His eyes are half open, violet and drowsy. His long chestnut hair is falling out of its braid, strands sticking out haphazardly in many directions. The thin black boxers he always wears are skewed, and the little silver cross is off kilter. One leg is stretched out straight, the other bent. One hand rests on the raised knee, the other trying to rub the sleep from his pretty purple eyes.He's so perfect.
He's normal; he lives day to day, planning for the future, remembering the past. He laughs at jokes, and cries at sad movies. He keeps in moderate shape (though he has the body of a god) and eats junk food. He excels at whatever he puts his mind to, but never gets motivated in school courses, when we go undercover. He sleeps so little, never wanting to miss a waking moment, remembering that there are those that no longer can wake up.
There will always be people trying to push him down. They say he doesn't try hard enough, or slacks off too much. But those people don't have any idea what they're talking about. The fact that he's been able to sneak out, or bust out, of practically every situation he had gotten into is proof enough of his skills.
His Gundam, Deathscythe, is his best friend in the entire world. He speaks to it, but not on the obsessive level the Chinese boy does. No, Deathscythe and his relationship is far different. He treats his Gundam like a comrade, not a weapon. He was sad when it had been destroyed. It was such an impersonal execution...it hadn't been right for his best friend. He says it's fine now; he has a new, better one. He always says that so sadly.
For a man who calls himself the God of Death, he has such an overwhelming respect for life. He's sad when he sees people he doesn't even know die; whether of natural causes or otherwise doesn't seem to matter to him. Death is such a finality; he has plenty of his morbid curiosities, but he is so addicted to life. The balance and contradiction is staggering.
He seems a little more awake now, and he smiles that cute little half smile at me. His violet orbs are bright again, and his voice is so cheery as he bids me good morning. He grabs a bag of chips off the coffee table and begins to munch on the salty breakfast. I sigh.
He's so perfect.
The End
