trying my best

Amuro’s mornings always started the same. He’d roll out of bed, open the windows to let in some fresh air, and put on a pot of coffee. While he waited for the coffee to brew, he’d take a shower until the hot water ran cold, dress, and then wait a little longer. He’d usually have to wash whiskey from a mug in order to pour two cups of black coffee and then go to drink his on the porch.

That was the best part of the day. When the fog was still rising off the lake and the birds sang in the trees all around and the colony felt like a day on Earth before the wars when the world was new. It was chilly in the mornings but Amuro usually wore only a t-shirt and jeans so he could feel the air on goosebumped arms. The wind was soft as it blew across the small porch attached to the small house.

Mornings like this made the cramped house and unreliable utilities worth it because there wasn’t another conscious soul around for miles, not as far as the town where they went to get supplies every week. Just him and silent peace.

And then Char would wake up.

Karen, I'm not taking sides I don't think I'll ever do that again I'll end up winning and I won't know why I'm really trying to shine here, I'm really trying You're changing clothes and closing windows on me all the time

Char wore sunglasses in the mornings. Sometimes he took them off later in the day but he always wore them when he came out on the porch to slump into one of the chairs. The table between them held a cup of coffee that had stopped sending up steam into the cool air. Today, Char was wearing a pair of blue flannel pajama pants that belonged to Amuro and nothing else. Amuro turned and leaned back against the wooden beam that served as a railing. The cramped porch meant he could reach out and touch Char from where he stood. He thought about it. Maybe that would wake him up.

Instead, he watched Char cradle the cup of coffee to his bare chest, staring down into it as if he wasn’t sure what it was or how it had come to be in his hands. Char’s thumb traced the rim of the mug almost reverently and Amuro knew, even without seeing the man’s eyes, that they were closed.

“Good morning.”

Char grunted, a dirty sound. He lowered his face to the mug until his nose was almost touching the black liquid. He breathed into it, breath sending ripples across the surface. Then he tipped it back and drained the mug in fast and frantic gulps, setting it carelessly back on the table where it wobbled in slow circles near the edge before settling into a safer position.

“Coffee’s shit.”

Amuro turned around to face the lake again. “You can make it tomorrow, then.”

“No, I didn’t… I’m sorry. I’m tired.”

Amuro traced a split in the wood, the edges and splinters worn away by time and rain and Amuro’s fingers on countless mornings just like this. This house had been here nearly since the colony was built, an empty home in a nearly empty colony that had been forgotten by the rest of the Earth Sphere.

“What time did you get to sleep?”

“I don’t know,” Char groaned. His voice was muffled and Amuro knew he was scrubbing his hands over his face. When Amuro turned around, the sunglasses were settling back down over red and heavy-lidded eyes.

“We should go into town today,” Amuro said.

“It’s Tuesday.”

“Yes, but we’re low on coffee. And… flour.”

Char leaned back in the wooden chair and looked up at Amuro. “You don’t bake.”

“You haven’t left the house in… I don’t know how long.”

“Ah.” Char pushed the glasses up on top of his head where they caught and spiked up his short hair. He’d cut it short after the Gryps War at the same time he’d finally shed the disguise of Quattro Bajeena. Amuro preferred it longer but it was Char’s hair. He could do what he wanted with it. That was why Amuro took out the kitchen shears every month and carefully trimmed around Char’s ears and cut it back from his eyes while Char sat quietly in the middle of the small kitchen.

Char’s eyes were red and bloodshot and he squinted as if he was realizing he was outside and it was daylight for the first time. He reached for his coffee but put it back down when he saw it was empty. He reclined his head against the back of the chair, instead.

“I’m trying, Amuro.”

“I know. But you haven’t even gone off this porch in days.”

“Why don’t we go in on Friday? We’ll go easy on the coffee until then.”

Friday was when Char’s whiskey would run out. Like clockwork. The same amount used to last him two weeks. Now it was one.

Amuro knew when he had lost.

“Alright. But let’s walk down to the well later, you can help me take a look at it. The pressure’s low.”

Char rubbed his temples, head down. Amuro knew what that meant.

“Never mind. It’s fine.”

Char looked up and Amuro swore he looked confused, like this wasn't a common discussion that always ended the same.

“Right. Tomorrow, though. I’ll help you with it tomorrow.” Char stood and went into the house.

Well, whatever you do Listen, you better wait for me No, I wouldn't go out alone into America Whatever you do Listen, you better wait for me No, I wouldn't go out alone

The Friday trip for groceries got a late start. The truck was broken down, again, and when they climbed inside and Amuro turned the key, the engine made a sputtering noise and then a harsh rattling. He turned it off and opened the hood. He had a list of usual suspects to check.

Char sat in the grass while Amuro worked, plucking at blades of grass and tearing them in half over and over until there was nothing left. He had a shirt on today. Amuro couldn’t remember which of them it had originally belonged to. Char couldn’t either. Their clothes had mingled together soon after they’d landed on the colony and found the small house.

“I’ll bet you five dollars it’s the alternator.” Char absentmindedly picked more grass and tore them in half.

“You don’t have any money.” Amuro’s muffled reply came floating up from inside the engine.

“All our money is my money.”

“Then where do I keep it?”

Char pressed a long blade of grass tightly between his thumbs and blew through the gap shrilly in lieu of answering.

“That’s what I thought.”

Char threw the grass away and leaned back on his elbows, watching Amuro work. He’d been focusing on one spot in the engine for a few minutes, which likely meant he’d found the problem, and that spot happened to be somewhere that required Amuro to bend fully across the grill of the truck to reach it.

“You look good like that. The car should break down more often.”

Amuro muttered something about being sober more often. Char chose to pretend he hadn’t heard and Amuro was almost relieved. Char was outside in the sun. It was a good day.

“That should fix it.” Amuro stood upright and leaned back with a groan, hands on the small of his back as he stretched before he quickly removed them. He opened the truck door and pulled out a rag that he kept inside just to wipe his hands on. “Alright, let’s try this.

Char got in beside Amuro and watched expectantly. Amuro turned the key. The truck started. With a grin, he shifted it into gear and eased the truck onto the gravel drive that led into the woods and toward town.

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

“Excuse me?” Amuro took his eyes off the road to glare at Char in disbelief. “Kept me around?”

Char was grinning. Amuro wished he’d take those sunglasses off so he could see his eyes.

“Well, it’s not for your coffee.”

“I’d be surprised if you even knew how to make coffee,” Amuro muttered. The truck bounced and rattled and he was reminded again that the shocks needed replaced. “And you’re right, you’re lucky I’m around to fix this truck. You wouldn’t make it a day without me.”

“Mmm, of course.”

“And I let you come here with me, not the other way around.” Amuro couldn’t let Char get the last word, even if he resorted to lying.

But Char just shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. You need me and you know it.”

Amuro didn’t know it. But he was afraid that Char was right. Maybe he needed someone to take care of more than Char needed someone to take care of him. Maybe there was a reason he hadn’t even asked Char to leave this colony in the months that they’d lived there.

Karen, we should call your father Maybe it's just a phase He'll know the trick to get a wayward soul to change his ways It's a common fetish for a doting man To ballerina on the coffee table cock in hand

Char brought an extra bottle of whiskey home, carefully wrapped up in brown paper and resting at his feet while the rest of the food bounced in the bed of the truck. The store stocked it just for him. Amuro saw him loading the bottles into the truck but didn’t comment. It wouldn’t do any good, not in the middle of town, to be nagging at Char. That was how Char would see it. An annoyance. A nag. A barrier between him and getting home to pour a glass and sink into the soft, worn couch.

Char had bought the first bottle after they had lived in the house for a month. It was the first time either of them had gone into town since arriving. They had done nothing other than sit on the porch in the twin chairs and listen for the rush of air that marked a colony breach and wonder if they had been found. They’d slept most of the first month, anyway, healing both their bodies and their minds. Char’s contacts who had sent them to the cabin had also stocked it with food and with enough money to last years if they were careful. They had come to the house with almost nothing. They hadn’t had much time to pack after Kamille had been killed and the battle turned.

They started off going into town every two weeks. Amuro cooked. Char cleaned. It wasn’t comfortable but it wasn’t uncomfortable either. The cabin had a small combined kitchen and living room, a bathroom, and a single bedroom. They alternated sleeping on the couch for the first week. Then they didn’t. Char started coming to bed later and eventually insisted on grocery runs every week. Amuro acquiesced. And he worried.

Amuro had called Sayla. It was dangerous, stupid even. The call could be traced by anyone, by Jamitov or by Haman Karn or anyone else who wanted both Char and Amuro dead. But Char hadn’t been sober for a week and Amuro was scared in a way that he hadn’t been in a long time. Sayla recognized that look on Amuro’s face. She’d been scared by her brother before, too, scared because he didn’t know when to stop. She told Amuro that Casval would do anything for the people he loved but he didn’t know what the right thing to do actually was. She asked Amuro to take care of her brother and she hung up. Char had sobered up for almost a month after that, without even knowing about the call. Then he had started again.

Amuro sat down beside Char. He didn’t drink. He could barely stand the smell, anymore, but Char came with the smell and Amuro could stand Char. He took the deck of cards off the coffee table and started to shuffle them.

“Gin Rummy?

Char tilted his head to side-eye Amuro. His glasses were off. His eyes were clear.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

Amuro snorted. “You’re not a gin man.”

“I used to be.” Char swirled the whiskey around in the glass until a funnel appeared in the center and the dark liquid threatened to spill over the edges. “You know they served gin and tonics at those Zeon things I had to go to?”

“Mmhmm.” Amuro hummed as he counted out ten cards for each of them and then flipped the top card of the deck over. It was the Jack of Hearts. He picked up his own hand and started to organize the cards.

“Garma never liked them.”

“I don’t want to hear about Garma.”

Char set down his glass to pick up his cards. He knew that. He knew better. “To one hundred?”

“Yeah.” Amuro tucked his bare feet under him so he could turn towards Char. “What are we betting?”

Char’s eyes flicked up. Amuro was still staring at his cards. He had his thumb between his teeth, pressing down on his lower lip. He didn’t look at Char.

“Winner gets to give the orders tonight.”

Amuro’s eyes slid over Char’s body and up to his face. “Deal.”

Char picked up the Jack.

Char won the first game. Amuro won the second, coming out ahead by 10 points. They hadn’t specified how many games they were playing. It didn’t really matter. Char went to the kitchen and refilled his glass while Amuro shuffled for the third game. Char hesitated and then pulled down a second glass and splashed a few fingers of liquor into it. He set it on the coffee table next to his own when he picked up his cards. When Amuro glanced at it, Char shrugged.

Char won the third game by forty points. Amuro glared and picked up the untouched glass.

They stopped keeping score after that. Amuro finished his first glass. Char finished his third. It began to rain outside and it echoed off the metal roof and ran down to splatter onto the ground. The power flickered. The cards were abandoned, scattered across the low table. Amuro lit candles and they cast shadows across Char’s face when the power finally went out for good. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anyone more.

“I think I won.” Char walked back from the kitchen and stared deliberately down at the cards where they’d been thrown across the small table.

Amuro snorted.

“What?”

“You didn’t win.”

“I had three runs.” Char waved at the table with his glass and then took a swallow. He breathed out something like a sigh around the whiskey. “Amuro, try this.” Char sat on the edge of the coffee table and pushed the glass into Amuro’s hands, their knees bumping together as he surged forward. “You’ll like it.”

It was times like these, when Char was earnest and eager and thoughtful, that Amuro wondered how anyone could have hurt this man as badly as they had. He took the glass from Char’s hands, brushing fingers in a way that was obviously deliberate. They didn’t have ice and the glass was warm and Amuro breathed in the liquor long before he tasted it. It tasted like Char often did, but sweet. He looked up to see Char studying him.

“I found maple syrup, back at the store. You said you liked it, before.”

Amuro had told Char he liked maple syrup precisely one time, in passing, sometime when they’d both been on board the Audhumla, over a year ago.

“I do.” Amuro closed his eyes and took another drink. The maple sweetened the whiskey and dulled its bite. He’d never been a whiskey drinker, but the first glass had made him warm and comfortable and this one coupled with the candlelight felt like being home. He looked at Char. “It’s good.”

“Good.” Char surged forward and kissed Amuro before jumping up and bringing back the bottle. “To maple syrup.” He tipped the bottle back to take a drink. Amuro followed suit.

He finished the drink and everything was flickering candlelight and golden skin and pattering rain that echoed Amuro’s heartbeat. Sweet syrup and warm hands and muffled laughter. Char and Char and Char, the molten core of Amuro’s world with a gravity all his own. Vibrant and radiant with whatever it was that made men follow him into war and Amuro follow him to this small cabin. Still passionate. Still larger than life.

Still trammeled by his own demons. Still haunted by his past. Still living inside the myth of Char Aznable like it was the skin of a once beautiful creature that now draped on him in gruesome folds.

“It was beautiful, Amuro, you don’t… The speed! The way it moved through those ships like it was nothing. And the stars…” Char stretched out his hands as if he could reach out and touch the stars he spoke of, could grab them and pull them down to hold. “The way it felt, Amuro…” He shook his head, eyes wide in wonder.

“The first time, when you realize what it can do and you push it and it just keeps going, it’s like magic.”

“I know. I felt you. In the Gundam,on that ship. That’s the power of Newtypes, Amuro.” Char jumped onto the coffee table, nearly falling as the cards slid under his feet. He waved his glass as he lectured down at Amuro, who stood to steady him. “Do you think Earthnoids ever felt like that? That kind of connection, to anything?”

“I don’t know, but I felt you, too. Like… something warm in my head, another part of me.”

“Exactly!” Char shouted. He whirled on Amuro and searched around him, just to jump down to rush at the side table where Amuro had lit a candle. Char grabbed it, dripping wax over the couch and floor as he leapt back up to the coffee table. He raged over Amuro’s protests as he waved the candle around. “This candle. It’s light, it’s warmth, it’s not much. I can see you with this candle but just the outline, not all of you, not your eyes. But we get more, we get more Newtypes all lighting up space like candles on every colony, on every ship, and then we can all see each other!”

“Alright, Char, get down, you’re gonna—” Amuro tugged on Char’s arm but the man jerked back.

“No, Amuro, listen to me! Spacenoids, they’ve never had someone to lead them, someone good. Not the Zabi’s and not Hamon. But if they had someone to lead them, bring humanity up to space and out of Earth’s gravity, we could have what we always wanted. I could give it to them!”

“You could, I know you could. Here, let me have the candle.” Amuro reached for it again and a few drops of hot wax splashed against his hand. “Ow!”

“I could do it.” Char hadn’t noticed. “Not at Dakar, they couldn’t understand, but there’s got to be another way and I’m the only one who can find it.”

“Char, for fuck’s sake, get down!”

Flickering lights and hot wax and Amuro’s yelling all dissolved into darkness.

Well, whatever you do Listen, you better wait for me No, I wouldn't go out alone into America Whatever you do Listen, you better wait for me No, I wouldn't go out alone

Char awoke gasping the next morning with his face pressed against wet grass. He rolled over and regretted it immediately as he curled in on himself, cradling his throbbing head and churning stomach. Where was he? And where was Amuro?

Char slowly opened his eyes. The porch. He was outside in the grass beside the porch. It was cloudy and grey. Morning? Or night? Why was he outside? He spit into the grass, trying and failing to get rid of the taste of last night from his mouth. Last night. It was jumbled fragments, which wasn’t all that unusual, but something felt different this time. The sickness in his chest wasn’t entirely from the alcohol. What had happened? What had he done?

Cards. He and Amuro had played cards. They always did that. Then whiskey, and Amuro had drank it with him. Candlelight and something burning.

Burning. Amuro yelling something at him. Then falling and smoke.

With a racing heart, Char stumbled to his feet. His entire body ached and his right hip was throbbing like he’d just taken a hit in a mobile suit. Char pulled his pants away from his body to find a purple and black mottled bruise spread across his hip and down his thigh. His right elbow ached and he found a bruise along his arm, too.

Amuro.

Char climbed the steps to the house as quickly as he could and pushed the door open. It smelled like smoke. And whiskey. His eyes traced movement to the sink where Amuro was standing with an upended bottle, pouring out its contents..

Amuro didn’t turn around when Char stepped into the house and across the floor, leaving the door open. He set the empty bottle on the counter and opened a second one. He started to drain it.

“What are you doing?” Char’s throat was scratchy and sore. He cleared it and tried again. “Amuro?”

Amuro slammed the bottle onto the counter. The hand that gripped the neck of the bottle was bandaged. Char stepped closer and stopped, looking around the room for the source of the smell. His head pounded worse than before from the noise.

There was a scorch mark on the rug. The blackened burn was over a foot long and started at the edge near the couch. One of the couch’s cushions was missing. The wooden floor was burnt and blackened..

Another bang from behind him in the kitchen. Another pop and then the splash of liquid into the sink. The overwhelming smell of whiskey filled the too small room. Char shivered and ran into the bathroom to empty his stomach into the toilet.

Without warm water in my head All I see is black and white and red I feel mechanical and thin Hear me play my violin again I'm living in the target's shoes All I see is black and white and blue Idle, idle, idle, idle, protect the nest Protect the title

This time, Char woke up with his face pressed against the toilet seat. He retched and slid off onto the floor, pressing his cheek against the cool tile for a few breaths as he regained his bearings. Char sat up, flushed the toilet, and washed out his mouth until he stopped gagging. The mirror above the sink was cracked and tarnished with age, but it was enough to show him that he looked like shit. Red eyes, flattened and spiked hair, pale and sweaty skin. His clothes were still wet from the morning dew. He had a hickey on his neck.

He had to leave this bathroom. He had to talk to Amuro. Explain himself. Amuro would understand. Char had drunk like this before and they had been fine. He hadn’t even tried to stop Amuro from pouring out his whiskey. Amuro had to appreciate that.

Amuro wasn’t in the house.

Or on the porch.

Where else did Amuro go? Char stood on the porch rubbing his hands over his face so roughly that he saw stars. What did Amuro do when he wasn’t with Char? He’d gotten into birds, recently. Were there any birds around? And he liked to take walks. There was the lake, maybe he was walking around the lake. It was only a mile round, Char could do that. He’d bring some water, maybe a sweater. Amuro had a green one, he could wear that, bring that to him in case he’d forgotten one. Amuro forgot things like that.

Char forgot the sweater and jogged off the porch toward the lake. He had made it to the gravel drive when he heard the rumbling of the truck’s engine. He stopped, turned, and found the truck sitting off in the grass with Amuro behind the wheel.

Amuro slowly raised his head. Char wondered if he was going to run him over. He could just put the large truck into drive and squash Char’s body into the wet ground and then keep driving, leaving the house and the colony behind. He’d go back to the stars and so would Char, in a way.

Instead, Amuro just wrapped his fingers around the wheel and pressed his forehead against it. Char started toward the truck. The wet grass tugged at his pants legs, soaking them. He realized he was barefoot. He got in the truck. Amuro didn’t move or lift his head. They listened to the truck putter.

“I can’t do this.”

The sickness was back, twisting in Char’s gut.

“I’ve tried.” Amuro was shaking his head against the wheel. “I’ve really tried.”

“I know. You have, you do so much.”

“I don’t know what to do, Char.”

Char swallowed. Amuro hadn’t been like this, not ever, not even when Char had woken up and found he’d somehow lost a week and Amuro was sitting beside him not holding his hand, but checking his wrist for a pulse.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know… I don’t know what happened, but I’m so sorry.” Char’s eyes caught the bandage on Amuro’s hand again. Amuro wanted to leave him alone. Char hadn’t felt like this in years, maybe not since he was a boy curled up against his mother in the bed in that cold tower with Artesia crying and knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.

“You set the rug on fire.”

“I was an idiot. I drank too much, I don’t rem-”

“You always drink too much.” Amuro finally sat up and looked at Char. His eyes were blank. Char would have preferred anger, hatred, anything. “And you never remember.”

“I know, I don’t know why I’m like this. I’m no good, Amuro, but I’ll do better. You poured out the whiskey, we won’t buy anymore. I fucked up. I’m an idiot but I can change. You believe people can change, I know you do. Just give me a chance.”

Char thought Amuro was wavering but he wasn’t sure. Amuro was always better at understanding Char, not the other way around. Sometimes it scared Char how well Amuro understood him.

Char opened his mouth and then closed it, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. Amuro couldn’t leave, he couldn’t leave Char. Char would be fine without the booze. He didn’t need to drink, maybe just one or two glasses a week, but he needed Amuro.

“I stopped before, I can stop again.”

“Char…” Amuro clenched his eyes shut. “You set the rug on fire. I had to put it out.” He held up his bandaged hand. “You just ran.”

Char traced his eyes over the white fabric that wrapped around Amuro’s hand. He’d run? Of course he had. That’s what he did. He leaned forward, sliding closer on the bench seat until Amuro was forced to look at him.

“I’ll fix this. It won’t happen again, I swear. We’ve been through worse than this, haven’t we? Remember A Baoa Qu? You hated me more then, right?”

Amuro’s lip twitched. “I never hated you.”

“Give me a chance.”

“It’s always one more chance with you.”

“This is the last one. I swear.” Char slid closer and ran his hand up Amuro’s arm to squeeze the back of his neck. “Tell me you’re not going to leave me.”

Amuro went limp under Char’s hand. “Char.”

“Amuro. Tell me.”

A heavy breath. “I’m not going to leave you.”

“Tell me you love me.”

Amuro gasped as Char raked his fingers through Amuro’s hair and tugged.

“I love you.”

Char pulled Amuro in and kissed him hard.

Karen, put me in a chair, fuck me and make me a drink I've lost direction, and I'm past my peak I'm telling you this isn't me No, this isn't me Karen, believe me, you just haven't seen my good side yet

Char’s desperate hands pulled at Amuro’s shirt, working it up over his head while all Amuro could do was comply with a spinning head. As soon as the shirt was off, Char’s fingers found his hair again, gripping a handful of curls and tugging him in. Amuro gasped into Char’s open mouth at the jolt of pain and found himself pulling Char closer before he could even register what he was doing. Char was half in his lap, kissing Amuro with the same desperation as that first time on board the Audhumla. His knee pressed between Amuro’s thighs as he sat half on the steering wheel, pushing his tongue into Amuro’s mouth.

Amuro let him in and scratched his nails across the muscle of Char’s back, desperate for the contact. He tore Char’s shirt off, banging his burnt hand on the truck's roof but ignoring the pain as he threw the shirt aside. Amuro’s hands found Char’s hair and he pulled, hard, hard enough that Char whined.

“Shut up!” Amuro growled against Char’s throat, starting with open mouthed kisses but quickly exchanging lips for teeth as he nipped and sucked bruises into Char’s white skin. He didn’t want to hear anything from Char, not even whines. Char whimpered, obviously trying to be quiet until Amuro bit the soft spot at the base of his neck, just above the collar bone, and then he cried out while grinding his hips down against Amuro’s thigh.

“Yes!”

“I said, shut up!” Amuro pulled Char down to meet him again, teeth clacking together as he forced his tongue inside the man’s mouth, tracing it as if he hadn’t already memorized the pattern. Char ground down against his thigh and Amuro let him, bucking up into Char’s knee as he searched for the friction he needed. “You’re so godda–fuck!” Char had raked his nails down Amuro’s chest and cruelly twisted his nipple. He traded fingernails for soft lips as he kissed down Amuro’s neck and then snarled in frustration. Bent nearly double, he still couldn't reach enough of Amuro. And Amuro could reach far too little of Char. He needed all of him, now.

“Inside.”

Char climbed off Amuro’s lap and slid across his own seat and out through the creaky door. Amuro had the presence of mind to shut off the engine before following Char, barefoot and shirtless, into the house. The door hung open behind him.

Char was in the bedroom tearing his pants and boxers off by the time Amuro caught up. Amuro’s eyes fixed on the large bruise that stretched across Char’s hip but before Amuro could even reach for him, he found himself on his back on the sheets. Char unbuttoned his jeans and tugged both of Amuro’s layers off in one pull, leaving Amuro naked beneath him. Amuro gripped the sheets in a silent struggle to hold still as Char climbed on top of him, even though he was aching to pull him close. He wasn’t this desperate for Char, he wasn’t. He was stronger than this.

Char’s tongue and teeth tracked across Amuro’s hipbone and dipped down into his curly hair. His hands were cold when they stroked Amuro’s cock but Char wasn’t teasing him, not today, and his warm tongue licked a wet stripe that had Amuro bucking up in a desperate search for more. The sheets twisted in Amuro’s grip as he clenched his jaw.

“Wanna hear you” Char’s voice was raw.

Amuro didn’t answer, didn’t look at Char, but he couldn't stop his body from responding as Char coaxed the sensitive head of Amuro’s cock between soft lips. Char’s mouth was warm and wet and tight and Amuro instinctually reached for him and raked his fingers through his tangled hair. It was times like this that he missed the Quattro hairstyle, long and shaggy and easy to grab onto, easy to fuck up into when Char’s warm mouth teased him for too long.

Char gagged as he took Amuro to the back of his throat and then pulled away. Sitting up above Amuro with eyes bright and lips parted, a string of spittle trailing down to his chin, Char was radiant. Amuro’s thighs parted to let Char settle on top of him.

Char kissed him, too fast for Amuro to keep up, dropping wet and frantic open mouth kisses across his face and down his neck, all while grinding down against Amuro in jerky and staccato movements. He buried his face into Amuro’s neck as if he wanted to crawl inside of him and Amuro would have let him. He pushed up against Char, matching him, fingers digging into the warmth of Char’s back.

“We were better than this,” Char breathed just below Amuro’s ear, sending shivers throughout Amuro’s body. “I was better than this.” He grabbed Amuro’s wrist and Amuro’s first instinct was to pull back, but he let Char trace the bandage around his palm. “This isn’t me.”

“Damnit, Char.” Amuro’s fingernails bit into Char’s skin and he knew it would leave marks, half-moons to show that Char was his, to show that Amuro could hurt him back. “Just fuck me.” . Char pulled away and grabbed a bottle off the dilapidated nightstand, squeezing a squirt of lube into his hand. He slicked it over his fingers and, without preamble, he pressed the pad of his thumb against Amuro’s hole. Amuro arched under him, eyes squeezed tightly closed, shifting down against Char.

“Is this what you want?” Char pushed his thumb past Amuro’s tight ring and Amuro couldn’t hold back a shuddering gasp. Char fucked into Amuro slowly, letting him buck against him in a search for more. “Look at me, Amuro. Tell me what you want.”

Damn him. Amuro gasped for breath as Char replaced his thumb with a long finger and then two, opening him up fast enough to burn. Damn Char and his hands and his voice and every other part of him that Amuro couldn’t stand but couldn’t leave. He clenched around Char’s fingers as they angled forward. But he wouldn’t give Char the satisfaction of watching Amuro give in as he fell apart.

“Fuck, Amuro, look at you…” Char scissored his fingers, earning another sharp gasp from Amuro, but his eyes were still clenched shut. “I’ll give you whatever you want, just fucking look at me!”

Char’s third finger stretching him out had Amuro’s eyes flashing open, glaring up at Char’s frenzied face. Fuck him. It didn’t matter. Amuro sat up and pushed Char off of him, not giving him time to respond before he had Char on his back and was pinning him to the bed. He tugged at Char’s lip hard enough to bruise and tasted mint as he panted.

“Want you.” Amuro spat in his hand and reached down to stroke Char’s hard cock. Char didn’t have time to react before Amuro sat up, adjusting Char’s cock beneath him to catch at his entrance.

“Amuro, fuck, that’s…” Char trailed off into an incoherent moan as the head of his cock pushed into Amuro, barely breaching the tight ring but already so overwhelming. “God, Amuro, fuck, I’m gonna hurt you.” Despite his words, he couldn't help but buck up against Amuro as the man settled onto his hips, holding himself up by pressing his palms against Char’s chest.

“I don’t care” Amuro rolled his hips, not looking away from Char’s blown pupils even as the stretch became too much and his mouth fell open.

“Amuro…” Char’s hands steadied Amuro’s hips, letting him adjust to Char’s size for just a moment before tightening his grip and plunging up into him. Amuro shuddered, twisting in Char’s grip, rising up just to sink back down on Char’s cock. He didn’t need time. If it hurt then let it hurt. At last then it would feel real.

Amuro rode Char frantically, desperately losing himself in the slap of skin and their gasps for breath and the blue of Char’s eyes. Char tugged him down to grip his ass, pulling him closer and sure to leave marks, and Amuro gratefully ground his cock against Char’s stomach, already chasing his release.

“Let me fuck you,” Char panted. “Let me fuck you.” Amuro let Char roll him onto his back and then all he could see was Char as he slowly slid out of Amuro and snapped his hips forward, drawing a hiccup from Amuro’s throat. Char kept up that rhythm with one hand on Amuro’s hip and the other seeking Amuro’s uninjured hand so he could intertwine their fingers and press them into the bed..

“I’ll be better.” He panted the words and squeezed Amuro’s hand tighter. “This isn’t me. I’m better than this, I’ll be better for you.” He pulled Amuro’s leg tighter around him and held it there, tilting Amuro’s hips to thrust into him in the way that always had Amuro’s eyes rolling back into his head. Amuro gripped at every part of Char that he could reach.

“It’ll be good again, we’ll get out of here, we won't have to hide anymore. I’ll make it good for you again. I’ll keep you safe.” Char fucked into him faster, pulling back to reach a hand between them and wrap it around Amuro’s hard length.

Amuro was repeating Char’s name, over and over, and he didn’t care because when Char was inside him nothing else mattered. He wrapped his arm around Char’s shoulders and hugged him close, breathing in his sweat and skin as Char twisted his hand up and down Amuro’s cock.

Amuro shuddered as he spilled his cum between them, sticky and warm on their stomachs, and Char’s voice was like a prayer mouthing Amuro’s name as he finished inside of him. Both men lay, neither moving, for a long time.

Well, whatever you do Listen, you better wait for me No, I wouldn't go out alone into America Whatever you do Listen, you better wait for me No, I wouldn't go out alone

After they cleaned up, they rolled up the rug and carried it outside, draped over the porch railing where the wind would blow the smokey smell away. Char silently watched as Amuro threw the bottles into the trash and carried it outside. He opened the windows to air out the house, get rid of the smell that still lingered in the sink and down the drain. Amuro brought the couch cushion in from outside.

“There was wax on it,” he explained. “I cleaned it off.”

Char nodded but Amuro wasn’t looking at him. White splotches, dripped in the pattern of falling wax, stretched across the cushion. Amuro fluffed it and put it back on the couch. Then he just stood watching it, not moving, not looking at Char.

“I’ll cook dinner.”

Amuro’s eyebrows shot up. But at least he was looking at Char now and his face wasn’t as blank as it had been in the truck.

“You don’t cook.”

“I can. I have, before.” Char felt eyes on him as he opened up cabinets, not sure where Amuro kept everything. Spaghetti. Cutting board. Knife, kept sharp, in the drawer. Where was their pot and skillet? Ah. Pot filled with water and set on the stove. Onions. He set to work.

Char wished he knew where his sunglasses had gone as he cut into the onion and blinked against the fine mist that attacked his eyes. He had never thought of using them as protection against onions, but he had never expected to be living in a cabin where he shared the same bed as Amuro Ray, either. Char hadn’t expected a lot of things throughout his life.

He heard footsteps behind him but focused on the onion until it was chopped into fine pieces and his eyes were dripping tears. Char wiped his eyes on the back of his bare forearm and set the knife down, finally looking at Amuro once he was able to see. The man was leaning back against the counter just on the other side of the sink, shoulders back and hands gripping the sharp edge of the countertop. Watching. His hair was still damp with sweat and a few curls stuck to his forehead. He’d pulled his boxers back on, just as Char had, but was otherwise bare.

Char hadn’t had time to appreciate him earlier. Their screwing had been fast and frantic. Now he took in the taught muscles of Amuro’s shoulders and arms. Char traced his eyes from the patch of chest hair that he loved to run his fingers through to the soft stomach and sharp lines of his hip bones that deserved more worship than Char could ever give. Char felt something in his chest, and his boxers, tighten at the line of bruises he saw there. His mouth on Amuro’s body had marked the man as his own. His.

Amuro cleared his throat. Char slammed the knife down and turned away from Amuro as he threw the onions into an empty skillet, followed by a splash of oil. He lit the gas stove with a match and watched the fire lick up and around the skillet.

“Your hair’s getting long again.”

Char ran a hand back through his wet hair. Amuro was right. It was getting shaggy at the back. He didn’t care about it getting long. He’d only cut it because he couldn’t stand to see Quattro Bajeena, the man who had let the AEUG fall, staring back at him in the mirror. It wasn’t like anyone but Amuro saw it. Anyone that mattered, that was. But it was a routine, almost a ritual, now.

The first time Amuro cut it, Char had given in and asked him after trying it himself and failing miserably. It had ended up uneven and too short, partly because Char’s attempt couldn’t be salvaged and partly because Amuro had never cut hair before in his life. The second time, Amuro had pulled Char into the shower first and washed his hair, scrubbing his short nails across Char’s scalp and then rinsing the shampoo away. Then he dragged over a chair, told Char to sit, and spent an hour slowly trimming away while Char watched the yellow hairs float to the floor. Amuro’s hands on his skin, brushing away hair or tilting Char’s head to the right angle, were always gentle.

They had followed the same routine ever since.

Char opened a drawer and took out a spoon to stir the onions. He turned the flame down and back up and then settled on somewhere in the middle. He lit a second burner under the pot of water. He moved to stir the water and then froze, finally setting the spoon down.

“Will you cut it for me?”

“Of course.”

Char turned back to face Amuro. He’d stepped away from the counter and was moving toward Char, slowly, like a predator or maybe the demon the Zeons had named him during the One Year War. The White Devil.

“Watch the onions.”

Char stirred the onions. He slowly circled the outside of the skillet and swirled through the middle in a figure-eight.. Amuro was behind him. Char could feel him in his head, a familiar presence that he was aware of even when sleeping.

“Here.” Amuro came up beside Char and handed him a jar of tomatoes with the lid off.

“Thanks.” Char poured it into the skillet, crushing the canned tomatoes with the spoon and stirring them into the onions.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cook on your own.”

“I don’t need to. You always cook for me.” He glanced up at Amuro.

The sides of Amuro’s mouth twitched. He shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

“You could always shoot me.”

Char could feel Amuro’s mind go blank as his brown eyes popped opened wide. Char didn’t look away, didn’t move. Where had that come from?

“I didn’t mean–”

Amuro’s hands closed around Char’s biceps and forced him back against the counter so hard the breath left his lungs. Char gasped for air as Amuro bullied him back until the counter dug into him.

“Don’t say that!”

“I did–”

“Don’t fucking say that, Char, don’t you dare. We’re in this together and you are not leaving me, you goddamn coward.” Amuro shook Char, hard, and Char bit his tongue and tasted blood. Amuro was gripping Char’s shoulder, his thumb digging in under the collarbone. “I don’t care what it takes, we are surviving this, both of us. We are surviving this war and I don’t want to hear your fucking fatalism.”

Char’s hands hung in the air, close to Amuro but not touching as he hesitated, feeling rather like the gravity had suddenly disappeared and he was floating with no direction.

“You are not allowed to leave me here alone.” Amuro blinked his wet eyes hard.

“Amuro.”

“You are not allowed to die, Char.” He punctuated his words with rough shakes.

Char let his hands settle onto Amuro’s bare skin, stroking them down his back and sides in as soothing a motion as he could muster.

“Alright. Alright, Amuro. I won’t leave you alone.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” Amuro slammed Char back against the counter one more time and Char grimaced as the sharp counter edge bit into his ass. But then Amuro’s hand was on his cheek, softer than it had been in the truck, and Amuro kissed him like he hadn’t seen him in years.

“I know I am,” Char gasped when Amuro finally pulled away. How did the man do this to him, leave him gasping like a virgin with just a kiss?

“Your water’s boiling. Finish cooking.”

Char blinked as Amuro disappeared into the bedroom. He adjusted his boxers and added spaghetti to the boiling water.

Without warm water in my head All I see is black and white and red I feel mechanical and thin Hear me play my violin again I'm living in the target's shoes All I see is black and white and blue Idle, idle, idle, idle, protect the nest Protect the title

Three weeks later, Char brought a single bottle back to the house from their trip into town, hidden at the bottom of a bag of potatoes and celery. Amuro knew it was there. He let Char put away the food and listened to him talk about his plan to build a dock on the lake. Char’s hands were shaking as he stacked cans into the cabinet.

Amuro went to the bedroom and pulled out his duffle bag from the back of the closet where it had sat gathering dust. He opened a dresser drawer and thumbed through a messy stack of shirts. He didn’t know which ones were his anymore. They all smelled like Char. He pulled a few bills from the wad of cash at the back, stuffed them in his jeans pocket, and closed the drawer. He left the duffle on the bed.

He didn’t say a word as he pulled back on his blue jacket that hung by the door.

“Did you forget something?”

Amuro’s hand was on the doorknob. He was shaking, too.

“Yeah.”

Amuro got the door open and went out to the truck. The engine was still warm and it roared when he started it back up. He felt sick to his stomach and it was suddenly very difficult to force air into his lungs. His chest hurt, a physical pain that didn’t seem to come from anywhere other than inside of him. It felt like his chest was tearing open from the inside.

Char was in front of him, because of course Char could feel it, too, and he was standing in the path of the truck. He’d stopped wearing the sunglasses when he’d stopped drinking and his eyes were bright in the sunlight and his hair was a halo and Amuro thought maybe he wouldn’t have fallen in love with the man if he had looked less like an angel. But he knew that wasn’t true, he would love every iteration of Char, no matter what he chose to call himself, until the day he died and probably beyond.

Amuro shifted the truck into first gear. Char didn’t move when it started rolling forward; he actually walked toward it, saying something that Amuro shut out of his mind.

Char didn’t move. Amuro didn’t stop the truck. He didn’t look away. With just feet between them, he swerved and pressed the pedal as hard as he could and the old truck spun up a shower of gravel and dust. Amuro couldn’t see the way ahead of him through the blur of tears.

I must be me, I'm in my head Black birds are circling my bed I must be me, I must be me Black feathers are falling on my feet Idle, idle, idle, idle, protect the nest Protect the title Idle, idle, idle, idle, protect the nest Protect the title

Char knelt with the gravel from the driveway digging into his skin, watching the old truck disappear in the trees. He traced a line into the gravel with his finger, squiggling around the broken rocks. The scent of gravel dust hung in the air and reminded him of the way his mobile suits would smell when he came in from a long flight. The smell of space always clung to them. He missed it, hadn’t realized he missed it until now, but he did. Char gripped a handful of rocks until they dug into his palm, the pain breaking through the haze. The colony smelled like dirt and rain and he didn’t hate it, just like he didn’t hate the Earth, but just like Earth, it threatened to pull him into its orbit until he never even wanted to escape.

How long had he and Amuro been here? Six months at least. More, it was more. There weren’t seasons here and no other way to tell the passage of time. Just the drives into town and the monthly haircuts and the endless bottles of whiskey going from full to empty as regular as the ticktock of a clock.

He was gone. Amuro was gone. He loved Amuro, loved him more than he had ever loved anyone. He would have died for Amuro, back at Gryps when the Titan and Axis forces had closed in around them. And Amuro would have died for him. But how he was gone, leaving their sanctuary and going back out where the entire universe wanted him dead because Char had needed a drink.

He wanted to throw up. He thought he might throw up.

Char flung the gravel in his hand as far as he could, scattering them across the drive and into the grass beyond. He let out a scream. It ripped out of his throat and echoed across the lake and into the trees beyond. He screamed and screamed, not stopping until he was on his hands and knees punching the ground, until his throat was raw and he was gasping for air into the gravel beneath him that was spotted dark with tears and blood.

The world was quiet when he stopped. Then wind blew bird song in from the lake, ruffling his hair as it passed. Hoarse calls from the water.

“No.” Char shook his head.

Flapping wings, insistent gusts of wind.

“No!” Char sat up on his knees, glaring out over the empty water. “I said no! I’m done.” He clenched his hands into fists and realized his knuckles were split and bleeding. How had that happened? Had he done that?

Bugling calls sounded from across the lake, from behind him, from everywhere, and died out just as fast.

“Leave me be, Lalah. Don’t I deserve to rest?”

Silence. Not even wind. Char’s hands throbbed. It was rude of them. He shouldn’t be able to hurt from something as silly as busted knuckles when his heart was bleeding out onto the ground, staining his white feathers. Amuro had brought a gun with them when they’d first landed. Char wondered if he could find it. He had all the time in the world.

Then, light. A rustle of feathers circling somewhere above him. Pressure on his palms, lifting him, like hands taking his and helping him up. Char staggered to his feet, almost tripping over them as he reached out for the source of the pressure that vanished just as quickly as it had come. A soft laugh echoed off the water as he found his footing. He scrubbed his hands over his eyes and wondered if the colony had always let in so much light. He stepped forward, unsteady and searching, into the soft grass by the lake.

You’ve had your eyes closed, Char. You shouldn’t always hide your eyes.

His eyes? “But I’ve failed, Lalah.” His throat was scratchy and painful. “Every time I’ve tried to do something good. Do I really… Do I have to keep trying?”

I’m selfish, I still want all of us to be together someday, and that can’t happen if you don’t try.

Char suddenly remembered standing close to Lalah as she ordered him to wear a normal suit in battle so that he would be safe. He’d promised and then he'd disobeyed. She had always just wanted to keep him safe, to keep all of them safe.

“Do you mean…?”

Don’t let despair turn your pure soul black, Captain.

Pure soul? Char could feel her fading away from him but the colony was still just as bright.

“Lalah!” His throat hurt when he yelled her name but he could feel that she was already gone. He was alone again beside the water.

Lalah still cared for him. If Lalah still cared for him, could that mean he wasn’t beyond hope? Was there still a path back for him? Not to Amuro, he could never ask Amuro to forgive him, but back to himself. To the Char he had been before. The Char who had hope for humanity. For himself.

Amuro would go find Bright and, if Bright was still alive, he would still be fighting the Titans and Axis. And if there was one thing Char could do, it was fight. Maybe they could use another pilot.