Little Match Boy
----
by rinoastar
----
Categorization: AU, shonen-ai, Christmas fic
Archive: PRAORPOARI, any that ask
Warnings: OOC, magic, shonen-ai, angst, deathfic
Pairings: 3+4
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is not my creation.
Please don't sue me! I'm poor!
----
Little Match Boy
--
Trowa paused as a tall man hovered over his
freezing form. He turned his head up, looking at
the man from beneath his icicle laced bang. "Sir?
Would you buy a box of matches?" he asked the man,
holding up one of the dozens of boxes of matches
that sat around him.
"No, thank you, young man. Should you not
be at home, warm in your bed?" the passerby asked,
looking down at the boy.
"Please, sir? I haven't a home, nor a warm
bed, and if I don't sell all of these matches, Dekim
will kill me!" Trowa's emerald eyes were wide and
scared.
"No home? No bed? And who is Dekim?" the
man's companion, a woman nestled warm within thick
mink furs, asked.
"Dekim is my adoptive father, Madam. He
took me into his home, and makes me sell matches, "
Trowa replied, staring into the woman's fur coat.
"On Christmas Eve?" she replied. "That's
the worst one I've heard in a while. Honestly,
these match boys had better come up with better
reasons to make us buy. This one is blatantly lying!"
The man laughed and they walked away from
Trowa as he lay huddled on the frozen cobblestones.
The unibanged boy watched them leave, far beyond
feeling anger at them. This was the way his business
had been going all evening, and he hadn't sold a box.
Now the temperature had dropped down to the
mid twenties. Trowa knew this because he read the
thermometer in the window of the toy store. He
chose a spot near the toy store because on Christmas
eve, there were plenty of people coming in and out
to feel sorry for the rag-ridden child on the corner.
His bare hands and feet stuck to the
cobblestones, hurting dreadfully when he pulled them
away. Every bone in his body ached with cold. He
continued to cry out to the people passing, but none
stopped. Eventually, the toy store closed, leaving
the cold boy there without even the cozy light of
the store.
He considered going back to Dekim's tiny
apartment, but knew he couldn't. If he did, Dekim
would surely murder him for not selling all of his
matches. Finally, he sat down in defeat. He
pondered whether or not to light the matches he held.
The light of dusk gradually decreased,
leaving him in the dark. He finally took out one of
the matches and struck it on the stones beneath him.
As he cupped its tiny light between his hands, warmth
flooded into him. As he gazed into the flame, he
saw a warm home, welcoming and pleasant. A boy his
own age was sitting cozily in front of a roaring fire,
the flickering light reflecting on his golden hair and
in his friendly eyes.
Trowa reached for the boy, but the match
began to flicker and went out. He mewled in
disappointment before looking back at the rest of the
matches. 'What's one more match when I've ruined an
entire box already?' he asked himself, taking a match
over to the wall of the toy store and striking it.
This time, the entire wall disappeared, and Trowa saw
the boy again. However, this time he was seated at a
table covered in rich foods. Trowa's stomach growled
at the sight, remembering that he had not eaten since
that morning.
He stretched out a tentative hand to the wall,
and it passed straight through it. Excited, he eagerly
pushed the hand further through, reaching for the boy.
The boy stretched his own hand out and their fingers
grazed. The boy firmly grasped Trowa's hand and tried
to pull him in, but the match burned Trowa's other
hand and went out.
He was thrown back from the wall and landed in
a heap near his boxes of matches. Tears sprang into
his eyes and he pleaded with the boy. "Please,
please! Let me back! I'm so cold, and I'm hungry
and lonely! Please!" He pounded on the wall and
sobbed to himself, curling into a ball. His eyes
rested on the last boxes of matches and he gave a
determined look at the wall.
Trowa lit another match and the boy appeared.
The boy smiled at him and bowed. "I am Quatre
Raberba Winner. Who are you?" he asked, his longish,
shaggy blonde hair hanging in his eyes.
"Trowa Barton, " the match boy replied.
Quatre gently took the brunette's hand and brought
him closer. Trowa glanced at his match, and saw it
was about to go out. He deftly lit another and
returned Quatre's sunny smile.
Trowa pulled Quatre close to him and the little
blonde laughed, a sound like churchbells on Sunday
morning. Then Quatre brushed Trowa's lips with his
own. "Come with me. I'll take you to a place where
you can be happy, and content. You can leave this
pain and cold behind you. Will you go?"
Trowa stared into the blonde's deep aqua eyes
and nodded. "I will, " he consented, lighting another
match. Quatre's face broke into another dazzling
smile.
Trowa lit match after match, managing to keep
Quatre there with him for the rest of the night.
--
The next morning, on the corner Trowa had been
at the night before, a portly member of Scotland Yard
stood and tried to shoo people away from the toy store.
"There's nothing to see here, folks. Just go on back
to your homes and let us deal with this, " he told
the growing crowd.
Sighing in disappointment, the crowd dwindled,
headed back to warm homes that held the promise of
bread puddings and roasted pheasants, along with other
Christmas edibles. The officer turned back to the
corner and looked down on the boy that lay there,
covered in burnt matchsticks.
"Looks like the poor chap was trying to keep
himself warm, " he said sadly as he watched the other
two officers place the boy's body onto a stretcher and
cover it with a white linen blanket.
----
~OWARI~
So, did you like it? I know it's sad, but it's happy
in a way! And it's traditional, too. I just thought that
with Christmas coing, I should go ahead and write out a
Christmas fic! C&C needed like Trowa needs Quatre's smile!
----
by rinoastar
----
Categorization: AU, shonen-ai, Christmas fic
Archive: PRAORPOARI, any that ask
Warnings: OOC, magic, shonen-ai, angst, deathfic
Pairings: 3+4
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is not my creation.
Please don't sue me! I'm poor!
----
Little Match Boy
--
Trowa paused as a tall man hovered over his
freezing form. He turned his head up, looking at
the man from beneath his icicle laced bang. "Sir?
Would you buy a box of matches?" he asked the man,
holding up one of the dozens of boxes of matches
that sat around him.
"No, thank you, young man. Should you not
be at home, warm in your bed?" the passerby asked,
looking down at the boy.
"Please, sir? I haven't a home, nor a warm
bed, and if I don't sell all of these matches, Dekim
will kill me!" Trowa's emerald eyes were wide and
scared.
"No home? No bed? And who is Dekim?" the
man's companion, a woman nestled warm within thick
mink furs, asked.
"Dekim is my adoptive father, Madam. He
took me into his home, and makes me sell matches, "
Trowa replied, staring into the woman's fur coat.
"On Christmas Eve?" she replied. "That's
the worst one I've heard in a while. Honestly,
these match boys had better come up with better
reasons to make us buy. This one is blatantly lying!"
The man laughed and they walked away from
Trowa as he lay huddled on the frozen cobblestones.
The unibanged boy watched them leave, far beyond
feeling anger at them. This was the way his business
had been going all evening, and he hadn't sold a box.
Now the temperature had dropped down to the
mid twenties. Trowa knew this because he read the
thermometer in the window of the toy store. He
chose a spot near the toy store because on Christmas
eve, there were plenty of people coming in and out
to feel sorry for the rag-ridden child on the corner.
His bare hands and feet stuck to the
cobblestones, hurting dreadfully when he pulled them
away. Every bone in his body ached with cold. He
continued to cry out to the people passing, but none
stopped. Eventually, the toy store closed, leaving
the cold boy there without even the cozy light of
the store.
He considered going back to Dekim's tiny
apartment, but knew he couldn't. If he did, Dekim
would surely murder him for not selling all of his
matches. Finally, he sat down in defeat. He
pondered whether or not to light the matches he held.
The light of dusk gradually decreased,
leaving him in the dark. He finally took out one of
the matches and struck it on the stones beneath him.
As he cupped its tiny light between his hands, warmth
flooded into him. As he gazed into the flame, he
saw a warm home, welcoming and pleasant. A boy his
own age was sitting cozily in front of a roaring fire,
the flickering light reflecting on his golden hair and
in his friendly eyes.
Trowa reached for the boy, but the match
began to flicker and went out. He mewled in
disappointment before looking back at the rest of the
matches. 'What's one more match when I've ruined an
entire box already?' he asked himself, taking a match
over to the wall of the toy store and striking it.
This time, the entire wall disappeared, and Trowa saw
the boy again. However, this time he was seated at a
table covered in rich foods. Trowa's stomach growled
at the sight, remembering that he had not eaten since
that morning.
He stretched out a tentative hand to the wall,
and it passed straight through it. Excited, he eagerly
pushed the hand further through, reaching for the boy.
The boy stretched his own hand out and their fingers
grazed. The boy firmly grasped Trowa's hand and tried
to pull him in, but the match burned Trowa's other
hand and went out.
He was thrown back from the wall and landed in
a heap near his boxes of matches. Tears sprang into
his eyes and he pleaded with the boy. "Please,
please! Let me back! I'm so cold, and I'm hungry
and lonely! Please!" He pounded on the wall and
sobbed to himself, curling into a ball. His eyes
rested on the last boxes of matches and he gave a
determined look at the wall.
Trowa lit another match and the boy appeared.
The boy smiled at him and bowed. "I am Quatre
Raberba Winner. Who are you?" he asked, his longish,
shaggy blonde hair hanging in his eyes.
"Trowa Barton, " the match boy replied.
Quatre gently took the brunette's hand and brought
him closer. Trowa glanced at his match, and saw it
was about to go out. He deftly lit another and
returned Quatre's sunny smile.
Trowa pulled Quatre close to him and the little
blonde laughed, a sound like churchbells on Sunday
morning. Then Quatre brushed Trowa's lips with his
own. "Come with me. I'll take you to a place where
you can be happy, and content. You can leave this
pain and cold behind you. Will you go?"
Trowa stared into the blonde's deep aqua eyes
and nodded. "I will, " he consented, lighting another
match. Quatre's face broke into another dazzling
smile.
Trowa lit match after match, managing to keep
Quatre there with him for the rest of the night.
--
The next morning, on the corner Trowa had been
at the night before, a portly member of Scotland Yard
stood and tried to shoo people away from the toy store.
"There's nothing to see here, folks. Just go on back
to your homes and let us deal with this, " he told
the growing crowd.
Sighing in disappointment, the crowd dwindled,
headed back to warm homes that held the promise of
bread puddings and roasted pheasants, along with other
Christmas edibles. The officer turned back to the
corner and looked down on the boy that lay there,
covered in burnt matchsticks.
"Looks like the poor chap was trying to keep
himself warm, " he said sadly as he watched the other
two officers place the boy's body onto a stretcher and
cover it with a white linen blanket.
----
~OWARI~
So, did you like it? I know it's sad, but it's happy
in a way! And it's traditional, too. I just thought that
with Christmas coing, I should go ahead and write out a
Christmas fic! C&C needed like Trowa needs Quatre's smile!