Disclaimer: Don't own/don't have any relation to GW, not making any profit from this. Gah, I hate disclaimers.
Pairing: 1x2
Rating: should be PG, I guess. Maybe even G.
Summary: [1x2, the One True Pairing] 'He awoke to a thunderstorm pulsating against his window, the view outside obscured by shards of rain…'
The Morning After
He awoke to a thunderstorm pulsating against his window, the view outside obscured by shards of rain. Lying there underneath the blankets, quiet and still, he drew in a breath dampened by a heavy intangible weight on his chest. The weather was absurdly… fitting. They'd both gotten what they wanted.
"I think I'd like it to be sunny but not hot, yanno? With a light breeze blowing and a nice blue sky and all. How 'bout you?"
"Dark and rainy, so the whole world would know."
He got out of bed, mechanically washing up and going down to the kitchen. The house echoed with the gunfire of raindrops and scream of the wind and nothing else. The phone rang; Quatre with his impeccable timing. He let it ring.
It was cold.
He turned the thermostat higher and went to make a sandwich. Lettuce, tomatoes, ham, mayo. Lettuce, tomatoes, ham, chocolate – he stopped and threw the sandwich away.
"I like Nutella chocolate on my bread. It's the colour of your hair, did you know?"
"…I think it tastes weird."
Coffee. He put the beans into the machine and started it, then went to take the milk from the fridge and the sugar from – he put the sugar back and set the milk on the table. He ate a few bites of his sandwich, took the coffee out, and put one cup in the microwave while he kept the other. No sense in wasting perfectly good coffee.
"I learnt a long time ago to keep all you can, since you never know when you might need it. I've saved a lot of stuff now, including everything you ever gave me."
"You don't have to. I'll be giving you a lot more."
He added the milk to his drink and put the carton back. He brought his plate and his cup to the living room and turned the TV on, putting the cup on the low table while keeping the plate. A documentary. He found the remote control and settled down on the couch, pressing the up/down button. A drama series. No. A cartoon. No. A news report. No.
"I thought you'd be the type to watch the news first thing in the morning. Guess I was wrong."
"I thought you'd be the type to like flipping channels. I guess we were both wrong."
A 20th century movie. Some woman impaled on steel bars, some blindfolded man hovering over her. She was talking, asking for a kiss. The guy gave it to her. He should have asked where her mouth was; he couldn't exactly see, could he?
He hated movies like this, where the dying person's last moments were more than just moments. Minutes, more like. In life, they'd be dead already if they had that kind of injury, let alone talking. He should know.
"Stay… alive… love… you."
"Love, please, I can't do it without you, dammit! Please… Duo? Gods, no, wake up, Duo, please, please, wake up…"But he hadn't.
Heero carefully put the half-eaten sandwich down, just next to the cup. And then, with memories whispering in his ear, he curled up into himself and cried.
End
[Ashen Skies][Remember me…]