Deep Emotion [ dearka x yzak ]

Fanfiction
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"Mmm..."

The sound coming from Dearka's bed was muffled, but most certainly a moan. Even though the room was dark, Yzak knew what was happening. He'd spent enough time in dormitories full of teenage cadets to know that dreams and fantasies of that nature were a fact of life. The unspoken rule was to turn the other way and ignore it. Few people had the luxury of privacy in military quarters, especially onboard a ship. He was lucky to share this room with Dearka alone, even if his roommate kept him awake half the night moaning into his pillow.

But four nights in a row! This was getting ridiculous. He turned onto his stomach, making as much noise as possible, and covered his head with his pillow. If Dearka insisted on disrupting his sleep, he was going to let the other boy know he was awake and annoyed! After all, he had important events planned for the morning. He couldn't afford to lose sleep repeatedly because his idiot roommate had suddenly become infatuated with a stupid girl!

Just to drive home the point, he turned again, sighed irritably and kicked at the blankets tangled around his feet.

And that's what made it doubly irritating; the girl was stupid. What was her name? Ratfink? Ha! He knew very well that her name was Rafina, but he could never bring himself to call her anything but Ratfink. She even looked like a rat, mousy brown hair and pinched lips, always fidgeting nervously while staring at Dearka with adoring blue eyes. Ugh, the image made Yzak gag! Pathetic. He didn't understand how Dearka could waste his time with such an insipid, blathering child.

Not that Yzak didn't like girls. He did...theoretically. He had just never encountered a girl that met his standards. If he ever deigned to bestow his attentions on one, she wouldn't be a whimpering, giggling, airhead like most of the girls he knew. And, of course, she would have to be exceptionally beautiful, well-dressed and well-bred. He wouldn't be caught dead with anyone of lesser quality than himself! That would be humiliating. And, unfortunately, there weren't a lot of women that Yzak deemed equal or greater in appearance, breeding and intelligence to himself. In fact, with the exception of his mother --and she didn't count-- he couldn't think of any!

Dearka had told him that his expectations were too high. And he didn't give the girls he knew enough credit. Perhaps. But Dearka's standards were too low. Hell, he smiled at anything with a skirt, even, on occasion, Naturals.

Yzak didn't know why he suddenly felt infuriated. He just did, and that was reason enough. He snatched the pillow from his bed and hurled it across the room, smacking Dearka squarely in the head.

"Hey...! What the...? YZAK!"

The pillow came back, but Yzak's reflexes were quick, and even in total darkness, and he managed to deflect the pillow before it hit him.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Dearka demanded angrily.

"Me? What's the matter with you?" Yzak retorted, raising himself on his elbows. "Can't you control yourself for one night? You're like some kind of rutting animal!"

"What kind of animal..?"

"A rutting animal. Look it up, asshole."

"Okay, I get it...at least, the animal part," Dearka's voice softened and he chuckled, taking the insult in stride. "But, look, not everyone has your superior powers of repression, Yzak...if that's what's got you all wound up."

"What's pissing me off is lack of sleep!" he snapped. Then, as the meaning of Dearka's words sunk in, he added, "And I'm not repressed. I have something called self-control. You should get some."

"Self-control?" Dearka didn't bother to conceal his amusement. "So that's why you throw pillows at unsuspecting people in the middle of the night...?!"

"That's why I don't come over there and knock your teeth out!" Yzak growled, unconsciously curling his hands into tight fists.

Dearka just laughed. "You wouldn't dare!" Another pillow came flying across the room, and this time Yzak reacted too late. He screwed up his eyes, bracing for the impact, just as the cushion slammed into the side of his face.

"Get your filthy pillow off my bed!" he yelled, wrestling with the blankets and pillows until they tumbled onto the floor. He sat up, breathing audibly, his face burning with wrath. "I don't even want to think about what you were touching before you touched that pillow!"

"Calm down, Yzak. Hell! I didn't touch anything. And even if I had...what's the big deal?"

Yzak swallowed, attempting to get his rage under some semblance of control. "What's the big deal...?! The big deal is..." What was the big deal? It wasn't that Dearka may have incidentally contaminated a pillowcase with byproducts of self-gratification. It was the fact that Dearka was gratifying himself at all, thinking about Rat Girl, right there in their room, while Yzak was lying hardly a meter away! His heart seemed to flatten and compress unpleasantly, but whether it was a result of anger, indignation or some other emotion, he couldn't tell. Nor did it matter...

He made a sound, something between a snarl and roar, and turned on Dearka, "The big deal is...you're a fucking inconsiderate bastard, that's what! First, you keep me awake four nights in a row, and now...now I can't even sleep in my own bed! You just had to throw that disgusting, germ-infested pillow..."

"You know, I touched your pillow too."

Yzak could hear his roommate grinning.

"And sometimes after I take a piss, I don't wash my hands..." he taunted, and Yzak could just imagine his raised eyebrow and self-satisfied smirk. If Dearka had been anyone else, he would have smacked that smug little smile right off his face. Instead, he stood up, trembling with the effort it took to control his temper.

"Go ahead and rub your stinking ass all over the room for all I care," he said, his voice tight with tension. "I'm leaving."

He reached for his jacket, groping a little in the dark. Blankets rustled and the frame creaked as Dearka sat up in bed.

"Yzak..." he said, without the ironic edge, "you don't have to leave. I was only kidding! I'll get you a clean pillowcase and I'll use some of that self-control you mentioned." A hint of cynicism returned. "You've pretty much killed the mood anyway..."

If he hadn't added that last comment, Yzak might have stayed. Dearka's "self-control" meant nothing if there was nothing to control. Mumbling obscenities under his breath, he pulled his jacket on over his pajamas and stormed out of the room. Indistinctly, just as the door closed, he heard Dearka call his name but he didn't look back. He blinked in the sudden brightness of the corridor, then trudged determinedly down the passageway, glowering at anybody who dared to look at him.

* * *

Yzak narrowed his eyes and glared at his reflection in the mirror.

Gravity made him look tired. He saw something almost imperceptible around his eyes, mouth and jaw; a tautness, perhaps, that gave the impression of exhaustion and strain. But it was a small flaw, and a temporary one, in an otherwise beautiful face. Of course, he was fully aware of his beauty. Only an idiot wouldn't be; porcelain skin, clear blue eyes, and that exotic slivery hair that shone like polished glass. He sneered at himself, distorting his features, wanting to see some of the ugliness he felt inside.

After leaving his room in a huff, he'd gone directly to the communal bathroom at the end of the hall. He and Dearka were fortunate enough to have a private bathroom attached to their room, but the lower ranks of soldiers were forced to share. The facility was deserted that late at night. Plus, many of the crew had taken advantage of this short layover and headed out to visit friends, family, or to just breathe some fresh air. Yzak didn't have the patience for such frivolities. He couldn't wait for the minor repairs to be completed so he could return to space, to order and activity. People acted strangely when they had too much time on their hands.

Like Dearka and his obsession with Ratfink...

He turned his head slightly and studied his face again. He couldn't help but compare himself to Rat Girl. Yes, he was strikingly beautiful, as beautiful as any girl, and she was a sniveling rodent! He couldn't imagine what Dearka saw in that weasel-faced fool! Unless...he frowned, considering the possibility...Dearka wasn't interested in her face.

The idea sickened him. And he also felt something else, something very distressing. Growling with anger, he gripped the counter in front of the mirror and pressed down until his knuckles turned white. He felt like he was losing a competition, yet it wasn't a fair fight. He couldn't win. He couldn't even pass the qualifications! And there wasn't a goddamned thing he could do about it! The word for what he was feeling was frustration, and underlying that, he felt...

Suddenly, a warning blared inside him and, immediately, he stopped the thought before it entered his head.

"You revolting piece of dog shit," he snarled, not sure if he was talking to Dearka or himself. "Go fuck yourself, why don't you?!"

Abruptly, he turned away from the mirror and pulled his jacket tightly around his body, folding his arms across his chest to keep it closed. His shoulders felt hunched up by his ears, and he sensed the beginnings of a rotten headache. The words I hate you! kept running through his mind and pride alone kept him from screaming them aloud.

This is all Dearka's fault, he thought bitterly, pacing the length of the room. We were fine...I was fine...until he started acting like a drooling moron around those stupid girls! What's so great about girls anyway? Dearka had implied that Yzak was sexually repressed. Well, that was definitely not the case. Just because he didn't make an ass out of himself every time a girl flashed a ditsy smile didn't mean he was repressed. He had urges from time to time, just like any other guy his age; he just didn't let these feelings disrupt his life. He liked things the way they were...before, that is, when he and Dearka were friends, the kind of friends that didn't need anyone else. How could Dearka let his dumbass cock fuck up a perfectly good life?

His head was throbbing now, and he pressed his fist against his forehead, trying to dull the pain. Or, maybe, he hoped to stop the strange thoughts that threatened to push through the barrier he had set in his mind.

A memory irked him.

Recently, a magazine with pictures of naked women had been circulating among the crew and Dearka had brought it to their room, a triumphant smile splitting his face. The two of them, breathless with anticipation, had sat side by side on Dearka's bed and spread the pages across their laps.

Oddly, Yzak couldn't remember the photos very clearly. He had a vague recollection of nipples and painted faces, some insane mess going on between legs. Whatever. It hadn't seemed important. What he did remember was Dearka's hands, strong and tanned, turning the pages. He remembered his friend's breath coming hard and quiet from deep in his throat, the smell of his neck and hair when Dearka had bent over to inspect the pictures. They had laughed a lot, made scathing remarks peppered with obscenities, yet all the while Yzak's senses had been hyper aware. And when the magazine, momentarily forgotten, had slid onto the floor, and Dearka had finally looked at him with the universe's most absorbing violet eyes, Yzak hadn't known if he were going to come or cry. Naturally, the only satisfying response had been to shove Dearka into the nearest wall!

Something about the situation had felt wrong. It had begun innocently enough, but...

But the point is, he reminded himself sternly, I didn't act like an idiot. I didn't run out and start trying hump every breathing woman because I felt a little excited. Some people are so damned out of control!

The pacing had ceased some time ago and he found himself standing in front of the mirror again. Lowering his chin, he peered out from under his bangs, meeting his own suspicious gaze. He was lying, or concealing some truth. After all, who was he kidding? Dearka had been right; he had no self-restraint. If he wanted something, he'd find a way to get it, or drive himself, and everyone around him, crazy with frustration. And frustration...hadn't he identified that feeling just a moment ago? Yes. He had been comparing himself to Rat Girl, competing with her and losing. But what were they competing for?

The answer had to be...

"Hey, there you are!"

A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts, right at the crucial moment. More than a little annoyed, he spun around, daggers in his eyes, to find Dearka loitering in the doorway, a piece of white cloth draped over his arm.

"Oh." Dearka looked down, obvious disappointment in his voice. "You're still pissed off."

Yzak watched him intently for a moment, then decided to let it go.

"Nah," he shrugged, relaxing his stance a bit. For some reason, he couldn't look at Dearka with his first line of defenses down. His face suddenly burned so he quickly dropped his gaze, letting his hair fall over his reddened cheeks. "I'm okay," he said, pawing the floor with his foot. "I've got a headache, that's all."

Dearka smiled, but still approached him warily.

"I've got something for you," he said, removing the cloth from his arm. "A clean pillow case..." He handed it to Yzak who took it without looking up. "And..." Dearka moved closer.

"Look."

He thrust his hands into Yzak's line of vision, displaying first his palms, then the backs. "See?" he said cheerfully. "All clean." Then, when he received no reaction, he added, mocking military protocol with a salute, "Do I pass inspection, Sir?"

Yzak sighed wearily. "Yeah. Whatever."

"So...?" Dearka paused, hoping for some elaboration. Again, Yzak gave him nothing. "So we're okay then?"

"Yeah."

"And you'll come back to bed?"

"Sure."

Clearly, Dearka would have preferred a more encouraging response, but he took whatever he could get. "All right then," he grinned, "Let's get out of here, okay?"

* * *

Yzak groaned and screwed up his face, fighting another wave of nausea. This damned headache was killing him! He took two slow, deliberate breaths and willed his stomach to settle down, the dizziness in his head to subside. He had never been seasick, but he imagined this was how it felt, like his brain was sloshing around the surface of a pond. He groaned again, doubled over, and rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

"Come on...!" Dearka rolled his eyes, "How bad can it be? You took that pain killer half an hour ago!"

The other boy was stretched out on his bed, staring at the ceiling, arms folded above his head, the very embodiment of casual response. Yzak looked up long enough to shoot him a nasty glare, then quickly regretted the movement. His head swam and he felt his stomach lurch. He scrunched his eyes shut, as tight as he could manage, and fought with all his might to find some equilibrium.

"Weren't you the one bragging the other day...?" Dearka continued, apparently oblivious to his pain. "Didn't you say that you never got sick? Hmm, what was it now? Yeah...! You ate an entire jar of pickled eggs and then drank the brine...?"

"Dearka...!" Yzak yelped. "I'm serious! I'm gonna puke! Don't start bringing up food unless you want my half digested dinner all over your bed!"

Without moving his head, Dearka looked at him out of the corner of one eye. "You know what your problem is, don't you?" he said knowingly. "You're too hotheaded. You let everything get to you, no matter how insignificant, and then you work yourself up until you're sick. Just relax a little and it will go away."

"Thank you, Dr. Elthman." Yzak scowled.

"Hey, I'm only trying to help." Dearka lifted a shoulder, indicating a shrug. "What the hell is bothering you anyway?"

"Right now? You."

"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about." Dearka rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. "You can't simply answer a question. You have to attack somebody. And, in case you didn't notice, most of the time, that somebody is your so-called best friend." He sighed and shook his head.

"Boo hoo, I feel so sorry for you." Yzak said caustically. If anyone should feel sorry for someone, Dearka should feel sorry for him! He was dying over here. He couldn't be held responsible for what he said when he was in so much pain! Then, suddenly overcome by impulse, he said unfairly, "Why don't you go cry to your girlfriend, asswipe?"

"Huh...? Girlfriend?" Dearka stopped and stared at him searchingly. Slowly, the confusion cleared from his eyes, like pulling away a veil. "Ooh...! So that's what you've been obsessing about!"

Yzak groaned as his brain spun around in his skull. He pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to hold it still. The room seemed to tilt nauseatingly on its axis. For a moment he saw three Dearkas, each one blurring into the other, the line of their bodies slanting one direction and then the other.

"Aha...so I'm right!" Dearka smirked, pleased with his deduction. "You're jealous, aren't you?"

"What?! Fuck no!" Yzak managed to sit upright although any minute his head was going to explode. It felt good to yell, though. "I don't want some simpering girl whining and pawing at me, giggling like some demented hyena every time I open my mouth...!"

Dearka laughed. "In your case, I don't think that's likely to happen. As soon as you open your mouth, most girls, if they have half a brain, are gonna run!"

In spite of his extreme discomfort, Yzak felt unbridled fury running though every vein in his body. The energy wanted to be discharged as a blow to Dearka's head, but, trembling with control, he restrained himself. Although he was loathe to admit it, Dearka's comment had hurt and shamed him. You have to attack somebody and...most of the time, that somebody is your so-called best friend. He hadn't realized that Dearka had noticed, much less cared. Nor had he realized that his flares of temper hurt.

"But, seriously, Yzak," Dearka continued, his eyes growing sober. "I worry about you. I mean, Zala is already engaged and he's a year younger than we are. Sooner or later, our parents are going to push some girl on us, and it's not like the girls have no say in the matter. If you keep acting like an asshole, no girl is going to want you."

"That's fine with me," Yzak wrinkled his nose. "I don't want a fiancé."

"It's not a choice." Dearka pointed out, "It's a duty. Those Naturals multiply like rabbits while our numbers are dwindling. And you're one of the elite, our hope for the future; are you going to let everyone down by refusing to do your part?"

Now Yzak just felt depressed. He hadn't thought of it like that. Of course, there were greater concerns than his personal feelings at stake. The future of the Coordinators depended on young people like Dearka and himself, people willing to make sacrifices for their very survival. And some of those sacrifices were not played out in battle. Yzak had no fear when it came to fighting. His raging emotions eclipsed any fear of death, any concern for his personal safety. He would stop at nothing to secure the future of his race, as long as it meant killing a vicious enemy. But marrying for the sake of his people? For ZAFT? The idea terrified him. He would rather die cruelly and violently than take some rat-faced stranger into his home and bed.

Suddenly, a thought struck him.

"So...that girl, Ratfink," he said, noticing that his head felt a little lighter, less soggy around the brain. "Are you hoping to marry her?"

"First of all, her name is Rafina," Dearka said, his face darkening slightly. "And marriage? Maybe. I don't know." He looked down and began picking at something nonexistent on his blankets.

"Do you want to marry her?" he asked, narrowing his keen eyes. Dearka didn't sound like a man in love.

His friend made a noncommittal sound. "I don't know," he said, still focused on the activity of his fingers. "Her family is important. It would be a good match for both of us. My parents would certainly approve."

"But you don't like her?" Yzak pressed, "I mean, you aren't interested in...in screwing her or anything...?"

Dearka looked up sharply. "Huh...? What's that got to do with it?"

"I just thought..." Yzak mumbled, embarrassed. "Earlier...you know...it seems like you've been kinda horny lately."

"Yeah," Dearka's smile was thin. "I guess so. But that has nothing to do with her."

"She looks like a rat anyway," Yzak pouted, massaging the back of his head.

Dearka studied his friend with a half smile, deliberating. "Okay, I'll admit she doesn't have super alluring silver hair or anything, but her face looks just like anyone else's."

"Oh. Huh...?" Yzak froze with his hands still tucked under his hair where he had been rubbing his neck.

Now it was Dearka's turn to look embarrassed, but he laughed it off easily. "Is something wrong?" he chuckled, sitting up. "You haven't developed a fever, have you?" He stood, crossed the room, and sat down next to Yzak. "Your face is bright red!"

Yzak was not prepared for what happened next. He was still trying to decipher Dearka's odd comment about silver hair, still wondering why his roommate was sitting on his bed, uninvited, when Dearka reached out and playfully touched his forehead with the back of his hand, no doubt checking for a fever. His touch felt warm, even pleasant, but Yzak gasped and jerked back instinctively, as if he'd been burned.

Except for hitting, punching, shoving, grabbing and wrestling, nobody touched Yzak Jule, besides his mother. And since turning the age of twelve, he only allowed that grudgingly, mostly because she didn't take no for an answer. But Dearka...! Not only was his head pounding now, but his heart too. He felt dazed and afraid, and he rarely felt afraid of anything. He stared at Dearka, eyes wide, too stunned to speak. The spot on his forehead where he'd been touched felt hot and tingly, and the feeling seemed to spread throughout his body, making everything inside him go haywire.

"Oh...sorry," Dearka backed off sheepishly. "I..."

"It's okay," Yzak assured him, even though he wasn't certain it was. "You surprised me, that's all."

That wasn't the half of it, but he couldn't tell Dearka the truth.

"You look sick." Dearka observed.

No shit, moron, Yzak thought. Isn't that what I've been telling you for the past hour? But he didn't say it. Instead, he nodded and said, "I can sleep it off. I'll be okay in the morning."

"Is there something I can do to help?"

Besides shut the fuck up? "Uh, like what?"

"Like..." Dearka hesitated, a peculiar glint in his eyes. But he left his thought unspoken. "Nothing," he finished glumly.

They sat in silence for a while, both of them aware of the awkwardness between them.

"You know,' Dearka said quietly, after a time, "Your hair feels weird...slippery."

"What do you mean, weird? It's not greasy. I just washed it." Yzak tried not to sound defensive. Why was Dearka going on about his hair anyway? And how did he know what it felt like? Unless, of course, he had felt it when he touched his forehead...

"No, not greasy. Slippery."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'll show you. Here," Dearka bent towards him. "Touch my hair. You'll see what I mean."

Yzak was skeptical. "Why?"

He didn't want to touch Dearka's hair. Not that it looked dirty or anything. It was just that, except for hitting, punching, shoving, grabbing and wrestling, he had never touched anyone deliberately, for the sole purpose of sensation, not even his mother. The prospect both frightened and intrigued him. And, at the moment, fear was winning.

"Oh, grow up...!" Dearka glared at him, exasperated. "It's not going to kill you to touch me!"

That was true, Yzak admitted reluctantly. Why was he acting like such a baby about this? He hated cowards. Just do it, he told himself, suck it up, whatever the problem is, and feel the guy's stupid hair. After all, it was only Dearka, and no one else had to know...

He bit down, clenching his teeth determinedly, and reached for the side of his friend's head.

"Hey...!" he blinked, taken aback. "That is weird!"

"See? I told you."

Dearka's blond waves felt coarse and sticky. The texture was such that he could mold it with his fingers and it would stay put, sticking out in a little coiled tuft. In contrast, his own hair, no matter what disturbed it, always slid back into a smooth, fine curtain. Yzak made another wayward spiral in Dearka's hair; if he had been Ratfink, he would have giggled with delight. But he wasn't, and he didn't, although for the first time he understood the impulse to do so. Dearka's purple eyes suddenly looked brighter and shinier, and he wet his lips with his tongue, smiling just a little. Yzak could see his chest expand and fall with every breath under the thin material of his t-shirt. Any moment now, looking at his friend, he thought he might melt into a senseless pool of silliness.

"Are you actually smiling?" Dearka said incredulously, inching closer. "Doesn't your head still hurt?"

He casually tugged at a long piece of Yzak's hair, letting his fingers brush against his neck. The contact with his skin seemed accidental, but Yzak, fighting giddiness, could not be sure. A strange tingling sensation crept along his scalp and down the side of his neck. It felt...Yzak had to think about it...good. He didn't object at all when Dearka, this time clearly on purpose, pulled his hair behind his ear. He was shaking, but, fortunately, his agitation was mainly internal.

"I'm...I'm fine," he stammered, trying to collect his wits. Actually, his head was spinning, trying to grab hold of some very curious thoughts. He couldn't tell if he had a headache or not. The only thing that penetrated his confusion was an intense awareness of Dearka, as if the other boy were the only thing that truly existed, the only thing that mattered.

"So you see what I mean now?" Dearka said abruptly, sitting back, his usual sardonic smile returning. He ran his fingers through his own hair, integrating the bits that Yzak had pulled out.

"Huh...?" Yzak breathed, wondering where the hell he was, and why he skin felt like it was on fire.

"About your hair being slippery."

"Oh...yeah."

Yzak snapped back to reality. Had he just imagined the last few seconds? The whole episode had been so ridiculous...

But Dearka looked slightly flustered under his cool exterior. And Yzak's face hurt, like he'd been trying to smile. But his headache hadn't gone away. If it were possible, he felt worse! He pressed the heals of his hands against his eyes, half wishing Dearka would stay with him. Whatever he had done, no matter how confusing, it had helped assuage the pain.

"For what it's worth," Dearka said, standing up. "I'd marry you if I were a girl."

"Fuck off."

"I'm serious," he said, climbing into his own bed and pulling the sheets over him. "You may act like a spoiled little prick sometimes, but when you really think about it," he winked at Yzak, "what's not to like?"

"Are you flirting with me, Elthman?" Yzak asked boldly, meeting his roommate's lighthearted gaze.

"Flirting...? Me?" Dearka widened his eyes innocently. "So what if I were?"

"So I'd have to kill you."

"You wouldn't. Because you like it."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do, slipperyhead."

"Dearka," he groaned, lying his aching head down on his clean pillowcase, "we're not six."

"I'm very much aware of that."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"Go to sleep, Dearka."

Everything, except for the splitting headache, had returned to normal. But later that night, after tossing and turning, unable to sleep, it occured to him that something had changed. The thoughts that had been nagging at him, those unanswered questions that hovered just outside the reach of his understanding, were drawing closer. A door that had been unlatched was now slowly opening. Soon, he would understand. Soon, he would be able to look at Dearka and say what, on some level, he already knew. Right now sensations and emotions were driving him mad, but it would not be long now before this period of unknowing was over. And then...?

Despite the obligations to the future, there was also hope, the promise of something thrilling and unimagined, like the tingling excitement of a single touch.