Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ 10 Seconds ❯ oversight ( Chapter 7 )

Chapter 7 oversight

If I had a deity to thank for the existence of the weekend, I would be. It is hours past the crack of dawn before I even know I am alive again, pressed into the mattress with a heavier body than I’d known before.

The exhaustion leaves me finally, releasing me in a simpler realm of general weariness, and my eyes squint open on the sun glaring into the room. I scrunch up my nose and grimace into the orange light. No one remembered to drop the blinds, and now I lie in the slim, cramped bed, paying the price for the oversight.

The thought occurs to me to simply rise out of bed, then, and avoid staring into the low sunrays getting in by dressing and finding some productive activity. I cannot afford to lose proficiency in anything at this point. I could review last night’s mission in advance for the report. I could find a decent breakfast in the kitchen downstairs and exercise. I could even open up the dormant laptop resting across the room to look for an inevitable encrypted invite to another mission, another long, fiery night.

But it is a Saturday morning, a voice tells me.

The warmth around me seems to pull away and I pull myself out of the tangle of blankets only long enough to walk the immeasurable, chilly distance from that bed to the offending window. With a certain amount of contempt for the inanimate object, I right its wrong and step back towards the place I had come from, eyes drifting comfortably close again, now shielded from the sun.

The air is significantly colder than normal. I clutch at my arm as I move back to that desirable position, lying and finishing a restful session of nothing. I feel a wave of goosebumps along my open skin. I yawn. Without really opening my eyes, I am walking back towards my bed. That is when I notice the slightest difference in appearance of the blankets, as if some—

"Shit!"

My own gruff voice throws out a curse and the half-obscured lump takes this moment to disappear from my bed, the lip of the blanket flopping backwards and revealing the crinkled bedsheet beneath. I do not register this for a moment, as I am currently hissing and gritting my teeth. My large toe is screaming, a red hot coal attached to my very flesh, and I am hopping backwards on the other foot as I curse and clutch at it.

I do not fail to give the bedstand a retaliatory glare before continuing on.

What I fail to do is realize that Duo is lying on top of his blankets on the other, rather pristine bed until I have crawled underneath my own in the hopes of regaining the oblivious sleep I crave.

It is not nearly as warm as it was before.

I am alone again when I roll over on my bed. Duo’s bed is made, and he is gone from the room. Before I allow my mind to wander in the direction where he should be, as if drawn to a light and knowing it very well shouldn’t, I pull myself out of the blankets. I decide to go to the library.

The sun has long crawled out of hiding. I feel almost cowardly, walking through that particular aisle of books, freshly rolled out of bed and dressed in jeans and a wrinkled white uniform shirt.

On any other day, I would have put forward the effort to make me appear as calm and collected as possible. Any other day is not this day.

I am not stupid, Duo should know by now. I am neither as socially backward or emotionally dense as my exterior would suggest, and it was not lost on me as I crawled back into my bed that the missing warmth was him.

But I am so exhausted, I cannot think of the repercussions. My heart throbs dully in my chest, just as powerful, just as intoxicated, but my mind and my body simply can’t take the constant alert. All I can do is let my feet take me to a quiet, empty part of the world where I will be safe. For now. And they take me to the library.

His bed was untouched. I know he lay there with me, long after I had fallen asleep.

But I am so tired. I can’t think about it. I won’t.

The towel beside the bed was covered in black paint. He had rubbed it from my face, lying comatose where I fell and unwilling to respond to the world.

My feet halt in front of a very familiar book. I am looking at it, but I am looking through it, as well. I can see the shelves behind it, stocked with books. I can see the distant wall, the gleam of the light on the windows. I can see through that window, and I can see into the dormitory. I can see Duo again, standing in the bathroom doorway, face wet, towel around his neck, watching me lie motionless.

But I shake my head and rewind. The book is staring back, with smug print and a tempting spine. With a terrible sort of attractive grin and eyes the exotic color of a colony-born. With a silent mouth and dissecting gaze. I shake my head and rewind again.

This time it is just a book.

I pick it up and fall back into the dusty old reading chair. As I open the pages, the images of Duo began to ebb, though the current never dies, and I bury myself in the information it provides me. I force myself not to think about him, or the experiment I was foolish to believe I could even attempt.

I am so tired. I don’t think it would have mattered how much I slept (even with him lying just beside). This is a much deeper weakness.

And I fully intend to avoid it as long as I can.