Is That Love by Agent Midnight
Standard disclaimers apply
Duo POV
What is love?
I never really understood how producers can write love like they
do. I mean, whenever I watch those stupid movies with the kissing,
the roses, the jewelry, the perfect disgust, I can't help but realize
that that isn't what real love is. Real love isn't having your lover
show up in the rain with a bundle of wet roses just because he wanted
to see you, or to say he was sorry for being four minutes late to
your anniversary dinner. It isn't meaningless objects of adoration
that make you feel special for no more then a couple of seconds before
that feeling of bliss is gone. True love, in real life, isn't always
happiness.
Ever since I fell in love with Heero, sure happiness made an appearance,
but fear was a close second. With someone else in your life, you have
to acknowledge that one second you or he may be gone from accidents
of every day life. I had to prepare myself for his death whenever
he would step on a plane to go on a business trip, him turning on
the steps and offering me a small smile and a wave, silently telling
me that he'll see me when it's over and done with.
Well, what if it's over and done with when he's still in the air?
What if he never had a chance to touch down on the cold earth again,
dying in the sky where his dreams used to be? What if he died centuries
away from where I would be standing on that very earth with his picture
in my hand, wondering if he was dead yet?
Is that love?
Do the movies show you that love?
What is love?
What about the kind of desperation when it comes to the even more
meaningless fights about god-knows-what? Do the movies show the two
lovebirds in the kitchen, one getting so angry, the other gets hit
because of it. Do they show the two standing silently in the kitchen,
tense and waiting for the next blow to be delivered even through the
guilt of the act? Do they show people like me shoving their love against
the counter so hard, they stop and start to cry when they see the
wince of pain?
Do movie-goers get to see bloodied lips and bruised eyes, the image
practically screaming "love"?
In movies, the two have a wonderful sex life, so that must be the
same as love, right? Of course, because when two people are having
sex, they know everything about each other. With one quick fuck, they
know their partner's past history, and theories of future life. They
know their likes and dislikes without actually having to sit down
and talk like responsible human beings should do. Well, we have sex...
what more is there?
When Heero and I made love for the first time, we had already been
in a "relationship" for about two years, neither of us realizing
that we hadn't loved each other until the second we knew everything
about each other. All we had been doing those two years, was the equivalent
of casual sex amongst two friends. There wasn't any magic there when
we first began, but we grew to love each other when we accepted the
other's quirks without running.
It wasn't a silly love-at-first-sight experience between the two
of us. We were, as people harshly put it, fuck-buddies, and there
was no way getting around that.
Heero likes the house at one temperature, but that's always too
cold for me, so what do we do? We bring out our friendship and compromise.
Well, if it's too cold, Duo... you can turn the heat on.
Or.
Let's watch movies in the living room and keep each other warm.
Love is that.
Sitting in the living room, freezing my ass off, but his skin so
warm when I lean against him. You know, with some bad action flick
playing on the movie channels, his breath puffing out against my hair
as he laughs quietly. The fabric of his shirt rubbing against mine
as he shifts to wrap his arms around me.
Has Heero ever bought me flowers? No.
He hasn't ever come home with a surprise just for me because he
loves me. Sometimes he doesn't say anything at all when he walks through
the door, but my love for him is telling me that that's just who he
is. He came back to the house because he returns the love, right?
If Heero suddenly stopped showing back up after work, taking stuff
with him in the mornings, then I would think he no longer loved me.
Would I be sad?
I wouldn't make a big production out of it, but I would be upset,
maybe even depressed.
I had got it all planned out, though. If he ever chooses to leave
me, I'll just pack his things up and set them on the porch step, leaving
a message on his work answering machine telling him what I had done
and to come pick his things up between here and here. If you come
passed that time, I'll probably see you, and I might cry.
Would you see that in a movie? Probably not.
You would see the girl run after the guy, crying her eyes out until
the guy says he was wrong. I was wrong! I didn't mean what I said!
I love you! I love you! I love...
I wonder when my mind told me that plan wouldn't happen. I can't
remember when I realized that I would cry and hold him until he agreed
to stay with me. I would beg and cry, hugging him and hitting him
with every cheap shot I could think of.
Once Trowa asked me if I was happy with the way life was going,
and I said no. I told him that I wasn't happy with life at all and
I should probably just kill myself, but I couldn't do that because
I was in love with Heero. Love is not wanting your partner to be sad,
and I didn't want him to be sad just because I wasn't happy. If I
was still alone, I would probably be dead right now, but I took on
the responsibility of love, and now I have to take into consideration
the thoughts of two.
It seemed like the only time I was happy was when I was with Heero,
but he was gone most of the time, and it was during those times that
I started imagining what I could do with the knife in the kitchen
or the gun in Heero's desk drawer. Then he would walk through the
door, and all those dirty thoughts would be gone because I remembered
that I'm in love. And being in love makes me happy.
Trowa told Heero what I had said to him, and Heero had approached
me and asked me the same question. Are you happy?
And I told him that most of the time I wasn't. Only with you, Heero.
I'm happy with you.
That is love.
Two days later, he took a temporary leave from office work and his
boss agreed to let him work from our house if it meant that his best
worker could take care of his family problems. Family problems, eh?
I'm Heero's problem, now, I guess.
That is love.
I woke up in his arms and I was happy.
I walked into the kicthen, those nasty thoughts springing in the
direction of the knife drawer, and he was standing there, trying to
concentrate on the words on the box of the pancake mix. I was happy.
He had stayed home for about a month, obviously assuming I was in
much better condition because he went back to work one morning and
I was sad, again. As the front door closed, I sat on the carpet in
the hallway and waited there for hours until he came back and saw
me. I clearly remember the look of shock on his face as his briefcase
slipped from his fingers to join his keys on the floor. He nearly
tripped down the hallway and fell on his knees beside me, bringing
me into his arms and whispering out a mixture of obscenities and apologies.
I was happy.
With much argument from his boss, he quit his job.
I was happy.
He stayed home with me permanently.
I was happy.
He was always there when the bad thoughts came to mind.
I was happy.
He watched me until his eyes lost their sparkle.
He watched me, always offering a fake smile.
He watches me because he's sad.
I'm not happy.
This is our love.
I wish it wasn't.
*******
The End
*******
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