Notes:
Okay—it's sad, it's fragmented, and it's in present tense. Forgive the disjointedness and please give
feedback. Quatre's POV.
Pairing:
3/4 (uh... I guess it'd have a "-" sign rather than + or x)
Warnings:
Sap, m/m sexual references, angsty-sentiments.
Disclaimer:
GW and its characters belong to Bandai (Sunrise) and the Sotsu
Agency. This is in no way associated with them.
Tylor-chan, this one's for you.
Partners
"We
can't go on like this." Trowa's voice is low as he speaks from
his
chair opposite me. I knew something was different from the moment he'd
come in, choosing to sit at my desk instead of next to me on the
bed.
I
say nothing, avoiding his gaze.
"We're
from different worlds, Quatre. I can't ask you to live in mine, and I
don't fit in yours." He sounds desperate, as if he wants
my
approval.
I
look up, meeting his eyes. "You're right," I say. My
voice sounds colder than I intended. "This isn't
something we didn't know already."
But
you said you wouldn't let it get between us.
You
said we'd work through everything.
He
nods. "I don't want to." His mouth twists into a small
frown. I can see that his lashes are wet with tears. It almost feels good
to see his pain, to know that he is hurting as much as me. But then
it hurts more, to know that I'm taking some kind of pleasure in his
torment.
"How
do we do this?" I ask. "Do we avoid each other until we fall
out
of love? Do we pretend it never happened—disregard the past year?"
I choke on the lump that's formed in my throat. With one cough, I
feel all my walls collapse.
Trowa.
Never
again will I be able to kiss him, or make love with him, or call him to
talk about nothing in particular and wind up revealing my entire
soul.
I
lower my head, trying to hide my crying behind long bangs. I try
to
keep my shoulders from shaking, my chest from heaving. But it's
no
good.
He
knows everything about me. It isn't surprising when he moves from
his
chair to kneel in front of me, hands on my knees. He says nothing—what
can be said? He only looks at me, his cheeks stained with the
tracks of his own tears, his eyes pained. Looking at him only hurts
worse. With a low sob, I give in to my emotions
completely.
I
feel like wailing, screaming—anything to make the pain in my throat and
the ache in my stomach go away. The salty taste of my tears only
reminds me that everything is wrong, that my whole existence seems to be
teetering on the edge of some jagged cliff. I'm being
melodramatic and wallowing—but it feels better to do that than to
accept the simple truth that everything will be different.
"I
want to stay close," he whispers an eternity later, after my sobs
finally
subside. "I can't lose you completely, Quatre. You've been
everything
in my life for so long now. I-I can't go on without being able to see
you, talk to you."
I
can't go on without being able to love you.
I
close my eyes. For a moment I convince myself that this is a horrible
dream. Nothing so wonderful could end like this.
But
was it always wonderful? part of me asks.
No.
It was often infuriating. Arguments over little things—time spent at
work, childish comptetiveness, our futures. They dominate my
memories. Yes, there were the candle-lit dinners and the evenings
spent
lying in each others' arms, silent. But that can't cancel out
all
the pain. The physical love, the emotional love, even the love I
feel
for him that seems to reach down into my very soul—it can't sustain the
rest.
"I
fell for you the moment we met," I whisper. How many times have I
told
him this?
He
stands up, smiling wistfully. "And I was a fool for waiting so
long."
It
is a dialogue we've shared on so many occasions.
"You
were the first person I ever slept with," I state, gazing down
at
the bedspread.
Trowa
takes my hands. "And you're the first person I've ever loved."
He
tugs gently, pulling me to my feet.
I
still can't look at him. I know that if our eyes meet, I'll feel
the
world shattering. My heart will break.
He
lifts my chin with his fingers, forcing me to meet his eyes. "You're
my best friend, Quatre."
My
heart keeps beating its steady rhythm. "And you'll always be
mine."
The world doesn't fall to crumbles around me.
His
arms surround me in a tight embrace, his head buried in my hair. I hesitate for a moment before returning the
hug.
He
sways slowly and gently, dancing. But my feet remain glued to the
floor.
"Dance
with me," he whispers.
"There's
no music." Another routine, usually saved for those nights
when
I couldn't fall asleep after our lovemaking. We would stand together,
wound loosely in a sheet or blanket, dancing to music that was only in
our heads and hearts. I lean my head against his chest, wishing I
could fix us.
"I
know," he whispers, running a hand through my hair. I don't know
if
he's answering my words or my thoughts--but does it matter?
I
wonder what will happen tomorrow, the day after that. Even though
I
know there's no hope for a future between is, part of me holds onto
the
on thread that will forever tie us together.
First
love. The phrase meant little to me until I met Trowa. I'd
neither
thought much about love nor looked forward to it. But now that I know
it, I wonder how I survived so long without it.
When
will the day come that I wake up without thinking of him?
Will
love always mean jade eyes and silent understanding?
I
allow my hands to run over his tight, muscular back as they have nearly
every day for the past year. I close my eyes, feeling all the
differences
between the first time and now. And he tightens his embrace,
sighing softly.
"I'm
going to miss this, Trowa," I whisper.
"So
will I," he answers, his voice thick with emotion. "So will
I."