Note: The POV is Relena's.
Love isn't like the stories I used to read. I'm not sure why I expected it to be. Maybe a little naiveness on my part I guess. All right, perhaps a lot. But then, this isn't your typical story. After all, just consider how we met. It was in the middle of a war, even if sometimes, I didn't treat it that way.
I'm not even talking about story books either. You don't need perfectly contrived romance... Just go to a bar someday with some friends, after you get past the stories of kinky sex with motor oil, billboard signs and unripened bananas, things quiet down. Words slurred with drink will fondly tell you of the very moment they realized they were in love with their spouse, or perhaps about the soulmate they met in Paris that got away, and have been searching for since.
Those are the kind of stories that you listen to, leaning against one elbow, a vague, wistful smile on your face and a faraway gaze. You can't help but be jealous a little bit, but at the same time hopeful, imagining such a romance sweeping you into its warm, thoughtless embrace.
I really thought I had one of those stories. You fell to Earth twice; you fell to me, and I fell for you. Could it have been more perfect?
But if I was living in one of the story books with their pretty poetry, I'd be struck with the beauty of love, and spend long hours staring out the window. I'd be picking out birds, flowers, or just a certain shade of sky that reminds me exactly of your eyes, and count how many days you've been courting me. Count how many days that I've been falling into you.
It was kind of like that at first. It was after the Mariameia incident, Heero had saved me and collapsed into my arms. At that moment I could feel the warmth off of him, the tangy smell of gundamium... I could even feel his heart, beating so strongly, through the layers of our clothes as if we were in perfect sync with each other. And I remember thinking, at that moment, that it was all going to be all right. At last!
We checked him into the hospital, for exhaustion and later we found out massive stomach ulcers. He'd been so tightly wound, just waiting, knowing that there HAD to be another outbreak of conflict. It wasn't the exertion from the gundam, or the emotional stress that had caused him to collapse, but a year of anticipatory, restless tension that had been literally eating away at him, inside out.
I'm writing this.... and talking about you in the third person... I'm sorry.... no, I'll likely never give this to you. I can't say that it's painful. It's worse than that. It's a numb and apathetic feeling, laced with tiny regrets. But I'll stop, just in case Never actually happens, if you actually read this.
You were right, when you said you couldn't do it anymore..... but neither could I. I think that's why you came home with me. I think that's why I let you.
Those days following were intense. We are both passionate people, who work so single-mindedly on our desires, and there was nothing more that we desired at the time than each other. Than the little slice of normalcy that we had promised each other. Neither of us really knew what it was, just that we'd never had it. Maybe some little house with a white picket fence, 2.5 kids, a cute little dog and family outings to the park.
Looking back, I think the trouble started when we couldn't have children. Such a silly thing in this day and age! But it was true. We baffled the doctors. In the end, we had found out that it was actually a chemical imbalance, some part of that training you endured to increased strength. I didn't mind, really. But you took it so hard.
We both buried ourselves in work, myself in politics and you in the Preventers. We didn't see each other much, and each privately thought that maybe it was for the best.
We never argue anymore. No raised voices, no jealousy. That was the worst part of it. We don't talk at the dinner table anymore. 'No' is never the answer to any question, just an uncaring acceptance to whatever the other happens to be saying.
I look with enviously happy eyes to those couples you occasionally see, screaming at each other, insults, obscure proof of innocence or guilt... all scattered with the occasional obscenity. You see, there's still enough love to hate. Enough electricity between them to cause a burn.
If one of them just realizes that, they might still have a chance.
These days, I just sigh, turn back to the window to avoid meeting your eyes, the apathy within them that matches my own, and count how many day's you've been courting him. Count how many days I've been falling away from you.
OWARI
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