Midnight
By Mandelarae
Disclaimer: Me no own Gundam Wing, so you no sue, hokay? ^_~ (God, I LOVE that emoticon!)
The cramped, one-person bed that contained two sleeping figures was bathed in shadows.
One figure was totally restless, squirming and repeatedly changing positions.
His mate, on the other hand, was as rigid as a board. She found the motion of the man discomforting and annoying. She was already holding onto the underside of the bed to keep from falling off.
"Stop tossing and turning!" she remarked angrily, pulling at the sheets. "You're making me fall off the bed!"
"Well, don't hog the sheets!" he shot back, grabbing the sheets and tugging, wrapping whatever fabric he could grab tightly around his frozen body.
"I am not hogging the sheets!" she protested loudly, engaging a blanket tug- of-war with her boyfriend. "It's too damn cold in here!"
"You think I haven't noticed?" he snapped, yanking the warm, welcome cloth towards him.
"Then close the damn window!" she yelled.
"For your information, the damn window's jammed!" he yelled. "I tried that two hours ago!"
Both fought tooth and nail in order to emerge victorious. But neither was prevailing.
"Then un-jam it!"
"Why don't you do it, then?"
"You do it!"
"You!"
"You!"
"You!"
"You're sleeping on the couch tomorrow," she stated flatly.
"And I'm taking the sheets," he replied.
"Whatever."
They chose the exact same time to release their stranglehold on the blanket, knocking them both backwards in opposite directions.
"Shit…I think I'm bleeding."
The girl, who had not suffered any injuries, glared sternly at him, and returned to bed. "Serves you right for being such an asshole."
"You could at least be sympathetic."
"Sympathetic? Ha! In your dreams."
"Why did I ever consider coming here?"
"Ask yourself, then," she hissed as she warmed her body with the blanket she had fought so hard for.
There was a long, bitter pause between the two parties. One was silently rubbing his head thoughtfully, ignoring the blood that was filling his hands. The other contemplated the fact that the bed was all hers again.
Finally, he spoke up.
"I know you're still awake."
"How perceptive."
"Gee, someone didn't take her Prozac tonight, ne?"
"Go fuck off," she said, sticking her head beneath her pillow. "I'm trying to sleep."
"That's pretty obvious."
"Well, I'm going to nurse the nasty cut on my head. If you will excuse me, madam." He mock-bowed and entered the smaller, even more cramped room that connected to theirs: the bathroom.
She watched him through the open bathroom door, reaching up into the cabinet for the first-aid kit. His build showed clear evidence that he had been working out lately.
"I know I'm being such a bitch," she mused. "…Kicking him out of bed like that. What could I have been thinking? Reminder, never, ever eat Mexican for dinner," she said, knowing that Mexican dinners always made her cranky. Mexican lunches were okay, as were Mexican breakfasts and snacks, but Mexican dinners always did something to her. She thought that the guacamole and chili con carne must've shut her 'happy' system down and replaced it with a 'moody' one.
"It's a good thing you know that you're wrong," he called from the bathroom.
"Wha?"
She reluctantly got out of bed and approached him.
"You know what I'm thinking?"
He kissed her forehead. She tried to blur out the blood still dripping from his forehead. She was immediately disgusted by her own thoughts as she imagined a blood fountain, shooting blood out of his head. Ew.
"I always do."
"I was such a bitch. Willya forgive me?"
He grinned again, and looked into her eyes.
"I always do."
"Let me bandage your head…you banged your head against the wall pretty hard."
"You're damn right."
The couple reunited in silence, he sitting on the toilet bowl cover, patiently waiting as the girl applied medicine and chemicals and God-knows- what on his head. But at that time, he couldn't care less.
The squabble was forgotten, everything was set straight.
He yawned. "I'm tired."
"Let's go to bed," she agreed.
"I'll get another blanket," she offered.
"And I'll do something about the goddamned window," he said.
Ah… the sacred beauty of pre-marital bliss.
Thirty minutes later…
The boy was still restless in his bed, his brain not being able to shut down properly. He had to say something to her…it had to be now. He couldn't go to sleep without saying it. If he didn't say it, he'd be staring at the poorly-made wooden ceiling of the room until dawn, eyes bloodshot, mumbling incoherent jumbled messages repeatedly to himself. He had to get it out now…He had to pop the question NOW.
"Hilde?"
"What is it now, Duo?
"What's the meaning of life?"
A pillow whacked him in the face.
"Thanks Hilde. G'night."
"Goodnight, Duo."
Owari.
By Mandelarae
Disclaimer: Me no own Gundam Wing, so you no sue, hokay? ^_~ (God, I LOVE that emoticon!)
The cramped, one-person bed that contained two sleeping figures was bathed in shadows.
One figure was totally restless, squirming and repeatedly changing positions.
His mate, on the other hand, was as rigid as a board. She found the motion of the man discomforting and annoying. She was already holding onto the underside of the bed to keep from falling off.
"Stop tossing and turning!" she remarked angrily, pulling at the sheets. "You're making me fall off the bed!"
"Well, don't hog the sheets!" he shot back, grabbing the sheets and tugging, wrapping whatever fabric he could grab tightly around his frozen body.
"I am not hogging the sheets!" she protested loudly, engaging a blanket tug- of-war with her boyfriend. "It's too damn cold in here!"
"You think I haven't noticed?" he snapped, yanking the warm, welcome cloth towards him.
"Then close the damn window!" she yelled.
"For your information, the damn window's jammed!" he yelled. "I tried that two hours ago!"
Both fought tooth and nail in order to emerge victorious. But neither was prevailing.
"Then un-jam it!"
"Why don't you do it, then?"
"You do it!"
"You!"
"You!"
"You!"
"You're sleeping on the couch tomorrow," she stated flatly.
"And I'm taking the sheets," he replied.
"Whatever."
They chose the exact same time to release their stranglehold on the blanket, knocking them both backwards in opposite directions.
"Shit…I think I'm bleeding."
The girl, who had not suffered any injuries, glared sternly at him, and returned to bed. "Serves you right for being such an asshole."
"You could at least be sympathetic."
"Sympathetic? Ha! In your dreams."
"Why did I ever consider coming here?"
"Ask yourself, then," she hissed as she warmed her body with the blanket she had fought so hard for.
There was a long, bitter pause between the two parties. One was silently rubbing his head thoughtfully, ignoring the blood that was filling his hands. The other contemplated the fact that the bed was all hers again.
Finally, he spoke up.
"I know you're still awake."
"How perceptive."
"Gee, someone didn't take her Prozac tonight, ne?"
"Go fuck off," she said, sticking her head beneath her pillow. "I'm trying to sleep."
"That's pretty obvious."
"Well, I'm going to nurse the nasty cut on my head. If you will excuse me, madam." He mock-bowed and entered the smaller, even more cramped room that connected to theirs: the bathroom.
She watched him through the open bathroom door, reaching up into the cabinet for the first-aid kit. His build showed clear evidence that he had been working out lately.
"I know I'm being such a bitch," she mused. "…Kicking him out of bed like that. What could I have been thinking? Reminder, never, ever eat Mexican for dinner," she said, knowing that Mexican dinners always made her cranky. Mexican lunches were okay, as were Mexican breakfasts and snacks, but Mexican dinners always did something to her. She thought that the guacamole and chili con carne must've shut her 'happy' system down and replaced it with a 'moody' one.
"It's a good thing you know that you're wrong," he called from the bathroom.
"Wha?"
She reluctantly got out of bed and approached him.
"You know what I'm thinking?"
He kissed her forehead. She tried to blur out the blood still dripping from his forehead. She was immediately disgusted by her own thoughts as she imagined a blood fountain, shooting blood out of his head. Ew.
"I always do."
"I was such a bitch. Willya forgive me?"
He grinned again, and looked into her eyes.
"I always do."
"Let me bandage your head…you banged your head against the wall pretty hard."
"You're damn right."
The couple reunited in silence, he sitting on the toilet bowl cover, patiently waiting as the girl applied medicine and chemicals and God-knows- what on his head. But at that time, he couldn't care less.
The squabble was forgotten, everything was set straight.
He yawned. "I'm tired."
"Let's go to bed," she agreed.
"I'll get another blanket," she offered.
"And I'll do something about the goddamned window," he said.
Ah… the sacred beauty of pre-marital bliss.
Thirty minutes later…
The boy was still restless in his bed, his brain not being able to shut down properly. He had to say something to her…it had to be now. He couldn't go to sleep without saying it. If he didn't say it, he'd be staring at the poorly-made wooden ceiling of the room until dawn, eyes bloodshot, mumbling incoherent jumbled messages repeatedly to himself. He had to get it out now…He had to pop the question NOW.
"Hilde?"
"What is it now, Duo?
"What's the meaning of life?"
A pillow whacked him in the face.
"Thanks Hilde. G'night."
"Goodnight, Duo."
Owari.