Disclaimer: GW isn't mine.
Note: If the story is hard to read (ie. needs clearer transitions) tell me and I'll fix it. Er. . .sorry I'm writing a lot of one chapter things. . .I know I need to update. I'm working sluggishly on Sand Castles and trying to conjure a sequel to Greensnow. These I hope to get accomplished by Christmas. Wish me luck! And, please tell me what you think of this fic. I was trying to do "something different". . .even though some of it's corny
"Yo Heero," Duo called through the intercom. "Are you going to let me in or not?"
"Debating," was the solemn response.
"Got some stuff I want you to see," Duo pleaded earnestly into the speaker. "Besides, you have all the hi-tech editing equipment that you never use and I always need."
"Really."
"Ugh!" Duo smacked his forehead on the wall just as he heard the latch click.
--
He almost thought that he'd knocked on the wrong door when it wasn't Heero who answered but a tall European youth who looked like he had just stepped out of the shower. "Uh, sorry," Duo mumbled looking around at the other doors in the hallway. "I thought this was Heero's place. Actually I was positive it was, but I guess not, right?" He laughed a little. "Do you know which door he's behind?"
"This one," a familiar voice responded from further into the apartment. The European guy stepped out of the doorway and into the kitchen without once saying a word.
Duo stepped inside deciding to indulge in his evil urges and walked into the main room on the meticulously well kempt carpet with his dirty sneakers. He set down his backpack next to the beige couch Heero was currently reclining on.
"You bastard," Duo whispered vehemently. "That was embarrassing. When I come over, I don't want to be anywhere near your little liaisons."
"I didn't invite you," Heero replied calmly. "Why are you so upset anyway? We're over. Besides which, I've been celibate for about a year and a half. That 'little liaison' is my roommate."
"Really?" Duo asked visibly brightening. "He's cute looking."
Heero shot him a stern look of warning. "Off limits. You don't sleep with my friends, I won't sleep with yours."
"Whatever. Whatever," Duo said waving his hands in dismissal. "It was just an observation. He's too quiet for me anyway. I like people that talk to me."
"Didn't you have something to show me, or did you just come up here to complain as per usual?" Heero interjected.
"Oh yeah," Duo laughed. "I forgot, didn't I?" He unzipped his bag and retrieved a stack of video disks along with a couple notepads. "Wanna watch with me?"
Heero shrugged and straightened his posture. "As long as it isn't porn."
Duo rolled his eyes, "Last time we tried that, it didn't work out too well. You think I'm crazy enough for seconds?"
The European youth entered the room just then nursing a glass of milk pausing for a second as the last few lines were said.
"Hey you!" Duo said taking immediate notice. "Wanna watch these with us? Come enjoy the male bonding. . . er. . .something like that."
The roommate gave no indication that he'd just heard. He just stared like a deer in headlights.
Duo whistled, a little deflated, "Weird. Is he alright?"
Heero turned around and glanced at his roommate before returning to his original comfy position on the couch.
"Trowa, this is Duo."
The one called Trowa bowed his head in greeting, a decidedly submissive gesture for a guy with his appearance.
"Yo," Duo waved. "Come sit down."
Reluctantly as if his legs were moving without his consent, Trowa made his way to the couch.
Duo shrugged and inserted the vd in the player. The television turned on automatically as he leisurely took his seat a comfortable distance away from Heero. He eagerly watched his face, though, from his little corner of the couch.
The screen was still black when the first snatches of conversation were to be heard.
The first voice was in no way familiar. I was very soft and almost girlish, but definitely that of a young man.
"This is for a whole year?" the voice asked.
The second voice was easily recognizable by its lightness and inflection to be Duo's. "Yeah. It's for a project I have to do for college. I wanted to do something of 'a year out of someone's life' and see if I could make it mean something."
The first voice laughed a little self-consciously. "I'm a very boring person, I hope that I don't ruin everything."
"Ah, you say that now," Duo replied amusedly. "I happen to think that you are a very remarkable person."
"How can you know that? We only met a few days ago," the first voice queried earnestly.
"Something about you just draws people in. There's got to be something there."
"That's very sweet, thank you," the first voice said quietly.
"Anyway, I'll give you the skinny on what goes on here," Duo said. "There are a total of five thousand micro cameras scattered throughout here and places that you frequent. If I feel the need, I'll install more. Um. . .there are none in the bathroom, bathroom parts of your estate, so don't worry about that. And, please refrain from moving furniture and the like without first consulting me. I really appreciate your agreeing me to doing this. I really think that you're an attractive subject for study and scrutiny by film critics. You'll go far."
"I hope not," the first voice interjected.
"Hm?"
"I hope that you go far."
After that conversation, picture began to piece itself together on the screen. Heero looked mildly interested while his companion remained unreadable. He'd take some getting used to.
The scene on the tv started out with the visage of a slumbering young man. His white blond hair spilled out in an arc on his pillow, his hands were tucked cutely to his chest under his chin, his thin arms draped like weights over the satiny bedding he seemed to be practically swimming in.
His eyes fluttered open revealing the most startling blue.
Duo kept his eyes on Heero waiting just for that moment. He was immensely pleased by his reaction. His expression seemed of nothing but pure wonder. His mouth was slightly ajar, and his eyes widened as he looked on.
The video continued on giving glimpses of a typical day. The blond got up, ate breakfast in a very spacious kitchen, took a shower, got dressed afterwards in a nice business suit, and then got into his nice dark green mazda.
Something about these actions that seemed so familiar and dull if performed by anyone else was somehow given new life by this enigmatic young man.
He went to work through two monstrous glass doors and was almost immediately accosted by many men armed with sheaves of paper and wagging tongues. They were handled candidly and with a one hundred watt smile. Business cards were exchanged, problems were resolved, and people went on their merry way in good humor if they so much as got a glance from the blond who seemed to hold a position of power and give off a good feeling.
His workday seemed to be a never ending cycle of meeting after meeting. Ofcourse, these were shortened with only select portions shown. Duo wasn't completely without editing apparatus.
After work, the blond went to a martial arts studio, kung fu to be more specific. He disappeared behind a curtain where he changed out into a uniform with a red belt tied neatly around his waist. The class began with an organizing of the rigid belt hierarchy, bowing to the flags, the instructor, and then warm up drills. It looked punishing, though the blond seemed unbothered by it. He went into class with a blank expression and maintained it throughout. He ran, lunged, held horse riding stance, and other such things looking around himself placidly at everyone else who seemed to be struggling. After the initial lessons were through, and most people were getting ready to leave, the blond approached the instructor who looked about his age. They talked amiably, obviously old friends. They kept just enough distance in their interaction to make it apparent. Eventually, they made their way to an open space on the floor and there began to spar. The instructor clearly was the stronger fighter, though, the blonde held his own pretty well. Five minutes passed before the instructor had him pinned to the ground. Then he helped him up and they bowed to each other. The blond went to retrieve his things from the cubbyhole shelving on the wall returning to the instructor with a book, Pastoral, which he accepted graciously.
Back at the blonde's estate, a new appreciation for its sheer bulk was realized. It was at least a three-minute time elapse for him to get from the front door to his study where he drew a curtain and changed out of his uniform behind it into a pair of khakis and a casual button up shirt. From there he settled in behind a massive oak desk and began sorting through papers. A little further into the night, a giant of a man interrupted his work bearing a tray of food. The blonde flashed another one of his bright smiles and nibbled on the goods after the other had left.
A time had passed when the blonde had finally fallen into a deep slumber at his desk, pen still in hand and most of the food still in tact. The large servant took no time in reappearing and gingerly prying the pen from the blonde's grip before picking him up and carrying him away to his room. There, he changed his business clothes for a pair of pale blue pajamas careful not to wake him. Then, like a father, he tucked the blonde into bed and left.
"End day one," Duo said as the screen went blank. Then he glanced at his watch. "And all in thirty minutes."
"Where did you get the money for the micro cameras?" Heero asked.
"Grandpa Igo runs a security device business and was really happy to see me show an interest in his work," Duo winked.
"That was a dirty trick to play on him," Heero commented, his tone neither praising nor disapproving.
A voice deeper, smoother, and amazingly more devoid of inflection spoke up, "What is his name?"
"Hm?" Duo was momentarily lost still caught up in his own genius of weaseling free cameras out of his adoptive grandfather. "Who?" Another minute passed as his brain dashed into the present. "Oh! You mean Quatre!" He pointed to the blank screen. "That's what you meant, right?"
"Yeah," Trowa said.
Duo had already gotten sci-treked and was presently addressing Heero. "I'm kind of in a pinch right now. I'm thinking about editing in music and words, but I wonder if it'd destroy everything. This isn't all of it, either, though," Duo assured. "I need to put all of these vds together somehow. Anyway, the music. . .I was thinking of something instrumental. I don't want words to ruin it, but. . .I don't know if there is any appropriate stuff for this kind of a thing."
"You could ask Quatre," Heero suggested reading through the table on contents on the other vds.
"Oh, no," Duo said. "He wouldn't. I offered to show him this stuff, but he adamantly refused. He was polite about it, though, ofcourse. Quatre is just. . .extremely shy about himself."
"Humble," Heero recommended for better word choice.
"Are you trying to send me a message here?" Duo asked sparing no sarcasm. "You can just come out and say it, you know. I'm all ears."
"I guess you have to be full of something," Heero said getting up from the couch and walking at a deliberately slow pace towards the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?"
"Oh, so Yuy has manners," Duo scoffed. "What've you got?" He asked headed for the kitchen. "You'd better not spit in it."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Heero replied.
"Really?" Duo said dragging out the vowels longer than absolutely necessary. "That's mighty kind of you."
"I wouldn't ruin it for Trowa's sake."
"That's mighty condescendingly cold of you," Duo said as he turned on the stove vent. It hummed quietly, a startling contrast to his own which sounded similar to a motorcycle engine revving. I guess, I'll just have to talk quietly, he thought to himself. Before he could open his mouth Heero had already guessed what he was going to ask.
"He was an orphan," he said as he selected a cylindrical thermos like container from the bottom shelf of the fridge. "He didn't get adopted until he was fourteen."
"That's a long time," Duo mumbled watching Heero retrieve two glasses from the cupboard.
"He was moved from place to place up until then. He didn't get the time to develop any real social skills." Heero shook the thermos then popped the top and began pouring a translucent light brown liquid into them. "You were adopted when you were about five."
"Yeah. My daddy really helped me out," Duo smiled fondly. "So, does he ever talk?"
"Only when he deems it necessary," Heero said handing Duo a glass and returning the thermos to the fridge.
"Wow. Mysterious!" Duo said raising a brow and taking a sip of his drink. "Ooh, lemon tea. Last question: What do you think of Quatre?"
"That you're trying to set me up," Heero replied sourly.
"Well?" Duo prompted.
Heero sighed and took a deep breath. "He's gay?"
"Well, yeah," Duo said rolling his eyes heavenward. "How much of his life do you think I've seen?"
"You probably won't leave me alone until I consent to a meeting," Heero said looking to Duo for confirmation. "I guess I'll bite."
"I'm glad you saw things my way," Duo laughed deviously and turned off the vent.
"You really do drive me crazy," Heero heaved a sigh and led the way out of the kitchen.
Trowa was right where they left him with his half-full glass of milk. In his left hand, he held the winter disc.
"Wanna watch that one?" Duo asked taking it from his loose grasp and setting it in the player. Quatre appeared on the screen, sleeping again.
Duo turned to Heero. "You redecorated since I was last here. This is all so unbacheloresque. Not a thing out of place nor a buffalo wing in sight."
"Unlike you, I don't thrive on poultry," Heero said glancing at him.
Duo wasn't paying attention, "I like that breakfast table over there. Your place was so stark before."
Heero glanced at the table. He'd not gotten it for cosmetic purposes. He'd purchased it after he'd visited the trailer
Trowa shared with his adoptive parent/sibling. It was such a small space, but they had a breakfast table even though it cramped the kitchen. It seemed impractical, but must have served some sort of a function other than taking up room.
"Trowa uses it," Heero remarked. Suddenly, the window lit dining area seemed to dim.
"Well. . .I like this couch a lot," Duo said leaning back into the soft leather. "It's a lot better than that ratty brown plaid one."
"I liked that one."
"Oh. . .so that's why. . ."
Heero ran his hands through his hair, "It's alright. My mother made me get rid of it."
"I thought she lived in Kyoto," Duo whispered.
"She visited last month and refashioned everything."
"No kidding," Duo said in awe as he looked around. "She must have helped you pick out that table, then. And that light, and those wall hangings, and those cabinets, and-"
"I know what she picked out," Heero assured.
"Your apartment looks nice," Duo commented sheepishly and glanced past Heero to Trowa. "He looks spaced out. Is he alright?"
Heero looked over at him then at the television screen. "I think he's fine."
Duo followed their gazes and agreed with a weak, "Oh yeah. . ."
Quatre, like many rich men, was very eccentric. He practiced many after work exercises: kung fu, dance, swimming, yoga. At the moment, he was on the last one.
Eventually, Duo left promising to return soon and, not entirely by accident, left his vds.
Dinner, as usual, was a joint effort for Heero and Trowa. They were so meticulous with details that if left alone, it would take them hours to finish simply chopping the vegetables.
The weight of an overbearing mother always made Heero nervous even though she was half a world away. Her constant admonitions for him to be careful and pay attention to the smallest things seemed to ring within his ears constantly.
Every cut he made into whatever food stuff to be served was always even. Chopping food had become an art form.
Trowa's excuse spawned from a long list of obsessive-compulsive illnesses. When he was a child, whatever strong human trait made a big impression on him stuck. His OCD list started with: washing hands, checking locks, checking lights in the rooms, turning off the faucet, equal distribution, etc.
Heero set the wok over a grill on the gas stove. The only food he'd learned to make other than rice after he moved out of Japan was stir-fry. He could cook anything in a wok. His mother disapproved of his cooking his own food, but there was nothing she could do about it where she was.
"Is everything ready?" he addressed Trowa's back.
After a long pause, Trowa nodded, "Yeah." He turned around with the cutting board. Neat rows of cut spring onions, yellow onions, snow peas, celery, mushrooms lay ready for inspection.
"Looks good to me," Heero said. "Hold on a minute, though." He reached into the cabinet above the stove and retrieved a thin-necked bottle of oil that he poured sparingly into the wok. Then he added in ground garlic and a little salt. "Alright, you can dump the veggies in."
Disposing of dinner was almost depressingly fast compared to the preparation. Trowa ate very fast while Heero felt obliged to match his speed, though that voice still nagged him yelling: "Details! Details!"
Trowa began to gather up vacant dishes when Heero arrested his hands. "I'll get it. There's only so many times I can stand to let you wash your hands in one day." He finished what his roommate had begun and disappeared into the kitchen. In the meantime, Trowa sought out a sink to wash his hands.
In the kitchen, Heero set the last dish on the counter to dry. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his roommate trying to be helpful, but he just couldn't stand the rashes he'd get on his hands from neglecting to put lotion on them. He'd known Trowa a while, and knew what his OCD could do. One time he'd allowed his hands to get so bad that they'd bled on top of looking diseased.
In doing virtually anything, Trowa would wash his hands before hand and then after. Before bed, he washed his hands, after waking up in the morning, he washed his hands, after putting his shoes on, he washed his hands, right after stepping out of the shower, before he handled books and cds, and the list went on. Heero exited the kitchen drying his hand on his slacks. Huddled down on the couch was Trowa with an almost perplexed expression on his face.
Another one of Duo's vds was in the player. Heero had to admit, as he looked on with Trowa, Quatre was very attractive. His features were very much middle eastern. His eyes were a little almond shaped, his nose had the gentle arch, and the very shape of his face lacked the too-sharpness or too- roundness of many Caucasian men. Though his features were all correct, the coloring was all wrong. Instead of a dark brown mop of hair, it was bright blond. In the place of brown eyes, there was a pair of sea blue. And rather than the dusky brownish color skin, he had skin whiter than fresh fallen snow.
Rather than entertain more thoughts about it, Heero disappeared into his study/bedroom where he planned to slave the night away steeped in textbooks. The comfort of robotic remember and regurgitate was, however, hopelessly elusive. Heero woke from a daze standing in the doorway to his study with his eyes focused on the tv in the main room. Since his first breath catching meeting with Duo, he'd never felt such an overwhelming, infectious curiosity.
After he caught himself staring, he disappeared back into his study where he laid out on his futon and promptly forced himself to sleep.
For some odd reason, Heero hadn't expected to hear from Duo again. When he got a call at work on a slightly overcast Thursday afternoon, he was almost stunned. "Hello-Duo?"
"I set up a date for you guys."
"You sound. . .what did you do?"
"You're meeting Quatre at Eclipse on Sunday at seven."
"You just decided all of this without asking me?"
"You're not doing anything."
"I-" Heero began ready to verbally lash Duo to smithereens was stopped when a thick book slammed down inches from his face.
He looked up to see his boss staring down at him armed with a rolled up newspaper and motioning to him to cut his call.
"Heero, what was that sound?"
"We'll continue this discussion later," Heero said tightly glaring at his employer and hanging up the receiver. "Ma'am." Ms. Catolina kept her voice cool and biting, "I pay you to organize, shelf, and ring up books, not to engage in idle chit-chat with your. . .friends."
Heero took a quick survey of the almost empty store and was thereby convinced of his boss' extreme pleasure in destroying other people's happiness.
"Ma'am," he said again. He'd always it a point not to say much to her. The word "ma'am" had manifested itself in a matter or forms, it meant: yes, no, I understand, why, is that all, who is that, are you alright, would you like more nice with your sarcasm, and a number of other things.
"See that it doesn't happen again," Ms. Catolina told him and then added before leaving, "And, put that book up. Surely with all the spare time you seem to have, it should be no problem."
Heero picked up the volume and pondered its uses as a projectile as he watched his boss' retreating back steadily make its way to the back of the store.
++
He couldn't fathom why, but he was. He was sitting at a table at Eclipse sipping at a cup of black coffee.
The Eclipse was a nice establishment, a café on the lake. The interior had glass walls, and outside there were terraces. This ofcourse made it a college student magnet. Young men and women armed with textbooks spread out over entire four seat tables. Heero wouldn't have minded doing that himself sometime. He glanced at his watch.
When he looked up, he saw Quatre headed towards him holding a cell phone to his ear. In person, he looked infinitely better than in the vds. His features seemed more vivid from his doll-like face to his overall image. His cheeks were flushed a dusky rose pink by the crisp fall breeze, and his eyes glittered like stardust. He looked like he'd just gotten off of work.
Heero contemplated waving him over. He seemed a little lost, but then his eyes locked onto him.
"I think I've found him," he said. "Thanks Duo." Then he lowered the phone and tucked it into his briefcase. "Mr. Yuy?" he asked addressing Heero.
"Heero," he corrected and was rewarded with one of Quatre's brilliant smiles.
Quatre set down his briefcase next to the table and took a seat across from Heero. "I appreciate you meeting me, and on such short notice."
"It's alright," Heero replied still feeling a little miffed by Duo's casual assuming of the role of his caretaker.
"I hope I didn't cause you any inconvenience. This was the only opening I could manage. . ." Quatre said, his voice falling a little.
"I said that it's alright," Heero reminded him.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. It's nothing," Heero dismissed.
Quatre took a moment to compose himself and then tried to incite small talk, "This place is really nice, isn't it? I like it a lot. . ." He paused to study Heero's face, "Sorry if this talk bores you, I haven't been on a date in a long time. I think I've forgotten how to act."
"I find that a little hard to believe," Heero commented. Before his date could react, he continued, "You seem successful, attractive, and charming enough."
"I'm not really. . .I'm always busy, self-serving, narcissistic, paranoid. I hope I don't drive you nuts," He grinned. "So, what do you do for a living?"
"I'm studying art at college, cg animation," Heero answered and reluctantly added, "Until I graduate, I work at a bookstore."
"I love art and literature. I have a rather large library at home."
"I don't doubt that. You're some sort of an executive, right?"
"Yeah. I guess you could say that," Quatre replied cryptically, a puzzled half-smile creeping up one side of his face.
"You look a little young," Heero observed.
"It's my dad's company," Quatre explained. "Before I graduated highschool, I was working for him."
"How old are you?"
"Nigh-Twenty years," Quatre said laughing. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-one."
Quatre nodded, "You'll be graduating from college soon. That's good. I wish I could go to college."
"Your work, right?" Heero deduced.
Quatre nodded smiling wistfully, "I don't have time to study."
"What would you study? Business and economics?"
"No. . .I'd study something else entirely. I get enough business and economics at work. If I went to a college, I'd study something impractical and artsy."
"Like what?"
"Probably music, different instruments and composition."
"Do you play anything?"
"Yeah," Quatre replied looking caught between happiness and extreme pain. "Piano, violin, cello, bass, viola, mandolin, and I kind of play guitar and bass guitar."
"That's. . .impressive."
"Not really," Quatre replied earnestly folding his hands in his lap. "All of them are pretty similar. Once you learn one, you know them all."
"Oh," was all Heero could think of to say feeling a little inadequate afterwards.
"Do you play any instruments?" Quatre asked.
"Yes," was the automatic response.
"Well?" Quatre pressed expecting more.
"Hm?" Heero was a little confused.
"Which instrument?" Quatre laughed.
"Piano," Heero said following it up quickly with, "but not very well. My mother made me take lessons."
"Your mother," Quatre echoed with a thin smile. "It must have been nice."
"I didn't particularly enjoy it," Heero admitted. "My mother was always on my case about it."
"But you still love having a mother," Quatre asserted.
"I guess. . .it would probably be inhuman of me not to."
"Yeah," Quatre agreed nodding his head as if to assure himself. "Mothers are very important. . .Your mother, where is she now?"
"She lives in Kyoto."
"You still talk to her a lot?"
"Once every two weeks."
"Does she call you?"
"No. I have to call her. It'd be a breach of filial duty if she was the one left to make the calls. . .and get stuck with the bill."
"Does your mother like to cook a lot?"
"Y-Quatre. . .Why are we talking about my mother?"
". . .I'm just curious."
"Yeah, but. . .it's my mother."
"I just wanted to know what it's like," Quatre sighed. ". . .I don't have a mother," he clarified.
"She died?"
"I don't know. I don't know what she looked like. I don't even know her name. It's almost as if my entire existence has been spawned from nothing," Quatre said now cradling his chin on the backs of his hands. "My father refused to speak of her or even acknowledge the fact that I was even born. My sisters are bound by a promise to my father to never speak of anything concerning my birth or the months preceding. If there is documentation of my gestation and birth, they are more than likely fabricated by my father's lawyers to satisfy most people's curiosity."
"How could you know that they are false?" Heero asked intrigued, though his tone didn't betray his interest.
Quatre leaned forward in a secretive manner, "Her blood tipped me off. I was really young and snooping around the family files. I'd been comparing my files to my mother's when I realized a really big error. My legal mother, she has the exact same genetic profile as me down to the last protein. That, ofcourse, is impossible unless she is me."
"Sounds like there is a lot of intrigue in your family."
"My family. . .everyone is now or was in their lifetime extremely eccentric. I think that the lies run so deep, it is nearly impossible to discern fact from fiction. It's good that I like playing Sherlock, right?" Quatre laughed humorlessly. "I've spent the past four years trying to get our records straight. But, over the years, as power passed from generation to generation, some poor romantic in my family would go and add his or her own embellishment to everything from the estates to our forefathers' personal journals."
Heero blinked not usually taken to expressing any form of surprise. "That's. . ."
"Strange," Quatre finished for him. "I agree."
"So, do you always tell guys all your family secrets upon the first meeting?" Heero asked taking a sip of his coffee.
"No," Quatre replied crossing his legs. "I just trust you."
"You trust me?" Heero said disbelieving. "Why?"
"Just a feeling," Quatre replied cryptically staring at the shadows on the table. "Do you want to go anywhere?"
"Excuse me?"
"Do you want to go somewhere else? The café is a little formal. . .It'd be better to meet here after we're more familiar."
"I guess," Heero said finishing off his cup and standing. "Where do you suggest?"
"I know a couple of places. I have to change clothes first, though." Quatre stood with his satchel in hand, "Would you wait a few minutes for me?"
Heero nodded without any real forethought. Curiosity was once again taking over his mind.
It didn't take long for Quatre to disappear into the restroom and then reappear as fast. Instead of being clothed in the industrious business fashion, he wore something more boyish and what would be considered by some people to be sickeningly innocent. He had donned a short-sleeve blouse with plaid cuffs and collar, matching pants, and shoes that could have easily been mistaken for mary janes.
Unaware that he was staring, Quatre spoke up, "Rashid purchases all my clothes for me."
Heero nodded as they headed towards the parking lot. "Your car or mine?"
"My car," Quatre said. "I have to check my messages." He smiled weakly. "I hope that's not terribly rude."
"Not really. I'll drive."
Quatre tossed him the keys after unlocking the car and slid into the passenger seat. As Heero got into the driver's seat, he heard a soft almost- curse from his companion. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," Quatre laughed unconvincingly. He turned the face of his computer- cell phone for him to see. "Forty-one messages in the last twenty minutes." He ran his fingers through his hair trying to smooth the evidence of stress from his person. "I'm kind of glad that I left it here." He hooked up a headphone to the computer and began going through everything.
Heero's gaze lingered on his date whose face became more and more grave the deeper he got into his catalogue of messages.
He started the car and backed out immensely pleased with the smooth handling. His own car was like something hurled out of hell. It was so hard to drive, he preferred not to use it at all. "You'll direct me, right?"
"Yeah."
Quatre's directions were delivered with firmness and clarity as if he had somehow forgotten everything aside from breathing and navigating. They ended up at an odd building that looked something like an abandoned old mansion. There were many cars parked out in front in neat little rows. The drive leading up the house was made of gravel, a dying breed of road. Quatre finished his business on his cell and got out to join Heero.
"Don't fret if they confront you with strange questions. . .They're just like that," Quatre said as they approached the door. He rapped lightly on it and smiled amiably at Heero. A steady hum emanated from the inside.
There was a light thump on the door followed by a deep, slightly nasal voice, "'Righty, 'righty. . .who's th-Hey! Queue!. . .And Company!"
Heero looked up at the peephole questioningly. They were ancient and impractical with all of the security technology developed within the past sixty years. However, his analysis of proper security was cut short by the door opening and a barrage of sound blasting past his ears.
In the doorway stood a disheveled young man with longish blue hair and round orange lens glasses. "Been hiding out and away from us, haven't you?" he asked casually. Then he nodded at Heero, "Who's he?"
"He's my date," Quatre smiled shyly. "Heero Yuy."
"Nice to mee'cha." The man in the doorway tilted his head to the side, "Well. . .in or out?"
"In," Quatre confirmed and led his companion to the middle of the stark foyer. Different types of music drifted and collided in from all different directions within the house. Thick smells akin to Chinese take-out wafted through the air coming from an indeterminable origin making the air heavy. An ornate rose skylight cast intricate designs on the polished wood floor. Three stairways led to separate sections of the mammoth-like house.
"What is this place?" Heero asked noticing that the man who had opened the door for them was now gone.
"This is a hang-out. . .kind of like a clubhouse," Quatre tried to explain. "There's a 'mess hall,' a 'rec room,' a 'ballroom,' and other things like that on this property. The part of the estate that we're in right now is a more private. There's a reception room where you can meet people and other more secluded rooms. . .bedrooms. Some people camp out here if they need time to themselves."
"Who owns this?"
"It is managed by Milliardo, the son of Germany's current president. He bought it, but then allowed it to stay afloat with the financial aid of some of the more dedicated visitors."
"Does he even live near here?" Heero asked looking around and realizing that they'd started walking again.
"Milliardo, he resides on the grounds when he's not busy with visits to his family. Right now he's on a short break from college. He'll be back from Germany within the week."
"Who keeps everything running while he's gone?"
"Sometimes his girlfriend, Noin, and other times, his friend, Treize."
"College acquaintances?" Heero stated.
"Kind of," Quatre replied. "He and Treize have been friends since childhood. When Treize applied to a college here, Milliardo followed. As for Noin. . .She's a self-defense, and part-time swimming instructor. As I understand it, they met at the gym she works at."
"Oh," Heero mumbled. They had come to the end of a long hallway and now stood before a huge door. Light jazz music played softly from small speakers on the wall near the ceiling. Quatre knocked, waited a moment, and then opened the door.
"This is one of the master suites," he explained as a large plushy bed came into view. Heero was a little apprehensive about entering, but had no real choice when Quatre took his hand and led him inside. He was a little anxious thinking for a few panicked moments that he might have to refuse Quatre's attentions. Then he felt a little worse wondering whether he'd really want to stop if anything started to happen. His hand lightly gripping his was smooth and soft with long fingers that twined with his.
"Sit there," Quatre said settling him down on the edge of the bed facing a rather large cabinet.
Quatre then, to Heero's surprise, slid the cabinet door aside to reveal a television. "You like video games?" he asked opening a smaller cabinet below the screen pulling out a console and a pair of controllers.
"I'm actually. . ." Heero had to swallow before continuing, "studying to animate them."
"That's great!" Quatre grinned handing him a controller. "Which do you want to play? Fighting, RPG, first-person shooter?" He opened another cabinet.
"Fighting," Heero said scanning through the titles of the mini-library of games Quatre was looking through.
"What do you think of 'Etheria'?" Quatre asked showing him the case.
Heero shrugged, "Sure."
The game had good graphics and resolution really bringing to life the different gaming techniques that the players utilized. Quatre played a female demon character with bladed fans for weapons while Heero played a shadow-like demon with chains as the choice weapon. They were even matched. When Quatre would lose, he laughed and then smile brightly. Heero, on the other hand, would remain stoic and watch the placid expression on his opponent's face.
Quatre had just performed his character's ultimate technique when he asked Heero, "You and Duo were a couple?"
Heero flinched, "What about it?"
"I was just wondering."
"You've had an ex at one time or another, right?"
"Yeah," Quatre said with a sort of spaced out expression on his face. "Your longest relationship, how long was it?"
"Three years with Duo."
"Oh."
"What about you?"
"Me? Close to about five and a half years. . .with Wufei."
The shadow demon pummeled the fan demoness.
"Wufei," Heero echoed as the next match started up.
"I admired him for a long time. In middle school, we were in the same Phys Ed class. I didn't particularly enjoy the class. I endured it anyway because I figured that it would be something that I should like and would probably eventually grow into. There was another reason I stuck through it, though. I liked to watch Wufei. He kind of defined aesthetic beauty for me. Also, he was very strong. He wasn't exactly what you would call modest about his abilities, but, he also didn't believe in shallow friendships. Am I boring you?"
"No, not really," Heero replied feeling little twangs of unbidden jealousy prick his chest.
"Anyway, I must not have been as subtle as I would have liked about watching him, because he pulled me aside one day when we were supposed to be running track." He looked at Heero for a moment then back at the game. "It kind of scared me. He was just holding me in one spot without saying anything. I couldn't get away even if I'd wanted to, he was too strong. All of a sudden, he pulled me forward really roughly and kissed me. I couldn't think or move. It was so shocking, that, and, he had his arms around me really tight." He stole another glance at Heero. "After he let me go, he said, 'I can't stand you just staring. If you like me, say something!' Before I could reply, he had propelled me in the direction of the track and was well ahead of me catching up with and surpassing everyone else. . .Oh, I lost again."
"What happened to you two?" Heero asked.
"Well. . .we were at his house and getting ready to. . .when his guardian walked in on us. He threatened Wufei with an arranged marriage. Then, they argued and in the heat of everything, Wufei took a vow of celibacy to frighten him. It worked. Right then and there, his guardian collapsed and died on the way to the hospital. So, Wufei is now bound to his foolish declaration for the duration of his life or forfeit his honor. He told me that I should find someone new for the sake of both of our happiness. He broke up with me."
"That's. . .tragic."
"Not really. I still see him a lot, just not like that. He's my martial arts instructor and best friend." Quatre said. "Hey, are you hungry?"
"I guess so," Heero responded.
"Lets go to the mess hall," Quatre said recovering his character from the brink of death and finishing off Heero's. The mess hall was a formidable structure about twenty meters from the main house down a stone walk teeming with overgrowth. Some people loitered about the wild gardens off the path seemingly caught up in their own worlds. Some nodded if gazes met, though most would stare in cold indifference.
Just as they were about to enter the building, a bevy of girls effectively pinned them in place.
"I told you that he comes here," one with curly pink hair declared, obviously the ringleader. The other girls gossiped among themselves.
"May I help you?" Quatre asked with polite detachment turning to face them. He looked a little like he'd crumble apart for reasons Heero really couldn't quite comprehend.
"You're Quatre Raberba Winner, aren't you?" one girl piped up.
Heero's mild annoyance with the girls turned to complete astonishment and alarm when Quatre answered affirmatively, "And you are, miss?"
"Me? I'm Clarissa," The girl replied. A real chaos of names ensued as every girl present proceeded to reveal her identity and astrological information simultaneously.
"Well, Clarissa," Quatre paused and then added nodding to them, "ladies, I need to treat my associate to dinner. Perhaps we can continue this at another time?"
The adoring looks he received were enough permission for him to lightly shove Heero into the mess hall and leave them himself with an utterance of "if you will excuse us."
"Winner?" Heero said incredulously. "The conglomerate tycoon."
"Yeah?" Quatre replied innocently.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Heero demanded.
"Why didn't you figure it out?" Quatre countered desperately trying to maintain a light mood by making his tone seem non-accusatory.
"I've never seen any pictures. And. . .I always assumed that you were older."
"Well, here I am. Read the tabloids, and you'll find copious amounts of pictures of me," Quatre shrugged. "Want to sit over there?" He pointed to a window table. The grounds of the estate and the sun melting into the horizon could be seen from there.
Obediently, Heero followed Quatre stopping to stand beside his own seat while his date sat down.
"One last thing," He said ominously.
"Yes?" Quatre asked quietly.
"'Associate'?"
Quatre smiled, "It was a deterrent." He tilted his head charmingly. "Please sit."
Heero did so with feigned reluctance. "This date seems a little. . .unconventional."
"Really?" Quatre asked observing the subdued atmosphere of the cafeteria. Most people were sitting alone.
"Yeah. It seems a little strange."
"You don't mind it, though, do you?"
"I can't say that I do," Heero said just as a waiter approached the table with two glasses of water.
"May I get you two something to drink?" he asked setting the glasses down along with two menus.
"Water is fine with me," Quatre replied. Heero's answer was the same.
When the waiter had left, Heero turned his attention back to his dinner companion. "I imagine that all of this dating stuff will come back to us later on. Things will probably get easier next time."
As if he hadn't been paying complete attention, Quatre looked up from his water and smiled. "I guess so."
A little intimidated by the intimacy of the moment, Heero began reading the menu.
He didn't look up again until he felt something light hit his forehead. Quatre had his usual smile on his face as he stared coquettishly at him.
A little edgy, Heero looked at his menu again to discover a straw wrapper landed neatly in the fold like a bookmark. He looked back up at Quatre accusingly whose smile turned into a grin.
"I couldn't help it. You looked so. . .serious."
The corners of Heero's mouth threatened to turn upwards at this innocent flirting. It brought fire to his blood making him feel unbearably hot and strangely cold at the same time. Duo hadn't ever been so. . .Quatre when they were together, though he had his own charms, none were as endearing.
The rest of dinner passed without incident. Quatre ordered a tofu vermicelli dish that he tried with mild success to share. Heero had ordered a mushroom lo mein dish that he did not really offer to share. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the potluck way of eating that Quatre practiced, it was just more of him not really thinking about it. He had, in a way, been raised to horde.
After leaving the mess hall, Quatre seemed a little worried.
"Are you alright?" Heero asked.
"Yeah. Do you want to do anything else?"
Heero shrugged. "I don't know. Do you?"
Quatre looked at his watch a little dejectedly, "It's ten thirty. Rashid probably wants me home by now." "Your servant?"
"Kind of. He's my guardian, really. I wouldn't be surprised if someone's been dispatched to the café by now to make sure I'm still safe." He looked apologetically at Heero. "I would really like to meet with you again, though. I'll try to make some room in my schedule." He handed over the car keys.
"To the café?" Heero asked.
"Yeah."
Quatre made a real effort to nurture a pleasant atmosphere in the car on the way back. He even went as far as to neglect his cell-phone so he could keep up friendly chatter. All the talk was, however, meaningless. Favorites, dislikes, books, movies, and other such things were discussed in a half-interested fashion.
Back at the café, the streetlights kept the parking lot at least semi- negotiable. Heero handed the keys back to Quatre by the driver's side of the car.
Then, taken by impulse, he pulled him forward, startling him, and kissed him soundly, feeling life spark just below the skin of his lips. It was like electricity. Heero was sorely tempted to open his eyes to see the expression on Quatre's face, but could not. The feeling was far too pleasing like a blend of velvet and satin. When he finally drew himself away, he saw the bewildered look on Quatre's face. His jaw was slightly ajar as he blinked trying to make sense of what just happened.
"I really should kiss you at the door of your house. . .but, it looks like we have to settle for the door of your car," Heero explained.
A lop-sided smile crept up Quatre's face as he dipped his chin shyly. "Thank you." He put his hand on Heero's shoulder and leaned him down while he rose up to meet him with a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Until next time," he said and let go. "Have a nice night." He watched Heero's retreating back a few moments before getting back into his car.
All the lights in the apartment were off upon his return. He easily made his way to the living room and turned them on. The coffee table caught his attention. On the face was a picture of Quatre. He crouched down and picked it up a little perplexed.
The picture stopped at his waist, Quatre was wearing what appeared to be a black crushed velvet blouse with three large silk bows down the center. He had that beautiful smile and imploring eyes that could easily draw people in. His innocence seemed to parody his outfit to some extent. It wasn't revealing in any way, but the entire image somehow appeared kinky.
When did I develop an imagination? Heero thought to himself as he looked at the picture thoroughly convinced that some part of his brain was malfunctioning. He concentrated so much attention on the photo that he nearly jumped when he heard the door open.
"Heero?" the soft baritone of his roommate came from the front door. Seconds later, he was in the living room looking impassively at all that was before him. The grocery bag hanging from his fist swayed a little from side to side.
"Where did this come from?" Heero asked.
"Duo visited shortly after you left. He made headway on editing his film," Trowa explained in monotone. Then he almost whispered, "He ate a lot."
"He has a tendency to do that," Heero said and then added, "You should have made him go buy his own food."
"I didn't know what to do," Trowa admitted. "He said that he'd 'make up for it.'"
"That's a bad portent," Heero assumed setting the photo down. "Good night, if I don't see you again." He headed for the shower leaving Trowa in the living room hallway.
It was much like his first kiss with Duo, he could still feel Quatre long after they had parted. However, he could not recall it being so strong. His lips still tingled with electric delight as if Quatre were in his arms right then. The gnawing emptiness he would usually experience after that kind of contact did not haunt him now. Rather, that feeling was replaced by a more thrilling wholeness and insatiable desire for more.
Dazedly, he watched water droplets fall from the ends of his hair and stream down his body. For the first time in a long while, he felt self- conscious. He didn't look a day older from when he graduated high school. Though he'd tapered off his rigorous workout schedule, he still retained his finely chiseled muscles. However, he was dissatisfied. I've been indolent, he admitted to himself. I need to become better than my former. . .
The door to the bathroom opened. Heero watched Trowa through the glass panels of the shower enter with the fluidity of some ghostly apparition. They nodded at each other, their faces betraying no warmth.
Trowa brushed his teeth while Heero hurriedly finished in the shower. He got out around the time his roommate left.
I wonder. . .What is Duo trying to do? Heero thought as he looked into the mirror.
The proceeding days were met with much unrest. Heero was always feeling very keyed-up awaiting any word from Quatre. After a little while, the pessimistic side of him digressed that he was not wanted and would never see his once date ever again.
Then at work, he got a call. "Hello, Haven Books and Music, may I help you?"
"Good afternoon."
"Quatre?" Heero whispered shrilly. He looked around suspiciously, making sure that his boss was nowhere in sight.
"Hi," he said in a softer tone.
"I'm sorry for calling you at work. . .I know how inconvenient this must be. . ." Quatre said sympathetically.
"It's alright," Heero replied already feeling his grip on reality slipping. "What's up?"
"Are you free this Sunday?" Quatre asked, his voice rolling over Heero like an aphrodisiac.
"Y-yeah," Heero answered. The store seemed to dim and disappear in front of his eyes like a bad dream.
"That's good," Quatre said sincerely. "I'm treating my employees to a concert. Would you like to come? If you want to invite anyone, they're free to come as well."
"I'd like to come," Heero said feeling a little spaced out and airy. "What are you doing right now?"
"Homework," Quatre laughed. "What are you up to?"
"Talking." He could almost see Quatre's smile.
"Mm. . .oh. Heero, I want to talk more, but someone's trying to get my attention," he laughed apologetically. "Could you give me the phone number for your house? I'd like to call you later."
"Oh. . .yeah. It's 525-0722."
"I'll talk to you later, then. . .by the way, I'm really sorry that I didn't call you sooner."
"I know you're busy," Heero assured him.
"Bye."
"Bye." Heero reluctantly set the phone back on the receiver.
"Yuy!"
His head snapped up with an automatic, "Miss."
"Jesus! What's wrong with you? I've been trying to get your attention for quite some time now!" Dorothy growled. "I already warned you about personal calls. You're working overtime today!"
If Heero had the power of expression, he would have shrugged. He was sated now.
Trowa tried to ignore the ring of the telephone. He was almost finished repairing his laptop. However, it persisted.
"Hello," he said when he finally answered.
"Is this the Yuy residence?" a soft, boyish voice hesitated.
"Yes," Trowa replied, his blood racing though his voice revealed no feeling.
"Is he there?" Quatre asked a little distraught.
"No. He should be."
"Oh. . .alright. Thank you very much," Quatre said dejectedly. "Bye."
"Bye."
Trowa hung up slowly feeling his heart slow to it's regular rate. He leaned his back on the wall and slid down into a sitting position. His mind was reeling.
Quatre nearly tripped for the fifth time that night. His dance partner could not be described as even remotely in control of her motor systems. She kept on stepping on him with her tall, clunky high-heels. Sometimes she'd teeter about almost dragging him with her, other times, she'd just throw him off balance and watch him stumble. What made it worse, was that they were practicing a slow dance. As always, Quatre was very kind about it. He never complained, although it must have hurt. He would maybe flash an embarrassed smile here and there, but that was about it.
Trowa lay prone on the couch watching this, feeling increasingly more and more annoyed with the girl. He'd never taken a dance class in his life, and yet, he was convinced that he could do a hell of a better job than her. He confided in himself thoughts of dancing with Quatre. In his mind, it felt so perfect. They wouldn't have to wear any formal clothes, worn t-shirts and scuffed up jeans would do just fine. Dream Quatre would be smiling while Trowa would make the dance seem more like an embrace. They would speak to each other without words. They would exist in a secret world from anyone else. Everything would be sublime.
The sunlight would stream brilliantly through the windows. He could feel it on his face.
Then the sound of the door opening viciously tore him from his thoughts. He watched Heero appear out of the hallway and then disappear into another. The heavy thud of his backpack and the clinking of glass heralded his second coming.
He trudged into the kitchen.
"Someone called for you," Trowa spoke up.
"Quatre," Heero's voice, missing its usual heaviness, replied. "Did he leave a number?"
"No."
"Alright," Heero acknowledged returning to the living room. He paused for a moment looking at what his roommate seemed to be watching. It was ridiculous for him, at this point, to feel jealous or possessive of Quatre, but for some reason, he couldn't help it. Trowa's none-too subtle interest left Heero feeling bereft If Trowa wanted to, he might easily overcome him.
Heero stole one last look at Quatre before withdrawing into his room.
It was Thursday before he spoke to him again. It was late at night around nine thirty.
"Is Heero in?"
"Quatre," Heero said leaning on the wall next to the phone. ". . .You sound worried."
"When I called before," Quatre began and then paused for wording.
"Trowa picked up," Heero finished for him. "My roommate."
"Oh, your roommate," Quatre mumbled. "Will he be coming with us?"
Heero mouthed an exclamatory remark, but could not get his voice to work. He wanted to look good and do whatever it seemed that Quatre wanted, but his extreme fear of losing him was putting him in somewhat of a bind. He mentally urged himself not to be jealous as he answered feeling every syllable that left his mouth seal his fate, "Yeah, sure. . .why not. . ."
"Since you two will be my guests, I'll procure a ride for you. Be ready at seven-thirty. . .oh, by the way, where do you live?"
"1975 Satellite Drive, apartment building J, number 34."
"Alright, your ride will be waiting in front of your building at seven- thirty. Doubtless, you know that the concert if a formal affair, so, I don't have to get into that," Quatre said and then abruptly changed that subject. "Are you alright lately, Heero?"
"Yeah," he answered, puzzled. "Why?"
"Since our date, I've been really worried about you. People could be following you, paparazzi, journalists, private investigators. . ." Quatre laughed a little. "I try not to pay them too much attention. They're like little children. I figure that if I ignore them long enough and don't give them things that are very interesting to see, that they'll eventually go away. I'm a little nervous, though. . .I might end up giving them something to talk about, after all."
"What?" Heero pressed.
"You, ofcourse."
"I'm sure that they wouldn't bother me too much," Heero assured taking a seat at the dining table.
"If you say so," Quatre replied. "It's just that. . .they can eventually wear you down. My. . .my father was uniquely resilient, but he eventually caved in his later years. He set up a media-proof security system for all of his estates that is still in effect, and he also set up a network of 'extinguishers' which is a covert army of people that would drag insistent people without appointments into some dark alley corner to 'take care of them.'"
"That sounds illegal," Heero commented. "Thugish, almost."
"It was extreme," Quatre admitted. "I don't really approve of it, but I can identify. Since the pass of power, the extinguisher system has been refined. It's. . .legitimate now. No more dark alley trysts."
Heero smiled. Taken by a curious urge he asked, "What is it like to have a father?"
There was a silence that seemed almost too long. Heero had plenty of time to worry about whether he'd made a serious faux pas, but then Quatre's voice a little tight replied.
"Fathers. . ." he took another pause. "It's tolerable." He softened his tone, "I think that I might have preferred to have a mother. That way, if I get into deep trouble, I can scream: 'Mama! Mama!' and it won't be a lie. People in trouble, they don't call for their fathers."
Heero's heart sunk into his gut. He knew he had struck a nerve and wished desperately that he could recover from it without looking like a complete jerk. "I'm sorry," was the most genius thing he could think of to say.
"It's alright. I don't really mind," Quatre said. "I brought him up first, anyway." After a moment he added, "I don't want you to feel that you have to walk on eggshells for me. Whatever you want to say, no matter how strange, tell me."
"Alright. I'll be sure to." For some odd reason, he felt verbally pampered, if there was such a thing. Just talking made him feel good. "Hey, Quatre. . ."
"Hm?"
"What will they be playing?"
"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. From what I understand, it's supposed to be a hash of old and contemporary music. Ballads, retro, rock set for symphonic orchestra." Quatre seemed immensely pleased, "It should be fun, right?"
"It'll be my first concert," Heero confessed. "I appreciate. . .thank you for allowing me to accompany you."
"Oh no, I don't know what I would have done if you didn't want to come," Quatre laughed self-consciously. "I know it's a little ludicrous to say this after one meeting, but your presence means a lot to me."
"Really?" Heero cajoled.
"You can put up with me," Quatre joked. "I'm really glad that you played Etheria with me. If it weren't for you, I'd be stuck playing opposite the CPU forever."
"Hn?"
"No one likes to play video games with me anymore," Quatre elucidated with a little regret.
"You play surprisingly well for someone that usually plays alone."
"Yeah. . .well, I hate losing," Quatre declared.
". . .Could have fooled me," Heero said taken aback.
"It's been that way with me ever since I was really young. I was such an incorrigible brat," Quatre said embarrassedly.
"You, though, probably the perfect child."
"Perfect is a relative term," Heero countered. "You couldn't have been that bad."
"If only you knew. . ." Quatre began and then decided to leave it at that. "Heero."
"Hm?"
"I think I'm falling in love with you," he said dreamily, then added hurriedly with a comical sincerity, "That is if it's not too cliché for you."
"Not at all. . .it's the best thing I've heard in years." Heero watched Trowa emerge from his room into the hallway at the other end of the apartment. He felt a little perturbed as he was fixed with a very intense stare before Trowa lowered his eyes in submission. He shuffled listlessly into the kitchen more than likely for a glass of milk, and Heero's gaze followed him until he disappeared behind the corner into the main hall.
"You have such a nice voice, Heero," Quatre commented bringing him back into the conversation.
"Ah, really?" he asked self-consciously.
"Yeah. I bet you sing very beautifully. Your talking voice is so melodious, it would only make sense," Quatre's own singsong voice praised him.
"Singing. . .that never occurred to me," Heero confessed. "I had so much trouble with the piano. . ."
"I'd like to hear you play sometime," Quatre assured him.
"I'm out of practice," Heero reasoned, trying to weasel his way out of it.
"It's alright. If you're forgotten anything, I think I can help," Quatre offered.
Heero shifted in his chair and ran an unsteady hand through his hair. "Oh."
Trowa crossed the room again.
"Oh, I'm being hailed. I have to go now, Heero," Quatre sighed apologetically. "I'll see you Sunday, then. . ."
"Yeah," Heero replied.
"I look forward to it," Quatre responded earnestly. "Good night."
"Good night."
Trowa didn't ask for an explanation, he didn't protest, nor did he express any real desire to go. He just took it in and accepted it. On Sunday, he got dressed in the only suit he owned and then sat on the couch staring at his reflection in the television waiting for the time to leave. Every now and then, he would move something on the coffee table. It was never quite right.
On the other hand, Heero spent a veritable forever fumbling around with his suit, attempting to tame his unruly locks, and constantly messing with his image. No matter how many times he brushed his hair, it still stuck out at weird angles. When he studied himself in the mirror, it left him feeling very dissatisfied. He was very tempted to return to his high school cut, which was so short that direction didn't really matter.
He paused. He stared at the him in the mirror, and realized that it was unrecognizable from the him that had left home three years past. He could remember everything from the moment that he stepped off the plane to the moment that he met Duo at the cheap Chinese restaurant on twenty-fourth street. He had barely known any English, and Duo was a struggling Japanese language student. In any case, they ended up talking, then in bed, then the same apartment. In the time they shared, Duo convinced Heero to grow his hair out, taught him English, and sent him on a socializing roller-coaster ride.
Absently, he tugged at his longish chocolate brown hair. He imagined what Quatre was doing right then. He'd watched him dress for formal affairs before. First, he'd shower and then amble around his room raking his fingers through his hair swathed in a freshly cleaned white towel. Then he'd slip on his boxers with his towel still fastened at his chest. All his clothing would be neatly laid out on his bed. He would dress without taking the towel off until his pants were on and his shirt was hanging from his shoulders. When he donned his tie, it would always hang perfectly. Then he would shrug on his overcoat and step into his chausseres ready to face whatever pen wielding fiend he might encounter.
Quatre will be stunning, ofcourse, Heero thought to himself. He studied his reflection again. His hair had submitted somewhat to his will. And his face looked alright.
He glanced at the clock. Seven-fifteen. He'd started at five, nearly two and a half hours prior. Dimly, he wondered how that could have happened.
Good to his word, Quatre had a car waiting when Heero and Trowa exited the building. It was sleek and black and modestly sized with a smartly dressed chauffer leaning casually on the driver-side door. When he saw the two approaching figures, he sprung to attention greeting them and seating them. It was a little embarrassing. It wasn't like they lived on Golden Ave.
The concert hall was impressive to say the least. Heero could barely fathom its size and how it seemed to be so bright against the night sky yet so dark in color. It rose like a flower with interlocking arches that seemed to stretch languorously towards the stars.
He stole a guilty glance at Trowa half -hoping to see terror or amazement shadow his otherwise morose features, but was rewarded with nothing. He was just standing there as if it were no big deal. Before Heero could feel any form of childish resentment, he and Trowa were being ushered by their chauffer towards the wide-open gates of the hall.
Note: If the story is hard to read (ie. needs clearer transitions) tell me and I'll fix it. Er. . .sorry I'm writing a lot of one chapter things. . .I know I need to update. I'm working sluggishly on Sand Castles and trying to conjure a sequel to Greensnow. These I hope to get accomplished by Christmas. Wish me luck! And, please tell me what you think of this fic. I was trying to do "something different". . .even though some of it's corny
"Yo Heero," Duo called through the intercom. "Are you going to let me in or not?"
"Debating," was the solemn response.
"Got some stuff I want you to see," Duo pleaded earnestly into the speaker. "Besides, you have all the hi-tech editing equipment that you never use and I always need."
"Really."
"Ugh!" Duo smacked his forehead on the wall just as he heard the latch click.
--
He almost thought that he'd knocked on the wrong door when it wasn't Heero who answered but a tall European youth who looked like he had just stepped out of the shower. "Uh, sorry," Duo mumbled looking around at the other doors in the hallway. "I thought this was Heero's place. Actually I was positive it was, but I guess not, right?" He laughed a little. "Do you know which door he's behind?"
"This one," a familiar voice responded from further into the apartment. The European guy stepped out of the doorway and into the kitchen without once saying a word.
Duo stepped inside deciding to indulge in his evil urges and walked into the main room on the meticulously well kempt carpet with his dirty sneakers. He set down his backpack next to the beige couch Heero was currently reclining on.
"You bastard," Duo whispered vehemently. "That was embarrassing. When I come over, I don't want to be anywhere near your little liaisons."
"I didn't invite you," Heero replied calmly. "Why are you so upset anyway? We're over. Besides which, I've been celibate for about a year and a half. That 'little liaison' is my roommate."
"Really?" Duo asked visibly brightening. "He's cute looking."
Heero shot him a stern look of warning. "Off limits. You don't sleep with my friends, I won't sleep with yours."
"Whatever. Whatever," Duo said waving his hands in dismissal. "It was just an observation. He's too quiet for me anyway. I like people that talk to me."
"Didn't you have something to show me, or did you just come up here to complain as per usual?" Heero interjected.
"Oh yeah," Duo laughed. "I forgot, didn't I?" He unzipped his bag and retrieved a stack of video disks along with a couple notepads. "Wanna watch with me?"
Heero shrugged and straightened his posture. "As long as it isn't porn."
Duo rolled his eyes, "Last time we tried that, it didn't work out too well. You think I'm crazy enough for seconds?"
The European youth entered the room just then nursing a glass of milk pausing for a second as the last few lines were said.
"Hey you!" Duo said taking immediate notice. "Wanna watch these with us? Come enjoy the male bonding. . . er. . .something like that."
The roommate gave no indication that he'd just heard. He just stared like a deer in headlights.
Duo whistled, a little deflated, "Weird. Is he alright?"
Heero turned around and glanced at his roommate before returning to his original comfy position on the couch.
"Trowa, this is Duo."
The one called Trowa bowed his head in greeting, a decidedly submissive gesture for a guy with his appearance.
"Yo," Duo waved. "Come sit down."
Reluctantly as if his legs were moving without his consent, Trowa made his way to the couch.
Duo shrugged and inserted the vd in the player. The television turned on automatically as he leisurely took his seat a comfortable distance away from Heero. He eagerly watched his face, though, from his little corner of the couch.
The screen was still black when the first snatches of conversation were to be heard.
The first voice was in no way familiar. I was very soft and almost girlish, but definitely that of a young man.
"This is for a whole year?" the voice asked.
The second voice was easily recognizable by its lightness and inflection to be Duo's. "Yeah. It's for a project I have to do for college. I wanted to do something of 'a year out of someone's life' and see if I could make it mean something."
The first voice laughed a little self-consciously. "I'm a very boring person, I hope that I don't ruin everything."
"Ah, you say that now," Duo replied amusedly. "I happen to think that you are a very remarkable person."
"How can you know that? We only met a few days ago," the first voice queried earnestly.
"Something about you just draws people in. There's got to be something there."
"That's very sweet, thank you," the first voice said quietly.
"Anyway, I'll give you the skinny on what goes on here," Duo said. "There are a total of five thousand micro cameras scattered throughout here and places that you frequent. If I feel the need, I'll install more. Um. . .there are none in the bathroom, bathroom parts of your estate, so don't worry about that. And, please refrain from moving furniture and the like without first consulting me. I really appreciate your agreeing me to doing this. I really think that you're an attractive subject for study and scrutiny by film critics. You'll go far."
"I hope not," the first voice interjected.
"Hm?"
"I hope that you go far."
After that conversation, picture began to piece itself together on the screen. Heero looked mildly interested while his companion remained unreadable. He'd take some getting used to.
The scene on the tv started out with the visage of a slumbering young man. His white blond hair spilled out in an arc on his pillow, his hands were tucked cutely to his chest under his chin, his thin arms draped like weights over the satiny bedding he seemed to be practically swimming in.
His eyes fluttered open revealing the most startling blue.
Duo kept his eyes on Heero waiting just for that moment. He was immensely pleased by his reaction. His expression seemed of nothing but pure wonder. His mouth was slightly ajar, and his eyes widened as he looked on.
The video continued on giving glimpses of a typical day. The blond got up, ate breakfast in a very spacious kitchen, took a shower, got dressed afterwards in a nice business suit, and then got into his nice dark green mazda.
Something about these actions that seemed so familiar and dull if performed by anyone else was somehow given new life by this enigmatic young man.
He went to work through two monstrous glass doors and was almost immediately accosted by many men armed with sheaves of paper and wagging tongues. They were handled candidly and with a one hundred watt smile. Business cards were exchanged, problems were resolved, and people went on their merry way in good humor if they so much as got a glance from the blond who seemed to hold a position of power and give off a good feeling.
His workday seemed to be a never ending cycle of meeting after meeting. Ofcourse, these were shortened with only select portions shown. Duo wasn't completely without editing apparatus.
After work, the blond went to a martial arts studio, kung fu to be more specific. He disappeared behind a curtain where he changed out into a uniform with a red belt tied neatly around his waist. The class began with an organizing of the rigid belt hierarchy, bowing to the flags, the instructor, and then warm up drills. It looked punishing, though the blond seemed unbothered by it. He went into class with a blank expression and maintained it throughout. He ran, lunged, held horse riding stance, and other such things looking around himself placidly at everyone else who seemed to be struggling. After the initial lessons were through, and most people were getting ready to leave, the blond approached the instructor who looked about his age. They talked amiably, obviously old friends. They kept just enough distance in their interaction to make it apparent. Eventually, they made their way to an open space on the floor and there began to spar. The instructor clearly was the stronger fighter, though, the blonde held his own pretty well. Five minutes passed before the instructor had him pinned to the ground. Then he helped him up and they bowed to each other. The blond went to retrieve his things from the cubbyhole shelving on the wall returning to the instructor with a book, Pastoral, which he accepted graciously.
Back at the blonde's estate, a new appreciation for its sheer bulk was realized. It was at least a three-minute time elapse for him to get from the front door to his study where he drew a curtain and changed out of his uniform behind it into a pair of khakis and a casual button up shirt. From there he settled in behind a massive oak desk and began sorting through papers. A little further into the night, a giant of a man interrupted his work bearing a tray of food. The blonde flashed another one of his bright smiles and nibbled on the goods after the other had left.
A time had passed when the blonde had finally fallen into a deep slumber at his desk, pen still in hand and most of the food still in tact. The large servant took no time in reappearing and gingerly prying the pen from the blonde's grip before picking him up and carrying him away to his room. There, he changed his business clothes for a pair of pale blue pajamas careful not to wake him. Then, like a father, he tucked the blonde into bed and left.
"End day one," Duo said as the screen went blank. Then he glanced at his watch. "And all in thirty minutes."
"Where did you get the money for the micro cameras?" Heero asked.
"Grandpa Igo runs a security device business and was really happy to see me show an interest in his work," Duo winked.
"That was a dirty trick to play on him," Heero commented, his tone neither praising nor disapproving.
A voice deeper, smoother, and amazingly more devoid of inflection spoke up, "What is his name?"
"Hm?" Duo was momentarily lost still caught up in his own genius of weaseling free cameras out of his adoptive grandfather. "Who?" Another minute passed as his brain dashed into the present. "Oh! You mean Quatre!" He pointed to the blank screen. "That's what you meant, right?"
"Yeah," Trowa said.
Duo had already gotten sci-treked and was presently addressing Heero. "I'm kind of in a pinch right now. I'm thinking about editing in music and words, but I wonder if it'd destroy everything. This isn't all of it, either, though," Duo assured. "I need to put all of these vds together somehow. Anyway, the music. . .I was thinking of something instrumental. I don't want words to ruin it, but. . .I don't know if there is any appropriate stuff for this kind of a thing."
"You could ask Quatre," Heero suggested reading through the table on contents on the other vds.
"Oh, no," Duo said. "He wouldn't. I offered to show him this stuff, but he adamantly refused. He was polite about it, though, ofcourse. Quatre is just. . .extremely shy about himself."
"Humble," Heero recommended for better word choice.
"Are you trying to send me a message here?" Duo asked sparing no sarcasm. "You can just come out and say it, you know. I'm all ears."
"I guess you have to be full of something," Heero said getting up from the couch and walking at a deliberately slow pace towards the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?"
"Oh, so Yuy has manners," Duo scoffed. "What've you got?" He asked headed for the kitchen. "You'd better not spit in it."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Heero replied.
"Really?" Duo said dragging out the vowels longer than absolutely necessary. "That's mighty kind of you."
"I wouldn't ruin it for Trowa's sake."
"That's mighty condescendingly cold of you," Duo said as he turned on the stove vent. It hummed quietly, a startling contrast to his own which sounded similar to a motorcycle engine revving. I guess, I'll just have to talk quietly, he thought to himself. Before he could open his mouth Heero had already guessed what he was going to ask.
"He was an orphan," he said as he selected a cylindrical thermos like container from the bottom shelf of the fridge. "He didn't get adopted until he was fourteen."
"That's a long time," Duo mumbled watching Heero retrieve two glasses from the cupboard.
"He was moved from place to place up until then. He didn't get the time to develop any real social skills." Heero shook the thermos then popped the top and began pouring a translucent light brown liquid into them. "You were adopted when you were about five."
"Yeah. My daddy really helped me out," Duo smiled fondly. "So, does he ever talk?"
"Only when he deems it necessary," Heero said handing Duo a glass and returning the thermos to the fridge.
"Wow. Mysterious!" Duo said raising a brow and taking a sip of his drink. "Ooh, lemon tea. Last question: What do you think of Quatre?"
"That you're trying to set me up," Heero replied sourly.
"Well?" Duo prompted.
Heero sighed and took a deep breath. "He's gay?"
"Well, yeah," Duo said rolling his eyes heavenward. "How much of his life do you think I've seen?"
"You probably won't leave me alone until I consent to a meeting," Heero said looking to Duo for confirmation. "I guess I'll bite."
"I'm glad you saw things my way," Duo laughed deviously and turned off the vent.
"You really do drive me crazy," Heero heaved a sigh and led the way out of the kitchen.
Trowa was right where they left him with his half-full glass of milk. In his left hand, he held the winter disc.
"Wanna watch that one?" Duo asked taking it from his loose grasp and setting it in the player. Quatre appeared on the screen, sleeping again.
Duo turned to Heero. "You redecorated since I was last here. This is all so unbacheloresque. Not a thing out of place nor a buffalo wing in sight."
"Unlike you, I don't thrive on poultry," Heero said glancing at him.
Duo wasn't paying attention, "I like that breakfast table over there. Your place was so stark before."
Heero glanced at the table. He'd not gotten it for cosmetic purposes. He'd purchased it after he'd visited the trailer
Trowa shared with his adoptive parent/sibling. It was such a small space, but they had a breakfast table even though it cramped the kitchen. It seemed impractical, but must have served some sort of a function other than taking up room.
"Trowa uses it," Heero remarked. Suddenly, the window lit dining area seemed to dim.
"Well. . .I like this couch a lot," Duo said leaning back into the soft leather. "It's a lot better than that ratty brown plaid one."
"I liked that one."
"Oh. . .so that's why. . ."
Heero ran his hands through his hair, "It's alright. My mother made me get rid of it."
"I thought she lived in Kyoto," Duo whispered.
"She visited last month and refashioned everything."
"No kidding," Duo said in awe as he looked around. "She must have helped you pick out that table, then. And that light, and those wall hangings, and those cabinets, and-"
"I know what she picked out," Heero assured.
"Your apartment looks nice," Duo commented sheepishly and glanced past Heero to Trowa. "He looks spaced out. Is he alright?"
Heero looked over at him then at the television screen. "I think he's fine."
Duo followed their gazes and agreed with a weak, "Oh yeah. . ."
Quatre, like many rich men, was very eccentric. He practiced many after work exercises: kung fu, dance, swimming, yoga. At the moment, he was on the last one.
Eventually, Duo left promising to return soon and, not entirely by accident, left his vds.
Dinner, as usual, was a joint effort for Heero and Trowa. They were so meticulous with details that if left alone, it would take them hours to finish simply chopping the vegetables.
The weight of an overbearing mother always made Heero nervous even though she was half a world away. Her constant admonitions for him to be careful and pay attention to the smallest things seemed to ring within his ears constantly.
Every cut he made into whatever food stuff to be served was always even. Chopping food had become an art form.
Trowa's excuse spawned from a long list of obsessive-compulsive illnesses. When he was a child, whatever strong human trait made a big impression on him stuck. His OCD list started with: washing hands, checking locks, checking lights in the rooms, turning off the faucet, equal distribution, etc.
Heero set the wok over a grill on the gas stove. The only food he'd learned to make other than rice after he moved out of Japan was stir-fry. He could cook anything in a wok. His mother disapproved of his cooking his own food, but there was nothing she could do about it where she was.
"Is everything ready?" he addressed Trowa's back.
After a long pause, Trowa nodded, "Yeah." He turned around with the cutting board. Neat rows of cut spring onions, yellow onions, snow peas, celery, mushrooms lay ready for inspection.
"Looks good to me," Heero said. "Hold on a minute, though." He reached into the cabinet above the stove and retrieved a thin-necked bottle of oil that he poured sparingly into the wok. Then he added in ground garlic and a little salt. "Alright, you can dump the veggies in."
Disposing of dinner was almost depressingly fast compared to the preparation. Trowa ate very fast while Heero felt obliged to match his speed, though that voice still nagged him yelling: "Details! Details!"
Trowa began to gather up vacant dishes when Heero arrested his hands. "I'll get it. There's only so many times I can stand to let you wash your hands in one day." He finished what his roommate had begun and disappeared into the kitchen. In the meantime, Trowa sought out a sink to wash his hands.
In the kitchen, Heero set the last dish on the counter to dry. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his roommate trying to be helpful, but he just couldn't stand the rashes he'd get on his hands from neglecting to put lotion on them. He'd known Trowa a while, and knew what his OCD could do. One time he'd allowed his hands to get so bad that they'd bled on top of looking diseased.
In doing virtually anything, Trowa would wash his hands before hand and then after. Before bed, he washed his hands, after waking up in the morning, he washed his hands, after putting his shoes on, he washed his hands, right after stepping out of the shower, before he handled books and cds, and the list went on. Heero exited the kitchen drying his hand on his slacks. Huddled down on the couch was Trowa with an almost perplexed expression on his face.
Another one of Duo's vds was in the player. Heero had to admit, as he looked on with Trowa, Quatre was very attractive. His features were very much middle eastern. His eyes were a little almond shaped, his nose had the gentle arch, and the very shape of his face lacked the too-sharpness or too- roundness of many Caucasian men. Though his features were all correct, the coloring was all wrong. Instead of a dark brown mop of hair, it was bright blond. In the place of brown eyes, there was a pair of sea blue. And rather than the dusky brownish color skin, he had skin whiter than fresh fallen snow.
Rather than entertain more thoughts about it, Heero disappeared into his study/bedroom where he planned to slave the night away steeped in textbooks. The comfort of robotic remember and regurgitate was, however, hopelessly elusive. Heero woke from a daze standing in the doorway to his study with his eyes focused on the tv in the main room. Since his first breath catching meeting with Duo, he'd never felt such an overwhelming, infectious curiosity.
After he caught himself staring, he disappeared back into his study where he laid out on his futon and promptly forced himself to sleep.
For some odd reason, Heero hadn't expected to hear from Duo again. When he got a call at work on a slightly overcast Thursday afternoon, he was almost stunned. "Hello-Duo?"
"I set up a date for you guys."
"You sound. . .what did you do?"
"You're meeting Quatre at Eclipse on Sunday at seven."
"You just decided all of this without asking me?"
"You're not doing anything."
"I-" Heero began ready to verbally lash Duo to smithereens was stopped when a thick book slammed down inches from his face.
He looked up to see his boss staring down at him armed with a rolled up newspaper and motioning to him to cut his call.
"Heero, what was that sound?"
"We'll continue this discussion later," Heero said tightly glaring at his employer and hanging up the receiver. "Ma'am." Ms. Catolina kept her voice cool and biting, "I pay you to organize, shelf, and ring up books, not to engage in idle chit-chat with your. . .friends."
Heero took a quick survey of the almost empty store and was thereby convinced of his boss' extreme pleasure in destroying other people's happiness.
"Ma'am," he said again. He'd always it a point not to say much to her. The word "ma'am" had manifested itself in a matter or forms, it meant: yes, no, I understand, why, is that all, who is that, are you alright, would you like more nice with your sarcasm, and a number of other things.
"See that it doesn't happen again," Ms. Catolina told him and then added before leaving, "And, put that book up. Surely with all the spare time you seem to have, it should be no problem."
Heero picked up the volume and pondered its uses as a projectile as he watched his boss' retreating back steadily make its way to the back of the store.
++
He couldn't fathom why, but he was. He was sitting at a table at Eclipse sipping at a cup of black coffee.
The Eclipse was a nice establishment, a café on the lake. The interior had glass walls, and outside there were terraces. This ofcourse made it a college student magnet. Young men and women armed with textbooks spread out over entire four seat tables. Heero wouldn't have minded doing that himself sometime. He glanced at his watch.
When he looked up, he saw Quatre headed towards him holding a cell phone to his ear. In person, he looked infinitely better than in the vds. His features seemed more vivid from his doll-like face to his overall image. His cheeks were flushed a dusky rose pink by the crisp fall breeze, and his eyes glittered like stardust. He looked like he'd just gotten off of work.
Heero contemplated waving him over. He seemed a little lost, but then his eyes locked onto him.
"I think I've found him," he said. "Thanks Duo." Then he lowered the phone and tucked it into his briefcase. "Mr. Yuy?" he asked addressing Heero.
"Heero," he corrected and was rewarded with one of Quatre's brilliant smiles.
Quatre set down his briefcase next to the table and took a seat across from Heero. "I appreciate you meeting me, and on such short notice."
"It's alright," Heero replied still feeling a little miffed by Duo's casual assuming of the role of his caretaker.
"I hope I didn't cause you any inconvenience. This was the only opening I could manage. . ." Quatre said, his voice falling a little.
"I said that it's alright," Heero reminded him.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. It's nothing," Heero dismissed.
Quatre took a moment to compose himself and then tried to incite small talk, "This place is really nice, isn't it? I like it a lot. . ." He paused to study Heero's face, "Sorry if this talk bores you, I haven't been on a date in a long time. I think I've forgotten how to act."
"I find that a little hard to believe," Heero commented. Before his date could react, he continued, "You seem successful, attractive, and charming enough."
"I'm not really. . .I'm always busy, self-serving, narcissistic, paranoid. I hope I don't drive you nuts," He grinned. "So, what do you do for a living?"
"I'm studying art at college, cg animation," Heero answered and reluctantly added, "Until I graduate, I work at a bookstore."
"I love art and literature. I have a rather large library at home."
"I don't doubt that. You're some sort of an executive, right?"
"Yeah. I guess you could say that," Quatre replied cryptically, a puzzled half-smile creeping up one side of his face.
"You look a little young," Heero observed.
"It's my dad's company," Quatre explained. "Before I graduated highschool, I was working for him."
"How old are you?"
"Nigh-Twenty years," Quatre said laughing. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-one."
Quatre nodded, "You'll be graduating from college soon. That's good. I wish I could go to college."
"Your work, right?" Heero deduced.
Quatre nodded smiling wistfully, "I don't have time to study."
"What would you study? Business and economics?"
"No. . .I'd study something else entirely. I get enough business and economics at work. If I went to a college, I'd study something impractical and artsy."
"Like what?"
"Probably music, different instruments and composition."
"Do you play anything?"
"Yeah," Quatre replied looking caught between happiness and extreme pain. "Piano, violin, cello, bass, viola, mandolin, and I kind of play guitar and bass guitar."
"That's. . .impressive."
"Not really," Quatre replied earnestly folding his hands in his lap. "All of them are pretty similar. Once you learn one, you know them all."
"Oh," was all Heero could think of to say feeling a little inadequate afterwards.
"Do you play any instruments?" Quatre asked.
"Yes," was the automatic response.
"Well?" Quatre pressed expecting more.
"Hm?" Heero was a little confused.
"Which instrument?" Quatre laughed.
"Piano," Heero said following it up quickly with, "but not very well. My mother made me take lessons."
"Your mother," Quatre echoed with a thin smile. "It must have been nice."
"I didn't particularly enjoy it," Heero admitted. "My mother was always on my case about it."
"But you still love having a mother," Quatre asserted.
"I guess. . .it would probably be inhuman of me not to."
"Yeah," Quatre agreed nodding his head as if to assure himself. "Mothers are very important. . .Your mother, where is she now?"
"She lives in Kyoto."
"You still talk to her a lot?"
"Once every two weeks."
"Does she call you?"
"No. I have to call her. It'd be a breach of filial duty if she was the one left to make the calls. . .and get stuck with the bill."
"Does your mother like to cook a lot?"
"Y-Quatre. . .Why are we talking about my mother?"
". . .I'm just curious."
"Yeah, but. . .it's my mother."
"I just wanted to know what it's like," Quatre sighed. ". . .I don't have a mother," he clarified.
"She died?"
"I don't know. I don't know what she looked like. I don't even know her name. It's almost as if my entire existence has been spawned from nothing," Quatre said now cradling his chin on the backs of his hands. "My father refused to speak of her or even acknowledge the fact that I was even born. My sisters are bound by a promise to my father to never speak of anything concerning my birth or the months preceding. If there is documentation of my gestation and birth, they are more than likely fabricated by my father's lawyers to satisfy most people's curiosity."
"How could you know that they are false?" Heero asked intrigued, though his tone didn't betray his interest.
Quatre leaned forward in a secretive manner, "Her blood tipped me off. I was really young and snooping around the family files. I'd been comparing my files to my mother's when I realized a really big error. My legal mother, she has the exact same genetic profile as me down to the last protein. That, ofcourse, is impossible unless she is me."
"Sounds like there is a lot of intrigue in your family."
"My family. . .everyone is now or was in their lifetime extremely eccentric. I think that the lies run so deep, it is nearly impossible to discern fact from fiction. It's good that I like playing Sherlock, right?" Quatre laughed humorlessly. "I've spent the past four years trying to get our records straight. But, over the years, as power passed from generation to generation, some poor romantic in my family would go and add his or her own embellishment to everything from the estates to our forefathers' personal journals."
Heero blinked not usually taken to expressing any form of surprise. "That's. . ."
"Strange," Quatre finished for him. "I agree."
"So, do you always tell guys all your family secrets upon the first meeting?" Heero asked taking a sip of his coffee.
"No," Quatre replied crossing his legs. "I just trust you."
"You trust me?" Heero said disbelieving. "Why?"
"Just a feeling," Quatre replied cryptically staring at the shadows on the table. "Do you want to go anywhere?"
"Excuse me?"
"Do you want to go somewhere else? The café is a little formal. . .It'd be better to meet here after we're more familiar."
"I guess," Heero said finishing off his cup and standing. "Where do you suggest?"
"I know a couple of places. I have to change clothes first, though." Quatre stood with his satchel in hand, "Would you wait a few minutes for me?"
Heero nodded without any real forethought. Curiosity was once again taking over his mind.
It didn't take long for Quatre to disappear into the restroom and then reappear as fast. Instead of being clothed in the industrious business fashion, he wore something more boyish and what would be considered by some people to be sickeningly innocent. He had donned a short-sleeve blouse with plaid cuffs and collar, matching pants, and shoes that could have easily been mistaken for mary janes.
Unaware that he was staring, Quatre spoke up, "Rashid purchases all my clothes for me."
Heero nodded as they headed towards the parking lot. "Your car or mine?"
"My car," Quatre said. "I have to check my messages." He smiled weakly. "I hope that's not terribly rude."
"Not really. I'll drive."
Quatre tossed him the keys after unlocking the car and slid into the passenger seat. As Heero got into the driver's seat, he heard a soft almost- curse from his companion. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," Quatre laughed unconvincingly. He turned the face of his computer- cell phone for him to see. "Forty-one messages in the last twenty minutes." He ran his fingers through his hair trying to smooth the evidence of stress from his person. "I'm kind of glad that I left it here." He hooked up a headphone to the computer and began going through everything.
Heero's gaze lingered on his date whose face became more and more grave the deeper he got into his catalogue of messages.
He started the car and backed out immensely pleased with the smooth handling. His own car was like something hurled out of hell. It was so hard to drive, he preferred not to use it at all. "You'll direct me, right?"
"Yeah."
Quatre's directions were delivered with firmness and clarity as if he had somehow forgotten everything aside from breathing and navigating. They ended up at an odd building that looked something like an abandoned old mansion. There were many cars parked out in front in neat little rows. The drive leading up the house was made of gravel, a dying breed of road. Quatre finished his business on his cell and got out to join Heero.
"Don't fret if they confront you with strange questions. . .They're just like that," Quatre said as they approached the door. He rapped lightly on it and smiled amiably at Heero. A steady hum emanated from the inside.
There was a light thump on the door followed by a deep, slightly nasal voice, "'Righty, 'righty. . .who's th-Hey! Queue!. . .And Company!"
Heero looked up at the peephole questioningly. They were ancient and impractical with all of the security technology developed within the past sixty years. However, his analysis of proper security was cut short by the door opening and a barrage of sound blasting past his ears.
In the doorway stood a disheveled young man with longish blue hair and round orange lens glasses. "Been hiding out and away from us, haven't you?" he asked casually. Then he nodded at Heero, "Who's he?"
"He's my date," Quatre smiled shyly. "Heero Yuy."
"Nice to mee'cha." The man in the doorway tilted his head to the side, "Well. . .in or out?"
"In," Quatre confirmed and led his companion to the middle of the stark foyer. Different types of music drifted and collided in from all different directions within the house. Thick smells akin to Chinese take-out wafted through the air coming from an indeterminable origin making the air heavy. An ornate rose skylight cast intricate designs on the polished wood floor. Three stairways led to separate sections of the mammoth-like house.
"What is this place?" Heero asked noticing that the man who had opened the door for them was now gone.
"This is a hang-out. . .kind of like a clubhouse," Quatre tried to explain. "There's a 'mess hall,' a 'rec room,' a 'ballroom,' and other things like that on this property. The part of the estate that we're in right now is a more private. There's a reception room where you can meet people and other more secluded rooms. . .bedrooms. Some people camp out here if they need time to themselves."
"Who owns this?"
"It is managed by Milliardo, the son of Germany's current president. He bought it, but then allowed it to stay afloat with the financial aid of some of the more dedicated visitors."
"Does he even live near here?" Heero asked looking around and realizing that they'd started walking again.
"Milliardo, he resides on the grounds when he's not busy with visits to his family. Right now he's on a short break from college. He'll be back from Germany within the week."
"Who keeps everything running while he's gone?"
"Sometimes his girlfriend, Noin, and other times, his friend, Treize."
"College acquaintances?" Heero stated.
"Kind of," Quatre replied. "He and Treize have been friends since childhood. When Treize applied to a college here, Milliardo followed. As for Noin. . .She's a self-defense, and part-time swimming instructor. As I understand it, they met at the gym she works at."
"Oh," Heero mumbled. They had come to the end of a long hallway and now stood before a huge door. Light jazz music played softly from small speakers on the wall near the ceiling. Quatre knocked, waited a moment, and then opened the door.
"This is one of the master suites," he explained as a large plushy bed came into view. Heero was a little apprehensive about entering, but had no real choice when Quatre took his hand and led him inside. He was a little anxious thinking for a few panicked moments that he might have to refuse Quatre's attentions. Then he felt a little worse wondering whether he'd really want to stop if anything started to happen. His hand lightly gripping his was smooth and soft with long fingers that twined with his.
"Sit there," Quatre said settling him down on the edge of the bed facing a rather large cabinet.
Quatre then, to Heero's surprise, slid the cabinet door aside to reveal a television. "You like video games?" he asked opening a smaller cabinet below the screen pulling out a console and a pair of controllers.
"I'm actually. . ." Heero had to swallow before continuing, "studying to animate them."
"That's great!" Quatre grinned handing him a controller. "Which do you want to play? Fighting, RPG, first-person shooter?" He opened another cabinet.
"Fighting," Heero said scanning through the titles of the mini-library of games Quatre was looking through.
"What do you think of 'Etheria'?" Quatre asked showing him the case.
Heero shrugged, "Sure."
The game had good graphics and resolution really bringing to life the different gaming techniques that the players utilized. Quatre played a female demon character with bladed fans for weapons while Heero played a shadow-like demon with chains as the choice weapon. They were even matched. When Quatre would lose, he laughed and then smile brightly. Heero, on the other hand, would remain stoic and watch the placid expression on his opponent's face.
Quatre had just performed his character's ultimate technique when he asked Heero, "You and Duo were a couple?"
Heero flinched, "What about it?"
"I was just wondering."
"You've had an ex at one time or another, right?"
"Yeah," Quatre said with a sort of spaced out expression on his face. "Your longest relationship, how long was it?"
"Three years with Duo."
"Oh."
"What about you?"
"Me? Close to about five and a half years. . .with Wufei."
The shadow demon pummeled the fan demoness.
"Wufei," Heero echoed as the next match started up.
"I admired him for a long time. In middle school, we were in the same Phys Ed class. I didn't particularly enjoy the class. I endured it anyway because I figured that it would be something that I should like and would probably eventually grow into. There was another reason I stuck through it, though. I liked to watch Wufei. He kind of defined aesthetic beauty for me. Also, he was very strong. He wasn't exactly what you would call modest about his abilities, but, he also didn't believe in shallow friendships. Am I boring you?"
"No, not really," Heero replied feeling little twangs of unbidden jealousy prick his chest.
"Anyway, I must not have been as subtle as I would have liked about watching him, because he pulled me aside one day when we were supposed to be running track." He looked at Heero for a moment then back at the game. "It kind of scared me. He was just holding me in one spot without saying anything. I couldn't get away even if I'd wanted to, he was too strong. All of a sudden, he pulled me forward really roughly and kissed me. I couldn't think or move. It was so shocking, that, and, he had his arms around me really tight." He stole another glance at Heero. "After he let me go, he said, 'I can't stand you just staring. If you like me, say something!' Before I could reply, he had propelled me in the direction of the track and was well ahead of me catching up with and surpassing everyone else. . .Oh, I lost again."
"What happened to you two?" Heero asked.
"Well. . .we were at his house and getting ready to. . .when his guardian walked in on us. He threatened Wufei with an arranged marriage. Then, they argued and in the heat of everything, Wufei took a vow of celibacy to frighten him. It worked. Right then and there, his guardian collapsed and died on the way to the hospital. So, Wufei is now bound to his foolish declaration for the duration of his life or forfeit his honor. He told me that I should find someone new for the sake of both of our happiness. He broke up with me."
"That's. . .tragic."
"Not really. I still see him a lot, just not like that. He's my martial arts instructor and best friend." Quatre said. "Hey, are you hungry?"
"I guess so," Heero responded.
"Lets go to the mess hall," Quatre said recovering his character from the brink of death and finishing off Heero's. The mess hall was a formidable structure about twenty meters from the main house down a stone walk teeming with overgrowth. Some people loitered about the wild gardens off the path seemingly caught up in their own worlds. Some nodded if gazes met, though most would stare in cold indifference.
Just as they were about to enter the building, a bevy of girls effectively pinned them in place.
"I told you that he comes here," one with curly pink hair declared, obviously the ringleader. The other girls gossiped among themselves.
"May I help you?" Quatre asked with polite detachment turning to face them. He looked a little like he'd crumble apart for reasons Heero really couldn't quite comprehend.
"You're Quatre Raberba Winner, aren't you?" one girl piped up.
Heero's mild annoyance with the girls turned to complete astonishment and alarm when Quatre answered affirmatively, "And you are, miss?"
"Me? I'm Clarissa," The girl replied. A real chaos of names ensued as every girl present proceeded to reveal her identity and astrological information simultaneously.
"Well, Clarissa," Quatre paused and then added nodding to them, "ladies, I need to treat my associate to dinner. Perhaps we can continue this at another time?"
The adoring looks he received were enough permission for him to lightly shove Heero into the mess hall and leave them himself with an utterance of "if you will excuse us."
"Winner?" Heero said incredulously. "The conglomerate tycoon."
"Yeah?" Quatre replied innocently.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Heero demanded.
"Why didn't you figure it out?" Quatre countered desperately trying to maintain a light mood by making his tone seem non-accusatory.
"I've never seen any pictures. And. . .I always assumed that you were older."
"Well, here I am. Read the tabloids, and you'll find copious amounts of pictures of me," Quatre shrugged. "Want to sit over there?" He pointed to a window table. The grounds of the estate and the sun melting into the horizon could be seen from there.
Obediently, Heero followed Quatre stopping to stand beside his own seat while his date sat down.
"One last thing," He said ominously.
"Yes?" Quatre asked quietly.
"'Associate'?"
Quatre smiled, "It was a deterrent." He tilted his head charmingly. "Please sit."
Heero did so with feigned reluctance. "This date seems a little. . .unconventional."
"Really?" Quatre asked observing the subdued atmosphere of the cafeteria. Most people were sitting alone.
"Yeah. It seems a little strange."
"You don't mind it, though, do you?"
"I can't say that I do," Heero said just as a waiter approached the table with two glasses of water.
"May I get you two something to drink?" he asked setting the glasses down along with two menus.
"Water is fine with me," Quatre replied. Heero's answer was the same.
When the waiter had left, Heero turned his attention back to his dinner companion. "I imagine that all of this dating stuff will come back to us later on. Things will probably get easier next time."
As if he hadn't been paying complete attention, Quatre looked up from his water and smiled. "I guess so."
A little intimidated by the intimacy of the moment, Heero began reading the menu.
He didn't look up again until he felt something light hit his forehead. Quatre had his usual smile on his face as he stared coquettishly at him.
A little edgy, Heero looked at his menu again to discover a straw wrapper landed neatly in the fold like a bookmark. He looked back up at Quatre accusingly whose smile turned into a grin.
"I couldn't help it. You looked so. . .serious."
The corners of Heero's mouth threatened to turn upwards at this innocent flirting. It brought fire to his blood making him feel unbearably hot and strangely cold at the same time. Duo hadn't ever been so. . .Quatre when they were together, though he had his own charms, none were as endearing.
The rest of dinner passed without incident. Quatre ordered a tofu vermicelli dish that he tried with mild success to share. Heero had ordered a mushroom lo mein dish that he did not really offer to share. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the potluck way of eating that Quatre practiced, it was just more of him not really thinking about it. He had, in a way, been raised to horde.
After leaving the mess hall, Quatre seemed a little worried.
"Are you alright?" Heero asked.
"Yeah. Do you want to do anything else?"
Heero shrugged. "I don't know. Do you?"
Quatre looked at his watch a little dejectedly, "It's ten thirty. Rashid probably wants me home by now." "Your servant?"
"Kind of. He's my guardian, really. I wouldn't be surprised if someone's been dispatched to the café by now to make sure I'm still safe." He looked apologetically at Heero. "I would really like to meet with you again, though. I'll try to make some room in my schedule." He handed over the car keys.
"To the café?" Heero asked.
"Yeah."
Quatre made a real effort to nurture a pleasant atmosphere in the car on the way back. He even went as far as to neglect his cell-phone so he could keep up friendly chatter. All the talk was, however, meaningless. Favorites, dislikes, books, movies, and other such things were discussed in a half-interested fashion.
Back at the café, the streetlights kept the parking lot at least semi- negotiable. Heero handed the keys back to Quatre by the driver's side of the car.
Then, taken by impulse, he pulled him forward, startling him, and kissed him soundly, feeling life spark just below the skin of his lips. It was like electricity. Heero was sorely tempted to open his eyes to see the expression on Quatre's face, but could not. The feeling was far too pleasing like a blend of velvet and satin. When he finally drew himself away, he saw the bewildered look on Quatre's face. His jaw was slightly ajar as he blinked trying to make sense of what just happened.
"I really should kiss you at the door of your house. . .but, it looks like we have to settle for the door of your car," Heero explained.
A lop-sided smile crept up Quatre's face as he dipped his chin shyly. "Thank you." He put his hand on Heero's shoulder and leaned him down while he rose up to meet him with a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Until next time," he said and let go. "Have a nice night." He watched Heero's retreating back a few moments before getting back into his car.
All the lights in the apartment were off upon his return. He easily made his way to the living room and turned them on. The coffee table caught his attention. On the face was a picture of Quatre. He crouched down and picked it up a little perplexed.
The picture stopped at his waist, Quatre was wearing what appeared to be a black crushed velvet blouse with three large silk bows down the center. He had that beautiful smile and imploring eyes that could easily draw people in. His innocence seemed to parody his outfit to some extent. It wasn't revealing in any way, but the entire image somehow appeared kinky.
When did I develop an imagination? Heero thought to himself as he looked at the picture thoroughly convinced that some part of his brain was malfunctioning. He concentrated so much attention on the photo that he nearly jumped when he heard the door open.
"Heero?" the soft baritone of his roommate came from the front door. Seconds later, he was in the living room looking impassively at all that was before him. The grocery bag hanging from his fist swayed a little from side to side.
"Where did this come from?" Heero asked.
"Duo visited shortly after you left. He made headway on editing his film," Trowa explained in monotone. Then he almost whispered, "He ate a lot."
"He has a tendency to do that," Heero said and then added, "You should have made him go buy his own food."
"I didn't know what to do," Trowa admitted. "He said that he'd 'make up for it.'"
"That's a bad portent," Heero assumed setting the photo down. "Good night, if I don't see you again." He headed for the shower leaving Trowa in the living room hallway.
It was much like his first kiss with Duo, he could still feel Quatre long after they had parted. However, he could not recall it being so strong. His lips still tingled with electric delight as if Quatre were in his arms right then. The gnawing emptiness he would usually experience after that kind of contact did not haunt him now. Rather, that feeling was replaced by a more thrilling wholeness and insatiable desire for more.
Dazedly, he watched water droplets fall from the ends of his hair and stream down his body. For the first time in a long while, he felt self- conscious. He didn't look a day older from when he graduated high school. Though he'd tapered off his rigorous workout schedule, he still retained his finely chiseled muscles. However, he was dissatisfied. I've been indolent, he admitted to himself. I need to become better than my former. . .
The door to the bathroom opened. Heero watched Trowa through the glass panels of the shower enter with the fluidity of some ghostly apparition. They nodded at each other, their faces betraying no warmth.
Trowa brushed his teeth while Heero hurriedly finished in the shower. He got out around the time his roommate left.
I wonder. . .What is Duo trying to do? Heero thought as he looked into the mirror.
The proceeding days were met with much unrest. Heero was always feeling very keyed-up awaiting any word from Quatre. After a little while, the pessimistic side of him digressed that he was not wanted and would never see his once date ever again.
Then at work, he got a call. "Hello, Haven Books and Music, may I help you?"
"Good afternoon."
"Quatre?" Heero whispered shrilly. He looked around suspiciously, making sure that his boss was nowhere in sight.
"Hi," he said in a softer tone.
"I'm sorry for calling you at work. . .I know how inconvenient this must be. . ." Quatre said sympathetically.
"It's alright," Heero replied already feeling his grip on reality slipping. "What's up?"
"Are you free this Sunday?" Quatre asked, his voice rolling over Heero like an aphrodisiac.
"Y-yeah," Heero answered. The store seemed to dim and disappear in front of his eyes like a bad dream.
"That's good," Quatre said sincerely. "I'm treating my employees to a concert. Would you like to come? If you want to invite anyone, they're free to come as well."
"I'd like to come," Heero said feeling a little spaced out and airy. "What are you doing right now?"
"Homework," Quatre laughed. "What are you up to?"
"Talking." He could almost see Quatre's smile.
"Mm. . .oh. Heero, I want to talk more, but someone's trying to get my attention," he laughed apologetically. "Could you give me the phone number for your house? I'd like to call you later."
"Oh. . .yeah. It's 525-0722."
"I'll talk to you later, then. . .by the way, I'm really sorry that I didn't call you sooner."
"I know you're busy," Heero assured him.
"Bye."
"Bye." Heero reluctantly set the phone back on the receiver.
"Yuy!"
His head snapped up with an automatic, "Miss."
"Jesus! What's wrong with you? I've been trying to get your attention for quite some time now!" Dorothy growled. "I already warned you about personal calls. You're working overtime today!"
If Heero had the power of expression, he would have shrugged. He was sated now.
Trowa tried to ignore the ring of the telephone. He was almost finished repairing his laptop. However, it persisted.
"Hello," he said when he finally answered.
"Is this the Yuy residence?" a soft, boyish voice hesitated.
"Yes," Trowa replied, his blood racing though his voice revealed no feeling.
"Is he there?" Quatre asked a little distraught.
"No. He should be."
"Oh. . .alright. Thank you very much," Quatre said dejectedly. "Bye."
"Bye."
Trowa hung up slowly feeling his heart slow to it's regular rate. He leaned his back on the wall and slid down into a sitting position. His mind was reeling.
Quatre nearly tripped for the fifth time that night. His dance partner could not be described as even remotely in control of her motor systems. She kept on stepping on him with her tall, clunky high-heels. Sometimes she'd teeter about almost dragging him with her, other times, she'd just throw him off balance and watch him stumble. What made it worse, was that they were practicing a slow dance. As always, Quatre was very kind about it. He never complained, although it must have hurt. He would maybe flash an embarrassed smile here and there, but that was about it.
Trowa lay prone on the couch watching this, feeling increasingly more and more annoyed with the girl. He'd never taken a dance class in his life, and yet, he was convinced that he could do a hell of a better job than her. He confided in himself thoughts of dancing with Quatre. In his mind, it felt so perfect. They wouldn't have to wear any formal clothes, worn t-shirts and scuffed up jeans would do just fine. Dream Quatre would be smiling while Trowa would make the dance seem more like an embrace. They would speak to each other without words. They would exist in a secret world from anyone else. Everything would be sublime.
The sunlight would stream brilliantly through the windows. He could feel it on his face.
Then the sound of the door opening viciously tore him from his thoughts. He watched Heero appear out of the hallway and then disappear into another. The heavy thud of his backpack and the clinking of glass heralded his second coming.
He trudged into the kitchen.
"Someone called for you," Trowa spoke up.
"Quatre," Heero's voice, missing its usual heaviness, replied. "Did he leave a number?"
"No."
"Alright," Heero acknowledged returning to the living room. He paused for a moment looking at what his roommate seemed to be watching. It was ridiculous for him, at this point, to feel jealous or possessive of Quatre, but for some reason, he couldn't help it. Trowa's none-too subtle interest left Heero feeling bereft If Trowa wanted to, he might easily overcome him.
Heero stole one last look at Quatre before withdrawing into his room.
It was Thursday before he spoke to him again. It was late at night around nine thirty.
"Is Heero in?"
"Quatre," Heero said leaning on the wall next to the phone. ". . .You sound worried."
"When I called before," Quatre began and then paused for wording.
"Trowa picked up," Heero finished for him. "My roommate."
"Oh, your roommate," Quatre mumbled. "Will he be coming with us?"
Heero mouthed an exclamatory remark, but could not get his voice to work. He wanted to look good and do whatever it seemed that Quatre wanted, but his extreme fear of losing him was putting him in somewhat of a bind. He mentally urged himself not to be jealous as he answered feeling every syllable that left his mouth seal his fate, "Yeah, sure. . .why not. . ."
"Since you two will be my guests, I'll procure a ride for you. Be ready at seven-thirty. . .oh, by the way, where do you live?"
"1975 Satellite Drive, apartment building J, number 34."
"Alright, your ride will be waiting in front of your building at seven- thirty. Doubtless, you know that the concert if a formal affair, so, I don't have to get into that," Quatre said and then abruptly changed that subject. "Are you alright lately, Heero?"
"Yeah," he answered, puzzled. "Why?"
"Since our date, I've been really worried about you. People could be following you, paparazzi, journalists, private investigators. . ." Quatre laughed a little. "I try not to pay them too much attention. They're like little children. I figure that if I ignore them long enough and don't give them things that are very interesting to see, that they'll eventually go away. I'm a little nervous, though. . .I might end up giving them something to talk about, after all."
"What?" Heero pressed.
"You, ofcourse."
"I'm sure that they wouldn't bother me too much," Heero assured taking a seat at the dining table.
"If you say so," Quatre replied. "It's just that. . .they can eventually wear you down. My. . .my father was uniquely resilient, but he eventually caved in his later years. He set up a media-proof security system for all of his estates that is still in effect, and he also set up a network of 'extinguishers' which is a covert army of people that would drag insistent people without appointments into some dark alley corner to 'take care of them.'"
"That sounds illegal," Heero commented. "Thugish, almost."
"It was extreme," Quatre admitted. "I don't really approve of it, but I can identify. Since the pass of power, the extinguisher system has been refined. It's. . .legitimate now. No more dark alley trysts."
Heero smiled. Taken by a curious urge he asked, "What is it like to have a father?"
There was a silence that seemed almost too long. Heero had plenty of time to worry about whether he'd made a serious faux pas, but then Quatre's voice a little tight replied.
"Fathers. . ." he took another pause. "It's tolerable." He softened his tone, "I think that I might have preferred to have a mother. That way, if I get into deep trouble, I can scream: 'Mama! Mama!' and it won't be a lie. People in trouble, they don't call for their fathers."
Heero's heart sunk into his gut. He knew he had struck a nerve and wished desperately that he could recover from it without looking like a complete jerk. "I'm sorry," was the most genius thing he could think of to say.
"It's alright. I don't really mind," Quatre said. "I brought him up first, anyway." After a moment he added, "I don't want you to feel that you have to walk on eggshells for me. Whatever you want to say, no matter how strange, tell me."
"Alright. I'll be sure to." For some odd reason, he felt verbally pampered, if there was such a thing. Just talking made him feel good. "Hey, Quatre. . ."
"Hm?"
"What will they be playing?"
"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. From what I understand, it's supposed to be a hash of old and contemporary music. Ballads, retro, rock set for symphonic orchestra." Quatre seemed immensely pleased, "It should be fun, right?"
"It'll be my first concert," Heero confessed. "I appreciate. . .thank you for allowing me to accompany you."
"Oh no, I don't know what I would have done if you didn't want to come," Quatre laughed self-consciously. "I know it's a little ludicrous to say this after one meeting, but your presence means a lot to me."
"Really?" Heero cajoled.
"You can put up with me," Quatre joked. "I'm really glad that you played Etheria with me. If it weren't for you, I'd be stuck playing opposite the CPU forever."
"Hn?"
"No one likes to play video games with me anymore," Quatre elucidated with a little regret.
"You play surprisingly well for someone that usually plays alone."
"Yeah. . .well, I hate losing," Quatre declared.
". . .Could have fooled me," Heero said taken aback.
"It's been that way with me ever since I was really young. I was such an incorrigible brat," Quatre said embarrassedly.
"You, though, probably the perfect child."
"Perfect is a relative term," Heero countered. "You couldn't have been that bad."
"If only you knew. . ." Quatre began and then decided to leave it at that. "Heero."
"Hm?"
"I think I'm falling in love with you," he said dreamily, then added hurriedly with a comical sincerity, "That is if it's not too cliché for you."
"Not at all. . .it's the best thing I've heard in years." Heero watched Trowa emerge from his room into the hallway at the other end of the apartment. He felt a little perturbed as he was fixed with a very intense stare before Trowa lowered his eyes in submission. He shuffled listlessly into the kitchen more than likely for a glass of milk, and Heero's gaze followed him until he disappeared behind the corner into the main hall.
"You have such a nice voice, Heero," Quatre commented bringing him back into the conversation.
"Ah, really?" he asked self-consciously.
"Yeah. I bet you sing very beautifully. Your talking voice is so melodious, it would only make sense," Quatre's own singsong voice praised him.
"Singing. . .that never occurred to me," Heero confessed. "I had so much trouble with the piano. . ."
"I'd like to hear you play sometime," Quatre assured him.
"I'm out of practice," Heero reasoned, trying to weasel his way out of it.
"It's alright. If you're forgotten anything, I think I can help," Quatre offered.
Heero shifted in his chair and ran an unsteady hand through his hair. "Oh."
Trowa crossed the room again.
"Oh, I'm being hailed. I have to go now, Heero," Quatre sighed apologetically. "I'll see you Sunday, then. . ."
"Yeah," Heero replied.
"I look forward to it," Quatre responded earnestly. "Good night."
"Good night."
Trowa didn't ask for an explanation, he didn't protest, nor did he express any real desire to go. He just took it in and accepted it. On Sunday, he got dressed in the only suit he owned and then sat on the couch staring at his reflection in the television waiting for the time to leave. Every now and then, he would move something on the coffee table. It was never quite right.
On the other hand, Heero spent a veritable forever fumbling around with his suit, attempting to tame his unruly locks, and constantly messing with his image. No matter how many times he brushed his hair, it still stuck out at weird angles. When he studied himself in the mirror, it left him feeling very dissatisfied. He was very tempted to return to his high school cut, which was so short that direction didn't really matter.
He paused. He stared at the him in the mirror, and realized that it was unrecognizable from the him that had left home three years past. He could remember everything from the moment that he stepped off the plane to the moment that he met Duo at the cheap Chinese restaurant on twenty-fourth street. He had barely known any English, and Duo was a struggling Japanese language student. In any case, they ended up talking, then in bed, then the same apartment. In the time they shared, Duo convinced Heero to grow his hair out, taught him English, and sent him on a socializing roller-coaster ride.
Absently, he tugged at his longish chocolate brown hair. He imagined what Quatre was doing right then. He'd watched him dress for formal affairs before. First, he'd shower and then amble around his room raking his fingers through his hair swathed in a freshly cleaned white towel. Then he'd slip on his boxers with his towel still fastened at his chest. All his clothing would be neatly laid out on his bed. He would dress without taking the towel off until his pants were on and his shirt was hanging from his shoulders. When he donned his tie, it would always hang perfectly. Then he would shrug on his overcoat and step into his chausseres ready to face whatever pen wielding fiend he might encounter.
Quatre will be stunning, ofcourse, Heero thought to himself. He studied his reflection again. His hair had submitted somewhat to his will. And his face looked alright.
He glanced at the clock. Seven-fifteen. He'd started at five, nearly two and a half hours prior. Dimly, he wondered how that could have happened.
Good to his word, Quatre had a car waiting when Heero and Trowa exited the building. It was sleek and black and modestly sized with a smartly dressed chauffer leaning casually on the driver-side door. When he saw the two approaching figures, he sprung to attention greeting them and seating them. It was a little embarrassing. It wasn't like they lived on Golden Ave.
The concert hall was impressive to say the least. Heero could barely fathom its size and how it seemed to be so bright against the night sky yet so dark in color. It rose like a flower with interlocking arches that seemed to stretch languorously towards the stars.
He stole a guilty glance at Trowa half -hoping to see terror or amazement shadow his otherwise morose features, but was rewarded with nothing. He was just standing there as if it were no big deal. Before Heero could feel any form of childish resentment, he and Trowa were being ushered by their chauffer towards the wide-open gates of the hall.