Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or any of its characters or affiliates.
Author's Note: Ha! I've got a supreme project in the making. It's only relevant to Sukisho fans, though. At any rate, I got inspired to write this little story. It's another one of those Gundam Wing stories of pure blah-ness. I adore the show, but I can't ever seem to write a good, meaty piece. Ah well. I hope you guys enjoy this! Happy Readings!
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After
By: Obsidian Sphinx
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I stare at him, and he stares at me. Perhaps we're both just realizing the gravity of what just happened. At least, if he doesn't, I do. Regardless, any minute now I expect to be severely dead. And yes, there are different levels of deadness; severely dead being right under ridiculously dead and above quite dead. As I said, I expect to be severely dead. Self-preservation is starting to become a growing mantra in my mind, but for the life of me I can't think of a way to do it, so I try for a cop out.
"Uh, sorry," I say lamely.
He doesn't even blink. I try not to as well, but the match goes to him; I suck at staring contests. Of course, I'm out of my league. He could probably win against a brick wall. I sigh and lapse into my nervous habit where I rub the back of my neck and sort of grimace. I think I must look like one of those pokey mechanics you see in sitcoms, but I'm not too concerned that he'll see the resemblance. He doesn't watch anything on television but the news as far as I know.
This silence is starting to eat at me. I want to leave; just turn around and stroll casually out of the room like nothing happened and everything is the same as it was when I showed up half an hour ago. I don't like to think that he'd stoop to shooting a guy in the back, but then I do a lot of things I don't like. Let it be known that assassins will shoot people in the back, and I know he isn't the exception.
The only thing that might stop him from shooting me from behind is if he thinks he can kill me better later; later when I'm least expecting it. It's psychological warfare. He'll get me when I'm doing something mundane like ironing my underwear. Real men iron their underwear, but the rest of the world doesn't know that, so I'd die looking like a real weirdo. A double whammy; for such a stoic guy, that would be very creative.
That whole self-preservation thing is starting to get louder which makes me think my instincts are trying to tell me that danger approacheth. I don't panic exactly because panic is one of those things that trained terrorists shouldn't do, but I do get a little antsy, and I can tell what's coming.
"Listen, Heero, I didn't mean to . . . ya know, kiss you like that. It was just an impulse, and I'm impulsive by nature. That's not an excuse, I get that, we're both adults, or at least pretty close, so I think we can probably work past this. Look! Look. I tell you what. You stay right there and keep doing that statue impression, and I'll back out of the room and go back upstairs, and by the time 'Fei has dinner ready everything will be back to normal, right? Right. Great, so here I go . . . backing out of the room. Yup, that's right you just keep doing what you're doing, ya know . . . nothing, and it'll be like this never happened."
I ramble when I'm antsy, and I'm an idiot when I ramble. I can't believe I'm actually backing out of the room like I'm trying to keep from provoking a bear. Damn it, at this point I'd take the bear; I'd run up and hug the bear and give him giant sloppy kisses. I want to groan. Kisses are what got me into this situation in the first place. I guess somewhere deep down inside I've got a massive death wish. It must have surfaced conveniently when Heero and I were actually having a semi-good, semi-normal, only-somewhat (which is better than usual) one-sided conversation. Something took over and I just reacted; I smooched him right on the lips. He froze; I froze. He stood up rigid; I stumbled up shocked. The glare he started out giving me made me think that those freshly ironed pairs of underwear would come in handy.
I think at some point his glower lessened until he was essentially just staring at me, and that's when I started my rambling retreat. I'm almost out of the room when he reacts, and I stop out of pure surprise.
"Don't . . . do that again," he says quietly.
I just blink, and my jaw flops open.
"O-okay," I reply.
Now we're back to the staring at each other thing again. I can't help but think that he really is going to psyche me out and kill me later. Why am I not severely dead right now?
"Not until after," he adds suddenly, and it's so soft I have to strain to hear.
Did he just imply what I think he might have implied? My eyes must be round as saucers.
"Sure . . . I mean, yeah," I stutter.
He stares at me again, just for good measure, and then turns his back to me and leaves through the kitchen. My whole body relaxes, and I lean against the wall, numb. Holy crap. Holy shit. Holy hell! Holy hell? That's kind of an oxymoron.
I can't help but grin and brush my fingers across my own lips.
Yeah, I think. But after.
-Owari