Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Let You Go ❯ Chapter 1

 

 

Who are your prayers for? You don't believe in God. Maxwell, what would you say if I told you not to join the Church? Would it make you run away, faster? Who would you run to, if you don't believe there is Anyone waiting for you?

 

I found you in that ruins of Father Maxwell's church. Only the marble alter and one charred pew were left for you. The Cross was charcoal and mud on wet ground. So much for peace. You don't believe, and you still bow your head and pray.

 

Who do you pray to?

 

When I walk down what was the aisle, over broken stained glass and bone fragments, when I watch you mutter dead Latin, when I feel the wind blow over your prayer and the night sighs in exhaustion over cold embers, your blasphemy reminds me of how much you want to believe.

 

You call yourself the God of Death.

 

Like you are daring your Jesus to rise again, and judge you.

 

You turn, you see me here. I hold up one hand. A sign of peace. You turn away. Bow your head. That's it. Pray.

 

Why would you leave me for something you don't believe in? Why would you let me sit next to an empty chair, so you can pray in an empty faith? Don't you know that chair can be filled?

 

What will fill your faith? Is loneliness that much better than me?

 

“Hey.” I slide next to you, push the burnt hymnals and broken rosary to the ground. You never look up. You keep your head bowed and your hands clasped. “You're gonna get an infection, kneeling on all that broken glass.” You still don't look up.

 

“Maxwell?”

 

“Don't.” You say between whispers.

 

“You don't believe in it.” I look to the altar, littered with beer can, deflowered with an inverted star left as a prank by neighborhood street rats. “Why bother?”

 

I put my hand on your shoulder, and you shrink away from me. Why? Don't you know how hard it is, to see you this w ay?

 

“Why?”

 

“If…”

 

If, what? If you try hard enough, do you think that invisible, intangible Faith will become real and bless you with that knowing? Even if It did, would that make one bit of difference?

 

Then you look at me. Stripped of your blasphemy, you're just another lost orphan, teary eyed and hungry for a home.

 

You never showed me those eyes, before.

 

Being lost- lost is something I can understand.

 

“I came here for a reason,” I tell you. “Now…” I'm not sure what that reason was for. “I don't think you should leave Preventers.”

 

“Can't stay.”

 

“What's calling you?” I kneel next to you, just to understand the feeling of glass grinding under your knees. “Are you running away, or running toward something?”

 

The mumbling stops, your shoulders slump. “I'm tired of running.” You close your eyes, like you can't stand too see anymore. “I'm so fucking tired, don't you see that?”

 

“Then why are you doing it, again?”

 

“It's all I know how to do.”

 

Do you need someone to show you another way? “And you think your Jesus can help you?”

 

“The Prince of Peace.”

 

“You are not a believer.”

 

“Want to be.”

 

“Aren't.” What we are is what we have. What we don't have is what we want. I laugh. This makes you angry. “I'm sorry. I don't think it's funny. It's really pretty sad.” I'm not sorry, though. Anger suites you better. I can't stand to see you the other way.

 

“I think you're pretty sad.”

 

“Yeah,” I shrug. “I know.” So, what? At least you can sneer at that. At least… you can sneer at me.

 

“So give me a reason not to.” You look back at the cross. “And leave.”

 

A reason? I want to give you a reason, Maxwell. A reason not to be sad. Even if it means a reason to be angry: It's good enough. I'll give you a reason…

 

I jerk you up, and you go limp. “What are you doing?”

 

“What is it the Good Book says?” I'll bring you back to life. If it takes hate, then I'll give it to you. “About sex?” I throw you on the altar, over the star. It begins to rain. Angels weep.

 

“What the fuck are you talking about, Yuy?”

 

“Leviticus 18:22.” I laugh again. You didn't know I knew your Bible. The key to your dreams. Of course I do. You're my friend, idiot. I love you. I'll do anything for you, even read that bullshit.

 

“Thou shall not lie with mankind as with womankind,” you look so scared when you recite the nonsense. “It is abomination.”

 

“That's right.” I pin your arms on the altar of your Jesus. I crawl on top of you and give you something to take away the sadness. “Did you ever wonder why I don't believe in God?” I smile down at you, dying inside, knowing this is the last time I will ever see you. My best friend. “Because I want to fuck the hell out of you. And if Jesus Christ, Himself, came down here and hung on that broken cross for us, I'd fuck you, right here, right now, right in front of His bleeding Body.”

 

You try to yell, to curse and kick. I put my hand over your mouth. It's killing me to hurt you this way. To betray you, to love you. Replace friendship with this rage. But we're just human; we're only imperfect. Even me- especially me. All I can give you is this spark.

 

My lips touch yours.

 

This is goodbye.

 

You push me back, you nearly throw a punch.

 

I shake my finger at you. “Love the sinner, hate the sin.”

 

“How could you do that in God's House? On a consecrated Altar?”

 

The same way Judas could love Jesus enough to damn himself and make Him Divine. With a kiss.

 

I turn my back on you, and let you go.

 

I gave you passion. Even if it was hate. It was enough for you to stop running and keep your Home. Maybe you can't believe in the Prince of Peace. But you understand Betrayal. Righteousness. Vengeance. Maybe, one day, Forgiveness?

 

I did this all for you. Because I love you. And I want you to find that Peace.

 

“Goodbye, friend.” I bow my head and walk away.