My ramblings -

Yes, a second story at the same time as my other one, which I plan to be longer, but we'll see. Nothing much to ramble about. It's DuoxHeero, Heero's first person perspective (this may change each chapter but other characters will be in third person) and this first chapter involves some violence and swearing, but nothing too over the top. This idea came out of the blue and I know where it's going...but I don't know how long for.

Also, it will deal with more adult themes later, including sex.

Enjoy!

Stop Locking Me Out!

Chapter 1 - It Comes to Blows

I had been banging at the door for nearly ten minutes. It doesn't sound long, but try it - try not bruising your hand against the door, try not praying it will swing open, try just hoping your boyfriend will actually open the door.

The neighbors were starting to stare a bit by then. It wasn't like it was the middle of the night; it was nearly 2pm, but it was the weekend, so there were more people around then usual. I cleared my throat and looked away from the elderly couple who lived next door to us, who came shuffling out on the presence of going to the local shop, when I knew in reality they were trying to get an eyeful of the two 'queers' next door having an argument.

As if we were so different from a straight couple. We didn't needed to be reminded it of our sexuality every day with the stares and whispers - how different we were, apparently, from everyone else. Duo was the worst for flaunting our lifestyle, but I think he did it because it pissed other people off and he felt like they needed it rubbed in their faces.

That was part of what the argument had been about. Duo had come stumbling in 3am, nearly 12 previous, after I had been up all night worrying, unable to settle to sleep, to read, to do anything to relax. My boyfriend had been covered in glitter and a top that showed off his stomach. His hair was spilling out of the braid, which showed how little he cared at that moment, and there was a bit of vomit on the hem of his short vest.

I yelled at him, instantly. I told him we had phones for a reason - that he didn't even leave a note, knowing he was leaving before I came home from work, and I didn't know where he had been. I remembered screaming that the war had only been over for 6 months - a fraction of people were still pissed, and kidnapping a Gundam Wing pilot wasn't out of the question, especially one with a braid that went down to the back of his knees. Glitter or not, dressed up or not, Duo was obvious in who he was, and he didn't care.

He yelled back, that he shouldn't HAVE to leave a note. It was his right as much as mine to leave the house - I didn't always tell him if I was leaving late or going to work early. My job was far more risky than his, anyway - working in a mechanics' shop didn't exactly make him a target, but being a Preventer did. Ex-pilot or not, plenty of people were just as annoyed with Preventers. Where was his note, where was his text? Never there, maybe at the start, maybe when we started trying this all out. We were young and stupid, he said. Maybe it was all a mistake, he said.

That was when it came to blows. Stumbling around in the kitchen, the space too small for either of us to really fight the other the way they had been trained, and Duo drunk to boot - he had managed to punch my face, the crimson-purple on my cheek becoming obvious in the light of day, and I had punched his nose, which had bled all over the kitchen floor. Bruises were one thing, but as soon as I saw blood I stopped and grabbed a pile of kitchen roll and tried to press it against his nose. He pushed me away and held it there himself, glaring at me before storming upstairs.

This wasn't our first argument. According to Quatre, who I often consulted when it came to my relationship with Duo, it was normal to fight, especially after what he called the 'Honeymoon Period', which I guessed for me and Duo had abruptly ended after around 3 months, when he had discovered 'Revenge', the gay club around ten minutes walk from our house. It may have been sooner, it may have been nothing to do with the club - where I suspected he had been that evening - but all of our fights seemed to have taken place at night, after he got back from there.

I sighed and went into the living room, digging under the sofa to retrieve the familiar two pillows and my blanket. Hey, I had slept in much, much worse places than on a sofa, which was pretty much a luxury, but sleep wasn't coming easy with so much on my mind. I flipped on the TV and turned the volume low, finding myself staring at one of those programs that tried to sell drunks and insomniacs nothing of real value.

I must have fallen asleep, because I was woken by a rough shove to the shoulder. I blinked away my confusion, finding the living room flooded with sunlight. Duo had done the shoving, of course. He looked angry, still, and his nose looked awful - purple and swollen, with bruises cupping under each eye. Normally, in the morning, he would wake me from the sofa with a more gentle stroking, with apologies and promises that we'd never fight again, as long as I promised not to fight too, and of course I agreed and I was just as tender and sorry.

But this morning, it was different.

He sat on the coffee table, a habit he knew I hated, but now wasn't the time for such minor things. He stared at me, long and hard, and for a second he looked like he was reconsidering such anger as the TV still quietly played behind him. He probably saw the bruise on my cheek, the bed hair he professed his love for, and the tired rings under my own eyes. But then he seemed to steel himself.

"...Trowa and Quatre are coming over later. You're not invited," he said, bluntly. I frowned, and tried to find a source of time, but failed. "...What time is it...now, I mean?" I croaked, tiredly. "Nine. It's nine now. They're here at ten. You're out by half nine." He said, simply, standing and grabbing the remote to turn the TV off. "I have to go sort out the kitchen. I've already explained what happened over the phone, but I don't want Quatre seeing blood all over the place and a huge mess. Go get dressed. Or don't, I don't care. Just turn the sofa back into the goddamn sofa." He headed through to the kitchen and I stood, confused as anything.

I wasn't surprised he had spoken to Quatre, but I was surprised Quatre didn't suggest that me and Duo didn't meet with him and Trowa in a neutral location. We had before, around four or five times. Maybe that was Quatre's limit. Maybe he was going to convince Duo to leave me. I didn't like the idea of them all being in my - our - house without me being there; it felt like a plot against me. But maybe Quatre (or even Trowa) had something to say that would help Duo. I didn't know. How could I know? All I knew was that I wanted him to be happy, again, and if that meant me being out of his life, then so be it.

I carefully put away all the stuff that made the couch a bed and ran a hand across it, fluffed the cushions so it looked inviting for when they got there. Then I went to to the kitchen, though I stood in the doorway, watching Duo scrub the blood. "...I should be doing that," I said, stepping forward. Duo tensed and shook his head. "You should be getting dressed and leaving. The guys have a lunch appointment at 1.30 so you can come back at two. Now go." He commanded, though he didn't look up from the scrubbing.

I went upstairs and, by habit, straightened out our bed. Duo never did it, rolling out alone or with me - messy was his nature. That was part of the reason I was surprised he hadn't taken advantage of me offering to clean, but that must have been a sign he was really, really pissed at me.

I changed into a khaki green t-shirt and a pair of jeans before I grabbed my brown leather coat Duo had gotten me for Christmas, just after the war, just before we had gotten together properly; officially. The musky, old smell always reminded me of the excitement of those days, but I tried to ignore it for now and focus instead on it being a functional piece of clothing. Just to keep me warm. No emotions, just something to keep me warm and to keep me from being naked. Functionality.

I put on my trainers and headed downstairs, pausing at the doorway. "I'll...be back at 1.45, Duo. ...I love you." I added, as an afterthought.

No reply. Nothing. Just the scent of bleach and the TV back on some sitcom that Duo liked to watch.

Now I was back at the door, and just knocking, over and over. There was nothing. I wondered if Duo had gone out. I had only discovered the bastard had taken my house key from my jacket pocket well after I had left - he clearly didn't want me getting back in before he was done with whatever he was doing. But it felt like there should be some answer.

What if there had been some accident? Nothing to do with our ex-pilot status, just a normal accident - he could have slipped on the wet floor, with his phone on the counter, he wouldn't have been able to answer that or the door; he could be unconscious! I pulled out my own phone, ready to phone the emergency services and try and shoulder down the heavy weight door I had insisted on getting installed before we moved in, when the door suddenly opened.

It wasn't Duo. It was Quatre.

He looked up at me shyly, quietly. His eyes were just that aquamarine blue they had always been, his hair a little blonder (a couple of months in the Arabian sun would do that) and he was basically the same old same. Even the small, somewhat hesitant smile he gave me spoke of the fear he had always had of me (he had confessed to it during some drunken birthday party) but I soon became distracted in looking over his shoulder.

"Is Duo here?" I asked quickly. Maybe someone 'normal' would have at least tried to exchange pleasantries, but Quatre wasn't used to my behaviour by now in that regard, though I was getting better at what he called 'social skills'.

"Uh, not right now. It's just me. Him and Trowa went for a walk. He said...when you came back you were allowed in. Sorry I took a while to open the door, I was just tidying."

I rolled my eyes. Nice of Duo to decide to allow me into the house we both had bought. And typical of Quatre to find himself a guest in someone else's home and take it upon himself to clean. Maybe Duo hadn't done that great a job on the blood spill after all.

Quatre held the door open for me as I went in, and then closed it behind me. It shut reassuringly tight, and I heard him turn the lock then deadbolt it, probably fearing my reaction if he neglected to complete those elements of safety.

Before I could speak again, or sit, or even take off my coat, Quatre was the one talking once more -

"...Heero, we've...got something to ...discuss," he said, quietly, his voice taking on a serious tone I rarely heard from him since the war.

To be continued