Cherries

Cherries

By: ShinigamiForever

Disclaimer: If you still take this part seriously, you are either very anal or a newbie. If you're very anal, then that's your problem so deal with it. If you are a newbie, just keep in mind that I don't own anything in Gundam Wing and don't sue me. That's all.

Warnings: If you happened to have read anything by me (which you probably haven't; it's a bit of a waste of time), then you know how I write. This is one of my really weird ones, as you probably guessed by the title. First person is probably Duo, but the second character isn't confirmed. It's probably Heero. A hint of shounen-ai (1+2 or whoever the second character is) if you want to think of it that way. Nothing is confirmed, everything is up to your imagination. A little bit of PWP (Plot? What plot?).

Now read!

~~~~~~~~~ "Memories take their toll on a person after a while. You start remembering what you don't want to remember." ~~~~~~~~~~

The purple blooms of the wisteria drifted down from their vine above; a tiny speck fell into my lemonade, floating like a water lily upon a yellow sea. The ice-cubes jingled noisily in the glass, drops of perspiration falling from the glass onto the hand that gripped it. A small dish of cherries stood with the glass of lemonade on the wicker table, water clinging onto their ruby crimson skin, glistening diamonds upon a velvet garnet dress. The sun outside was hot, almost uncomfortably so, but the shade of the lavender flowers and their vines over my head kept it relatively cool where I sat. Flickers of sunlight that slanted through the leaves fell across the wicker chair and small side table, slanting further on my hair and played with my vision.

The words on the book I was reading turned to black dots and squiggles, impossible to concentrate on. I stopped trying, leaning against the comfort of the woven back, shading my eyes with my brown bangs. The sky shone silky blue with creamy white clouds in the spots where the wisteria leaves parted, beautiful to me in the sense of peace. The heavy scent of flowers stained the air to an intoxicant, making it impossible not to get drunk on the perfume. Roses and lilacs mixed with the sharp tang of honeysuckle and floated against the softer shade of scent of the violet wisteria. The thick cloak of slow afternoon air intensified the smell and made me sleepy, eyelids drooping down to darken the scene with eyelashes.

A sun-bronzed hand played with the cherries in the dish. I could almost taste the drops of wetness that were on them, dampening my fingertips until they shined in the afternoon sunlight. I let my mind drift off with the slow honey tinted feel of the air.

**When was the last time you tasted cherries, Duo?**

The feel of rough hands stoking my hair, running their digits through the chestnut lengths. The scent of his shampoo, the smell of leaves and fresh water and aloe, subtle and clean, some fresh indistinguishable aroma. Cool fingers that stroked my. The same summer weather, the shade, the bench.

**It's been a while…**

I sighed, opening my eyes and rubbing them with the heels of my palm. Smoothing out my bangs, I shook my head, clearing myself of that unwanted memory, the remembrance of him. I placed the book on the side table, carefully inserting the paper bookmark in between the pages I was reading. The white ribbons that were knotted to the thick, decorated, maroon paper hung out, draping over the edges of the pages and spilling out to brush the surface of the table.

I picked up the glass of lemonade, taking a sip. It was almost too sweet, then almost too sour. My mouth had not tasted anything for over an hour, the sudden rush of taste flooded through. The icy cold froze my mouth, the pain washed away by the slow enjoyment of drink. The ice-cubes clinked against my teeth, clicks of sound in my mouth. I put the glass back down, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, the warmth of the sun tanned skin thawing the frozen feel of lemonade.

Birds chirped daintily from branches of trees above. Innocent, uncaring, beautiful. There was a time when I hated birds. Their songs glided through the air like breezes, trills and whistles and scales that rose and fell, like ocean waves. The jade leaves hid the forms of the singers in millions of pieces of green silk.

**When was the last time you tasted cherries, Duo?**

It had been a while, I mused. Six years, actually. And a couple of days. But I had never been one to keep time in my head unless it was necessary. But he had been dressed in a fresh but old white shirt with a pair of tight jeans. And the wind had played with his hair like tufts of grass, sweeping and falling. He had leaned against the railing of the deck, Quatre's deck, now that I think about, and asked me that question. His face had been tilted to look at me. I had smiled and answered. Then he smiled and I tossed a cherry at him, which he caught effortlessly. But that was still six years ago.

The deck I was sitting on now was actually a gazebo-like structure. A pale beech wood and a dark roof. But the roof was actually made of slender strips of wood on which wisteria branches hung. It made the gazebo impossible to use during winter, but I liked to sit in it during the winter anyway. The snowflakes would drift slowly through the slits and holes, falling until they reached something and melted, little fairies. Intricate exquisiteness that wasn't man made. Which made it even more beautiful.

**It's been a while…**

The thrashing of birds as they took flight caught my attention, and I snapped up to take a look around. A slim, dark figure was making his way over to where I was sitting.

Perhaps it was that he still looked the same.

Perhaps it was because he was wearing pretty much the same outfit.

Perhaps it was the it was a same summer day, the same bowl of cherries, the same feel.

Whatever it was, time froze and back-tracked itself six years back. Time became a bridge, us stuck in some unmovable dimension where everything was slow, him making his way towards me, hands in his pockets, barely a hint of a smile. The strange, I'll-take-my-own-sweet-time pace.

Calm.

Breathe.

He walked up to the steps, hesitant, before he took a deep breath and smiled. The birds were silent, no sound, like we were paused in some foreign movie. I felt myself start to tremble, hands sweaty, and unconsciously, I scrubbed my palms against the material of my pants.

No dramatic wind, I noted with a hint of insanity. It wasn't like the movies, where the lovers jumped up and hugged each other, the dramatic wind in the background. It was set up like one, though.

He opened his mouth, taking another deep breath. Time paused, sound off, the world could stop.

"When was the last time you tasted cherries, Duo?"

I blinked back the tears that I knew wouldn't come, familiar yet unfamiliar stinging coming with that sudden vertigo of memory. I closed my eyes, giving him a sad, bittersweet smile of remembrance. My hand closed around a cherry, then gently tossed it at him. He caught it, the impact sending a trickle of juice down his hand like blood. He lowered his hand, eyes burning like a dark fire had started behind them. I opened my eyes, feeling time drain back to that moment six years ago. Sun, birds, cherries, summer, him, deck, the world, time, everything.

"It's been a while…"