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He wakes in the morning with voices still echoing in his head, the last of his dreams fading away as the morning sun streams in through the window. Often he dreams of the wars despite the years that have passed now (though no matter how long the clock ticks, the dreams come each night, more vivid than before with their vibrant reds and ringing screams). The bed sheet has wound around his ankle. He gives a kick to free himself, pushing away from the mattress and letting green eyes scan the room.
It’s too early for company, but a quiet clatter comes from the kitchen and the scent of coffee is wafting into the bedroom. With a yawn he sets feet on the floor and moves toward the doorway while absently tugging down the hem of his white tee. He’s greeted with a cheerful hello. Kira already has the coffee poured into two black mugs, and he presses one into Athrun’s hands now, lingering a moment too long before turning for his own drink.
“You’re up early.” It’s not even half past seven yet, but Kira doesn’t seem to mind. Athrun takes a seat at the counter and watches the young man move about the kitchen.
“I couldn’t let you spend the day alone,” explains Kira as he pulls out the toaster. Two slices of bread fall into their slots and he lowers the lever, leaving them to warm.
It’s only half the truth, Athrun knows. Since the first war, Kira hasn’t wanted to be alone on this day either. For three years now they’ve had a silent agreement that they’ll spend each Valentine’s together, two ragged soldiers who can’t escape Junius 7. Athrun’s never been to the remains, but Kira has striking memories of being at the site (“we needed water”, he once explained, eyes settled firmly on the floor). His loss is greater though, and Kira acknowledges it silently each year, slipping their bodies into an embrace as Athrun remembers not only his mother, but the bitter anger that led to his father’s death.
The toast pops up. Kira draws it onto a plate and spreads it thickly with apricot jam. Athrun revels in the sweet tang, and just for a moment, allows himself to forget what day it is; all that matters is Kira’s presence, because he, if anyone, understands. Kira, above all others, can share Athrun’s lingering pain.
“Next time you see your mother, thank her for me.” It was Mrs. Yamato who made the jam, giving it to Athrun at New Years. As a child it’d been his favourite treat. Kira use to invite him over when a fresh batch had been made and they’d spread it on anything they could find, which, more often than not, ended in sticky messes.
Kira smiles. “I’ll be sure to.” Their toast crumbles as they bite into it, littering the countertop with crumbs. “She’s worried about you, my mother.” There’s an uncomfortable moment and then Kira adds, “Well, both of us, I guess. She’s afraid the fighting … that the fighting stole too many years from our lives.”
The eyes which stare at him are old, Athrun reflects. He can notice the difference in Kira himself, and only wonders how he has changed. It’s the same with the others. Yzak and Dearka, and Kira’s friends from the Archangel, all of them together have come out of the battles with a calm maturity.
Perhaps that’s why the nightmares frighten him. He’s not in control when he dreams, he can’t stop bloody massacre after bloody massacre or the terrified screams of the civilians.
Worst of all though …
Worst of all …
“It can’t be helped.”
“No.”
They eat the remainder of their breakfast in silence. When they’ve finished, Kira rinses the plates in the sink and Athrun loads the dishwasher. He excuses himself to shower, and from inside his bedroom hears the quiet click of the television turning on. Instead of the morning news comes the clear chime of children’s voices, and just for a moment it makes Athrun pause, makes him reflect on his childhood and the long hours he spent with Kira (inseparable, then and now).
His thoughts tread dangerously about the memory of his mother, but he pushes the memory away and allows the water to sooth him. Finding Kira asleep on the couch when he’s done isn’t a surprise. Just like every other year, Athrun pulls a blanket up around the man’s shoulders, pressing the pads of his fingers against damp cheeks before trailing a hand through brown hair.
The hours pass slowly.
When Kira awakens, it is Athrun who is asleep, curled on the floor beside the couch, his head resting near Kira’s on the cushion. It doesn’t take long for Athrun to stir when Kira presses a kiss to his temple, fingers weaving through damp hair.
If nothing else, war taught them to value each other. Every fleeting touch has gained new meaning and this time they won’t take each other’s company for granted.
Yet he can’t help but dream, night after night, that same war-time nightmare …
“My mother,” Kira says again, bringing back their earlier conversation, “she worries that we’ll never settle.”
Athrun sits on the edge of the couch, so that he’s looking down at Kira now, the other gazing up at him with calm violet eyes. “We’re settled, aren’t we?” In his mind he can see Kira, beautiful and pale, blossoming under the sweep of his hands. The life they have, one of understanding and trust, is enough for him, and to lose it would certainly unsettle Athrun.
“Are we?” Replies Kira with a smile. He moves over so Athrun can sit properly on the sofa, folding his legs and leaning back into the cushion. “I quit my job yesterday.”
“But you-”
“I know.”
“Kira …”
They’ve been here before. The vicious cycle has no end, and no matter how good-natured Kira is, he can only take so much use and abuse from his superiors. It’s why Athrun opted to work from home, building mechanics on private contracts.
“Shigure-san just doesn’t like how I do things.”
“You could report her to the counsel.”
“No.” Here Kira is firm, turning to look at Athrun sharply. “I was the one who decided to quit, she didn’t fire me.”
“And your mother is worried about me settling,” says Athrun, reaching a hand over to mess Kira’s already tousled hair. He misses his target as Kira snatches his wrist. “So, do you want to work with me?”
His hand is released. Kira shoots him a dubious look. “You know I failed microelectronics.”
“Well, what about Lacus or Cagalli? I’m sure they-”
“No, it’s fine.”
The polite dismissal is finite. Athrun wants to protest -both the girls would love to have Kira around- but the other has already moved on to another topic.
“Cagalli has a new suitor, although she won’t admit it.” Since Athrun broke it off with Cagalli two years ago, the Orb leader has focused solely on her work. It was best for the country, Cagalli understands that, and although they live in different places she and Athrun haven’t grown apart. “She won’t tell me because then I’ll have to meet him.”
“A brother’s job.”
“Yes, although she still maintains that I’m younger than her and she should be meeting my girlfriend.”
Each night the dream comes, more vivid than before …
“She can’t meet her until I do.”
“Well, you’ll both have to wait until I have a girlfriend.”
And each night he kills Kira, staining the azure sky red.
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