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The line goes dead in his ears and he hears a ship explode near him as the smile fades slowly from his face. His head throbs and he doesn’t know why but his brain is pulsing against his skull and it’s so painful he almost feels like he’s going to explode. He puts a hand up to his head to look for the source of this sudden headache but it’s everywhere, all-encompassing and he yells in agony.
And then it’s gone. And he’s not in his Zaku anymore. He’s not exactly sure where he is, really, it doesn’t look like anywhere he’s been before but it’s still familiar somehow. He tries to take a look around but when he turns his head it goes the opposite direction. He tries again but, still, it doesn’t work and he continues looking where he had before. It’s an odd feeling, like he’s in some sort of simulation where he has no control over his body but it doesn’t scare him at all. It feels like he’s meant to be doing exactly what he’s doing and though he doesn’t completely understand it, he lets the feeling take over and watches what happens like it’s a movie.
The air cool and rings with some noise he's never heard before. An insect? He must be on Earth. The sun seems to be in the middle of setting as the twilight lays pale over a reddening sky, confirming his theory. You don’t get sunsets like this on a colony. After peering around his peripheries, he focuses on himself. He’s looking at a fence, and he’s smiling, he can feel his own smile. The fence has a stone base and white, plastered concrete beneath a tiled top that almost looks like a roof and it reaches just over the top of his head so that he’s unable to see past it. Thankfully, his head looks down again and he can now tell he’s on a small dirt path surrounded by tall grass on either side. In his left periphery is a forest, he must be on the edge of town wherever he is. Or perhaps he’s in the middle of nowhere. But something tells him it’s the former.
That smile is still on his face and the further he goes, the larger it gets. It feels ridiculous but there’s little chance of anyone catching him back here so he lets it grow larger. Somehow he feels as if where he’s going is his only source of happiness, the only thing that can make him smile, so he may as well revel in it.
He looks back at the fence and this time he sees a roof coming up over the top. His heart beats rapidly in his chest as his teeth break free from beneath his lips and he starts to sprint towards the house. The roof grows larger and the grass whips his legs as he runs so he slows down again, cautious of the noise he’s making. It would be bad to be heard.
A small light glints off the top of the fence and he knows that’s his destination. Walking up to the light, he pulls it off the side of the fence and turns it over in his hands. He could tell from farther away that it was metal but now he knows exactly what it is. Dog tags. The name reads as his own and it’s slightly disconcerting but also makes sense given everything else he’s experiencing. He tries to read further to maybe find out what country he works for but all that’s on there is his name, a bunch of numbers he understands as his ID, the letter “Y”, and “O NEG”.
Instead of worrying about it too much, he drapes the chain back around his neck and tucks it under his shirt, the steel cold against his neck. He turns towards the forest and looks for a rock on the ground. He finds one, small enough so it won’t hurt as he throws it gently over the fence. A wind blows just as he does and he hears the soft ring of a chime on the other side of the fence. It’s so cool that he’s only just realized it’s summer. He hadn’t really experienced seasons until he’d been on Earth so he can never be sure of them but he knows this chime is the sort of thing one only hangs in summer.
“Char?” a hushed whisper calls from the other side. It’s his name but it’s not. A strange amalgamation from a familiar but unfamiliar voice.
“Garma?” he whispers back. Garma? It’s… Garma. Of course it is. Who else would it be? He feels foolish for thinking it could be anyone else. “Can you get over?”
“Yeah, I think, but I might need some help once I get to the top,” Garma answers. Char feels doubtful at that and rolls his eyes at his boyfriend’s overestimation of his powers. Wait. Boyfriend?
“Of course, I’ll catch you,” he says in a way that clearly demonstrates his own estimation of Garma’s powers.
“I am not going to fall!” Garma protests and he knows the idiot is pouting without even seeing his face. His Garma has always been that predictable.
A small hand grasps at the other side of the wall and it seems to flicker briefly before the fingers push up under the tiles and Garma uses them as leverage to pull himself up over the wall. Char finds himself full of awe as a purple head pokes up from the other side. The arm strength it must take to do this sort of maneuver is something he didn’t think Garma was capable of. He wonders if his Garma could do this sort of thing as well but the thought passes as soon as he sees a face that is definitely his Garma pop up on top of the fence. His and only his.
His Garma. With arm strength to match his own. He doesn’t know if that’s accurate but it’s not like he can do anything to change the settings of this simulation. Garma now has half his torso over the wall and Char moves into position, holding his arms out in case he comes tumbling down. And, of course, he does. As soon as he has a leg up over, he seems to trip on his other leg and falls straight into Char, sending them both into the grass on the other side of the path.
“Sorry,” Garma says as he sits up over him. And it’s only then that Char notices exactly how he got over the wall in his particular outfit.
He’s wearing a yukata, which is bizarre enough on its own, but in order to do such strenuous activity in the restrictive clothing, he had taken off the tie and let it hang open like a jacket, leaving his chest bare and illuminated in the dimming light of the evening. He has, in his life, seen Garma naked plenty of times since they had been roommates at the academy, but it doesn’t seem as if this life has had the same experience and he feels heat spread through him. Even in this life they’ve never been quite this close, or perhaps it’s this position that makes his mind race but both of them look away simultaneously, he doesn’t trust himself to pay further attention to the naked skin above him.
“Char? Are you okay? What— oh.” Garma inspects his lack of clothing as he realizes exactly why Char isn’t looking at him. “Char, don’t be so embarrassed, I hope this isn’t the most you’ll ever see of me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean,” he asks, sitting up on his elbows as Garma stands himself upright again and takes the ties off from their loose tie around his neck. He looks up at his partner, admiring the way the light green of his outfit matches his hair as he tragically covers his chest again by tying the obi around his hips. Either way he looks equally as charming but somehow he wishes he’d kept the garment open. It’s not as though he’s never entertained the thought of romancing his Garma but it feels so real in this moment that he regrets he never did. Maybe it doesn’t matter since he doesn’t seem to exist anymore.
“It means, play your cards right and you’ll be seeing a lot more than that soon enough,” he says as he brushes his yukata off and adjusts his darker green haori. Char stands and helps him, picking a couple specks of dirt off his back before placing his hands on his shoulders to hold him at a close but safe distance.
“Tonight?” It’s not a serious question, he knows the answer, but he can’t help it. Teasing Garma is just always fun.
“Char, we haven’t even… you know…”
“Kissed?” Garma huffs as if he’s just said a dirty word and Char laughs wholeheartedly.
“Don’t laugh, you might be heard,” Garma scolds with a playful smile. It reminds him of something. A memory that seems distant but recent plays out in front of him as Garma twirls his hair and he can almost picture it despite the fuzziness of the memory. But he lets the image pass, focusing on this moment instead. It’s not as if it matters, they’re both his Garma anyway.
“You worry too much,” he teases again. “But we should get out of here.”
“Yes, we’ll miss the fireworks!” Garma exclaims and grabs one of Char’s hands off his shoulder. Char is pulled along behind his hurrying boyfriend as they move at a half-run down the same path he’d come in on, passing a couple intersections before Char stops him and they turn onto a larger street.
It’s quiet, not a soul in sight, and the only light is coming from a small store a couple blocks down. The town isn't nearly as big as he'd thought it'd be, the tallest building only three stories and the streets crowded with the buildings on it, looming over him as if they're trying to crush him into the earth. This era feels ancient with its lack of technology and quiet loneliness. He imagines if Garma weren’t here with him it’d be hard for him to do just about anything, even in this body that's supposed to belong here he feels so foreign, as if he’s being physically rejected by the place for every step he takes in it. Feeling a sudden sense of loneliness, he pulls Garma closer, wrapping their arms together so they can snuggle into each other, protecting one another from the cool summer night.
“Char,” he hums in acknowledgement, “do you think we’ll be able to stay this close at the festival?”
“Of course we will,” he answers solidly.
“But people will—”
“Garma, because it’s us they’ll look anyway. Why not give them a show?” he says, smiling over at Garma who’s looking down and twirling his hair again.
“I— No, I guess you’re right.”
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he offers, beginning to pull his arm out from Garma’s. It physically hurts to do so, as if leaving the warmth of his body turns him to ice, but he will if it’s necessary. He’ll live as a glacier if that’s what makes Garma happy. It’s not like he’d have to change much about himself.
“No!” Garma immediately pulls him back, catching his arm and holding it tightly so he can’t run anymore. “Stay.”
Char stands stock still, wondering how Garma had known exactly what he was doing. But he sighs and pulls Garma close to him again, nuzzling his head against his boyfriend’s as they begin walking again.
“What would I do without you?" he ponders with a wistful sigh.
"Well, you'd be dead, so not much I would imagine," Garma says with a sly smile, returning the gesture of affection. Char smiles back at him, he knows what Garma means even if he can't remember it distinctly and the memory warms his heart somehow. It would appear the two of them are frequently in fear of their lives, whether it's because of their relationship or otherwise he doesn't know, but it's one of the reasons he treasures his partner so dearly.
"Same to you," he retorts and Garma just laughs.
They walk up to a motorcycle, retro in style and red in color. But considering the era it might just be the latest mode. He helps Garma get on first, his yukata spread wide against the end of the seat and then sits in front of him, turning it on and stepping on the gas like it's second nature. Like piloting a mobile suit.
It's not as fast as most modern motorcycles— definitely not as fast as a mobile suit— and Garma is barely holding onto him as they drive to downtown. The buildings get taller but no less ominous and they pass through like ghosts looking for their home. It's not as if he likes this place, he hates it in fact, but life had brought him here and gave him Garma so he can't really complain. What he wants, more than anything, is to leave with Garma at his side but he's still not sure if Garma's ready to go. Worries about his family.
Memories of the past swirl around him as he recalls the beginnings of his time here. He came looking for the Zabis but Garma, always the innocent fool, is the only member of his family who lives up here. He likes the cold and, unlike other cities that host branches of his family’s “business”, this city is growing just as Garma is so his family thought it was a good place to put him. Up in the north, out of the way, where his tendencies could remain unseen. But Char hadn’t learned that until he’d gotten here, blindly chasing his revenge as he lost himself to sorrow and rage.
And then he’d almost gotten himself killed and Garma had saved him, helping him recover from a wound that really should have left him dead. But it wasn’t the aid that had drawn him to Garma. It was his persistence. At the beginning of their relationship, it was always Garma who snuck out to see him, knocking on his door in the middle of the night with a couple of beers and asking if he wanted to talk. They had started out tepid friends and he had no idea how their relationship had grown so much but the now night stuck them to each other like rust to a wheelbarrow. Char has to admit he’s probably the rust.
But it’s been two years since they met and Char has never been a steady person, always on the move since he lost his family. He’s never been happy since then, always alone and always moving. And this place can never be home, even if Garma’s here, but he still can’t imagine leaving him. Can’t imagine ever finding happiness without him.
But despite their attempt to put him somewhere unnoticeable, Garma’s family is still strict with him. They pressure him and force him to lead their “business” despite his dislike of the practice and young age, giving him little time to enjoy his life or do anything other than work. He’s lonely too, locked up in that big house where only he lives, his supposed “brothers” too scared to befriend him because of something he can’t control.
There’s a street glistening with light not far in front of them and Garma jumps a little as he points towards it.
“Over there! That’s the festival,” he exclaims, squeezing Char’s waist just a little bit tighter as he slows to a stop about a block away from the well-lit road. Char steps off first since he’s sitting on the edges of Garma’s yukata and Garma follows him, instantly grabbing his hand again when he’s off.
The festival is like a fairytale and everything seems to glow around him. Music is playing in the distance and everyone is wearing yukatas as children chase each other down the street, giggling and laughing as they trip over themselves onto the newly paved street. Stalls line the street with games and food vendors and other stores, smiling salesmen standing beside the displays and selling off their wares to every passerby.
“We have an hour until the fireworks, what should we do? I’d kind of like to walk through and see what we find first,” Garma suggests as he looks at his watch.
“Sounds good.” They stand close, though not hand-in-hand, and get the occasional look or group of middle school girls giggling at them as they pass by and he realizes this is the first time they’ve ever been out together in public. Usually they sit by the stream in the forest near Garma’s house or lean over the balcony at Char’s place but now they’re in a crowd of people, surrounded on all sides with little place for their usual intimacy.
“Char? Are you okay?” As the crowd encircles them until they can barely move, much less be seen, Garma slides their hands together and squeezes, looking over at him with a concerned frown.
“As long as you’re here,” he replies with a smile. Garma returns the smile brightly before spotting something else and pulling Char over to it. Garma buys himself a fan, proclaiming it too hot as he whips it at himself slowly with his free hand. They’re still holding hands and Char looks down at where they join, a sense of peace filling him as Garma gasps and tugs on him again.
“It’s the little fish game!” he shouts excitedly as they approach a booth.
“Little fish game?” Char asks. The booth in front of them has a large tub of water filled with goldfish and the vendor inside smiles at them as Garma explains the game.
“Mm, you get this little circle net and dip it in the water under a fish to catch it and if you do, you get to keep it. How many tries does each person get?” he asks the vendor.
“Three tries for each person,” the man answers and they both nod.
“I’ll go first, if I don’t get one, you do it,” Garma orders, poking his chest with his fan before handing it to him to hold onto.
“Yes, sir,” he says with a mock salute. Garma nods and turns back, asking the man for three tries for himself.
The first time, it’s not too bad. He sits down, scans for a second, and pushes up his sleeve before dashing his net in, getting the tail end of the fish.
“Garma, hold it under the water and wait for a fish to swim over instead,” Char advises.
“How would you know? You’ve never even heard of this game before,” Garma says with a pout.
“I think it’s pretty obvious.” Garma glares at him and turns back to the tank, not even scanning before pushing up under the water and catching almost nothing.
“One more shot,” the vendor says.
“Fine. I’ll try your way,” Garma says as he slips the net into the water and waits patiently for a fish to swim over it. It takes a minute, but when a small, orange fish is directly over it, Garma snatches the net up, fish on top, and gasps excitedly before tilting the net just a bit so the fish falls off and plops back into the water.
“So close,” Char consoles as Garma’s head drops to his knees. “I’ll also have three tries,” he tells the vendor.
The man nods and takes his money, handing him another net and a bag of water. Garma sits beside him and watches carefully as he dips the net in and waits. The fish grow accustomed to the net quickly and he lets a few pass over it before snatching one with a notch in its tail up, quickly placing it in the bag then holding it tightly at the top so it can’t
“Ohhhh, first try!” Garma congratulates, his eyes wide and his mouth open with excitement. He claps against his fan
“Congratulations,” the vendor says with a smile, handing him a tie to go around the bag. Char puts it on tightly and hands the bag to Garma who gasps as he looks at the fish inside.
"For me?" he asks expectantly.
"Of course, young master," he teases, bowing deeply.
"Stop that, you," Garma reprimands, slapping the top of his head playfully. Fish in one hand and fan in the other, he looks at his watch again. Char sulks quietly as he realizes Garma no longer has any open hands. "We have fifteen minutes until the fireworks."
“And?” Char asks, standing upright again.
“And I’m going to take you to the perfect place to view them,” he says with a smile. He puts his fan in the breast of his yukata, grabs Char’s hand again, pulls him back into the crowd, and Char feels a little foolish for sulking. As soon as they’re in the middle where they’re least likely to be noticed, Garma pulls him close enough to whisper in his ear. “It’s high, quiet, and inconspicuous.”
“Oh?” He likes where Garma’s head is at and looks at him, seeing his boyfriend’s smile is just as vicious as his own. They laugh to themselves at their own ridiculousness and Char follows behind Garma as close as he’s able, their conjoined hands the only thing keeping them from losing each other as they push through throngs of people.
He takes this time to admire Garma, his hair shining and glowing a soft yellow in the light of the festival. His yukata lines his body perfectly, accenting his shoulders as his haori slips off of them in his rush and his sleeves drape gently off his arms in that perfect summer green, sweet and gentle just like the person wearing it. He wonders if they could stay like this forever, smiling and laughing and just being with each other, unafraid. He knows things aren’t that easy, nothing ever is, but can’t he dream? Dream of being able to just look at him for as long as he likes, whenever he likes. It feels so distant but there Garma is, connecting them with his hand. Showing him that it’s real, that they’re together, that he’s allowed to dream. He squeezes the hand and he can see Garma’s cheeks dimple on either side of his face as he smiles, squeezing back.
They walk to the river that intersects the festival on the farthest side from the temple that is the epicenter of the festival, crossing the bridge and walking out onto the grassy bank. Garma’s right, it is quiet, and dark. He can barely see the one other couple that sits a little further in front of them, can’t even tell if they’re in the same predicament as the two of them.
“This is nice,” he whispers to Garma who nods fervently in agreement.
“It’s where I come every year. It’s hard down by the temple, it only takes one person to recognize me and the place clears out like moths when a candle dies.” Garma sighs as he sits down on the grass near the top of the hill and Char sits next to him, sliding over as close as he can while Garma pats at his little fish to make sure it won’t roll down the hill.
“Poor, poor mafia boss, can’t make a friend to save his life,” Char teases, leaning his head on Garma’s shoulder and pouting exaggeratedly. Garma imitates him and whines in distress.
“Stoooop, it’s true and I hate it. I hate what I am and I hate that people hate me. I don’t want to be hated, I don’t want to be feared, I just want to be loved.” Garma’s face has become more serious now and he looks down at the river with drooping eyes, the distant glow of the festival still illuminating his sad smile. He could say it here. He should say it. The words are at the tip of his tongue. But he can’t.
“So why don’t you leave? Live the life you want?” Garma turns to him, his face slowly beginning to radiate something akin to hope.
“I’m waiting on something,” he answers cryptically. Char stares at him with confusion and awe, his mouth open as he tries to think of something else to say but he finds nothing and Garma chuckles softly. “What about you? Why haven’t you left yet, I know you hate it here.”
“I’m…” He tries desperately to think of a reason other than Garma but almost none exists so he tells the truth instead. “I’ve been thinking of leaving for a while, I might soon, who knows.”
Garma doesn’t say anything, just turns away and Char feels like he’s said something wrong. He most likely has, knowing his own inability to read romantic situations properly. But a loud bang startles them both, blue lights popping across the sky as the fireworks display begins.
“It’s here, it’s here!” Garma exclaims, bouncing their hands up and down as crackling noises begin to fill the air. Char lifts up one of his legs and puts it in Garma’s lap as he watches his awed face change color with the rising and falling sparks in the air. “I always wondered how they make these, I sometimes think to learn but that would ruin the magic, wouldn’t it?”
Char can only hum in response, too busy watching Garma to pay the fireworks any real attention.
“Char,” Garma sighs amusedly, turning his wonderful face towards him.
“What?” he asks, raising an eyebrow in question.
“At least pretend to watch the show,” he reprimands playfully.
“Can’t. Looking at something far more pleasing than gunpowder, dye, and paper,” he says.
“Char! The magic!” Garma pouts, sliding down further into the grass.
“You are more magical than fireworks could ever hope to be,” he counters and he can barely see it but he thinks Garma’s blushing.
“You sure are romantic tonight,” he replies quietly, almost reverently. Char’s not a romantic, not in the slightest, but there’s still something so incredible about that voice. Something insurmountable, that makes him feel he’d give up everything to hear again.
There’s a hand on his cheek and when he looks down, he can see Garma rising up again, supporting himself on his elbows as he pulls Char down to him. He can tell what’s going to happen and he wants to close his eyes but Garma is just too beautiful like this, his eyes half-lidded and his mouth open slightly.
But the first touch of their lips seals them shut, enveloping him in this sweet and airy world that’s an amalgamation of Garma at his finest. The tension that had been ignored for so long pushes them into each other, slow and tentative as they take this step. This is most likely Garma’s first kiss, if not just his first voluntary one, and Char wants it to be good. He’s holding back and he’s sure Garma can feel it but he doesn’t want to overwhelm him with the desire he’s been holding back since
“Char, more,” Garma demands in between long, gentle kisses. Char pulls away slowly and looks at Garma, his lips are a glossy red and the fireworks are reflected in his dark irises so clearly Char can almost see each individual spark. He thinks he understands what Garma meant by their magic now.
“Run away with me,” he demands back, caught up in the heat of the moment. He had wanted to ask anyway so he thanks the lust pulsing through his body for bringing out the courage to finally make good on the promise he’d made himself. Garma smiles and relief flows through him.
“I’ve been waiting for you to ask,” he whispers and Char kisses him soundly. Garma’s mouth is open and this time he takes advantage of it, plunging his tongue inside so he can give Garma exactly what he wants. More. Always more.
Char rolls them over so he’s on top of Garma, and Garma wraps his arms around his neck, plunging his hands into his hair. Char groans at the feeling, his own hands feeling at the obi on Garma’s hips. He has no intentions of taking it off, not in such a public place and not when Garma’s already said they wouldn’t be doing anything like that tonight but the implication has Garma moaning anyway.
“Where will we go?” Garma asks breathlessly in between kisses.
“Osaka.”
“To Dozle?” Char nods, kissing his cheek. “Are you really going to kill him?”
“I am.” He knows Garma has no problem with this, they’ve talked about it before and he’s said that, although he won’t get involved himself, he understands why it must be done.
“Just don’t do what you did when you tried to kill me,” Garma warns with a kiss to his nose.
“I learned my lesson, and I got you out of it so I can’t complain.”
“Shut up and kiss me,” Garma says with a laugh, his hands pushing at the base of Char’s scalp. Char complies, kissing him over and over until their lips are numb and they hear something on the road beside them.
“We sure they’re here, bro?” Char and Garma instantly freeze, recognizing the voice. The shoots of the last firework before the finale descends and the air quiets around them as they listen intently.
“Yeah, that was his flashy-ass red bike, for sure. Ain’t no one around here stupid enough to copy that piece of shit.” It’s two of Garma’s henchmen, likely out looking for Garma. Or possibly just Char. They both look over to the road cautiously and count the group that’s come for them. One, two, three, four, five, six.
“Char,” Garma whispers desperately. Char kisses him once more for good measure and when he pulls away, Garma follows him, unwilling to let go.
“Garma, we have to get out of here,” Char urges, watching one of the men approach the first couple on their bank of the river. Another one begins walking over to the two of them and they wait quietly for their distraction to appear. Char and Garma don’t flinch as an explosive pierces the air but the man coming towards them pulls out his gun in a panic and they take their chance.
Despite his idiocy, Char envies the fool who thought to at least bring a gun as he realizes he’s woefully unprepared.
“Hey!” the man yells as they run. Garma’s going a bit slower, reaching for something in the sleeves of his yukata.
“Garma, hurry!” Char calls from the street.
“Just a second!” Garma calls back as he pulls something out of the sleeve. Two pistols. He runs up the hill and hands one to Char as he passes him.
“You absolute devil, you,” Char praises as he chases after Garma, kissing the pistol in appreciation. In front of him, Garma laughs as he runs and Char flicks the safety off, firing a warning shot back at the man chasing them. He doesn’t really care if his target is hit or not but from the pained noise and thump, he’d say he did anyway. One down. Five to go.
Garma is already at the bike by the time he gets there and he’s just standing next to it.
“They slashed the tires,” Garma informs him, pointing at the motorcycle.
“Well, no point in waiting around then, is there?” he says, grabbing Garma’s hand and pulling him a different direction. When he looks behind him, the other five gang members are closer now, not closing in on them, but close enough to see whatever direction they would turn if they chose to. The finale is also still going on, red and green streaks flying above them as they run for their lives. He has a feeling they’re more after him than Garma, but that’s almost always the case. They blame him for the way Garma is naturally so it can’t be helped.
Char has no one to blame other than himself for how he is. Lalah and his sister had been the only ones to ever try to temper this feeling and that was likely the only reason he allowed himself to be with Garma now but it he still felt guilty. Maybe he could blame Amuro, but he had been trying his best to be normal, it was Char who had brought him into this world. But they were all dead anyways so what was even the point of considering them. Now, it’s just him and Garma, alone against the world.
They turn down a sidestreet, it’s unlikely there’ll be any cars that can fit down here and the Zabi henchmen will struggle to follow them through the twisting maze of alleyways. At one point, Garma gasps and slows for a split second before speeding up double to catch up again. Char wonders why, but he doesn’t have time to ask so he looks back instead. Garma seems as if he’s about to pass out but there’s no sign of the men following them.
“Char…” Garma pants as he slows to a walk.
“Garma, can you run anymore?” he asks and sees Garma shake his head in the darkness of the alley. “I think we lost them at least for a while, we’ll stop here for a minute.”
“I left my fish,” Garma says absently, leaning tiredly against a wall at the end of a t-shape intersection. The big road is just to their left and a small light from a streetlight on the other side illuminates Garma’s red face. Char wants to kiss him again. Now that he’s done it once he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough. He wants to spend the rest of his days doing nothing but kissing Garma and listening to him laugh.
But they’re on the run now. He’d asked Garma only minutes ago and here they are running from a much more tangible threat than he’d been considering. Char keeps his eye on the three entrances to their resting place, ears wide open to pick up any footsteps as Garma sits on the ground next to him catching his breath. It seems that although his arm strength is incredible, his core strength is decidedly less so.
His wariness pays off almost instantly as he hears the sound of shoes clacking against concrete and gets into position with his gun. No way all five of them found him without splitting up and he can take up to two instantly. There’s nine bullets in his clip now and since he was a sniper in the army his aim should be pretty good but it also means he’s not great with combat this close. Three men would overwhelm him despite his struggle.
Sadly, however, he hears three distinct sets of footsteps and wonders if Garma will be ready to leave before they get here instead.
“Garma, can you run again?” he asks.
“I… I think I twisted my ankle, Char, I’m sorry I’m being a burden.” Plans run through his head, thinking of how he’d be able to run while carrying Garma and scanning to see if there’s anywhere to hide in the alley itself. It’s painfully barren. And they’d definitely catch up if he tried to carry Garma, they’ve probably already called in back-up so they’d come at them from all sides. Char sighs in defeat.
“It’s fine, Garma, hide in the alley furthest from the street,” he directs. Garma follows his command, dragging himself over to the other side of the alley. Char helps him as he keeps an ear towards the footsteps that seem to be taking all the right turns as the get closer.
“Hey!” Someone yells as Char stands up again and he looks up to see the three men at the next intersection of the vertical alley. They quickly point their guns at him as one yells to alert the rest of their crew.
“Char Aznable, freeze!” one of the other two yells. He does as he’s told, lifting his hands and gun up into the air. “Drop it.”
Char obeys again and drops the gun, hearing it clatter on the ground not too far from himself. None of the henchmen come to pick it up and Char smirks at their idiocy. All he needs is a distraction and he can easily get it back.
“Where is Master Garma?” another asks. He never learned any of their names, but this one is definitely Garma’s second in command, not because Garma likes him but because Kycilia put him there. The other two he remembers as Caillou and Rouquin, based on their hair or lack thereof.
“He’s gone,” Char lies without even glancing at his boyfriend on the ground next to him. If they don’t know he’s here they’ll likely lower their guard since, against all odds, they are scared of their master.
“Good to know, makes things easier on us,” Rouquin says with a wild laugh.
“You’re not looking for him?” Char asks, trying to buy himself time to come up with a plan. It’s a dicey move since it also gives their back-up time to arrive but he needs a distraction of some kind.
“Nah,” Caillou answers, “the rest we’ve called in’ll find him soon enough, but us? We came here ‘specially for you.”
“Why?”
“Well, we figure since you’re the root of Master’s problems, it’d be easier just to get rid of ya and deal with his heartbreak later. We’re tired of playing around,” Rouquin says next. He’s not ready for when Second fires immediately afterwards. It only just grazes the side of his head, as if it’s a warning shot. It seems he’s misjudged his beloved’s minions. Hopefully not fatally.
The other two pull up beside the first three as the bullet is embedded in the wall behind him and the firefight is immediate. He has no time to think. No time to dodge. Nothing.
But he’s not hit. He’s not his once. Instead, the body in front of him gets absolutely riddled as the henchmen shoot blindly. Body in front of him? Why is there a body in front of him?
“Shit,” Caillou says.
“That’s the young master!” Rouquin yells. Char is on his knees, blood rolling down his face as Garma falls into his arms, alive but only barely.
“Char… I’m sorry, I love you,” Garma says weakly, lifting a red hand to press against his cheek before it goes limp and collapses back onto his chest.
“Fuck, we killed Master Garma,” the gang members say, staring at them in shock. Rage fills Char and he hears nothing but the sound of his own rapidly beating heart in his ears as he picks up the gun on the ground two feet away. He takes Garma’s gun as well, the gang members too busy bickering amongst themselves to see what he’s doing. What a distraction.
Looking up he shoots one with Garma’s gun, straight through the head. Now he has all their attention and 18 bullets left. They raise their guns again but two soon becomes four as he shoots one with each gun, his aim as perfect as ever. The last two, Caillou and Rouquin, freeze in panic and that’s their death. Two bullets straight through their skulls. 14 bullets. Gang activity in this town must be slow for such a sluggish mafia to have taken over but of course he already knew that.
That he could be just as sluggish is what really surprises him.
Not thinking, he picks up Garma’s body and slings it over his back, the feeling of blood slick against his leather jacket. He hears a motorcycle pull up near the street at their alley and runs to it, shooting the man on it and pushing his body off so he can take it back to the forest at the edge of town. 13 bullets.
He’s back on the path, carrying Garma on his back and talking to him absently, as if he’s still alive. From the path, he walks into the forest down to the creek where he and Garma spent so many happy nights playing in the cold water and talking about everything and nothing. Where they never will again.
“Garma, you’re not really dead, are you?” he asks as he lays Garma’s body on the bank, his feet dipped in the water. He gets in the calf-high water and gets down on his knees in front of his beloved, picking up one of his feet. Looking at the ankle, he notices a purple bruise beginning to form. “Look at that, you really did twist your ankle. Pretty badly too, I wonder if this is sprained.”
Garma doesn’t answer, his body lying silent on the ground as blood soaks the soil and drifts into the water.
“Don’t worry about it, I know how to care for these. I had a pretty useless partner back in the corps, this kind of thing was always happening. You would have hated him, I think, you always seemed to from the stories I told you. But he was pretty pathetic so it makes sense.” He knows he’s rambling but Garma loves it when he rambles, says it’s a rare treasure.
Then he remembers Garma’s last words “Char, I’m sorry, I love you,” and admits to himself they were his last words. He had nothing to be sorry for. Never did. It’s Char who should be sorry. Sorry for being slow. Sorry for not protecting him. For putting him in danger in the first place. For letting him die.
“So selfish to the very end, weren’t you?” He says, cupping his hands in the water. He can feel a headache coming on but he pays it no mind. Instead, he pours the water over Garma’s body in a useless attempt to clean off the blood. There’s just too much. “Didn’t even let me return the sentiment. Just…”
He groans in agony, the headache intruding into the forefront of his mind as he bends over to grab more water. Instantly, he drops it to grab his head as he yells, the pain of a thousand lifetimes running through his head in a matter of seconds.
And he remembers. God, he remembers so much. They’ve done this before. They’ve done just about everything. And they’ve failed every time.
He’s failed this time.
“Garma, I love you,” he whispers, his hair in the water. He’s made a red pool around himself but it’s all Garma’s blood. It won’t be like that for long.
Nothing matters if Garma’s dead. Not revenge, not duty, nothing. This is his one and only, the one he’s trapped in this hell of eternity with, dead and bloody on the cold ground.
The only option left is to try again.
He picks up his gun from where he’d put it on the ground. Six bullets left, seven in Garma’s. But he doesn’t need those other 12. One will suit him just fine. He takes the safety off again and lifts the gun to his head.
Bang.
12 bullets.
Char shudders awake in his Zaku again and immediately vomits, his headache still pounding though it’s slowly fading now.
That was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Visceral to the point that he’d almost lost himself in it. He feels dead inside. But he supposes he already is.
To think he’d lived a thousand other incarnations, a thousand other lives. It was hard to believe, but almost undeniable now. Every life was different. Different names, faces, nationalities, genders, years of birth, and just stories in general. The last one felt somewhat similar to his own but before that there were much simpler times and times somehow more difficult than his own.
The only similarity between them all was him, Garma, and failure. Two souls connected by a long string of loss. One life Garma would die first, and the next Char. But never did one live on without the other. There was something that called to them, that called them to the next life,to try again.
He feels like a failure, as his past self had, and wonders what went wrong this time? A million things. A million little failures on both their parts. Selfishness and desire, warped together as they tore him further and further from his Original goal. He has to wonder, would his Garma have been as understanding? Would they have been able to run away together as their past lives had failed to do? If only he’d known, if only he’d had these memories before, he could have done things differently, could have been better. Could have fought this base desire for revenge and seen things as they were.
But all that speculation is pointless now. No matter. He’s failed again.
All that’s left is to try again.
He grabs the controls of his Zaku and pulls out of his current position. His radio is going wild with calls of concern but he ignores it, pulling straight in front of the Trojan Horse, just as Garma had. And, just like Garma, he yells as he plunges into its full-force fire. The only difference is that his mobile suit goes up in flames much more quickly and for that he is grateful. He counts the seconds down, starting at 12.
This time it takes both clips.