Touch
Author: Gabrielle MoonBeam
Fandom: Gundam Wing (belongs to Sunrise, Bandai and Sotsu. Not mine)
Archives: My page (http://www.angelfire.com/anime4/gabrielle_mb) and FF.net. Want it? Ask.
Warnings: Oddity, shounen ai, 1x2, 3x4
Notes: I found this really beautiful burial poem in the paper today, and it gave my muse a swift kick. Here's what she made me write. (Thanks a lot, Cielo! *grumble*)
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There's sadness that can't be expressed
There's longing that nothing
Can fulfill
And there's love
That doesn't ask for anything
But a quiet heart
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Duo sits, gazes out of a stained window. Nothing marrs his perfection, his reflection upon the tainted glass. Violet eyes, twinkling with laughter peer into the darkened night. An ever-present smile never leaves the American's lips as he watches. As he waits.
Quatre's angelic halo gives a faint flash of light nearby, his soft, emotional heart beating loudly enough for Duo to hear. The Arabian steps into the darkness, messing up already mussed blond hair. He yawns, reaching pale fingers to flick on the light.
"No."
The Arabian boy nods, once, before moving into the room better, without a sound. Duo's eyes watch his movements, the angel stumbling in the darkness.
"He's not back yet?"
"No."
"Why are you still waiting for him?"
Duo's lips are still frozen in a smile, the twinkle in his eyes humorous. He lifts up a hand, splays it against the night-cooled glass.
"Because."
Quatre frowns, a little crinkling of eyebrows, and sits down next to Duo on the wide windowsill. The braided boy moves away, closer to the cold, cold glass, away from the warmth Quatre would provide.
The silence fills the room, Duo's back reclining against heavy velvet drapes. Quatre smoothes the crumpled fabric, listens to its whisper against his hand. Eventually the fingers shift closer to Duo's shivering body, closer to warm the frozen boy.
Duo never lets the fingers touch.
"You are so cold, Duo."
"Yes."
Quatre sighs, forcefully pressing a creamy hand to Duo's round cheek. The smile stabs at something hidden deep inside Quatre's chest, slapping it with tenderness.
Duo's eyes remain on the window, on the lush night, on the darkened skies and on the waning moon.
Quatre's touch is gentle, chasing away at least a little bit of the coldness, at least a little bit of the real Duo this hollow smile and dead eyes is. The Arabian brushes fingers against the curves of Duo's lips, tracing the smile with awe.
"How can you still smile?"
Duo turns his head, watching Quatre closely. The American's cold, cold hands come up to cover the warm one upon his lips and move it away. Quatre's eyes are riveted to the sight of violet, the shade of the gentle velvet blackness of death.
"It's easy."
And Duo looks out the window again, seeing a distant angel flicker in the sky, closing in on them.
"He's here."
Quatre says nothing, just watches the back of Duo's head, following every curve and twist of a chestnut braid. Every word Duo has uttered linger in Quatre's innocent little consciousness.
"Do you love him?"
Duo doesn't hear, doesn't even turn as he watches the angel, his only shining angel come to a halt in the woods near the house.
Quatre doesn't understand, can't understand when all he's grown up to know about love are touches and gentle words. He can't understand the silence between Duo and Heero, can't even begin to realise every meaning hidden in every stare and smile.
The blond Arabian leaves Duo on the windowsill, retreating outside the now chilly living room. He puts his arms around him, something pressuring him, something bothering him.
Heero walks in, bloody and torn and muddied and all Quatre wants to do is touch and whisper and shower the Japanese boy with affection. But Heero is so cold, and his eyes pass over Quatre as he walks into the freezer, into the living room so devoid of any warmth.
Quatre can't help but intrude, see what can ignite the spark between Heero and Duo. All he sees is a gentle American, his smile long since lost and shattered, and a cold, unemotional angel, staring, staring, staring.
But as Duo's arms close around Heero and as Heero's arms come up to close around Duo, all Quatre can see is perfection.
"Little one."
The silent European pilot calls him, he must move but nothing seems to work. Trowa is there, with a real love for him, with something other than that coldness, that perfection.
But maybe Trowa's love is perfection. Maybe it's absolution and redemption. Maybe it's just another warm embrace, just another sweet word whispered into his ear.
Quatre leaves, blindly reaching for the familiar voice, for the warm, warm, warm touch, for that ever-loving green gaze.
In the living room, Heero and Duo stand frozen in each other's arms.
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