The mirror reflected hollow eyes, black circles around each. Gaunt cheekbones, sunken cheeks. He'd been up late last night making sure every single strand of his hair was washed thoroughly so that it wouldn't tangle this morning, so it would be perfect.

He turned sideways in the full length mirror and lifted his shirt to bare his ribs and stomach. The patchwork of scars made him cringe. However a small smile played on his lips as he examined the tight muscles and defined rib cage. Almost perfect.

His eye caught the clock and he quickly turned to the dresser where his armory of weapons lay out. Last night he'd made sure to take apart and oil every weapon he owned, just as he always did now. They had to be flawless, there could be no room for error. With smooth gestures he hid a few of his favorites in his clothing and then turned towards the door.

Without warning fatigue hit him and he stumbled. Too many sleepless nights, missed meals, and hours working out had driven him to exhaustion. He forced himself to the doorway. It was worth it, if it meant perfection. For only when he was perfect could he attain what he desired.

He entered the kitchen. Four faces lifted to watch him, expressions varying from surprise to concern. He knew what would come now. Suggestions of food, sleep, other helpful advice. As always he would put them off. Couldn't they see he had to do this? He had to be perfect. The looks of concern on their faces shamed him, made him feel weak. Like at the last mission, when he had been incapacitated and had to be carried. He could see the disappointment on HIS face...on their all faces. But it was HIS face that had pierced him, told him he had to be perfect. He had to be.

And so he turned from the kitchen without a word and headed towards the hanger. He had to finish repairs on his Gundam. It had to be a reflection of him...absolutely perfect.

He reached the foot of his Gundam and had to lean against it to catch his breath.

He heard someone call his name, their voice almost desperate. Cool hands lifting him, carrying him. He tried to struggle. He couldn't show weakness, he had to be perfect. But he was so tired. Just so tired.

"Shit!" Another voice, HIS voice. The one he wanted to be perfect for. The one he couldn't show weakness to. "Damn it! What's he trying to do?" Anger mixed with concern.

Blackness engulfed him again and when he finally surfaced to partial consciousness he felt the presence of someone else in the room he was lying in. "Why did you do this?" The voice asked, HIS voice. The one he was perfecting himself for. "What are you trying to prove?" A cool hand brushed his perfectly untangled hair from his eyes.

He wanted to tell him, to explain that he was only trying to make himself worthy, to be the person they thought he was. But his mouth wouldn't move and no sound would come out. But somehow no words were needed and it seemed his thoughts were known.

"Shit, Heero! You don't always have to be perfect, you know?" Duo's voice broke in mid sentence. Somehow there was no shame for Heero this time, like before. Even as he lay there unable to move, with the one person he cared about more than anything in the world witnessing his weakness...he felt no shame. Perhaps it was the words. As hard as Heero listened he couldn't hear any disappointment in them. Only worry and concern.

Had he been wrong then? Would he accept him with all his imperfections? Hope flared within him. And then Duo said the words that somehow broke the spell.

"When you love someone...it means you love all of them. The imperfections and the little things that drive you crazy...they don't matter...somehow. And Heero...you aren't the perfect soldier everyone takes you for." There was a pause. "That's why I love you."