Violet Dreams

Time and time again. I really wanted to finish this. Now I have the resources and I have also gathered all my previously written material. My plot bunnies are all but resurrected from the dead, alive and kicking some serious ass. Now, all I have to do is write and write everything down! This story that I began almost four years ago will now be continued.

Violet Dreams

A Gundam Seed fanfiction.

Warnings: PG-13. Contains some shounen-ai.

Pairing: Athrun x Kira

~*~*~


High up the lustrous rosewood table, the answering machine idly sat. Athrun didn't anymore bother to check for unheard messages. He seldom got one in the first place. If he did get one it was either from his parents urging him to take a week off from his academics or from his elder brothers and sisters randomly saying their hellos to their youngest sibling.

He grabbed a carton of fresh milk and a pack of frozen dinner that had a close semblance to a red brick. Simultaneously, he shoved the "brick", otherwise known as a slice of good steak, into the microwave, pushed a few buttons and chugged down the milk from the carton. The milk easily slid down his esophagus to his stomach having received no food in the past twelve hours. He drank all the milk in a series of short but rapid gulps. Then, he headed back to the refrigerator to get something he forgot.

Peeling the potatoes was easier for him this time. Kira taught him how to hold the knife at correct angles so he only peeled the skin off even when the root crop(?) has just been thoroughly boiled. The secret, Kira declared, was not with the angle of handling the knife at all but with the way and length of time the potatoes were boiled.

Kira could have mashed them with the skin on since he took the time to brush the potatoes diligently under a stream of running water freeing the potatoes from dirt. Now this was a practice Athrun didn't quite approve of, so he chose the more arduous way. Athrun is a fastidious person. You can't force him to like what he likes not to like. He comes from a rich family, what can Kira expect from him.

"But... But... There should be a little dirt that's gonna be left behind after you brush them!" Athrun protested when Kira was trying to attempt his seemingly queer kitchen practices. Athrun called it indolence, Kira called it convenience.

"It would be good for you to eat a little dirt once in a while..." Kira countered with an evil grin, which had left the poor Athrun flabbergasted. Even if he won the argument, he didn't press his convictions on mashed potatoes any further. After all, Athrun was always the host. Kira doesn't tolerate disrespect much.

~~

A long time ago...

Sitting on a stone bench for two hours in a park in the middle of Aprilius 7 in the company of dead leaves and the frigid mid-autumn winds had no doubt consumed all of 17-year-old Kira Yamato’s patience. The map which should have taken him to his apartment located somewhere in the suburbs of the city had led him to a man-made lake in a park instead.

He took a quick and conscious look at his surroundings. He felt diminutive and meaningless and lonely. The place looked lifeless for the trees have shed most, if not all, of their leaves and daylight wasn't a commodity anymore. He was bothered by their company and unease settled beside him on the bench giving him fleeting fragments of regret why he had chosen this path.

Several months ago while he was working in the town bakery, after graduating from high school, a letter bearing the government seal, arrived at his doorstep. His elder sister came across it first but never bothered to read it since it was addressed explicitly to Kira Yamato. When he returned home later that night they screamed and laughed and eventually cried in each other's embrace after reading it.

“This is our chance Kira! I’ll ask Aunt Nelia for a piece of paper. I’m sure she’ll be more than glad to lend us a sheet when I tell her about this. Your pen still has ink, right? Right?” His sister had to squint just to look straight into his eyes; their faces were only inches apart from each other. She couldn’t hide her excitement; the agitated feeling this wonderful news gave her sure was troublesome.

The letter stated that a reply must be made within a week to confirm Kira’s acceptance of this blessing that they are about to bestow him. During those times, help from the government was not to be expected. Higher ups were busy. The country had paid its debts and sure snaked its way up to the top, nearly, but strife between the powers-that-be who struggled for legitimate control over the government had once again plunged the country into silent chaos.

Equally excited, Kira fetched his satchel from the cabinet, the only furniture inside the house with their two bamboo beds exempted from the count, and dumped its contents above the polished counter of the wooden fixture. His hands searched for his pen, given to him by their kind landlady upon noticing his talent for writing, among the contents in disarray.

Finally he found it and held it in his right hand, his writing hand. He smiled triumphantly at his sister as if he had found a treasure. He waved it in the air like a conductor waving his baton giving his elder sister an idea that he will write the reply in the most elegant cursive handwriting known to man.