Author's note:
Yes, I have written yet another oneshot. I just love writing these short stories! Don't worry, I'm also still working on "Dirty Job", these oneshots are a necessary variety. As always, please share your thoughts with me, it really helps me to know what you think of a story.
This is an example of a reverse-engineered story; it started with the title, which spawned an idea and I built a story around that idea. I don't usually work that way, normally the title comes last and it's always a pain because I never know what to title a story, so this was a welcome change. The title comes from the song "Speeding Cars" by Walking on Cars, but other than that the song has nothing to do with the story.
Beta: Shima Yi! :)
WARNINGS: Some language and minor adult themes (non-explicit references to sex and violence)
Your Little Heart
"It's good to touch the green, green grass of home…"
Melancholic music played softly in his ears, only just loud enough to drown out the polite chatter of the taxi driver. The man didn't seem to mind, he could clearly see Duo wear his earphones in the rear-view-mirror; he didn't need him to listen, he just needed to talk.
"Yes, they've all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly. It's good to touch the green, green grass of home."
Duo had only been to the airport once before and it had gotten a face lift since then, it was new and a little overwhelming. But as the car navigated the streets, the surroundings started to look familiar – nothing had changed – and it became greatly overwhelming. He grabbed the door handle where he would leave a sweaty palm print. Droplets of rain dragged down the window, leaving a diagonal trail. As distorted as the outside world was in the downpour, he recognized every house. They were close now.
"The old house is still standing, though the paint is cracked and dry. And there's that old oak tree that I used to play on…"
He straightened up as they passed a brown stone house with a black front door – sandwiched by other brown stone houses with colorful doors – with an old Dodge pick-up truck parked out front. "You've passed it," he said, his voice barely a whisper. He wanted the driver to keep on driving and take him further away, to a place where he could breathe and think and speak. But then what was that six-hour plane ride all for?
"Sorry?"
Duo took out one earphone. "You've passed it."
"Nono, see," he patted his navigation. "Ninety-seven is right up ahead."
"It's seventy-nine."
"Oh, I'm sorry." He chuckled sheepishly and brought the car to a dead stop. Looking over his shoulder he put the taxi in reverse and backed up to number seventy-nine. "Need some help with the luggage?"
From his tone it was readily apparent he really didn't want to go out into the rain. "No, it's fine." Duo dug into the pocket of his jeans and paid the man in crumbled up five dollar bills. "Thanks. Have a nice day." He grabbed his duffel bag from the empty seat next to him and pulled it out into the pouring rain with him. The taxi quickly sped away.
"Then I wake and look around me, at four grey walls that surround me and I realize, yes, I was only dreaming."
He ripped the other earphone out as well and let the chord dangle from the pocket of his jacket, not nearly warm enough for the weather and not waterproof either. He stood at the bottom of the five concrete steps that led up to the black door. The blinds of the windows were drawn. The rain was beating down on him and he let it; he dreaded going inside.
A neighbor to the left popped her head out of the kitchen window; she was exactly the same as he remembered her, only seven years older. "Under the mat!" She shouted over the rain hitting the rooftops, the cars and the sidewalk.
Duo nodded. "Yes, thank you." She quickly ducked back inside and shut the window. He adjusted his hold and climbed up the stairs, taking a deep breath with each step. He picked up the worn Welcome-mat by one corner – it was only appropriate that the word "Welcome" was no longer legible – and the key was right where it should be.
Exactly as he remembered, the lock jammed the first two tries and he had to wiggle the key around to line it up and use some force to turn it. The door popped open with a creak; stuffy, stale air and thick silence greeted him. He put his bag down on the stripped floor of the hallway and with old precision, his hand found the light switch in the dark. A bare lightbulb flickered to life over his head, illuminating the staircase directly ahead, and the black doorway that led into the living room where he could only vaguely see shapes of a couch and a lampshade.
Not until he was ready did he dare to shut the front door behind him. The sound of the rain became muffled and the silence was insufferable. Duo strode into the living room, finding a second light switch that lit up the room. The remote for the TV was right where he expected it to be and he turned on the television set to a sports channel. The commenter's excited description and analysis of the gameplay filled the space and put him more at ease. The TV was still one of those big, boxy things from the nineties, the couch and the lounge chair were even older than that. The renovation of the kitchen had been given up on halfway through in the late 2000s and the doors for the top cabinets were still propped up against the wall.
It had been seven years since he last set foot in the house – when he stopped by only to tell his father that he was leaving town and would never come back, to which his father barely reacted. Duo's life had changed so much since then. Nearly nothing about him was the same as when he left, yet as he stood there, in the time capsule of his youth, he wondered if any of that change was real. Maybe time had stood still and the past seven years were nothing but a dream. To reassure himself, he pulled his long braid over his shoulder and let his fingers trace the length of it. The seven years had definitely happened, thank God.
The only new thing in the house was the coffee machine and he made grateful use of it. He didn't dare sit down anywhere, so he drank his coffee standing up, leaning back against the sharp, unfinished edge of the kitchen counter. Afterward, he headed upstairs for a shower, where he pretended not to cry as he let the water wash his face.
The door to his father's bedroom was open. The sheets on the big bed were messy. Duct tape held one of the bedposts to the frame and two stacks of old magazines supported the weight. The curtains in front of the window were thick and heavy. The carpet on the right side of the bed was worn down, right where his father had kneeled every night and every morning for his prayers. His father was a God-fearing man, but he didn't raise Duo that way; he raised Duo to fear him.
The only other door in the small hallway was the door to his old, childhood bedroom. It was shut. He took a deep breath and tried the doorknob; when he found that the door was locked, he collapsed back against the wall and threatened to hyperventilate as he was on the precipice of a panic attack. He forced himself to take deep, slow breaths, counting as he exhaled and inhaled, but his technique didn't help the way it had helped him in the past seven years; he couldn't get his heart to stop racing.
He needed to get that door open, it was the only thing that would relieve him from his agony. In vain, he tried the knob again, rattling, pushing and pulling desperately. He kicked the door in frustration and then knew what he had to do. He stepped back, being mindful not to fall backwards down the stairs and with a mighty kick, fueled by years of pent-up anger and fear, he kicked the door in.
He could breathe again. With one hand he sought purchase on the banister of the staircase and the other he laid over his chest, waiting for his heartrate to calm down.
His tiny little bedroom was the same as he remembered it. His bed was underneath the small window overlooking the paved junkyard of a back yard. The window frame was still nailed shut and there were still the spider-web cracks in the pane from when he had tried to break it using his desk chair, but his father had heard and came storming in. He hadn't tried to escape – he didn't dare to attempt the jump down to the stone ground below – he just needed some air; the stagnant air in his room had been suffocating.
Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust; it dulled the color of his Star Wars sheets, the yellow carpet and the books and CDs on the shelf above his cramped desk – no desk chair.
He stood in the doorway, battling against memories. This was why he didn't want to come back, after seven years of distractions and therapy, to forget and move on. He didn't want to undo all of his hard work, but he didn't feel like he had a choice. He was the only family member left, so he was the one the hospital called when his father had suffered a heart attack at work – the stubborn fifty-nine year old still working as a welder at the docks and living on a diet of pizza and French fries washed down with cheap beer. They told him that it didn't look like he was going to "pull through" and that he should come soon if he wanted the chance to say goodbye.
Duo didn't come. He told the nurse that he would – because he didn't want to either have to explain a painful family history to her, or seem like the asshole son who couldn't be bothered – but he didn't. Two days went by, and the long haired man was just about to believe that the old man had beaten the odds, when he got another phone call in the middle of the night. After two days in a coma, his heart finally did give out. As the next of kin, it became Duo's responsibility to deal with the aftermath. He had to make the arrangements, pay the hospital bill and pay the funeral home. The very next day he had a phone conference with some obscure lawyer who told him his father had left him the house and "all other assets": the car and the combined twelve-hundred dollars in the checking account and savings account. At least he could use that money to cover some of the costs, although money wasn't really an issue for him.
For three days he was certain he wasn't going to fly back home to attend the funeral. He could arrange everything from the safety of his home in LA, but then he let his therapist talk him into going…for the purpose of closure.
"Fucking closure," he said to himself.
Duo spent the rest of the day cleaning as much of the house as he could and preparing a place for himself to sleep on the big couch. He couldn't bring himself to sleep in that cell of a room that was once his, and he didn't want to sleep in his father's bed either. When the rain stopped he went outside to beat the dust out of his old pillow and pulled clean sheets from the linen closet.
It would have been easier to stay in the house and order pizza, but he needed to get out, so he justified his escape with a grocery list: milk, cereal, bread, cheese, soda, chips, bottles of water and a microwave dinner. He put his jacket back on, still damp from being soaked earlier that day, and grabbed the keys of the Dodge off the table in the hallway. It had been a while since he'd driven a stick and the gearbox made horrible, screeching sounds as he tried to shift gears, but he got the hang of it and drove to the only store that would still be open: the 7-Eleven.
He parked the truck and kicked the rusty door open. With his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, shivering in his jacket, he headed inside. He caught sight of his own reflection in the automatic, glass doors before they slid open and it was not a pretty sight. His lack of sleep from the past few days was showing and his bangs were messy, with fly-away hairs every which way, the mass of the length only pulled back in a loose ponytail. It didn't really matter, people would stare at him anyway; a guy with long hair and designer shoes wasn't a common sight in the Midwest, especially not at a 7-Eleven.
With his head tucked between his shoulders, he stepped inside and only grunted in response to the overzealous clerk at the cash register's greeting and reminder that they would close in fifteen minutes. Who needed to have that reminded? Their opening hours were literally in the name; did anybody come to a 7-Eleven expecting them to be open till twelve?
Duo was standing in front of the refrigerators, trying to decide on a meal, when behind him the doors opened again and the clerk said: "Good evening. Please keep in mind that we close in… twelve minutes." She was nothing if not precise, he could appreciate that. He didn't know what he was expecting to see, but he turned his head to look over his shoulder and saw another uncommon sight in the Midwest: two guys in skinny-jeans walking into the store, holding hands.
And one of them was Heero Yuy.
He quickly turned back to face the glass doors of the refrigerator. Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck. With a racing heart he snuck another look and felt a surge of blood rushing to his ears and fingertips when he made eye contact with him.
Heero stopped dead in his tracks, unbeknownst to his companion who kept chatting and disappeared into one of the aisles.
There is no escaping it now, he thought to himself and he forced on a smile and bravely approached the brown-haired, blue-eyed, half Japanese man. "Hey," was all he could muster.
"Duo, hi," the other said and after a moment of hesitation he reached out a hand.
Duo awkwardly shook his hand when he was about to lean in for an even more uncomfortable hug. "What are the odds; you still live here?"
Heero's mouth tightened. "Yes. Still in the same old place, doing the same old thing."
"I didn't mean it in a bad way…"
"What are you doing back here?"
"Oh… just…" He made a dismissive gesture. He didn't want to tell Heero about his dad, the tension was readily apparent and they should keep the run-in as short and sweet as possible. "I live in LA now," he said, even though Heero never asked.
"I thought you had moved to Chicago."
He nodded and couldn't resist casting his gaze down at his shoes – it was less intimating than Heero's blue eyes, which were missing the sparkle that usually made them so tempting to stare into. Other than that, the man – he was thirty-now, if Duo's math didn't fail him – looked exactly like he did seven years ago: a pretty little face of sharp features, framed by wild, brown hair that fell over his intense, cobalt blue eyes.
"I did, yeah. But then New York… and Europe for a bit and now LA. I've lived there for three years now. I'm really starting to become 'one of the people' over there."
"You look like it." That steel blue gaze appraised him from top to bottom. "You're really tan and fit."
"Thanks." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "If it's a compliment."
"Why wouldn't it be?"
Well…
They were interrupted by the tall, blond man who had accompanied Heero into the store. "Babe, there you are. I was standing in front of the Slurpee machine talking to myself." He stood beside Heero and slipped an arm around his waist before even looking up and acknowledging Duo's presence. "Hey, dude. What's up?"
Another awkward handshake followed. "Hi, I'm Duo Maxwell. Now you have a face to put with the name."
"I'm Griff." He frowned at Duo. "I'm sorry, I don't think I've ever heard of you. Should Heero have mentioned you?"
Duo blinked and glanced at Heero before he faked a laugh. "Oh, no! I just thought-… Maybe he had said-… We knew each other… It was a long time ago."
"Oh, okay."
For seven years he had struggled with guilt knowing he had broken Heero's heart, thinking that he might have ruined his ex-boyfriend forever, but there he stood – looking good as ever – with a stunner of a new love at least half a decade younger than him, who had never even heard of Duo. Heero didn't even care enough to have mentioned him? It wasn't that Duo was so full of himself that he had expected Heero to still be pining after him, but he thought he had made some impact on his life worth mentioning at least…
"Wait," Griff broke the silence that was dragging on too long anyway. "Duo Maxwell?"
As inappropriate as it was, Duo's face lit up. Heero had mentioned him.
"Duo Maxwell!" He punched his shoulder excitedly. "From Maximize Games!"
"Ehh, yeah. That's me." He looked down at his shoes again.
"Oh man! What the fuck!" Griff had a goofy smile on his face and shared a look with Heero, who seemed clueless. "You are the shit!"
Duo smiled politely.
"I am legit addicted to Slay."
"Good luck with that," he bantered.
"I've been obsessed with it ever since my friend recommended it to me. He was like: 'This game is like Pokémon Go for the psychotic zombie lover' and I was like: 'I'm psychotic and I love all things zombie'!"
"I'm glad you like it."
"Dude, I am so excited about that new gameplay level coming out."
Duo shrugged. "Don't expect too much, it's just some minor additions to the existing Apocalypse level." He looked at Heero again; he couldn't believe he was seeing him again for the first time in seven years and he had to stand there talking about his fucking game with a fan.
The tension between them started to dawn on the "excitable" Griff and he wondered: "How do you guys know each other."
"We used to be friends," Heero supplied. "Come on, let's go. You get what we came for?" That was when Duo first looked down at what Griff was holding in the hand he had wrapped around Heero: a box of condoms. He felt his stomach turn.
Tall-and-leggy leaned down with a sloppy smirk and planted a kiss on Heero's lip. "Sure did." Heero gave a curt nod and goodbye before guiding his boyfriend to the cash registry. "See ya!" Griff said to the long haired man. "Keep up the good work."
Duo waved halfheartedly and stood nailed to the floor as he watched them pay for their condoms and leave.
"Sir? Sir?" The clerk called to get his attention.
"Hm. Yeah?"
She tapped her watch. "Five more minutes."
"Oh, right." He quickly grabbed a microwave meal – no longer picky about the choices since he had lost his appetite anyway – and a carton of milk and a box of sugar-y child's cereal for breakfast, too scatterbrained to remember the rest of his list.
On the way back to the house it started to rain again. It was only fitting, his life was like a fucking Lifetime movie; clichéd and melodramatic. He didn't turn on the radio, even though he couldn't stand the silence; the last thing he needed was an appropriately sad soundtrack to go with the moment.
Even though Heero and him ended it for all the right reasons, it had ended badly – messily – and it was a scar Duo always carried on his heart. Yet he cherished what they had shared; it had been real and special and, even seven years later, he still thought of Heero and consoled himself in lonely and quiet moments with happy memories. That was selfish, considering how everything had fallen apart, but it was a selfishness he couldn't shake. Heero had a great impact on his life; he gave him the courage to believe in himself, and he always supported his dreams, even when Duo only dared to whisper them to him softly in the dark as they lay in bed together.
Heero loved him in spite of every flaw and in spite of all of their differences. As the first person to make Duo feel loved and accepted, Duo owed him a lot, but one of his flaws was that he couldn't give Heero what he was owed. Their differences were an expanding rift between them and while Heero ceaselessly made a valiant effort to bridge the divide, Duo wasn't much of a builder – he simply didn't have the tools. Heero was on the other side of the growing, empty space that separated them, and Duo allowed the bridge to collapse. He couldn't keep loving him, knowing that it was always going to take such hard work: so many compromises, so many sacrifices, so many arguments… so many disappointments.
Duo always thought they broke up because all the little things added up to a huge distance between them. Duo was a spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment kind of guy, whereas Heero clung to schedules and planning. Duo enjoyed having cheap beers with friends at the local pub, while Heero's friends invited him to wine-tastings in the country. Duo was ambitious; Heero was too afraid of taking risks. Duo dreamt of traveling the world, but Heero never wanted to leave their hometown, where everything was safe and familiar. Duo liked action movies and EDM; Heero liked foreign films and classic music. Duo was a loudmouthed talker who wanted to fill every silence; Heero couldn't stand meaningless chitchat. The list went on and on, to the types of clothes they wore, the foods they liked, and the colors they were attracted to.
But over the years – partly thanks to his therapist, which was very LA – Duo learned that it wasn't the small things; the small things were not unsurmountable. And with regard to many of them he had changed; nowadays he could appreciate a good wine, a classic French film, and old songs.
What had been the end of them was one, big, disastrous difference:
Duo was afraid of commitment… Heero was afraid of being abandoned.
It was a vicious circle of Duo trying to pull back to give himself space to breathe, and Heero only latching onto him more tightly. It made Duo feel like he was suffocating all the more, and Heero more worried he was going to lose him. It wasn't working. Duo used the little things to validate his commitment issues; he tried to talk to Heero about the relationship and urged him that they should give in and just try to be friends, but Heero was unwilling to let go in the face of all the complications.
After a bad fight, four beers and three shots of tequila, Duo slept with someone else. He confessed his despicable actions to Heero as soon as he came home, and just like the American had engineered it, Heero ended the relationship then and there. Duo was free to leave his hometown and he left for Chicago the next day.
The thing was, he never felt free.
It was at around the five-year mark when Duo finally realized that he never desired to be free of Heero, he just needed to be free of his father and that meant leaving town. Heero – as the one thing keeping him there – became an anchor that he needed to get away from. It had nothing to do with the Japanese man, it did not reflect the love Duo once felt for him; it was a manifestation of something that wasn't Heero's fault, yet he was punished for it regardless.
He stopped the car in front of the house, but didn't get out of the seat. It was tempting to keep on driving and find a motel instead, so he wouldn't have to spend the night in the house where he had spent many nightmares. But his visit back home wasn't about running away, it was about facing the past and coming to terms with it.
Closure.
He got out of the truck, cradling the groceries in his arms and pushing the door shut with a pop of his hip. On his way up the stairs, he freed one hand, fished the key out of his pocket and let himself in.
No more running away, he decided. He knew that also meant he needed to have another talk with Heero – a real talk.
Duo spent the next morning in a meeting with a representative from the funeral home who was helping him plan the small service. At their request, he brought a suit from his father's closet for him to wear in the casket. Invitations had already been sent out to a handful of friends, neighbors and colleagues of his father. The funeral planner was very helpful and attentive in getting a head-start before Duo had even arrived. Knowing they were in a time crunch, she had purposefully limited the number of available selections to a handful of choices that she, as a professional, deemed appropriate for the occasion and she guided Duo through. The most difficult thing for Duo to decide was whether his father should be buried or cremated. The man must have thought himself immortal because even as he was getting up there in age, he had never recorded his wishes. The safest bet was a burial, since Duo's mother had also been buried, so he erred on the side of caution.
The funeral planner talked him through a short ceremony with a handful of standard sermons for the priest to perform and his father's lifelong colleague had already reached out to her expressing his wishes to say something at the funeral. Duo consented – someone had to stand up and say something about his father and he knew it wouldn't be him; he wouldn't have anything nice to say. She showed him a folder with photos of flower arrangements and he picked two tasteful options that weren't too expensive. She also gave him a CD to take home with songs that could be played at certain parts of the ceremony – most importantly, when the casket would be lowered into the ground – if he even wanted music. She kept reminding him that it was all up to him; he should do whatever made him comfortable and helped him grieve.
He listened to her soft, gentle tone of voice, and careful and considerate church of words, but he felt more and more detached from the reality of it all.
He flinched when she suddenly touched his arm.
"I'm sorry. Are you okay to go on? I know we don't have much time, but we can take a little break."
He shook his head. "No, I'm fine."
She smiled sympathetically and handed him a tissue.
He looked at it in shock; he hadn't even felt the tears running down his face until then. "Thank you," he croaked and used the tissue to dry his eyes and cheeks.
She had him sign some more papers and gave him more leaflets with information to think about, like the kind of hearse he wanted to take his father from the funeral home to the cemetery, two miles down the road. Then she asked: "Did you bring a suit?"
He blinked. He had flown out in such a hurry, after his therapist suggested it would be good for him, that he had neglected to pack a suit for the funeral. "Shit. No, I forgot."
"That's fine, you still have time. There is a good rental place on Goldman. If you'd prefer to buy a suit, I recommend Blackstone on Burrough Street. It's a very elegant menswear store and they do tailored suits as well. We have experience with them and we know they can get a suit ready for you overnight. They are a bit expensive though; I can look up the address, if you need."
Duo shook his head. "No, I know the place. Thank you."
She smiled. "I keep forgetting you probably know this town better than I do, having grown up here and all."
"Well, things change."
"Not this place."
That seemed to be true.
He had lunch downtown and used the time to clear his head, focusing on the music coming from his earphones as he made quick work of a club sandwich and an iced coffee. The Lunchroom was the same as he remembered; he had been a regular guest at the place. The only thing that had changed were the young waitresses. Even the menu – that exact club sandwich, in fact – had remained the same. He used to come to the Lunchroom all the time, nearly every day, for over a year to have lunch with his boyfriend Heero, who worked right across the street, at Blackstone.
"Still in the same old place, doing the same old thing," the Japanese man had said the night before. That must have meant he still worked at Blackstone. This didn't surprise Duo. He had always known that Heero was too good for this town – and too good to be working as a sales person at Blackstone, fancy and high-class as it may be – but Heero never accepted this truth for himself. Heero was highly intelligent and that intelligence could have taken him places if he had let it, but Heero couldn't let anything go. Not Duo, not this town, not his routine.
The Japanese man came from a wealthy family; as the only child, he was very beloved by both of his parents. That is, until he told them that he was gay. The Yuy's made an effort to convert their son but when they inevitably realized they couldn't, they told him he was no longer welcome at home. They stopped paying his college tuition and he was forced to drop out. His part-time job at Blackstone became his full-time means for survival. He lost is family, his security and his future. The only thing he had left were his friends – Duo being one of them at the time, and had been since they were sixteen years old – and he clung to them. Since then, trying anything new was a risk Heero couldn't afford; he became more and more rooted in that 'same old place', doing the 'same old thing'.
Heero might have only fallen in love with the long-haired American simply because he yearned to be loved in return, but that didn't mean his love wasn't real, nor that Duo was right not to cherish it.
Duo had his own problematic familial bond – obviously – and that was what connected them. He told Heero everything. His father never laid a hand on him, and he never actually beat him with the leather belt that he threatened him with; that was his father's idea of being a 'good parent' and showing 'self-restraint'. Instead, he'd lock Duo up in his room for hours, sometimes days; he'd miss meals and school. His father would grab him by his upper arm – so hard it left bruises and so often that they never had time to heal – and he'd drag him upstairs and physically throw him into his room. Once the door was shut and locked, his father would continue shouting at him and he'd kick and punch the door so hard that it rattled and Duo's books and CDs would wall off the shelf on the adjoining wall. That door got the beating his father wanted to give him.
Locking his son up in his room, venting his frustration on the solid wooden panel between them, and then leaving him for hours so he could cool down… That was the only way the man could stop himself from beating the life out of Duo. He had said so himself.
And there he was, back in his hometown for the father who never loved him, when he should have come back two years ago for the man who did love him, once upon a time.
He left money on the table, including a big tip, and crossed the street to Blackstone.
The store was narrow, but extended back a far way. The floors were a white, polished limestone and the walls were white as well, a blank canvas to highlight the expensive clothes. Casual clothes were in the front, suits and tuxedos were in the back. The personnel was dressed in all black. A tall, slender man, a couple of years Duo's senior, approached him with a long, supple gait and asked if he could help him.
"I'm here to get a suit."
The man nodded. "If you would, head towards the back of store, sir; my colleague will assist you."
Duo thanked him and headed further into the elongated space. The casual clothing section used to be Heero's section. Maybe he had the day off? He toyed with the idea of walking out, but reminded himself that he really did need a suit. He neared the far end, where hundreds of hangers with suits neatly lined the left wall, and dressing rooms with black velvet curtains – coming all the way down from the high ceiling – were to the right, with a little pedestal in front of them so clients could stand and have the tailor measure them.
Duo's pace slowed when he saw him, looking insufferably elegant in black slacks that fit him perfectly, and a black turtleneck. His hair was brushed out of his face, revealing the true, blue shade of his eyes as they caught the light. Heero stared intently at a grey wool coat he was holding by the hanger, smoothing over the shoulder with his free hand. Becoming aware of a client's presence he cocked his head and looked Duo's way. His eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened – he didn't even try to hide his displeasure. He put the coat back where it belonged and closed the distance between them.
"What are you doing here?" Heero demanded.
"I need a suit."
He quirked an eyebrow. "You don't even wear suits."
"I didn't. I do now. I just forgot to pack one," Duo explained.
"What's the occasion?" Heero snapped.
"A funeral," he answered point blank. Heero's stare was intimidating; Duo cast his gaze down at his shoes again and took a moment. When he looked up, he said with a softer tone: "My dad's funeral."
Heero's tense shoulders slumped as his anger deflated at hearing the news. "Duo… I'm sorry."
"Yup." He wrung his hands together. "That's why I'm back in town: to give the old man a proper send-off."
"I hadn't heard about his passing. I- I don't know what to say…" There wasn't anything left of his earlier hostility.
Duo smiled sadly. "That's okay. I don't know what to say about the whole thing either."
"How-… How are you handling it?"
"Pretty well, I guess. Staying at the house is a mind-fuck though," he tried to laugh it off. "There's a lot of stuff that I thought I had dealt with, but it turns out… some feelings never go away." They shared a meaningful look that had Duo's heart racing, but eventually both ended up looking away.
A silence settled between them until Heero finally said: "Well, we have a lot of black suits to choose from. What kind of style do you like?" He headed for a row of black jackets.
"Just something simple."
Heero looked him up and down to estimate his size and concluded: "You're probably a 34 waist and a 27 length." He promptly grabbed three different jackets that all looked the same to Duo, but Heero pointed out the collars and buttons were different. He grabbed matching pants and a black shirt and put the clothes on a hanger in one of the dressing rooms. "Go ahead and get changed; I'll find a good tie for you."
"Uhm, okay, thanks." Duo had intended to talk to Heero but the other seemed keen on limiting the conversation to strictly business. He undressed, stepped into the trousers, put on the shirt and picked a jacket at random. When he came out of the dressing room, Heero was waiting for him with three different, black ties draped over his arm.
"That's a good start," the Japanese man said as he appraised the suit on Duo's frame. "It hits the body at a good length but the sleeves are a little long for you. The shoulders are a tad wide too but I think an 18 and a half would be too small. We should have it altered."
Duo looked at himself in the mirror. He owned a couple of suits, for special occasions, but regardless he had no intention of ever wearing this funeral suit again. "I think it looks pretty good. I really don't need to have it tailored."
"Duo, that's a three-thousand-dollar suit. You might as well have it tailored for two-hundred extra. Which one of these ties do you like? Did you bring shoes?"
Duo grinned, in spite of everything. "You're a good sales guy."
"I've been doing it long enough, haven't I?"
"I didn't mean it like that…" He looked at the ties that Heero held out for him, all three black but two had grey and silver detailing: one striped and one with a subtle paisley pattern. He pointed at the striped one. "I like that one." He accepted it as Heero handed it out to him and tied it around his neck, effortlessly making the perfect knot. In the reflection of the mirror he noticed the other staring at him and he shot back jokingly: "I've done this often enough."
"I was just thinking: you look very different."
"Really?" Duo looked at himself in the mirror again. "Hm. Maybe."
"Your hair is certainly longer. Last time I saw it, it was this tiny little ponytail."
Duo chuckled and pulled the rope of hair over his shoulder; he stroked down the length to the feathered end. "Yeah, I haven't had it cut since I left. It's become a reminder of how far in the past some things are now. Sometimes I need to be reminded of that." He turned and observed his ex-boyfriend. "You are exactly the same as I remember."
Heero's mouth tightened again in that tell-tale way. "I'm not." He averted his eyes and put aside the remaining two ties he had been holding. Without looking at Duo, he announced that he was going to get the tailor to have Duo measured for the alterations, then he promptly walked away.
Duo stood there restlessly drumming his fingers against his outer thighs, feeling the fine material of the pants. He turned his head and observed his reflection. Black clothes were an everyday choice for him, yet this was different; this was black with a meaning, but what it all meant exactly eluded him. Yes, it was funeral-black, but how was he supposed to feel? And was it normal that, at a time like this, he fretted more about an old ex-boyfriend than the death of his father? The suit spoke to him in a foreign language, trying to explain the situation to him, the reality of it, the finality of it, but he didn't understand.
Suddenly a caricature of a tailor appeared before him: a short, older man with a big, grey moustache and a tape-measure draped around his neck. He motioned for Duo to step onto the pedestal and started to assess the fit of the suit.
Heero stood by idly and occasionally pointed things out to him – "the shoulders", "a more modern fit in the waist" – and in the meantime the tailor silently nodded and pricked pins into the suit, being careful not to prick the tall man's skin.
Feeling awkward standing there like a mute mannequin, Duo started: "So, Griff seems like a great guy." The remark caught Heero off guard and Duo hurried to explain that he was merely trying to start up a friendly conversation to fill the silence.
The Japanese man obliged him, probably solely because he pitied him, considering the situation he was in. "We have a lot of fun together," he responded after a thoughtful delay.
Duo immediately regretted bringing up Heero's new boyfriend. He shouldn't be jealous after all these years, but he was. A visual of Griff holding a box of condoms with his arm possessively wrapped around Heero plagued him. He remembered making love to Heero, how special and passionate it was. He didn't like thinking about Heero sharing that with someone else, even though he no longer had a claim to him.
"He wouldn't shut up about you," Heero continued. "Apparently you're a pretty big deal."
Duo chuckled sheepishly, grateful to be pulled from his musings.
"You did it. You made your dreams come true." There was something decidedly wistful about Heero's tone. "You traveled, you moved to a big city, you created a game with your own company. You have it all."
"Not all," The American corrected and looked at him meaningfully.
"Tell me about the game," Heero said, obviously changing the subject. "Griff tried to explain it to me, but he was bouncing off the walls and wasn't making much sense."
"Do you really want to know?" he countered. "You never used to care about video games."
"There's a couple I like. That's actually how I met Griff; we both reached for the last copy of an old war strategy game at a store, and he offered to play it together."
The American raised his eyebrows. Heero used to think video games were just childish escapism. Duo tried and failed many times to get him hooked on the same first-person-shooters that he enjoyed playing in his spare time. "Well… it's not really that complicated. It's just an enhanced-reality gaming-app for your phone. It puts zombies in your own neighborhood and you have to kill them, or run from them.
"There's two levels: Safe Zone and Apocalypse. In Safe Zone, the game picks a 'safe zone' – a public building or park – within a certain distance and your objective is to get to that safe zone without getting eaten, basically. Based on the difficulty level that the player selects, you either get a lot of weapons to defend yourself, or just a knife and you find stuff along the way."
The game was easy to talk about, it felt safe and Heero really seemed to be listening, so he rambled on: "And in the other setting, Apocalypse, there is no safe place; instead the objective is to go out and find supplies: weapons, food, and the antidote that can cure a bite if treated quickly. Players can choose for themselves if they want to play alone, or if they want an interactive setting in which case the app recognizes other players nearby who are either going to be your ally, who you can barter with, or an enemy who you have to fight with or run from. There's a lot of settings that the player can change, like how difficult the zombies are to kill. That's probably the strength of the game. Anyway, it came out three months after Pokémon Go, so everyone is calling it 'Zombie Go', but the game has been in the works for the past two years."
"You must be really proud of yourself," Heero said, without malice.
Duo shrugged but was immediately reprimanded by the tailor who spoke for the first time and urged him to stand still. "I haven't really stopped to smell the roses yet." He added with a grin: "But the money is good."
A smile appeared on Heero's lips. "I bet it is. If Griff's reaction is anything to go by, you're basically a rock star."
"Hm… I'm not so sure about that, but I like the sound of it." He chewed on the inside of his cheek and then boldly asked: "How long have you been seeing him?"
"On and off for about a year. More on than off I guess." Heero made a dismissive gesture.
"Oh…" Duo didn't know what else to say. He decided to bring up the issue that had been plaguing him. "Maybe it's my ego talking but… I was a little surprised that you never mentioned me – mentioned us – to him."
Heero stiffened. "Should I have? Do you tell all your boyfriends about me?"
"The serious ones, yeah." He shrugged again and received an angry glare from the tailor.
"What do you tell them?"
"I tell them I've made mistakes," he replied. "I tell them-… I tell them I pushed you away when I should have never let you go." With a sheepish chuckle he added: "They never really like hearing that kind of stuff."
Heero pursed his lips and looked away, unable to keep looking Duo in the eyes. He pulled in his bottom lip with his teeth, but released it as soon as he realized what he was doing.
Thankfully the tailor was done and he left them in private, his loafers making no sound on the limestone floor.
Duo waited for him to disappear through a door in the back and for them to be completely alone. "Why didn't you tell him about me? Didn't I matter to you?"
"Of course you mattered…"
"Then why-"
The steel blue gaze focused on him again, cold and unnerving and it effectively silenced him. "I didn't tell him because I don't tell Griff about anything that matters. We have sex and talk about games, movies and the weather – that's it."
Duo frowned. "Why?"
Heero unfolded his arms and let his hands drop down. "Because that's all I can give him."
"I- I don't understand."
He chuckled bitterly. "I just don't fall in love the way I used to."
"But why are you with him if you're not in love with him?"
He stared at him with empty blue eyes. "Because I still fear loneliness more than anything. I keep him right where I like him, at arm's length: close enough to have someone, but not too close."
Duo's heart clenched for him, feeling terribly sorry and wondering if it was all his doing.
As if Heero read his mind, he said: "Don't flatter yourself, it's not just about you. It's been many boyfriends over many years who couldn't give me what I needed back then."
A pregnant silence extended between them. In spite of what the other had said, Duo couldn't help but feel responsible for Heero's bleak approach to his relationships. He believed that there were others who broke his heart, but Duo had been the first and he worried he had set him on a wrong path. An apology stuck in his throat; any kind of "I'm sorry" felt too flimsy to amend his wrongdoing.
"Shall I help you out of your jacket?" Heero offered, also looking for anything to say.
Duo nodded.
The Japanese man walked around him and instructed him to hold his arms back slightly. Hands gripped the jacket at the collar at his neck and slipped the jacket past his shoulders and down his arms. "I trust you can get out of the pants on your own."
Duo chuckled, grateful for the small joke. "Yeah." He stepped into the dressing room and changed back into his own clothes. When he was done he handed the pants, the tie and the shirt to Heero. "You can have it done in time, right?"
"When is the funeral?"
Duo swallowed, that word had a strange effect on him. "Thursday. At four."
Heero arranged the suit on a hanger, taking care not to displace the pins. "The suit will be ready by the end of the day tomorrow. You can come pick it up at five. If we finish sooner, you'll get a call."
"You know my number?" He asked dumbly.
Heero smiled. "We have a card for you to fill out, with your information."
"Oh, right! Yeah, that makes sense." He scratched the back of his neck. The thought popped into his head that he should invite Heero to come to the funeral, but he figured the day would be stressful enough without worrying about whether he would show up or not, whether he would bring Griff or not, what to say or how to act around him, and what that all meant. He decided not to risk the added discomfort.
Heero left the suit on a hanger in the back of the store and then walked him to the front, to the cash register. He handed Duo a form to fill out; Duo gave him his credit card.
"It's 3,759 dollars," he informed after he added up the costs.
Cheekily Duo shot back: "Don't I get a discount or something?"
A smile tugged at Heero's lips. "This is the discounted price. I gave you the tie for half-off."
"Jesus, how much was that tie?"
"Two-sixty."
"Wow."
"You said the money was good," Heero teased.
Duo smirked and nodded before continuing to fill out the form. "It is good… You work on commission?"
"Hmhm."
He let out a breathy laugh. He pushed the filled out form across the counter and Heero slid his credit card back to him.
"Thank you for shopping at Blackstone," he quipped.
In a moment of uncontrolled emotions, Duo reached out and grabbed Heero's hand on top of the white counter. His mouth opened and he was going to say something, but not a single sound tumbled past his lips. His thoughts were too confusing to make any sense of and speak aloud. Why did he come here? To make amends? To be friends? To be more than friends? And then what? Leave him alone again?
For better or for worse, Heero had found a way to move on and to leave their failed relationship in the past; Duo had done the same. He could have come back two years ago, when he realized there had been something special between them that he had shut himself off from, but he didn't come back. It would have been selfish. For that same reason, he let go of Heero's hand and busied himself putting his credit card back into his wallet. All the while he could feel the man's gaze on him, still waiting for him to say something, as confused by old feelings as Duo was.
All Duo ended up saying, without even looking up at him, was: "I'm sorry."
"I don't need you to apologize, Duo."
He nodded. "But I needed to say it. So… thank you, for giving me a chance to say it."
After a pause Heero simply reminded him: "You can come pick up the suit tomorrow at five." His tone was different. The intensity in his eyes was different too. For a brief moment, he reminded Duo of that young man he used to be, seven years ago.
"Will you be here?"
He shook his head. "Wednesdays and Sundays are my days off."
"Oh. Okay." He rapped his knuckles on the counter. It was time to leave, but he didn't want to. "Enjoy your day off."
"Thank you."
Duo felt rooted in his spot but he pulled his feet loose and walked away, each step a struggle. He walked away from Heero once before and it had been easy because he thought it was exactly what he needed, but he knew better now and it was difficult, the way it should have been that first time.
Outside it was raining again but he didn't quicken his step on the way to the truck parked down the block.
Closure, he repeated the word to himself again as he climbed behind the wheel. Casual friends from LA threw that word around quite often; they made it sound like something people needed, something that helped you move on with your life, something that made saying goodbye easier. So far he wasn't impressed with the concept. 'Closure' wasn't to absolve or be absolved, it was the end of hope. No more hope that he could ever look his father in the eyes and forgive him. No more hope that Heero and him could have a second chance. Maybe believing in a fantasy was unhealthy, but the thought of living another seven years like the past seven years, without that small, distant, delusional hope, felt like an uphill battle and already exhausted him.
"My therapist is going to get rich off my fucking troubles."
Duo put in the CD that the funeral planner had given him with instrumental music to choose from for the ceremony. It was a mix of heart wrenching violins and peaceful piano notes. He memorized the numbers of the tracks that least made him think of dramatic climax scenes in movies that had the audience weeping. His heart may be hopeless, but the music shouldn't be; it wasn't going to be that kind of a funeral. He couldn't stand there and watch the casket being lowered into the ground, listening to the wailing of violins and think about the Titanic sinking. He couldn't pretend to be the loving, grief-stricken son.
Sitting in the car in front of the house, he typed up an email to the funeral planner on his phone, listing the music selections and urging her to make any remaining decisions herself; whatever she deemed right, he would be okay with. He didn't care about possibly being judged for the impersonal approach. None of this was really helping him 'work through the loss' anyway, the way she had said it would help. It was just meaningless peripheral nonsense. How were flower-arrangements and the kind of spread at the buffet at the wake supposed to help him deal with death?
Thoughtlessly he opened the Slay-app on his phone. The GPS took a moment to find him and then the map loaded. The phone produced an eerie, wheezing sound as an alert that sounded whenever there was a zombie near. He stared at the screen; there was a zombie directly next to him, in the house. He quickly exited the game. There were many undead things in that house – undead fear, undead loathing, undead questions – a zombie was the least of his problems.
The next day went by in a haze. Duo had another meeting with the funeral planner and saw his father's remains, dressed in the suit he had picked out for him, in his open casket in a chilled room of the funeral home. After giving him a moment, which he used to stare at the wallpaper, rather than look at his father – the wax-figure that was supposed to be him, but wasn't really, because his father had never looked that peaceful – the planner returned. She closed the casket and he shrugged at a few more questions she had regarding his wishes for the funeral. She finally fully understood that her attempts to keep him involved wasn't really helping him process the grief, so she sent him off promising she would "take care of everything". He knew his lack of personal involvement would add to the costs, but money wasn't an issue anymore.
In the afternoon he met with a realtor at the house, who advised him on making a few necessary changes – like finishing the renovation of the kitchen and fixing that one bedroom door and window – before putting the house on the market. He could leave town, Duo didn't need to stick around for any of it; again, he could simply pay people to take care of it.
Finally, he picked up the suit at Blackstone. The clerk suggested another fitting so they could make minor adjustments if need be, but Duo wasn't interested. When he returned to the house, he ordered in dinner and went to bed early.
He put on the suit in the early morning, immediately after waking up and rolling off the couch. He didn't need to be at the cemetery until 3 pm, but he figured it would be good to get used to the suit and get comfortable. It was a black suit like any other and when he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, he knew he didn't look any different than how he did wearing any other black suit. Still, he felt different and it was a feeling he couldn't shake, even as he proceeded to have breakfast and complete mundane chores in the expensive attire.
It was a clear day. A beautiful day, even. And why shouldn't it be? The trees that dotted the green grounds of the cemetery carried leaves of bright reds, oranges and yellow, and as the wind shook the branches, some leaves fell in a whimsical, tumbling dance before landing softly in the grass or on headstones.
His father's headstone was simple. The simplicity of it and Duo throwing enough money at it meant that it was done in time. The grey block of stone with nothing but a name and two dates stood firmly in front of the black dirt hole in the ground, over which the classic oak casket hovered. Dozens of white chairs faced the priest standing at the headstone, but only a handful of people had come to attend the ceremony. The empty white chairs gave Duo a twisted sense of victory; at least he wasn't the only one who didn't care – who wouldn't miss this man.
The priest spoke kind words, none of which Duke Maxwell deserved to have said about him. Duo tuned him out and stared at the arrangement of roses. His mother had grown and tended to rose bushes in their back yard – it was his only lasting memory of her, sitting on her knees in the garden, tucking strands of amber hair behind her ear, wearing a polka-dotted gardening glove. The roses were an extension of her: beautiful, colorful, delicate… until they withered. When his mother passed, his father was quick to grab a shovel from the shed and he dug up all the rose bushes, ignoring the promising buds. He trashed them and paved the entire backyard.
Maybe Duo should have had an opinion about the arrangement of flowers on the casket, since his father didn't deserve beautiful roses. It was too late for petty thoughts of the kind to have any effect though, so he forced the thought from his mind.
After his father's colleague had come up to give a small speech about Duke being a hardworking man who saved him from falling machinery one time, the priest wondered routinely: "Would Duke's son, Duo, like to step forward and say something in remembrance of his father?"
Duo stiffened. The priest had made a mistake by inviting him up to speak. The funeral planner, who was politely seated in the back row of chairs, swiftly but calmly got up and walked to the front to quietly inform the priest that that was not part of the ceremony. But as she whispered to him, Duo shot up and blurted: "I would like to say something."
She looked at him quizzically but didn't make a big deal about it. Both her and the priest stepped aside.
Duo went to stand by the casket and took a moment to straighten his suit and smooth over the half-off tie. When he looked up from his shoes his breath caught in his throat.
A few feet behind the last row of empty chairs stood Heero. It was apparent he had come straight from work; his 'uniform' of a black turtleneck and black slacks were perfectly appropriate for the funeral. He stood with his hands solemnly folded in front of him and with a soft expression as he stared straight back at Duo.
"I…" Duo didn't know what he was going to say to begin with, but the shock of seeing Heero further threw him off and made it challenging to speak. But he was glad that Heero was there, showing a kind of sympathy and support that Duo didn't deserve.
He averted his gaze to the other guests: two neighbors, his father's co-worker and his wife, and their old family doctor and his son who had taken over the practice, last Duo had heard. None of them dared to make eye-contact with Duo, like no one ever dared to look at him. They all knew what his father was and how he had treated his own son. They had come to the funeral out of a sense of duty, but faced with Duo, they were all ashamed. His father had no real friends or family left, he had pushed them all away.
He looked at Heero again.
"Thank you for being here today," was all he ended up saying and he hoped Heero understood he was speaking to him only. Without warning Duo burst into tears. The tears were not for his father; he didn't deserve them, like he didn't deserve the roses, and didn't deserve to have anyone attend his funeral to pay their respects. His father deserved no love because he never loved anyone back.
Duo realized that he didn't deserve it either; his entire journey through life was him running away and leaving behind wronged friends and lovers, all the while feeling too sorry for himself to care. He hurt so many people and abandoned them when they needed him because he felt scared, because he felt like he couldn't breathe, like when his father would lock him in his room and the walls would close in on him.
He had hurt Heero most of all… made him false promises and betrayed his trust in the worst way possible… yet he was standing right there in solidarity.
As it was apparent he couldn't say anymore as he was overwhelmed with sobs, the funeral planner approached him and with an arm around his shoulders, she gently guided him back to his seat and sat down next to him, offering him a tissue before she gestured for the priest to finish the ceremony.
Once the priest had finished his speech and the casket had been lowered into the ground, the guests were invited to come into the reception hall for coffee and food, but all of them got up and left right away. When Duo found the strength to get up from his seat he turned around and noticed with an empty heart that Heero was nowhere to be seen. His heart ached.
The kind funeral planner took him to the reception, poured him coffee and handed him a plate with a slice of cake and some fresh fruit. "Here," she said, "some caffeine and sugar will be good for you."
She kept him company as he sipped his coffee and ate a few bites of the vanilla and chocolate marbled cake, in a thoughtless, tired trance. He expected her to ask questions – why so few people showed up, or why he suddenly became such an emotional mess – but she only asked one thing: "Are you okay to drive?"
He blinked and looked up at her. "Yeah, I'm fine. I don't know why I got like that."
She checked her watch and looked around the room. "I guess I should go tell the staff they can start cleaning up." He nodded and watched her walk away. After a few more minutes he went back to his car and drove to the house. He had a pre-booked plane ticket back home for later that night but leaving didn't feel right.
Duo stopped the car in front of the house and stared in awe at the figure seated on the front steps leading up to the door.
Heero looked up and pocketed his phone.
The American took a deep breath and got out of the car. He shut the door and leaned back against it, but then decided he wanted to be closer to the other man, so he stepped forward and took a seat next to him, gauging his reaction to estimate how close would be too close. He felt a pleasant tingle being allowed to sit shoulder to shoulder with his former lover.
Heero started: "I wasn't sure if you wanted me at the funeral or not. So I left early…"
"I'm really happy that you came," Duo was quick to say, "But I'm even happier that you are here now."
"How are you feeling?" he asked tentatively.
Duo leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "I don't know."
"You were pretty upset before."
"That wasn't really about him." He looked at him meaningfully. "It was about you."
Heero furrowed his brow. "I don't understand…"
"I got hit with this weird mixture of feeling so lucky to have you part of my life, and at the same time intense grief that you are not 'part of my life', in that way. All because I fucked up."
Heero shook his head and looked across the street. "We had a lot of good reasons for breaking up, Duo. You tried to tell me that it wasn't working; it was my fault for not listening."
"It wasn't your fault… Being hopeful, committed and ready is not a fault. What I did-" He clenched his jaw and squeezed his hands into white-knuckled fists. "I realized, today, in that moment, that I am more like my father than I wish I was. He could have had so much love in his life, but he chased it all away… and so did I."
The other sighed and said morosely: "We're all screwed-up one way or another. He screwed you up."
"I was wondering if it's too late now to change… Now that he is dead?" He watched his own hands go limp and dangle down from the wrist as he felt powerless.
Heero regarded him with a frown. "What do you mean?"
He considered not answering, because his answer shamed him, but if he wanted to stop running away, he had to face the truth. "I always thought I'd get a call one day, or maybe in the middle of the night and it would be him," he started. "He would admit to everything he had done wrong and he'd apologize and explain that he just didn't know any better, that the death of my mom hit him too hard to handle, or any explanation that would make me understand and make me forgive him…" Duo chuckled bitterly at the naïve sentiment that he had cherished. "In spite of all the time and all the therapy, I still believed that call would come and that – just like he broke me – he would finally fix me. But, instead, the call I got was: 'he's dying' and then two days later the call: 'he's dead'. I buried my father without being able to forgive him, without any answers, with nothing to fix what was broken. I wasn't expecting that."
Duo paused for a moment and took a deep breath before turning to face Heero. Even after everything that had happened between them, it was still so easy to open up to Heero. Before they were lovers, they were best friends for years and told each other everything. They were different people now, but Duo felt there was still a connection between them.
The half Asian man stared straight ahead and wrung his hands together. Eventually he dropped his head down, letting his bangs fall over his face as he said: "He was never going to make that call anyway."
A cold shiver ran down Duo's spine at having the truth said aloud.
"There would have never been apologies, or explanations," Heero continued and finally he looked up at Duo. "It was always going to be up to you to pick up the pieces yourself. It is still up to you. And that's not a bad thing," he insisted. "He has no control over you, you are in control. That's not a bad thing."
Duo's mouth went dry and he simply nodded.
"At one time, I waited for a call too," Heero confessed and a sad smile appeared on his lips. "I waited for apologies and explanations. But you never called."
Duo bowed his head sorrowfully.
"There was nothing you could have said to erase the pain," Heero said, his tone, surprisingly, without any hint of malice. "Realizing that was good for me, I stopped waiting and started saving myself."
He hesitated to speak, but did so anyway. "But-…" He took a moment to organize his thoughts, "the things you said the day before yesterday don't make it sound like you are doing that well. The thing about keeping Griff at arm's length?"
Heero chuckled bitterly. "Well, I didn't say I was done, right? It's a work in progress. But I'm better now than the day after you left and it's better every day. It was difficult seeing you again for the first time in so many years, but it was good too." His smile turned genuine and hopeful, the way Duo remembered it from years before and it warmed his heart. "You're a work in progress too. You may not see it but you have come a long way." He reached behind him and lightly stroked his fingers down the length of Duo's braid. "You don't need your father to fix you, you are fixing yourself. It's never too late to change."
Duo smiled back at him and leaned in a little closer. "Thank you," he whispered.
He grinned sheepishly. "You're welcome."
"I don't understand why you're being so nice to me."
Heero's smile faltered. He looked at Duo with serious, honest eyes. "I still care about you. I always will. Some things never change, and they don't need to."
Overwhelmed by a surge of hopeful emotions, Duo closed the last remaining distance between them and connected their lips in a soft kiss. He was thrilled when Heero responded, moving his lips against his, but after only a second or two the other man flinched and pulled away.
Duo was quick to apologize. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. You're with Griff." He shook his head at himself and buried his face in his hands. What am I doing?
"It's not that," Heero said. "I broke up with him."
Duo dropped his hands and blinked at him. His heart was thundering. "When? Why?"
"Yesterday," he answered the first question effortlessly, but then he struggled to explain the why. "Because I-… He's been my crutch and that's not good for me, and not fair to him. I saw you and I remembered how it was between us: the sparks, the passion, even when we would fight. I want to try to have something like that again, but I knew I couldn't have it with Griff."
"Heero…" he breathed and reached out to put his hands on Heero's leg, squeezing him. "I want to try as well. I've never stopped loving you." Heero bit his lip and looked away, giving himself a moment to compose himself as it was evident tears were welling up in his eyes. Duo's heart clenched. "But… you can't have it with me either?" he managed to ask.
"The thing is, I don't know if I can have that with anyone. I've been hurt so many times. You were the first, you were the worst, but you weren't the only one," Heero explained miserably. "I used to fall in love so easily and I gave away a piece of my heart to every guy I was with. They all broke that piece and took it with them when they left." He took a deep breath. "Nowadays I feel like I've given away so much and I only have a tiny heart left; there's nothing left to give. I'm not even sure if there is enough room left to let anyone in. Maybe it has gotten too small and I'm just no longer capable of wholly loving someone." He cast a shameful gaze towards Duo.
Before saying anything he pulled Heero into his arms for a tight embrace; he felt the other tremble. "You are an amazing, generous and kind person," Duo whispered in his ear. "Anything you can give me, I'd be lucky to have. In these past few days you've given me so much already." He pulled back and cupped Heero's face in his hands. "We have both changed and we will continue to change. I feel like we've come closer together and will only grow closer still. And when you're ready to let me in, I'll fit inside your little heart."
A bright smile appeared on Heero's lips.
"Snug as a bug in a rug," Duo joked lightheartedly.
"This is probably the unhealthiest way to start a relationship, your father having just died and me having broken up with my boyfriend yesterday," Heero pointed out. "And maybe there is too much history between us, working against us."
"I think my therapist would agree with you."
Heero snorted. "Wow, 'your therapist'. That's so LA."
Duo chuckled at the joke.
They sat side by side in quiet for a minute, each lost in their own thoughts. There were no promises to make, there was nothing they could say that they knew would be true no matter what. All Duo knew was that he loved Heero and that Heero – in spite of everything – still loved him back. But just like there had been 'good reasons' for them to break up seven years ago, there were an equal amount of 'good reasons' to not get back together. There were still marked differences between them: Heero was still bound to their little hometown, the timing was all wrong… but none of these 'good reasons' were good enough to convince Duo that his feelings were wrong and would only lead them astray.
"When are you leaving?" Heero asked.
Duo thought of the plane ticket in the pocket of his denim jacket, hanging over the arm rest of the couch in the living room. "I don't know."
"Maybe that's something you need to figure out first. There are more things we should both figure out first."
"What about figuring it out together?"
Heero smiled at his hopeful tone. "Let's take it slow. This little heart can't afford to make any more mistakes. I'm going to be honest, Duo, you are probably the worst person to try to be close to again; I don't know if I can trust you."
Duo swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded slowly in response.
"I should probably go home." He added: "For now."
"Okay. Okay, yeah. I guess that's the wiser thing to do." Duo nodded continuously as he spoke, trying to convince himself that the wise thing to do was also the right thing to do, and trying to ignore that letting Heero walk away would feel like a goodbye.
They shared a bittersweet smile; Heero was about to get up from the steps when he froze at the sound of an eerie, wheezing breath. Duo recognized the sound instantly – he had heard it often enough – but he knew he had switched off the gaming app yesterday and hadn't opened it since. With wide eyes he watched Heero make an embarrassed face before the half-Asian man produced his own phone from his pocket and unlocked it just in time to hear the scream as his character died since he was too late to escape from or fend off the attacking zombie.
"You have my game?" Duo couldn't hide how stunned he was.
"I was curious," was the sheepish response.
Duo grinned; Heero had told him at the store that he liked playing video games nowadays, but it was so difficult to believe that he rejected it as truth. He had misjudged him. "Do you like it?"
"I do but…" Heero scrunched up his face. "I've died like six times in the past two days. I can't figure out how to adjust the difficulty level."
"It's in the main menu," he defended his game petulantly.
"I know, but it doesn't seem to be working."
"Oh, shit." He scratched the back of his head. "That's a glitch; I thought we had fixed that, but it seems it still pops up from time to time. You have to create a new account to get rid of it."
"Oh." Heero stared at his phone that still showed the zombie feasting on his avatar, accompanied by bone-crunching sounds. "And what are those blue circles that you come across sometimes?"
Duo smiled and leaned in a little closer. "Those are Scent Neutral Zones. If you step into that circle the zombies can't smell you; that's the only way you can escape the herds."
Heero nodded and stared at the phone's screen, his expression lost and hesitant. "I should go," he said again, but it didn't seem like that was what he really wanted to say. He got up from the steps.
"Or we could play the game for a little bit?" Duo suggested, acting on gut instinct. Maybe they didn't need time to think; maybe they just needed to feel and they needed to feel the moment. "See if we can make it to a Safe Zone?" The double entendre wasn't lost on him and he hoped Heero understood it as well.
The other fidgeted with his phone in his hand for a moment.
Duo felt his heart beat nervously and erratically in his chest, like he did the very first time he asked Heero out on a date, when they were both much younger and both far more naïve. He wasn't naïve anymore, he knew it might not work, but unlike last time, he was willing to work for it; he wasn't going to give up, he wasn't going to run away anymore.
Heero looked down at him and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, okay."
Duo shot up, his grin reaching from one ear to the other. He produced his phone from his pocket and opened the app. When they were first together, Heero thought games were childish and a waste of time, and he was always embarrassed to admit to his other friends that Duo was such an avid gamer. It was one of many things that had caused a rift between them. But it was apparent that Heero wasn't embarrassed anymore as they walked down the street, shoulder-to-shoulder, with their phones out in front of them.
Duo wasn't naïve anymore, but he still allowed himself to be hopeful. They had barely walked a hundred yards – hadn't even reached the end of the street yet – when Duo switched his phone from his right hand to his left and casually took hold of Heero's hand swinging between them. Without even looking at him sideways he entwined their fingers. The tingle that ran up his arm and down his spine was enough, just like Heero's little heart would be enough. They tightened their hold on each other and kept walking.
Heero never pulled away.
And Duo never let go.
A happy ending again :) A happy ending seems like the right thing for a day like today. I can't believe it's been fifteen years since this day became this day.