It was simple, really. Or at least it should have been. The order was all of two lines long - Remember your directive. Have nothing more to do with him. - He’d been told to follow his emotions, to make his choices based on options laid out before him. While his emotions were clamoring with the unfairness of it all, demanding their say in the decision, he already knew what his choice would be.
He packed the items he’d gathered slowly, spent most of the night cleaning, sanitizing the place of his existence. The scant belongings would be picked up with him at dawn; his directive remained.
In the shank of night, he sat on the balcony with his back to the wall; the lights to the apartment were off, and the neighborhood dark just enough, he could make out a handful of stars overhead. It would be a long time before he would be able to see him again. His gaze sought out the unlit windows of the apartment across the way and one flight down. It would be hours before he awoke, and by then, Heero would be gone.
A soldier they called him. A soldier he was. His life wasn’t his own - not now, not for awhile to come. One day it would be. If he lived that long.
Rubbing his temples wasn’t easing the pain. And his hands still smelt of cleaning solutions.