It could have been beautiful. It could have been two people so in love that they saw nothing but each other in everything around them. It could have been destiny, star-crossed and glimmering with purpose, touched by the gods. It could have led to bliss.

It didn't. It wasn't. And on those rare occasions that they were tired enough or angry enough or desperate enough to see clearly, it was obvious that it never could have been either.

What it was was two people with nothing left to believe in except each other, and even then, the gilt was wearing off. These days it was work and politics and diplomacy and missing each other during the day because the meeting ran on and missing each other in the evening because the paperwork had piled too high. Something, somewhere went wrong and somehow they'd lost their way, gotten off the beaten track and skipped off into the woods following a trail of breadcrumbs that ended in nothing.

Dearka stared up at the ceiling of his apartment and blew a stream of curling violet smoke up at the faded plaster. If this was a fairy tale, or a novel or even a movie, there'd be a sign in that twisting plume of lung decay that would be enough to slot all the pieces back into place so he could pick up the thread of his destiny again and somehow everything would turn out all right. There'd be a happy ever after and Yzak would love him, really love him, and they'd have a purpose again; it'd be just like it was when they were starting out. There might even be doves and shit like that or maybe kittens because Yzak liked cats.

Instead there was Dearka lying on his back in a bed that could probably do with its sheets changing, taking another drag on a cigarette that would make Yzak scowl and wrinkle up his pretty little nose in disgust. That is, if Yzak ever got his sorry ass back to the apartment.

"There was paperwork, Dearka! I couldn't just leave it there and come home, it got up off the fucking desk and tied me down so I had to stay late again and finish it off."

Stubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray on the cabinet, Dearka scowled and mouthed another few imaginary excuses, his mind full of angry blue eyes and pale hands that pushed their owner's hair out of tired features. He wouldn't mind so much but after the Council demoted him to a green coat he didn't have the access permissions that his snappy red jacket used to bestow on him. Yzak had made it quite clear on many occasions now that he'd used up all the influence his family name gave him just to haul Dearka's ass out of the line of the firing squads. He wasn't a goddamned miracle worker, so Dearka had better just shut the hell up and make the best of it.

Of course, he'd not been quite that blunt, but it didn't matter to Dearka, that was what it all boiled down to in the end. These days, Yzak was someone and Dearka was no-one. And no-ones didn't have the necessary access permissions to waltz on in to HQ and steal away one of its prettiest drones for a bit of personal time. It just didn't happen.

So Dearka worked his shift and went home because for some reason if HQ didn't like you, they didn't want to let you hang around and do overtime either - and he'd never quite figured out the logic behind that one – so he went home while Yzak stayed on and worked and slowly but surely they began to drift apart.

It just wasn't fair.

After all the things he'd done for them…which on reflection weren't really all that many because they kinda stopped after he totalled one of their elite units, got both himself and the remains of said unit captured, then switched sides and became a traitor apparently just because he could, and then, christ, actually fired on Zaft units. He hadn't exactly rushed home after the war either.

Perhaps HQ had a point.

So here he was in his downtown apartment with the damp patch in the bathroom and the heating that he was certain only worked the dayshift and then only when it was summer outside, lying on his bed, alone, with only the TV and a pack of Marlboros for company. The one good thing about this place was that even though Yzak hated it with a passion, it was still closer than his own place and therefore the odds were much higher that his overworked boyfriend would leave work and be too tired to go all the way back to his own flat and end up crashing here instead.

It wasn't much of an upside and it was certainly a bit close to scraping the bottom of the barrel for his liking, but it was better than nothing.

Shifting a little, he turned his head and snatched a glance at the bedside clock. Quarter to midnight. Late. Very. Perhaps he should…no, calling would make him look like some clingy loser. And he didn't ever want Yzak to think that. He couldn't bear it if it turned out like that. If the day ever came that Yzak turned around and looked at him and there was pity in those pretty blue eyes then that would be the day that Dearka would call it quits. He'd sworn an oath on it over a half-empty can of cola sometime back when he'd first started thinking along those lines. After all, he had to have some self-respect, fairytale romance or not.

It was nearly quarter to one in the morning when he finally heard the front door scrape open and he was up off the bed and pulling his dressing gown on fast enough to prompt an inner sneer at himself. Angry at himself he hesitated in the bedroom doorway, squinting down the corridor to the panel of light falling from the open kitchen door. Inside he could hear the clatter of keys on the table and the beginnings of the kettle's grumbling. He left it long enough to make it look like he'd actually taken some time about it and then padded softly along the short corridor to the open doorway.

Yzak was sat at the kitchen table, one arm draped over its surface, the other hanging loosely at his side. He was slumped down in the chair, his head hanging over the back panel, eyes closed, lips pressed into a firm line. He looked absolutely knackered and Dearka winced at the sight.

"Hey…babe?" he said hesitantly. Yzak jerked upright at the sound of his voice and straightened quickly to look over his shoulder. Dearka gave him a smile that said "It's okay, I didn't see you do that, I only just got here" and wandered over for a kiss. He leaned in and Yzak pressed his lips against his before pulling back suddenly with a grimace.

"You've been smoking," he said disapprovingly and Dearka shrugged. They'd been over this before and there was nothing left to say. Instead he turned back to the kettle and hooked a mug from the stand, giving it a quick wash out before making up a cup of instant coffee. Yzak watched him from the table, his eyes following Dearka wearily.

"Is there anything to eat?" he asked as Dearka handed him the mug.

"Mmm. In the fridge. I'll sort it out – you go and get changed, have a shower or whatever. I'll have it ready for you when you get back, okay?"

Yzak nodded, picking up the cup with a long sigh and planting a kiss at the corner of Dearka's mouth before heading off towards the bedroom, kicking off his shoes as he went. Dearka watched him go and stayed for a long time simply staring at the empty doorway thinking until Yzak passed by again on his way to the bathroom and he was forced to look busy.

He listened to the sound of the shower as he picked food out of the cupboards and set it to cook. There had been something left in the fridge from earlier but one look at its dried out and curling edges had made him reconsider the merits of presenting it to Yzak as dinner. Not that he thought the other man would notice in his current state. Or maybe he would, Yzak could be funny like that.

Timing was everything and dinner wasn't nearly cooked by the time Yzak had finished his shower, so Dearka left him sitting at the table, another mug of coffee at his side and bit his tongue when the other man pulled out a datapad from work and began reading it while he waited. He carried on reading it even when Dearka put his dinner in front of him and placed cutlery in his hand before seating himself opposite and watching as he shovelled food into his mouth.

It would be a moot point to have asked how the day had gone. The answer would have been the same: busy. It never changed, nothing ever did and Dearka stared openly at his partner, feeling the beginnings of a dull anger in his belly. Yzak went on eating and Dearka went on staring. The pale silk gown that he was wearing was one of Dearka's old ones and it was just slightly too big for him in the arms so he'd folded it up around the elbows to reveal pale, smooth forearms. Dearka let his eyes trace over them and then up along the chest where the robe hung loose to the pale angular face with its dark smudges under the eyes that spoke of a body pushed too hard even for a Coordinator's unnatural endurance.

This prince was looking worn and frayed around the edges, and quite likely was in need of rescuing. Dearka would have grinned but he wasn't really in the mood to find it funny. He was feeling angry and hurt and full of spite. So when Yzak put down his cutlery and pushed aside his plate, muttering a brief goodnight before heading towards the bedroom, Dearka's comment was made all the sharper by the irritation underlying it.

"Well, goodnight then! Bloody hell, Yzak, is that it?"

Yzak's eyes were cold when he looked back over his shoulder and it was almost enough to give Dearka pause. But once started, an argument with Yzak could not be backed out of, even if he was half-dead from fatigue. "Don't I even get a goodnight kiss?"

It sounded lame and he could have cringed, but remarkably he saw Yzak's eyes soften and a small, tired smile pulled at his lips.

"Yeah, sorry, babe. It's been a long day is all…"

Rising slowly, Dearka crossed to his partner and slipped his arms around the thin waist, pulling him in close and tight. He felt the other man relax against him and completely missed the lips he was aiming for as Yzak laid his head on his partner's shoulder. He ended up kissing the top of his head instead, lips pressing against the drying strands of Yzak's hair. Dearka sighed quietly. He wasn't in the mood for chastity either.

"Long day, huh…" he murmered and Yzak made a low noise of agreement that vibrated against Dearka's chest. "Bet I can make you feel better…"

Letting his hands slip lower he pulled Yzak more tightly against his body, fitting him to the contours of his form and kneading gently at the tight muscles of his partner's lower back. Yzak moaned softly, his breath snuffling in the folds of Dearka's robe, and shifted against him. Two fingers gently pressed under his chin as Dearka lifted his head up and leaned in to steal a kiss.

Tired and sore from a day bent over a desk, Yzak let him have his way. He didn't even protest the chill of the apartment against his skin as Dearka tugged the cord of his gown undone and slipped his hands beneath the fabric. He let himself be steered out into the corridor until his back was against the opposite wall and Dearka was pressed in tight and heavy against him.

Dearka could feel the other man's sluggish responses beneath his caresses; lethargic, weary reactions that didn't even try to follow his lead. He let his breath sigh out against the skin of Yzak's shoulder and wondered if he stopped moving if Yzak would even bother to push him off.

Somehow for all the hard times through which he'd lived, all the foes against which he had stood fast, this amorphous, elusive apathy which he'd felt growing these past few weeks seemed the most vast and untouchable of them all.

Perhaps Yzak sensed something in the press of hands on his skin for he gave Dearka a gentle shove on the shoulders and hooked the other man's gaze with his own.

"I'm tired, that's all."

Dearka flicked an eyebrow in response, "Then let me do the work."

Pressing Yzak's shoulders back into the wall he slid his hands beneath the folds of his robe, running them down the other man's flank in a move that drew a shiver from Yzak even through his fatigue. Following the path of his hands he lay a trail of soft, nipping kisses down the other man's chest and then lower, working his way down over his belly. Yzak jumped beneath his lips, passion finally sparking in his movements as Dearka touched the soft ticklish skin of his lower belly. Dearka's lips curved in a smile as he felt the response he'd elicited with a few well-placed kisses. Yzak didn't like his belly touched, he was ticklish there after all, but his body certainly responded to the sensations in just the right way anyway.

It was a bit of cheat really, a shortcut to getting the reaction he wanted, but sometimes, Dearka reasoned, you had to play dirty to get what you were after. He let Yzak push his dressing gown down over his shoulders, loosening and then discarding the belt with one hand to make it easier for him. Placing his lips against the soft skin of Yzak's belly he glanced upwards as he felt the other man thread his fingers through his hair, the fingertips of his other hand tracing over the smooth skin of Dearka's chest. Yzak's eyes were closed, his face slack and flushed as he let his head fall back against the wall, strands of still wet hair clinging to his face.

Dearka thought he'd never looked so beautiful.

Even using all the cheats he'd learnt about his partner's body in the past few months, it still took him a long time to coax release from the other man. When finally Yzak did come, fingers digging hard into Dearka's shoulder muscles, breath gasping harshly in his throat, Dearka had to press his hips back into the wall with his palms to stop Yzak from collapsing in his lap. Dearka laughed softly to himself, wiping his lips discreetly on the back of his hand before giving Yzak a brief kiss on the cheek. "Told you I'd make you feel better."

Yzak made a low incoherent noise in response, slowly taking his weight off Dearka's shoulders and straightening up against the wall. "You want me to fetch you something to wash your mouth out?" he asked at length.

"Nope," Dearka replied. "I want you to go to bed and I'll be through in a minute."

Yzak nodded and pulling his robe tight around him, padded quietly off towards the bedroom, one hand stifling a yawn. Dearka watched him go, still feeling the glow of desire in his belly but resigned to the fact that satisfaction for him tonight was not to be. By the time he'd finished rinsing his mouth out in the bathroom, Yzak was already asleep. Dearka slipped under the covers beside him and lay there on his side staring at his partner's back.

If he'd been expecting anything more than Yzak's huddled form, blankets pulled up tightly around his chin and tucked in snug against the chill, he would have been wrong. Still, he couldn't help the slight feeling of something that curled in his chest and rattled in the hollow spaces there. Sighing quietly enough that even had he been awake Yzak would not have heard, Dearka reached out to trace the contours of his partner's profile. His fingers stopped a hairsbreadth short of touching the surface of the covers and hesitated. Perhaps it was just better to let things lie. After all, this wasn't some fairy tale, this was real life and real life was a whole lot harsher. Carefully he drew his hand back and let it rest on the pillow instead, close but not quite touching.

The bedside clock lit the room with its eerie glow, green lines marking the time as two fifteen in the morning. When he next opened his eyes, the display read eight thirty and Yzak was already gone.