#char aznable

Where was Char? 

Amuro could feel him somewhere close by, aching like a bruise where blood had pooled too close to the surface, but he couldn’t see him. Couldn’t see much of anything, just the light that surrounded him. The feeling of Char was everywhere and nowhere and Amuro surged forward, teeth gritted together so hard that they ached. His legs felt heavy, nearly impossible to lift as he plunged forward, pushing ahead into a nothingness that looked the same in every direction.

<<Where are you?>>  

His throat was raw as if he had been screaming. Had he been? Was he still? He couldn’t remember, didn’t know anything outside his single-minded determination to keep pursuing his quarry. But he had no way of knowing if he was running or flying or even moving at all.

<<Stop hiding, damnit!>>

The light pressed in on him, seeping into his bones, tugging him down even as it buoyed him up and drove him forward, as if it wanted something from him but refused to tell him what. White light, shimmering in every wavelength as it refracted and pierced him until he didn’t know if it was real or if he had been blinded and now saw only the echo of colors scored eternally into his retinas. Sensation swamped him as he tugged his feet free from whatever held them. It felt cottony, damp, and part of him was distantly aware that he was in his bed, swaddled in blankets in the low gravity of the Ra Cailum. But none of that was as real as the fever that burned under his skin as it pushed him closer and closer to Char.

Char. He was close, just beyond Amuro’s grasp, hovering in the same space from which Lalah haunted his dreams. Maybe she haunted both of them, pulling them together while pleading with them to stay apart, all of them trapped in an orbit that was too chaotic, too unstable, to ever be maintained. Three bodies locked in a doomed dance until they either spun out into the lonely cold of space or collided together and cracked each other apart. Maybe then, after he’d torn Char open and watched the blood and light leak out from his cracks, Amuro would be satisfied. Maybe once he pulled Char apart, piece by piece, he would understand how he worked. If he could just find him. 

Amuro screamed his frustration, voice ragged, and the colors around him pulsed and sharpened and there, there, finally, there he was. Amuro moved, the tugging at his limbs gone, and he felt light, lighter than air, lighter even than weightlessness in the confines of a ship. And then he was on Char. 

Char wasn’t surprised to see him. He was looking at Amuro like he had been waiting for him. This made Amuro angry and he clawed at any piece he could reach, grasping blindly, too close to the other man to see anything clearly as they rolled through the emptiness.

<<How could you do this? We fought together! How could you try to do this to the Earth? To all of those people?>>

That wasn’t what he wanted to say to Char. Not really. Not here. Not now.

Char landed on top of him, fingers hooked into the fabric of Amuro’s shirt (he was wearing a shirt?), the blue of his eyes leaking out and turning the surrounding light indigo. He was solid, firm, the weight of his body almost real but not quite as he pressed Amuro down. He was still himself—older than before, hair shorter, mouth thinner, eyes flatter—but still the same man. Still Char. 

<<You’re better than them, Amuro. But you can’t change them>>

That wasn’t what Char wanted to say to him. Not really. Not here. Not now. 

Amuro shoved Char off, pushed him away as hard as he could, but he could still feel hands on him, still feel warm breath, thought maybe they had melted into each other just a little bit from the brief contact all those years before and now they would forever be intermingled. He’d forever feel Char on him, in him, inescapable and permanent, and Amuro wanted to vomit. He wanted to rip out the parts of himself that Char had touched, had crawled inside, but even as he threw Char off, he was already chasing after him again. The light was sharpening, brightening, like they were pulling apart the threads until only the colors remained, and it hurt.

<<How could you do this to me?>> 

That was what he wanted to ask and he asked it, but it didn’t matter. 

He was on Char, again, hands tugging at yellow hair, and he could feel Char’s hands on him, shredding his shirt (he was wearing pajamas, that was it, was he in bed?). Amuro’s fingers fisted and slipped around the silky strands and he growled in frustration, seeking purchase on anything he could find. But it wasn’t enough.

<<This isn’t about you>> 

Char finally answered him and Amuro laughed at the lie that wasn’t a lie. He wondered how deep inside of Char he would have to dig to find the truth, how many layers of lies and half-truths he’d have to peel back and grind away to get at something real. He wondered what Char’s beating heart would feel like. He shook the other man, yellow hair loosed and curling like a clipped halo, until Char's teeth cracked together and blood wet his lips. Amuro could taste it (how could he taste it?) even as Char licked it away and he just shook him harder, watching red-lined teeth revealed in a smile.

Char tasted like blood and whiskey and Amuro wanted to throw up, to run away, to taste more of him, to gorge on Char until he was filled with him and then lie, spent, like a lion soaking up the sun after a kill, coat warm and face stained red.

<<You don’t have to do this>> 

Amuro didn’t know what he was trying to convince Char not to do. He shuddered as gentle hands pushed away the shredded remains of his pajamas and scorched a burning brand down his chest, his shoulder aching and radiating fire through his body and through Char’s, melting them together as the blue of his eyes continued to stain the very sky. Amuro thought Char was glowing, leaking out light from his cracks, from his scars, and Amuro started to cry. 

<<Why didn’t you come with me?>>

For Char Aznable, the world existed in black and white. There were no shades of grey. There was no color. Ever since he had been a boy, destroying those first gun cannons on his home colony of Munzo before it had been renamed for his murdered father, he had known the path his life would take. The Zabi family had destroyed his home, his family, his parents, so he would make them pay. For years, he had gone to sleep repeating their names to himself. Degwin. Gihren. Dozle. Kycilia. Garma. He didn’t know how long his mission would take or how he would destroy each of them, but he had no doubt that he would succeed.

He didn’t repeat their names anymore. He didn’t have to. The names were scorched into him like a brand. He had shed his own name long ago. He wasn’t Casval Rem Deikun anymore. Neither was he Edouard Mass, older brother to Sayla Mass. Now, he was Char Aznable and he would remain Char as long as he needed to. It had been years since he’d even heard his birth name. Everyone at the Zeon Academy knew him as Char, including his roommate.

He didn’t know if Garma Zabi was what he had expected. But truthfully, he had not expected anything. He’d never put much thought into who Garma was. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered past his last name.

“Are you studying still?”

Char didn’t look up from the notes he was reviewing. “It’s called a Military Academy for a reason, Garma. You’re supposed to study.”

“I was in the library all afternoon after classes. But you’ve been working for hours.”

Char still didn’t look up, but he knew that Garma was twirling his hair through the fingers of his right hand. That prissy tone from the youngest Zabi heir always meant the same thing. Nevermind that Char knew that Garma worked just as hard as he did. How many times had Char woken in the night to find Garma still studying at his desk or passed out asleep on top of his notes?

“You must be a harder worker than I am, then. I procrastinated.” Char added a comment into a corner of his notes to do more research into the ambush strategy they’d reviewed in a military tactics class earlier that day. It looked useful.

“Are you coming? Tonight?”

“To what?”

“To Felix’s room in Dorm One. He told me he invited you.”

Char finally looked up. Garma was leaning against the wall next to Char’s desk, his purple hair wrapped around his finger. He looked up and away as soon as Char made eye contact.

“I don’t remember.” Felix was Lino’s roommate and Lino could be a problem but was usually more of an annoyance. He had known the real Char Aznable back on Loum. He seemed content to skirt at the edges of Char’s sphere ever since Garma had booted him out to a new dorm. That was fine with Char.

“So?”

“So what?” Sometimes Char wondered why he enjoyed picking at Garma so much. It was just so fun to listen to the boy huff and whine under his breath, especially when he was obviously trying so hard to project that Zabi authority that must have run out by the time he was born.

“Never mind.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and Char heard the shower start a minute later. He went back to his notes but his concentration had been broken. The clock in their room told him it was after eight, almost nine. Later than he thought, but it explained why he was so tired. It had been a long day and a longer week and he wasn’t going to get anything else done tonight.

But a party. That was interesting. He didn’t spend much of his free time with the other students. The little of it they had was usually spent studying or training on his own. That didn’t leave time to make friends. The other cadets seemed to like him well enough, from a distance. At least, they respected him. Were possibly scared of him. But beyond Garma and a few others, Char had not formed a connection with anyone else and didn’t feel the need to.

Not a connection. He did not have a connection to Garma. A familiarity. There, that was a better word.

Char stood up and stretched his arms above his head, tilting his head side to side and ignoring the slight scratching of the collar of his standard issue sleeveless top. He was sore from the combat practice yesterday. Three full hours of grappling and wrestling. He had become used to living in constant soreness, though. It was familiar. It reminded him of what he was here for. But he was tired and his body still ached so he settled into one of the yellow chairs in the dorm’s small sitting area. He stared up at the ceiling and let his mind wander.

The shower had stopped. Through the thin walls of the door, he could hear loud conversations. That was usual for a Saturday night. Their schedule had no early required activities on Sunday mornings. Even in a Military Academy, or maybe especially in a Military Academy, people needed to blow off steam. Most of them weren’t used to the discipline enforced here or to the long hours of classes, drills, and training. If someone wasn’t careful, it’d be easy to get wound so tight that something ended up snapping.

Luckily for Char, that wasn’t a problem. He was used to discipline.

The bathroom door opened and Char watched from his chair as Garma emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was already blown dry and combed through. He rifled through the small closet that held their clothes and pulled out a pair of Zeon-green trousers and the black t-shirt that most of them wore in their off hours. He tugged it on over his fluffy hair. Char looked back up at the ceiling.

“What’s the special occasion for Felix’s party?” Not that Felix Miller needed an occasion to bring out the stash of contraband liquor that Char knew he kept hidden in his room.

“It’s his birthday. And it’s not a party, he’s just having a few people come over.”

Unlikely. “Felix isn’t capable of inviting just a few people. It’ll be half his dorm.”

Garma came into Char’s field of view so Char sat upright to see him better. The Zabi heir half sat against the television stand, legs stretched out. He tugged at a lock of his hair, head tilted to the side.

“Do you think so?”

He almost sounded nervous. “Not what you expected?”

“Well… No, but that’s fine.” He dropped his hair and sat up straight. “It’s the start of our third year. We deserve to enjoy ourselves a little. Cut loose.”

“I suppose we do. Well, you have fun.” Char was fairly confident that Garma had never cut loose in his life and had probably never even said the words “cut loose.”

“You’re really not coming?”

“I think I’ll sit this one out.”

Garma appeared to think for a few seconds before speaking. “You should come with me, especially if it will be a larger group. You’re the Chief of the Third Student’s Corp, you should spend more time getting to know our classmates.”

“So you’re saying that going to this party with you would make me a better leader?”

“Exactly!” Garma pushed off from the wooden stand to pace the few, short steps to the bunks and back. He waved his arm as he spoke. “It’s not just about having the best marks. A leader should be approachable and get to know his men.”

Char interlaced his fingers behind his head and gazed at Garma. “Right. Approachable. More open.”

“I’d be a poor friend if I didn’t insist you come with me. For your own good.”

Even two years later, sometimes Char was taken back to the moment that led him and Garma to being roommates in the first place. Soaking wet, leg fractured, sprawled on his back on a bed of rocks, Garma Zabi had shed every bit of the confident and cocky persona he tried so hard to project and had begun to cry at how pathetic he truly was. Garma had grown in the last two years, Char himself could vouch for that, but at moments like this, Char was reminded of the frightened boy crying in the rain.

But he was also reminded of the boy who had insisted on finishing the course with a makeshift splint and Char’s arm wrapped tight around his waist.

“Let me change. I assume you’ll want to arrive late to make an entrance.”

Char brushed past his roommate, who was doing a bad job of hiding the smile on his face, and went to the closet to change into a black shirt that matched Garma’s own. It was pathetic how much Garma had come to rely on him since starting the Academy. If going to a party with him would make Garma that much more dependent on and influenced by Char, then he’d do it, even if it would be unpleasant.

Besides, sitting around the dorm would be boring with Garma gone. Char readjusted his glasses. Bending over, he pulled on his boots, ran his fingers through his hair a few times, and then opened the door.

“After you.” Char kept a small smile on his face as Garma brushed past him into the hallway.

There were still several hours until the official curfew in the dorm and the connecting corridors between Dorms 3 and 1 were filled with their academy classmates.

“Garma! Char!” A shouted voice reached them from down the Dorm 2 hallway. Garma stopped and Char took another step before turning to wait for Zenna, who was running to catch up with them.

“Are you going to Felix and Lino’s?” she asked. Like Garma, she had chin length hair that she constantly was pushing back behind her ears but, unlike Garma’s, hers was usually a little dull and flat. Char blinked while Garma answered the question. He wasn’t sure when he had started to notice Zenna’s hair. Garma’s was hard not to notice.

“Would you like to walk with us?” Garma was always the leader and gentleman.

Felix’s dorm was on the third floor of the Dorm 1 building and it was already packed full. The crowd parted before them as Char followed Garma and Zenna inside. The volume level dipped as they walked in and he held back a smile. Garma Zabi at a dorm party. Would wonders never cease?

“Garma!” Felix had obviously already brought out his liquor. His pale cheeks were flushed red and his eyes were quickly becoming bloodshot. “And Char Aznable. Lino said you wouldn’t come.”

“I think we’re allowed to enjoy ourselves a little,” Char told him, scanning the room behind Felix. The small sitting area was full of people. The two chairs were taken but the other half dozen cadets in the back of the room were leaning against the table, the wall, and the window. Lino himself was sitting on top of his desk. He nodded at Char and then looked away. “After all, it is our third year.”

Char could feel Garma’s eyes on him but didn’t turn to acknowledge stealing his words from earlier.

“I agree completely. Here, I’ve got…” Felix grabbed a bottle off the lower bunk and splashed a few inches of a dark liquid into two plastic cups. “Here. Oh, Zenna.” He pushed the cups into Garma and Char’s hands and then filled a third one for Zenna. “Look, just kick those guys out of the chairs. Ah, fuck, don’t do that! Damnit, come on, guys!.” He pushed between Garma and Zenna to go yell at someone near the door.

“Is this the small gathering you expected, Garma?” Char asked over the loud conversations happening all around them. He wondered how long it would take for Garma to realize how out of his depth he was, and how very un-Zabi this party was, and go back to the dorm. Maybe Char would stay a while, after.

“It’s better.” Garma gripped his cup and pushed through the small space between the bunk beds and the desks and emerged into the sitting area. Zenna followed, looking more at home than Garma did. She sidled into an empty space in front of the television stand and immediately started talking to a girl who Char thought was in the Second Student’s Core. By the time Char caught up, she’d tugged her friend over to stand by Garma and had already introduced them, crowding them together in the crowded room.

Char leaned back against the window beside Garma and watched, letting his shaded eyes fly across the room. Most of the people Felix had invited were in their third year. The top bunk of the bed had three girls sitting cross-legged on it, laughing about something. The bottom bunk apparently held the stash of liquor and was being guarded by two of Felix’s friends from his home in Hatte. Every other available space in the small room was taken.

“Don’t you think so, Char?”

“Hmm?” He turned back to the conversation that he had entirely ignored so far. Zenna was looking at him expectantly.

“Don’t you think that Garma would be a good tutor for orbital dynamics?”

“You’re doing fine in orbital dynamics.”

“Not for me. For Mia.”

Char’s eyes flicked over to Zenna’s friend who was squeezed in almost on top of Garma and was smiling up at him with an expression that said the nearly empty cup she held wasn’t her first. Ah. Char wondered if she actually needed help with orbital dynamics. Any third year had to be at least decent at the subject or else they wouldn’t still be here.

“I can’t think of a better tutor than Garma.”

Garma’s brown eyes flicked over to Char, unreadable. He swallowed down a gulp from his cup and looked like he was trying not to cough when he turned his full attention back to Mia.

“I’d be happy to help you. We can meet in the library this week.”

“I think I’d learn better somewhere quiet. Maybe your room?”

Char’s cup crinkled a little as he squeezed it and he took a long drink. It was bitter and obviously very strong. Perfect.

He didn’t need to be here. Regardless of what Garma had said, they both knew Char didn’t need to work on anything when it came to how the rest of the Academy viewed him. He was on a tier with Garma alone in academics and was tied with no one when it came to athletics. Rooming with Garma had made him more visible, it was true, but even without that he would have been a respected and admired third year. Having Garma as his roommate just added a touch of awe.

He didn’t have to work on anything with Garma, either. Ever since that day in the rain and the room reassignment that followed, he hadn’t had to try with Garma.

So why was he here?

“It’s really nothing, I’ve always been good with numbers. The real skill is on the battlefield and my First Student Corp is excelling there. They all take direction well.”

Char drained his cup while the conversations went on around him. He didn’t drink, he never drank, but the cup was in his hand he really did not care about whatever conversation Garma, Zenna, and Mia were having. As the Zabi Heir, Garma received attention from anyone and everyone either with the goal of friendship or something more along the lines of what Mia seemed to be after. Which was all to be expected and had actually become much less common over the last several years as they all got to know each other. Garma Zabi the youngest son of Degwin Zabi was one thing. Garma the Chief of the First Student’s Corp was another, though still apparently formidable.

Garma the earnest student who repeated regulations and strategy in his sleep was another thing altogether.

Mia was saying something about the colony she grew up on and how it couldn't compare to Zeon and how she’d love to see Zum City someday if she had someone to show her around. Char could not stand such obvious fawning. Didn’t she know that Garma could see right through facades like that?

Actually, Garma couldn’t and that was why he was friends with Char.

Char drained his cup. Maybe he would go find someone else to talk to. The room was certainly full.

“You don’t look happy to be here.”

Char hadn’t noticed that Zenna had slipped in between him and Garma.

“On the contrary, I’m enjoying myself.”

“Mmm.” She sipped her drink, which was still nearly full. “I’ve never seen you over here before. Or Garma.”

“We’re usually busy.”

“It’s nice to take a break, though. With everything going on.”

A break. Char didn’t need a break. And he wasn’t sure if this was his version of taking a break, anyway. He hadn’t realized it was Zenna’s, either.

“I wouldn’t expect you to be at many of Felix’s parties.”

“Why’s that? Because I’m boring?”

“No, that’s–”

She laughed. “I know. I’m serious about this, about being the best soldier I can be. And that means letting myself have fun so I don’t get burnt out or snap. Like what you said about being allowed to enjoy ourselves. We’re adults, we know how to balance things.”

Funny that what she connected with were Garma’s words, not his own.

Mia giggled loudly, drawing the attention of both Char and Zenna. Zenna laughed along with her.

“Sometimes you need something not so serious, you know? To even out all the work we do.”

“Are you sure Mia isn’t being serious?”

“She just wanted to meet Garma, they’ve barely had any classes together.”

“Right. That was kind of you.”

“I didn’t expect him to be here, so that was lucky for her.”

“What do you do at these parties when you’re not making introductions?”

Zenna nodded over at the table where Felix was turning on a radio that instantly had half the room dancing to whatever fast song started playing. Char stood a little straighter and a little stiffer.

“Dance. Drink. Got into a pushup contest last month with someone from Dorm 7. He was very drunk so it wasn’t much of a contest. It’s a party, you hang out.”

Hang out. That was something that Char had never done. Not without something else in the back of his head, some goal or motive or something he had to accomplish. Some face he had to wear. Whose face was he wearing now?

He went to take another drink and found it still empty. He could tell. He shouldn’t be having thoughts like this.

“You’re right, it is good to take a break sometimes.”

Zenna’s cup was still full but Garma’s and Mia’s were both empty. He plucked the crinkled plastic from Garma’s hand, drawing a startled look, and turned his back on the three to push his way up to the bunk beds. Garma had wanted to come to this party so Char was going to make sure he got the most out of it. If that meant becoming drunk and owing Char for being there to stop him from embarrassing himself, so much the better.

Char wasn’t clear on how any of that works, but he ignored those thoughts.

“Char Aznable.” One of Felix’s Hatte friends filled up both his cups, splashing a little onto Char’s hand as the liquid reached the rims. “When are we getting a rematch with the Third Corp at Lunarball?”

“Whenever you want. We’re happy to beat you again.”

The second Hatte native (Char thought his name was Andrew) laughed loudly. “Yeah, okay, fuck off.”

Char raised a cup in a salute and then steadied them as he returned to the back of the room, skirting around what had become a very small dance floor. He handed the drink to Garma, who glanced between Char and the crowded room and then back on Mia. His brown eyes were wide and his face was flushed, either from the alcohol or the steadily rising temperature in the small room or both. Or from the woman who was now hanging off him arm.

“I thought you’d want a refill,” Char called over the noise, ignoring Mia entirely. Her cup was still empty. Zenna was swaying to the music and moved over a few inches so Char could shift into place beside her. His shoulder pressed against Garma’s and a few strands of that purple hair brushed against his face. It smelled like their shampoo but somehow was better.

Char buried his nose in his drink, turned away from Garma and toward Zenna, and tuned out everything but the music and the warm mass of people pushed against him.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed. He realized that Zenna was funny when she actually talked and she didn’t seem to mind talking without hearing much back from Char. She told him about growing up on Side 4 and about her younger brother who wanted to write music. She told him about the cat she’d had when she was a little girl and Char wanted to ask if it was named Lucifer but that wouldn’t make any sense so he just nodded along. She asked him what he did when he wasn’t in classes and he couldn’t answer because he didn’t know because every minute of the day was a class for him, a class learning what he needed to know to defeat the Zabis.

He looked back at Garma and found Mia swaying against him. He didn’t look back again.

At some point, he followed her across the room to refill her cup and realized his own was empty, too. Getting back to their spot seemed too difficult a task, so he let Zenna pull him up the ladder to the top bunk of the bed. He leaned back against the wall with his booted feet stretched out in front of him and watched the flow of people through the room from his high vantage point. Everything felt a little distanced, a little fuzzy, a little less sharp. Char thought he should be working on something or planning something but he didn’t want to. He thought he should be worried that he didn’t want to, but all he felt was a kind of warmth. The music pressed in on him like a physical thing, working its way under his skin and swirling around his head. He was spinning a little bit but that was easy to ignore. Zenna’s arm and leg pressed against him and she was warm. Around and below him, his classmates were talking and laughing and all of them were moving to the music, either swaying or dancing. It was as if the room was alive, a breathing and living thing, and Char was inside of it.

It was nice. He was still him, still aware of where he was, but it was nice. Char closed his eyes and they sat silently.

“What was growing up on Texas Colony like?” Zenna’s voice eventually came from close beside him.

“Lonely.” He didn’t think about the answer before he gave it.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

A sister, he wanted to say. Little Artesia. Sweet Artesia with her eyes full of tears, losing her coat as she ran after him, begging him not to leave her alone like everyone else already had. Like their mother and father and even Lucifer and then, finally, her older brother walking away from her like it was easy.

“No, I’m an only child.”

“That could make it easier coming here. My brother worries about me. He’s always writing.”

“That’s nice. Having someone to worry about you. I bet that’s nice.”

Zenna leaned her head back against the wall and Char let his sink back, too. He liked Zenna, he decided. At least, she was comfortable to lean against and her hair didn’t smell like his shampoo. He liked that about her.

“You know, you’re not what I thought.”

“Oh?” Char didn’t open his eyes.

“Yeah.” She didn’t elaborate and Char didn’t ask her to. He listened to her breathing settle into a steady rhythm and felt his own match. “Maybe I need to drink with you more.”

“I’d like that.” He liked this warmth he was feeling. He liked being distanced from everything inside of him. He could feel himself coming back to himself and he didn’t want that, but neither did he want to keep sitting here. Part of him knew that this warmth was artificial and that when it left him, he’d be colder than before.

“I want another drink but I don’t wanna get down.” Char held his half empty cup out to her. “Oh, no, I didn’t–”

“I’m done.”

“Thanks.” She took his cup and lifted it to her lips, swallowing half of it.

“I’m gonna go, anyway.”

“Where’d Garma go?”

“Hmm?” He’d forgotten about Garma for a moment. Just a moment.

“I wonder if he’s still here.”

“He’s talking to Mia.” From where he was sitting, Char couldn’t see the space where he’d left Garma and Mia but he gestured in that direction anyway.

“I don’t see him.” Zenna made a very half-hearted attempt to lean forward to look around for Char’s roommate. “Or Mia. Maybe they left.”

Oh. “Right. Yeah, probably.”

“Might want to sleep somewhere else tonight.” She winked at him, a toothy grin on her face. “Not with me. That’s not an invitation. Just somewhere else. Maybe your neighbor’s floor.”

“Thanks.” Char shook his head, suddenly wishing that he was either completely sober or too drunk to know where or who he was. He should never have come to this damn party and now he couldn’t even go back to his dorm.

No. Screw that. He was Casval Rem Deikun and he was not going to sleep on anyone’s floor on account of a Zabi. This Military Academy, this Colony, even the city that Mia had so eagerly wanted to visit, were all named after his father. Not Garma’s. This was his world and he would be damned before he bowed in defeat to anyone.

“Goodnight, Zenna.” Char slid down the ladder to the floor, steadied himself, gave a salute to the smiling woman on the bed, and weaved his way to the door. Outside in the hallway, it was blessedly quiet. He took a few deep breaths as he walked toward the connecting hallway back to his dorm. It was colder out here.

He rubbed his arms as he walked, his quick steps matching his pounding heartbeat. Damned Garma. Char had allowed himself to be dragged out of his dorm to a ridiculous party because Garma was too cowardly to go by himself. Garma needed Char there to hold his hand, to lend him strength even though Char didn’t know where he was supposed to get it from. So instead of being able to get a good night’s rest, Char was drunk and cold and walking the hallways after Lights Out.

He was going to kill Garma.

He snorted. That was the goal, actually. Sometimes he forgot.

Not tonight, though. Tonight he was going to kick both of them out of the room so he could get some sleep. And maybe a warm shower. The killing could wait. He was tired.

He didn’t pass anyone on the way back to his dorm. Well, not until he entered the stairwell. His room was on the corner of the sixth floor. Normally, he liked that. Now, Char cursed every stair he climbed.

He heard something when he reached the fourth floor landing. Someone up above him, small noises that he couldn't place. It sounded like sniffing. He didn’t slow down. If he stopped climbing, he might not start again. Damn the consequences.

He rounded the corner and saw no one up on the next landing. Maybe he’d imagined it. But then he reached the top and came to a dead stop, nearly falling over his own feet as he narrowly avoided plowing right into the man sitting on the bottom stair leading to the sixth floor.

Garma looked up and bolted to his feet, which tangled under him. Char barely got his arm out to catch him before he fell, but Garma instantly pulled back and stumbled back against the grey wall.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. His chest rose and fell as if he was out of breath and his speech was slurred.

“I’m going to bed.” It was a challenge more than a statement. Garma was the reason he was out here, cold and drunk, to begin with. But Garma wasn’t in the dorm. He was in an empty stairwell. “What are you doing out here?”

“Sitting. I left the party early.”

“Sitting.”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

The two men looked at each other. Actually, Garma was glaring. His eyes were red and he continued to sway on his feet but Char didn’t reach for him again even though he looked like he might fall over. He couldn’t smell shampoo anymore. Garma smelled like alcohol and his hair was mussed up more than Char had ever seen it, like someone had been running their hands through it. Gripping it. Char felt something rise in his chest and he wondered if he was getting heartburn.

“Well…” Char looked around. Mia obviously wasn’t here. Maybe she was waiting in their room. But then, why was Garma out here? Was this something about women that Char didn’t know? “I’m tired. Did you…” Char couldn’t think of the appropriate hand gesture so he vaguely waved a hand instead. “I mean, were you going to… I’m not sleeping on the floor!”

There, that would show him. Righteous anger was safely back in place at the forefront of Char’s mind.

“Why would you sleep on the floor? Where’s Zenna?”

Char shrugged. “Still in bed, probably.” She hadn’t seemed like she was planning on leaving the party anytime soon.

Garma turned absolutely red. It clashed with his hair.

“You just left her? What is wrong with you?”

“I… She was fine, I gave her the rest of my drink so she wouldn't have to get up.” Char felt uncomfortably on his back foot in this exchange and he had no idea why. Garma was the one who was kicking him out of his own dorm. He should be the one defending himself, not Char. “Besides, I’m going to sleep in my own bed. Not someone’s floor.”

“Someone’s…” Garma shook his head, seemingly losing the ability to string words together, and took a few seconds to find Char’s eyes again. Char wasn’t sure how he did that, through the sunglasses, but he always did. “Did she kick you out?”

“Why would Zenna kick me out of Felix’s room?” He vaguely wondered how drunk Garma was because he wasn’t making sense. They had gotten wildly off track of the real point of this conversation, which was showing Garma that he didn’t have any power over Char. “Look, Garma, I’m glad you and Mia… Good for you, okay? But you can’t kick me out of my room! I’m sleeping in my own bed so you can just deal with it.” He stepped closer into Garma’s space to prove his point. “I went to that party for you because you didn’t want to go alone when I could have been doing anything else. And then I just ended up talking to Zenna the whole time and walking back here at… whatever time it is.”

“I would have been fine going alone.” Garma still tripped over a few words but the attitude in his voice had returned. Of course, he was focused on that part of what Char had said. He looked off to the side. “Besides, I didn’t stay long any–”

“You practically begged me to go with you,” Char cut in.

“I did not! I thought it would be good for you.”

“Good for me?” Char threw back his head and laughed. “As if I need you to help me.”

“I was looking out for you.” Garma’s voice was getting louder and louder. “You never do anything!”

“Come on, Garma, we both know what you wanted.” Char couldn’t seem to stop himself from talking, from saying things he wouldn’t have said sober. “You wanted to go but you work so hard to be a perfect Zabi, to live up to all your family’s expectations, and getting drunk at a party with girls who want to see what being a Zabi heir is really about doesn’t meet those expectations, does it? You were scared and you needed me there to be your backbone for you, then as soon as you found someone to stroke your…ego, you didn’t need me anymore because all that being a good Zabi nonsense went right out the window. Did Mia thank you for letting her give you a confidence boost?”

Garma slapped him.

Char surged back, hand instinctively flying to his left cheek, staring open mouthed at where Garma was raising his hands again. This swing hit Char’s shoulder, then the other one. Garma punctuated the open-handed blows with a stream of shouted nonsense as he forced Char back.

“How dare you? You fucking… You absolute fucking ass. You bastard. You cocksucking, bitchass, stupid sunglass-wearing asshat from a fucking theme park with your goddamn snidey, shitty attitude and your fucking hair…”

Garma was an enraged vision of purple fluff as he attacked Char.

“Garma, what the Hell is wrong with you? Ow! You spoiled brat, cut it out, that fucking hurts!”

Char was pushed all the way into the corner of the stairwell by the time he finally pulled himself together enough to fight back. He raised his arms to block Garma’s blows which were quickly losing force, making it easy for him to grab his roommate’s wrists and hold them tightly against the man’s heaving chest. Garma struggled against him, a few more expletives dropping from his mouth as he glowered up at Char with so much feeling that Char tried to step back again but couldn’t.

“Let go of me!” Garma shook his wrists but couldn’t break free.

“No!” Char was suddenly much more sober. “Stop struggling, you…” He shifted his grip on Garma’s wrists and tugged the man closer until he was nearly stumbling into Char. “What the Hell was that?”

“You deserved it.” Garma was still struggling but wasn’t exactly pulling away. Instead, he was leaning in to glare at Char.

“I didn’t…” Char trailed off. Maybe he had. Either way, he wouldn’t admit it. But the rage on Garma’s face was slowly falling away, replaced by something sad and almost frightened.

“Char, let go of me.” Garma’s voice was softer this time. Wavering. Char could smell the alcohol on his breath and clearly see the man’s blown pupils. With a start, Char realized his glasses had come off during the fight. He was looking at Garma without the narrow barrier of tinted plastic separating them.

He couldn’t find anything to say.

Garma sucked in a breath and then another. He slowly stopped pulling away and Char felt the muscles in Garma’s arms relax. His breaths came faster, the exhaled air rushing from parted lips and against Char’s face.

“You’re an asshole, Char Aznable. Let go of me.” He didn’t sound like a Zabi anymore.

“Garma…” Char’s grip relaxed a little. “What’s wrong with you?”

A simple question.

Garma bit his lip, pink tongue poking between his teeth. He was so close that his feet were twined between Char’s. He looked like he was thinking, weighing something, eyes flicking from one of Char’s to the other, then to his wrists where Char was holding them just tightly enough to feel his racing pulse.

Char found himself running his thumbs featherlight along the pulse points.

“You were right. I’m not a good Zabi.” That wasn’t what Char had expected. “I never have been.”

“I didn’t mean…” Char stopped talking. What was he doing? Was he really about to reassure Garma Zabi that he was a good Zabi? As if that was something Garma should want? As if Char cared what Garma wanted.

“Yeah, you did. And you were right. I didn’t want to go alone.” Garma adjusted his stance, leaning into Char a little as he found his footing. “I wanted you to go with me.”

“Then what is wrong?” Char’s voice was demanding, punctuating each word. He was used to being in control but, despite being the one holding onto Garma, he had never felt more out of control in his life. If he could get an answer, if he knew why this was happening, then he would be back in control again. His grip on Garma’s wrists tightened.

But something in Garma’s eyes closed off. “Char. Just…Please let go of me.”

Please. Char’s mouth opened and realized with a shock that there was wetness gathering around Garma’s eyes. Because of what Char was doing. He dropped Garma’s wrists and pulled his hands back.

Garma didn’t move, mouth opening a little as he just looked at Char and then down at his red wrists. Red, because of Char. He didn’t like it.

“I’m sorry.” Char didn’t know what he was apologizing for. He didn’t know what was happening. He was still a little drunk, a little sick, and his body hurt all over from Garma’s blows. The night had all bled into a long and confusing mess and he didn’t know how he had ended up here, pinned in the corner of a stairwell with Garma standing between his legs and near tears, both of them simultaneously too drunk and not drunk enough for this night go be going off the rails as much as it was. Only a few hours ago, he’d been studying at his desk.

Char wanted to close his eyes or put the damned sunglasses back on. Instead, he just continued looking at Garma. Waiting. For something.

“You should take your sunglasses off more.”

That was something. Not what he expected, but something.

“What?”

“Your eyes, they’re a nice shade of blue.”

“I… I don’t like blue.” That didn’t even make sense. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he think or focus on anything except for the man nearly pressed against him?

“Oh. They’re nice, though.”

Garma’s hands settled down on top of Char’s where Char had pulled them back to his chest. The contact startled him, the foreignness of touch. And they were cold.

“Your hands are cold,” Char blurted out.

“So are yours. You’re freezing.”

Char needed to get control of this, whatever this was. He needed to direct it back into safer waters.

“Mia already understands orbital dynamics.”

Perfect.

Garma blinked slowly. Char thought he could probably count his eyelashes from here. Maybe not, though. They were very thick. He didn’t think he’d seen eyelashes as thick as Garma’s.

“Who?”

“The…She wanted you to tutor her. We’ve taken that class since first year, she has to understand it.”

“Char, what are you…? How much did you drink?” Garma was looking at him like he was crazy, which was unfair because Garma was the one who wasn’t making any sense.

“I just think the library is a better place to study than a dorm.”

Garma took in a very slow and very deep breath, looking down at their hands where they were becoming slowly more entwined on Char’s chest. He closed his eyes and let the breath out just as slowly.

“Char.” Garma straightened and looked Char squarely in the eye. He looked more composed than he had just a second ago. That wasn’t good. “I barely even talked to Mia. I left right after you and Zenna disappeared.”

Oh. Char felt his chest lighten a little bit. He smiled. That was good. Why was that good? Why did Char care who Garma did and didn’t talk to? None of this was making sense and Garma was becoming far too put together and in control of the situation. Char needed to get out of here because something was going to happen. He didn’t know what, but they were heading toward something and somehow it felt like another fight and Char didn’t want to be here for it. But Garma still had him trapped in the corner.

So Char nodded because that seemed like a safe thing to do. “That’s good. She’s…” He racked his brain for something to say about Mia. He could barely remember what she looked like. “She’s too short for you, anyway. It wouldn’t work.”

Char was never going to recover from this. The last few years, all of his carefully laid plans, every careful strategy, it was all falling about in the sixth floor stairwell of Dorm 3 because Garma Zabi had decided to drag him to a party and then attack him in a stairwell.

And Garma was very close. His hair had become a mess during their fight, more of a mess than Char had even realized it could turn into, and the smell of their shampoo was back and now Char was going to think of this moment the next time he washed his hair and maybe every time after that. Garma’s eyes were red and he was looking at Char with a completely unreadable expression, not that Char was ever that good at reading him, and his thighs were almost touching Char and his stomach and chest absolutely were and somehow Garma had turned things around so his hands were gently gripping Char’s and slowly warming up from their combined body heat. Char hadn’t been in this vulnerable of a position in years and he wanted nothing more than to shove Garma away, scream at him that Garma was the one who needed him, not the other way around, that Char didn’t need anyone to hold his hands like he was some kind of child.

But somehow, every thought rushing through Char’s head slowly settled into one absolute and inescapable reality: he felt safe. Pinned between Garma and the wall, Char felt the same warmth as when he’d sat in the top bunk with the noise of the room swirling around him, but he wasn’t spinning this time. He was very, very grounded. Garma’s body was solid but soft against his, so different from pressing his opponents down into the mat during wrestling bouts. He and Garma weren’t fighting, not anymore at least. This contact was different. It was safe. And the colors… they were bright and full and in so many different shades. Purple and pink and then just chocolate brown eyes that fixed Char with a look that he would never be able to forget even if he wanted to.

Char relaxed.

How good that felt.

His shoulders slumped. His hands still gripped Garma’s but were allowed to rest on his own chest, no longer ready to clench into fists at a moment’s notice. His lips parted as his jaw unclenched of its own accord.

Char hadn’t felt like this since he’d been a child in that too-big house, being held tight for the last time, with his father shouting from the other room about learning to understand each other even when he’d never been able to understand his own family.

But Garma was here, looking at him as if he wasn’t sure if Char was still real, but holding tight to his hands and pressing harder against Char’s entire body and Char let him, because maybe if Garma could crawl inside of him just for a moment then he wouldn’t have to be alone in here anymore.