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Even for Char, Amuro had to admit, this might have been an all-time low.
Staring at Char, water pearling down his cheeks, equal parts splash from the sink and salty, crocodile tears—well, it was definitely new, but could he really say it was unexpected? No, the unexpected part had been seeing Char at all, and the rage he'd felt at that sudden appearance was quickly draining away in favour of an encompassing sense of pity.
It was really a wonder that he kept ending up in stupid situations like this. "In a McDaniels, Char?" He could hear his own exasperation, threaded through his voice. He already sounded tired all the time; it made him seem trite. He rolled vowels around his tongue for a second, deliberating on how and where to place them. Char glared at him from under dark lashes. "You're lucky it's just me," Amuro said, at last, and balled up the corner of his jacket so that he could wipe it roughly across Char's cheeks. The leather must have been scratchy against the soft skin of Char's face; he twitched under it, head turning as if he meant to pull away, but ultimately he was still as Amuro continued his ministrations. The bathroom was as much as could be expected from a dingy establishment like this, harsh white lights and grime-encrusted tiles. Char seemed to be half-squinting, eyelids fluttering occasionally; Amuro wasn't sure if it was because of the flaring lightbulb on the ceiling, or just a reaction to having his tears dried like this. Maybe those sunglasses had a purpose after all? They were mysteriously absent. It was midnight in the middle of a fast-food place—he wasn't really surprised…
Char hadn't spoken once. Amuro pulled away once he deemed that the tears were sufficiently mopped up, peering at Char through a furrowed brow and bitten lip. "Well?" He said. It wasn't an eloquent question, but he thought the point got across, at least because it was Char. The man in question shuffled on his feet, reaching under his eyelids to thumb away the last droplets clinging to his lower lashes. It was just as likely that he was flushing as it was that Amuro had accidentally scrubbed his skin raw, the difference in colour quite obvious. For Char's part, he moved to slip his hands over his hips in a familiar resting position. It didn't have the same aloof impression when he was inclined over an ambiguously cleanly sink. The tap dripped as Amuro waited expectantly. Drip, drip, drip.
Char seemed to come to some conclusion. He ducked his gaze away from Amuro, staring hard at the wall next to them. "… Have you eaten already?" Char's voice was less watery as a rule than his eyes, which still had a certain wet sheen to them. Despite his nonchalant tone, he radiated a quiet kind of embarrasment. Amuro thought it was appropriate, given the circumstances. There was no world in which crying your eyes out in a McDaniels bathroom wasn't humiliating. It was probably moreso if your name was Char Aznable, but who knew what name Char could have been going by? Amuro hadn't seen him in a year. He'd cut his hair short again in that time, like it had been during the One Year War. There was a blackness behind his pupils that hadn't been there in a long time, and even tears couldn't hide that. Amuro worried at his lip.
"No." It wasn't a lie. He had meant to order a burger or something, a quick bite to eat on the way to the spaceport. He wondered if Char had been going the same way. Earth didn't suit him, and he seemed out of place there. Amuro was the same—but unlike Amuro, Char had never tried to act like he could belong on this planet. That was why Amuro hadn't expected to see him. It was also why Amuro had abandoned the thought of food in favour of chasing after the familiar pulse of his presence, mens' toilets or no. "Were you—have you?" Amuro cleared his throat. "Eaten?"
Char cracked a smile. It was thin and a little cold, like a sliver of metal cut into his face, which was how Amuro knew—for certain—that there would be no more calling him 'Quattro'. Not that he had really made a habit of doing so in the first place. "I was going to," Char admitted, almost sheepishly although he tried to hide it under a veneer of composure. It was like sheer gauze, and Amuro had seen him construct it in real-time, just now. It didn't hide anything. "I could pay," he continued, "if you were still planning on…"
Amuro barked a laugh, which cut him off neatly. Red lips pressed closed, uncertainty designing itself as irritation. "Char Aznable, buying my dinner?" Amuro said, amused and a little sharp. He looked out the door behind them, then back to Char, who seemed to understand his point very quickly, with an annoyed slope to his shoulders. He seemed ready to be disappointed, and he was rifling around in his coat pocket for something. Probably glasses. "I guess," Amuro acquiesced before Char could pull the sunnies free. Char paused, which was more expressive than the slight lift of his eyebrows. "Why not? Junk food is expensive nowadays." He was serious about that, at least. Especially on Earth and not on one of the colonies, it seemed like even the worst meals you could buy were enough to take a flat chunk out of a Federation paycheck. If Char wanted to buy him a cheeseburger, then by all means. Amuro turned around and started walking out of the bathroom, not looking back for the hesitant sound of footsteps that started a half-second after his own.
Something between them as they went up to the counter gave him the thought that aside from being a ridiculous place to run into Char, it would be the last place he ran into Char for a while. Amuro watched with pursed lips as Char stepped up to order for them both, chatting to a cashier whose face was lined with exhaustion and whose pasted-on grin was just as fake as any of Char's own. He didn't know how he felt about that, and he still didn't know how he felt about it when Char pressed a brown paper bag into his hands, printed with 'M's, and he lead them both mechanically to a seated booth near the exit and the window. Amuro pulled the bag open and set out their food carefully on the table, which had a granite look to it that efficiently hid how sanitary it might or might not have been. Char had, in fact, bought him a burger, which he was thankful for. Char had only bought apple slices and a small cola drink for himself. Amuro treated him periodically to weird looks, which Char predictably ignored. The sky was black outside, and the stars glinted faintly through the thick clouds of smog characteristic of nights on Earth. They ate in companionable, terse silence. Char didn't look like he'd been crying as he nibbled at his apple slices, not really, but Amuro would have been able to tell even if he hadn't caught him—it was by the jagged tremor of his heartbeat, or something deeper than that. It pressed against Amuro in odd places, like it wasn't sure where it would fit. Amuro wasn't sure, either. He still tried to welcome it. He didn't know when he'd get the chance again.