There was something in his eyes, the way he looked at me, I knew it. Like I
had known it for months and not been able to admit it. Like I had wanted
for years and ridiculed myself for. Like how I had envied Quatre and Trowa.
I was a soldier, of course. Taught that soldiers have no room for such triteness as something like love. And love for another boy nonetheless! But I was hooked. Like fish on a line, I was hooked. I think he knew it. The way he moved, with his braid swinging and his hips wagging, winking at me like we were sharing some kind of joke at the others expense. And perhaps it was a joke. One big giant joke. The way I would let him crawl into my bed when it got too cold. The way I knew I would give up any mission for him. The way I denied it and acted all the more cold toward this God of Death who was more like and angel.
Perhaps I would never have fallen in love with him if we hadn't had to share a room. Perhaps things would have been different. I doubt it though, he's like the light to my darkness.
And when I sit there in that room with the others and begin to think about him, about the way he moves and how he's never modest, and I start to fidget. They say I'm thinking about Relena and I have to hold in the laughter. If only they knew. If only….
So I sit here today, watching him over the heads of the others as he closes his eyes and bobs his head to the music in his earphones, thinking what I would do—what I CAN do—to tell him how I feel.
Everyone leaves. Wufie to take a shower, Quatre and Trowa to do whatever it is they do at night, alone in there rooms. And I am left to sit here with the solace of my computer and my chestnut-haired God of Death who's voice rings across the room so sweetly.
I think the song ends, or perhaps he is merely teasing me as he does so often, when he looks up and smiles.
"Are you just going to watch me or are you going to tell me what you're thinking?" he asks with a devilish grin.
I realize I have been staring (though who could help it I have yet to discover) and I look down at the computer screen, mumbling something incoherent.
Suddenly he is in front of me, "Heero."
I look up, afraid that I will blush at his closeness, "Hn?"
He laughs, "I was just wondering, you seem like you have something on your mind."
"Do I?" I reply, sounding more confident that I feel.
"I wonder," he grins, "What it is."
I look up at him, trying out that glare that has never worked, feeling as if I will sink into his perfectly indigo eyes, "A mission?" I supply, accidentally cold.
"Or… Relena perhaps?" he laughs as if I am supposed to as well and winks.
"Why would I be thinking about Relena?" I ask, barely holding in my grimace.
"Because," he says, leaning forward so his face is right in front of mine, "You want her soooooo bad."
I feel something inside of me. That awful feeling I always get when I feel I have to prove someone wrong. And so I say the first thing that pops into my head.
"No. I want you."
He steps back and I fear that I have disgusted him, "Me? Why me? I'm not "good" enough."
There's no way to back out now and I know it, "You're right, you aren't good enough," I pause, "You're the best." Saying this, I hope I don't sound stupid/
He stares at me for a second, trying to read in my eyes whether I'm telling the truth or not, then, deciding I am, he turns around, laughing to himself.
"Listen to this; the Perfect Soldier in love with a homeless orphan boy with a braid," he turns around slowly, "Or is it just because you've no one else to love, so I'm your only resort?"
"Why would I need someone to love?" I demand.
"Why not?" he counters.
I close my laptop and stand up, "So you see why I don't like to talk."
As I walk out the door, down the hall, I can feel his eyes on me. I picture him, sitting down, shaking his head in disgust. I'm disgusted with MYSELF for having given in to these feelings.
Then there's a hand on my shoulder and someone spins me around and shoves me into the wall.
"Don't ever walk out on me," Duo hisses.
I just glare at him, silently. Suddenly angry at myself for not having guessed he would hate me for confessing.
But then his mouth is on mine and for a second I panic because I forget to breath out of my nose. I've never been kissed before, never wanted to, so I don't know what to do. It doesn't last long though and soon he pulls back and looks at me, "Do you love me?" he asks.
I think about that, not sure what to say, "I don't know what love is," I reply, honestly.
He looks at me for a long time, searching my eyes for some sign of dishonesty or hostility, but I know he finds none. Then he kisses me again, slowly. I kiss him back but I am unsure about what I am doing. And then he pulls away and walks to his room. Braid swinging, hips wagging in invitation, and I follow him through the door.
I was a soldier, of course. Taught that soldiers have no room for such triteness as something like love. And love for another boy nonetheless! But I was hooked. Like fish on a line, I was hooked. I think he knew it. The way he moved, with his braid swinging and his hips wagging, winking at me like we were sharing some kind of joke at the others expense. And perhaps it was a joke. One big giant joke. The way I would let him crawl into my bed when it got too cold. The way I knew I would give up any mission for him. The way I denied it and acted all the more cold toward this God of Death who was more like and angel.
Perhaps I would never have fallen in love with him if we hadn't had to share a room. Perhaps things would have been different. I doubt it though, he's like the light to my darkness.
And when I sit there in that room with the others and begin to think about him, about the way he moves and how he's never modest, and I start to fidget. They say I'm thinking about Relena and I have to hold in the laughter. If only they knew. If only….
So I sit here today, watching him over the heads of the others as he closes his eyes and bobs his head to the music in his earphones, thinking what I would do—what I CAN do—to tell him how I feel.
Everyone leaves. Wufie to take a shower, Quatre and Trowa to do whatever it is they do at night, alone in there rooms. And I am left to sit here with the solace of my computer and my chestnut-haired God of Death who's voice rings across the room so sweetly.
I think the song ends, or perhaps he is merely teasing me as he does so often, when he looks up and smiles.
"Are you just going to watch me or are you going to tell me what you're thinking?" he asks with a devilish grin.
I realize I have been staring (though who could help it I have yet to discover) and I look down at the computer screen, mumbling something incoherent.
Suddenly he is in front of me, "Heero."
I look up, afraid that I will blush at his closeness, "Hn?"
He laughs, "I was just wondering, you seem like you have something on your mind."
"Do I?" I reply, sounding more confident that I feel.
"I wonder," he grins, "What it is."
I look up at him, trying out that glare that has never worked, feeling as if I will sink into his perfectly indigo eyes, "A mission?" I supply, accidentally cold.
"Or… Relena perhaps?" he laughs as if I am supposed to as well and winks.
"Why would I be thinking about Relena?" I ask, barely holding in my grimace.
"Because," he says, leaning forward so his face is right in front of mine, "You want her soooooo bad."
I feel something inside of me. That awful feeling I always get when I feel I have to prove someone wrong. And so I say the first thing that pops into my head.
"No. I want you."
He steps back and I fear that I have disgusted him, "Me? Why me? I'm not "good" enough."
There's no way to back out now and I know it, "You're right, you aren't good enough," I pause, "You're the best." Saying this, I hope I don't sound stupid/
He stares at me for a second, trying to read in my eyes whether I'm telling the truth or not, then, deciding I am, he turns around, laughing to himself.
"Listen to this; the Perfect Soldier in love with a homeless orphan boy with a braid," he turns around slowly, "Or is it just because you've no one else to love, so I'm your only resort?"
"Why would I need someone to love?" I demand.
"Why not?" he counters.
I close my laptop and stand up, "So you see why I don't like to talk."
As I walk out the door, down the hall, I can feel his eyes on me. I picture him, sitting down, shaking his head in disgust. I'm disgusted with MYSELF for having given in to these feelings.
Then there's a hand on my shoulder and someone spins me around and shoves me into the wall.
"Don't ever walk out on me," Duo hisses.
I just glare at him, silently. Suddenly angry at myself for not having guessed he would hate me for confessing.
But then his mouth is on mine and for a second I panic because I forget to breath out of my nose. I've never been kissed before, never wanted to, so I don't know what to do. It doesn't last long though and soon he pulls back and looks at me, "Do you love me?" he asks.
I think about that, not sure what to say, "I don't know what love is," I reply, honestly.
He looks at me for a long time, searching my eyes for some sign of dishonesty or hostility, but I know he finds none. Then he kisses me again, slowly. I kiss him back but I am unsure about what I am doing. And then he pulls away and walks to his room. Braid swinging, hips wagging in invitation, and I follow him through the door.