer. I wanted him to say 'yes' or 'no', not flying into his arms and hearing him say that he was sorry, trying to console me by patting me on the back and telling me that things never would work out between us. I'd rather die without knowing his warm touch than having received pity and an embrace out of even more pity.
Why did I return the embrace, after all? Because of his eyes. There wasn't pity nor rejection in his eyes, but a warmth and a depth that I've only come to know from Duo Maxwell. Have you ever notice how blank most people look? That only one emotion or expression is dominant in their look, even though eyes are the windows to the very soul? Not Duo's eyes. They're pools, literally, pools that draw you in, pools that show you so much more of himself than words ever could. That's why I didn't wait for his confirmation, because I saw all the confirmation I needed in his eyes. His violetpurplecobaltblue eyes, large and intense, and they were looking at me. When I slipped my arms under his, his hands went to my back, closing his arms around me as a lock, fingers digging in my back, clenching at my shirt. He'd caught me, snared me into his web, and wasn't about to let me go, ever- not that I was complaining. I nuzzled his neck, faintly tasting his skin, his oh so warm skin, and tightened my embrace as well.
I never asked him why he didn't give me an answer. All and all, I expected rejection, or a good laugh, right in my face. I was fully prepared to take one- a rejection, I mean. I know how to deal with defeat, with disappointment. I wasn't hoping for one, but it could've been a possibility. Fifty percent chance he'd say no, fifty percent chance he'd say yes. I almost approached declaring my love to him as a mission, parameters and all, until I shook myself out of it. The war had ended, my Gundam was in ruins, peace was going to be restored on Earth and the colonies and I... I didn't want to be alone anymore. I know people were thinking that there was absolutely nothing left for me when the war ended, expecting me to blow myself up or something as there was no longer any need for the 'Perfect Soldier'. They were wrong... weren't they? I don't think I would've done something... dramatic if Duo would've rejected me. We've been through so much, I've been through so much. A rejection would be harsh, but I would know how to live with it. I asked him, timidly, hating that my fear sounded through in my voice, making me sound like a child. Maybe I was like a child, asking for something that was far outside its reach, asking for something... more than just attention.
We remained silent, just holding each other, snuggling a little. It took quite a while before it dawned on me that I was really holding the man I loved, and that he didn't reject me. His fingers were on my back and his strong breathing was soothing, almost luring me into a light sleep. I didn't know what went through his head, as my thoughts were clouded and jumbled enough already. His arms around me was my answer, and I couldn't have asked for a better answer. Strands of his chestnut hair mingled with mine, the dark brown and light brown colors dancing in front of my eyes. Was it his beauty that first spoke to me when I met him? I doubt it, because he shot me the first time we saw each other. Our friends still think it's a hilarious joke, I think it was a rather courageous act. He didn't hesitate to pull the trigger, which earned my respect immediately; I don't like indecisive, hesitating, stalling people. His courage and bravery were the first things to strike me, his big mouth and very different approach on the war and missions irritated me the next second. Yes, he irritated me much, with his constant inclination to talk, even if it was about the weather, a dress some girl wore, a spider he just saw- and with his lighthearted attitude to something as grievous as the war. It took me two wars to see through that all, to dig through the thick layer he had buried himself under, even though I'd known in the back of my mind for all that time that I wanted him, that I wanted to be his everything, as he was my everything.
I look down at the stove, all pots and pans filled with delicious dishes- at least, I hope they'll taste delicious, as I'm not that much of a cook. With our best friends coming over, our fellow Gundam pilots, the best isn't good enough for them, but I agree with Duo about take-out food: we might be able to afford even the most renowned caterer in town, but he's not the one doing the cooking for us tonight. Making dinner ourselves is maybe a simple gesture in the eyes of others and not the most important part of a get-together, but for us- it is. We've shared laughter and tears, we've shared safehouses, and we shared lives. We shared a can of beans and some army food once, during a particular nasty mission. None of us were obligated to share the minimum amount of food, but when I saw Duo, especially Duo, immediately assuming that we'd share by breaking his granola bar in five and offering us the little bits, he had my heart. Even more so than he already did.
Taking off the oven mittens- serving five separate small courses, each one representing us in some way was a marvelous idea-, I decide to check up on Duo. He's setting the table, probably according to our numbers routine- me being 01, he 02, and so on... he always followed that routine, from the moment we've met, from the moment he broke that granola bar in five and offered me the first piece. The oven mittens were a gift from Relena when we held our housewarming party, all those years ago- they're blatantly pink, and she gave them to me with a big, fat wink. Relena was the loudest to cheer for us, and not to cover up for her own feelings; she went on after it became clear that I would never be interested in becoming more than the good friends we already were. She belongs to our intimate circle of friends, and knows that an evening with all of us Gundam pilots together is something different than just a simple 'catching up' with everybody.
Duo stands at the table, and he's bearing a smile- I love to see him smile, if only I could figure out the thousands of smiles he's shown me throughout the years. His eyes, and often the volume and intonation of his voice are much better indications of his mood. I know better than to ask him what he's smiling about. As long as those lips of his are quirked upwards, and not downwards... I abhor seeing Duo sad, even though he always manages to keep a sad mood hidden for me. I always find out anyway- there's nothing hidden between us. I rather ask, plain and simple, then to assume everything is okay or something is wrong. We talk about everything that bothers us, occupies us, saddens us or makes us happy... and we don't want anything between us: no secrets, no hidden feelings, nothing. Nothing but the bond we already share.
"I was thinking about our years together."
I kiss him on his neck, my favorite spot to kiss him. He seems to enjoy that much as well, seeing as he tilts his head, exposing more skin. There's something about Duo that makes me want to touch him constantly, as if convincing myself that he's really here, and standing really close to me. I always thought that Duo was the more touchy-feely of us two, but it turned out to be me- not that I ever received a complaint, or that I feel the need to complain. He touches me often and long enough to let me know he still loves me, he still wants me. Sometimes his touches seem a little... hesitant, almost shy, as if we haven't shared our bodies for more than a decade. I don't mind, don't mind it at all- his fingers on my bare skin sends shivers down my spine, his tentative touches and strokes are more erotic than anything else to me.
He leans into my touch as I bring up my left hand to put it on his shoulder, while I tell him that about my wish for many more years together to come. Duo's a little shorter than me and he tucks himself under my arm. While he does that, I look at the table, inspecting the setting, even though I know everything will be perfect. We're standing in the living room, table and everything ready for dinner, awaiting our friends' arrival. My wish for many more years together slips from my lips again, breathing it into his ear. I can't help the longing in my voice; there's nothing I wish for more than indeed, more years together. Many more decades, if it's up to me- many more decades with Duo Maxwell by my side.
"Yes."
I often don't have to elaborate on my questions- he always knows what I'm referring to, especially when we share a moment like this. The moment when I was awaiting his answer, his rejection or acceptation. I knew that my words came out of the blue for him, a total surprise, something he never expected. Why would he? I already had self-destructed once and hadn't shown much gusto to remain alive before. There was a war going on, followed by another war, and we were piloting twenty tons of Gundaniam fighting power, not exactly planning on how to stay alive, but how to get the mission done. It's true, that I first thought very little of him, his own approach to missions so different from mine. I very clearly remember how I disdainfully snarled to him that he botched a mission, while his intentions were to infiltrate the Lunar Base, and bringing us the news of the to-be rebuilt Gundams.
I run my fingers through his bangs. His long hair, which stood out to me immediately, and was nothing but a liability in my eyes. Who in his right mind kept knee length hair in a braid, in war time, as a Gundam pilot, no less? I accepted this, what I called 'an outrageous hair-fetish', because he was... is... a good soldier, and he proved his worth during wartime, over and over again. It took me longer to realize that his braid was a symbol of so many things, that I felt ashamed of how I've always thought it was a liability. It wasn't. It was, and still is, a sign of his non-conformity, his own unique personality, a symbol to a deceased woman who holds a special place in his heart, a mark of everything he is. He heaves a sigh of contentment, enjoying this as much as I do.
Sometimes I think his hair, his looks, were the first things that made me fall in love with him. After all, the war was too chaotic and a too unstable time to forge bonds, friendships, love interests. We rotated towards each other, nonetheless- just like Trowa and Quatre. Wufei was the last one to join us, and even though our bonds were already established, he never was the fifth wheel around us. I don't think there's a single moment that made me suddenly fall in love with Duo, as we both came to appreciate each other during the war times, even more so after we... survived. Did we really think we'd die? Were we really that fanatic in accepting our inevitable death? He called himself Shinigami, I self-detonated my Gundam. It was a passion, an oath to peace- to die for it when necessary, not understanding that by losing our lives we wouldn't help peace, but only sadden those left behind. Yes, we were egocentric, and we still are, I suppose, because we sought out each other after the wars. No one can come between us Gundam pilots, not understanding if they haven't been through the same. I claimed Duo, so to speak, with the fear of rejection firmly in my mind, but I spoke up to him and watched him open his arms to accept me.
I whisper in his ear that dinner's almost ready, and I just feel his smile becoming wider. He's amused by the littlest of things, yet unfazed when bigger things happen. Despite everything, there are far more layers and depth to Duo than one would assume, and he always surprises me by revealing those layers one by one. It's like a puzzle where I'm collecting the pieces of, and sometimes one piece is... more likable than the other one. He's outgoing, gregarious, has a great heart and compassion, and vocal. What he can't express with his body, he expresses it with words and that's why he's always talking. His people skills helped me a great deal with my own coming to terms and socialization when we started to live here, and he accepted that I'm not that much of a talker, just as I accepted that he's not that much of a silent person. He doesn't like silence, but he knows how to appreciate it and not to interrupt it- with moments like these, we're both silent, only whispering, only enjoying. We're here for each other, now and always.
"Thank you."
For someone who talks so much, Duo sure knows when to talk, what to say, and how to speak. His words always have the right impact on me- soothing, caressing, reassuring, and just simply... being. Being there. Being there for me. His words are magic, and I can't get enough of hearing them. He always knows what to say and which words to chose, and always sorts the right effect. Sure, he can be mad, pissed, or angry- he throws hissy fits and temper tantrums, and even when he does so, his words are still music to my ears. It's his ultimate way of expressing himself, as he revolves around me: his world. I'm his world, as he whispers in my ear, as he yells enthusiastically through the telephone, as he says out loud whenever he feels like it. The world. I'm so much to him, and it sometimes scares me. I'm not perfect, not perfect at all... I make mistakes; I'm not always sure about what to do. If I don't know how to deal with a situation, I revert to my old 'soldier-mode' and approach the problem like a mission. He hates it when I do that, but he leaves me be- as long as I don't treat him as a mission, it's fine by him.
His hair is still slightly damp from his shower, and I continue to brush the large strands. His world and my world. We make a good blend, a great mixture of two characters, making up for each other's shortcomings, balancing out mutual mistakes or faults. It's not that we constantly hold hands, and it's not that we finish each other's sentences. We're not looking lovey-dovey in each other's eyes, we don't kiss in front of others, and public display is minimal. Not that we're ashamed of our relationship- not at all. It's just who we are. We are ourselves, two individuals twined together, and the bond between us carries love and friendship, and deep feelings of... belief. Belief that we belong together, belief that we are together, belief that we are equal and the same. We accept each other with our quirks, our good traits, our bad traits, and everything in between. That's who we are. We are the world to each other- he's mine, as I'm his. Nothing more... nothing less.
"I'm not sure... about half an hour?"
My world, my Duo. Sometimes I can't figure out for the life of me what's going on in his mind. When I think I finally figured him out, I'm proven wrong by something he says or does. I know he thinks highly of me, and he probably doesn't realize how high I hold him in regard. Just as he wants nothing between us, no fights, no quibbles, nothing, I want nothing between us as a power differential. I'm not any better than he is; I'm not any worse than he is. I'm human, as he told me over and over again. Yes, I had difficulties adjusting after the war, trying to find something else, a new goal, in my life, now the strict schedules and missions were gone. He was there to offer me the continuation of my life, should he accept me- weren't it for being his life partner, than as his friend and former comrade. Still... two weights on a scale. Balance. I'm not a feather, he's not a bag of lead. I tighten my grip on him a little, continuing the gentle caresses, running my fingers through his hair. For some reason, he smells... exotic. Cinnamon and incense and spices, all combined together. It's something lingering on his skin, a scent that has grafted itself onto him. I can't get enough of this scent- it's so different than from what I imagined he'd smell like. I associated him with kerosene and engines and motor oil somehow, not with the rather sophisticated scent of cinnamon and peach and mango. Everything about Duo Maxwell is different than I imagined- he's deep and thoughtful, loud but silent when needed, exotic and simple, guilty and strong.
We once shared memories about our youths, and I vividly remember that I was about to cry when he was telling me about the tragedy with the church he was living in. His eyes... that was the first, and as yet last time that I saw a blank stare in his eyes, as if he was retelling a tale that had nothing to do with him, as if he was standing outside of time when it happened.
I told him my tale- about my so-called father, Odin Lowe. My first memories ever are of him, and I accepted him as my father, not knowing any better. I thought it was quite normal for any ten-year old to run around with a bazooka on its shoulders, and to be taught about weaponry, hunting, killing, following and obeying orders. I ran around football fields to build up physical condition, recited military codes before I went to bed, and got used to listening to propaganda while I was stripping and cleaning guns for breakfast. The doctrine that a mission should be finished under any circumstances was etched onto my soul, and that's why I stole the parts of his Gundam, the Deathscythe, while he had so kindly offered to have my Wing repaired. The mission came first and foremost, everything else was expandable.
Humans... the humans I met in my youngest years weren't caring, weren't interested in me, and weren't... helping. They trained me, taught me, and envisioned me as the next big hero to fight in the ongoing war, even naming me after one of the greatest peace advocates from the colonies. The irony in me bearing his name became only clear to me after I started killing in his name, after I saw Lowe being killed, after I saw many, many others being killed. I don't know if I'd done it any differently when offered the chance. I'd love to have grown up in a normal, stable family, and have brothers and sisters, but what if the other circumstances hadn't changed? There'd still be a war going on, there'd still be uncertainty and insecurity... and if I hadn't become a Gundam pilot, I'd never met him. Maybe I was selfish for choosing to get out of L1 when I was offered the opportunity to pilot a Gundam, maybe I served a greater purpose in life. I didn't have much choice of where to go to anyway, and that old man in the streets offering me this was far better than going to steal for dinner and finding a place to sleep. I had nothing but myself, and I wanted nothing but to survive, because surviving was imprinted on my mind. We both survived, Duo and me, and we're still surviving.
We don't talk much about what happened to us, though. Our youths are behind us, and we focus much more on the present than on the past. I told Duo that I wanted to shed the tears for him that he couldn't, and he only looked incredulous at me. That's Duo. Do you see him? The same man who is leaning against my shoulder, his hand on mine, fingers stroking mine, his other hand resting on my hip, breathing even and relaxed- that's the same man who called himself the God of Death, who faced more challenges and difficulties than anyone of us, who laughed in the bitterest of times to cheer us all up, who wasn't afraid to die at my hand. He's not following me in every step, he's not sacrificing his own personality to latch onto mine, he's not patronizing me, and he's not hiding me from every bad thing in the world.
I kiss him right under his earlobe, my fingers still running through his bangs, stroking his face, and he softly moans. What we have together is something that can't be broken, something that runs so deep that it has merged with our souls. Our thoughts are apart but together at some level, as we both are silent now and contently enjoying each other's company. We instinctively feel each other's needs and wants, and our touches and kisses are more than just signs of physical attraction. We are one, the same, and different yet again. With all that we are, we accepted ourselves and each other, with faults, with mistakes, with compassion, with love. I know that I can still be aloof in my behavior towards others, and no matter what happens, there simply are things that'll never hold my interest, no matter how much I pretend I do. I fall silent, I criticize, I complain, I can be very sarcastic, but I also listen, give advice, ask, answer. I don't need a 24/7 bodyguard, protector, slave, master, housekeeper, boss. I need Duo for everything he is, and for everything he'll ever be. My man, my friend, my lover, my forever and my everything. His world, his center, his all. I don't want to look back on my life and see missed chances, failures and mistakes- I want to see him, by my side, next to me, beside me, holding me, kissing me, talking to me, whispering my name over and over again. I don't think there's anything anyone could offer me that would make me even consider in the slightest of leaving him; and when my time has come, I'll be able to say with pride and love in my heart that all those years I've spend with Duo, were the best years of my life.
"I love you."
He rests in my embrace, looking content and warmly at me. The clock is steadily ticking; our friends can arrive any moment now. It's fine... it's all right. It's going to be a wonderful evening- I'm very much looking forward to talk to everybody in person again, enjoying good food and magnificent company. Ten years and counting, for many more decades. His words fill my heart and my soul. He always knows what to say, in the right time, in the right place. Always. I capture his lips and see that he closes his eyes, fully savoring the passion that drenches the kiss, as I taste him, with my fingers clenching at him, holding him, for everything that I am, Heero Yuy.