Running Smooth
by Juu-chan and Abandonment
Disclaimers, warnings, and notes: I do not own Gundam Wing, which I hope is rather obvious. I am making absolutely nothing off of this. This story contains shonen-ai (romance between two males), angst, humor attempts, sap, mentions of a TrowaxQuatre relationship, and the introduction of an original character. You have been warned. It's also somewhat long, so some mistakes in spelling, grammar, or accuracy are to be expected. It will be posted in parts, approximately one each day. In total there are nine. Text surrounded by slashes (/…/) denote italics, e.g. emphasis. We appreciate all feedback (swiftskyes@hotmail.com for Juu-chan or entwined_to_perfection@hotmail.com), be it constructive or just a good word. Now, on with it. Enjoy.
Begun 8.28.00
Completed 11.23.01
- - -
Part One: The Doormat
- - -
The lean form made his way down the road, steps hesitant and halting. He paused sporadically to consult the scrap of paper that he held in his hand, and then to look up at the apartments that lined either side of the residential street.
As he stopped for the umpteenth time, raising the paper, Heero smiled, cynically, to himself. Each letter and number on the page was memorized. Each detail was etched into his brain. "Duo - 29B Shake Street." The handwriting he could also picture in his mind: a broken, hurried scrawl. The paper was white with two torn edges, dampened with the sweat from his palm. Heero's head tilted upwards and his cobalt eyes scanned the apartment numbers: 28 and then 29. Duo's apartment was on the second story with stairs leading to the door. Two steps brought Heero to the foot of the stairway, and there he paused again. This time the hesitation was cut short as he grabbed the railing, his movements forced, and began to climb. He was at the top all too soon, balanced on the thin piece of beaten metal that jutted from the building and acted as a doorstep. The white door faced him, drab, the paint pealing. He knew what was hidden behind that door.
Looking away from the rigid and nondescript entrance, Heero's eyes slid downwards. They stopped before his feet where an old doormat lay, occupying most of the narrow floor. The yellow fibers and painted black letters were time bleached but readable. Heero scanned them and smiled again, softer this time. /It Had Better Be Important/. It was so like Duo, the sarcastic, humorous, witty teen that he had known.
But then Heero Yuy paused.
/It Had Better Be Important/. He reread the words. This day felt like the most important of his life. It stretched far past each battle, leaving victory and 'mission complete' - the things that had ruled his life during the war - far behind. Yet he still did not know why was there. He did not know if Duo would listen to what he said or if he would even care. He was not sure what words he would say.
The moments frozen on the doorstep extended. Footsteps clacked on the street below, slowing as the passerby glanced up at Heero, above, standing unmoving. He was thinking.
There had been no 'goodbye' and no other recognition of the parting at all. The fighting had ended and they had begun to drift apart. Duo had come to live on Earth, in America. Heero found no home but instead jumped from place to place - a colony, Japan, anywhere, always skirting the States. The contact between them had been broken and never regained.
Life without a war was unlivable from day to day. Heero felt no purpose and had nothing to survive for. Wufei had retreated to China. Trowa and Quatre had married in a small, private ceremony. Relena had become a successful politician. Even Duo seemed to have a place to be. He did not.
He had watched as Duo moved away. It happened slowly. Their nights together grew further apart; their moments in company disappeared. Over time, they began to share different worlds. Without the war their relationship had broken apart.
They had talked, once, since their last night together, over the phone. It was late. Duo had called Heero at the small apartment that he had been living in at the time. The conversation had been stunted. Duo had asked if they wanted to get together sometime.
"I'm moving out tomorrow," Heero had said.
"Where to?" From the speaker Duo's voice had been dull, and on the screen he was looking away dispassionately.
"L1, for now. I've been offered a job at the Peacecraft agency."
"As a body guard?"
"Yes."
"You'll be busy, then. How about you call me sometime, when things calm down, ok?"
Although Heero had agreed he had never called. It was their last conversation.
Heero felt an emotion that he called loneliness. Using words to describe how he felt was new to him. This word, one of the few he had tried to use as a descriptor, he knew was right.
- - -
Am I here out of desperation? he asked himself. For too long he had been a wanderer, lacking reason or intent. He had been soulless. The idea of soullessness was alien in his mind, too philosophical and lacking in fact. It was true that in the past, however, that Duo had provided personality enough for the both of them. He had been able to bring some light to Heero's face. He had done something, blowing air on the charred embers of Heero's soul and turning them to flame. But in only moments (or so it felt), Duo was gone. The embers had become ashes again. Heero was not a philosopher and he refused to concern himself with emotion - to him, soullessness was a thought so intangible it was incomprehensible. But the emotions remained.
He did believe in following his emotions, even if he found it difficult to label them with names. He knew he wanted Duo back - the words, the touches, the steady breath and pulse of the night. This was why he had come.
The ex-soldier's face was void of emotion as he stood, cut off from the physical world, seeing and feeling nothing. His mind registered the facts in its analytical way. He had come and stood on Duo's doorstep, having nothing to convey and no thoughts other than desperate, unworded wants. Heero closed his eyes in hopeless defeat. Reason told him there was no reason to be at Duo's house and that he should leave and not return until he knew what he would say.
Heero swallowed, sure but not pleased. Cobalt eyes, dull in the bright afternoon light, opened, and he turned, his body slumped. He had journeyed to the foreign and unwelcoming America, only to go back in rejection. One foot in front of another, he began to walk back as he had come, reaching for the dingy metal railing.
Everything then occurred at an unreal speed. It felt, to Heero, as if his body was not working but somehow things were occurring. His body was acting without permission, acting to fulfill the self-set mission that had brought him to Duo's apartment. This frightened Heero. His feet pivoted and he tread on the doormat. His vision was white and his heartstrings vibrated through his body. When his senses returned, no more than seconds later, his thumb was pressing the doorbell and the ringing was audible through the wall. Heero's free hand gripped the white frame, forcing him to stay where he was.
There was a scramble within the apartment and seconds ticked by, heartbeats and white noise heavy in Heero's ears. There was a hasty scrape of the bolt being pulled, and then the door was opened with a tug.
Duo stood there, clothed in only a tight pair of jeans and a silver cross on a chain. So little of him had changed. His braid was still there, his own personal burden of lives lost. His age, just over twenty, suited him. He wore it in sure, graceful but solid features and an alluring face. His face was frozen, the eyes dancing with emotion and jaw slack. The talkative Shinigami and once-a-Perfect-Soldier stood in silence, one on either side of the entrance.
"Hee-" the broken word trailed off and Duo gulped. "Heero."
Heero said nothing; he did not even think. Heero only stared at his old friend and once lover. He watched Duo blink, watched him grab the end of his braid and twist the long cord. There was a long silence before he spoke.
"Duo."
by Juu-chan and Abandonment
Disclaimers, warnings, and notes: I do not own Gundam Wing, which I hope is rather obvious. I am making absolutely nothing off of this. This story contains shonen-ai (romance between two males), angst, humor attempts, sap, mentions of a TrowaxQuatre relationship, and the introduction of an original character. You have been warned. It's also somewhat long, so some mistakes in spelling, grammar, or accuracy are to be expected. It will be posted in parts, approximately one each day. In total there are nine. Text surrounded by slashes (/…/) denote italics, e.g. emphasis. We appreciate all feedback (swiftskyes@hotmail.com for Juu-chan or entwined_to_perfection@hotmail.com), be it constructive or just a good word. Now, on with it. Enjoy.
Begun 8.28.00
Completed 11.23.01
- - -
Part One: The Doormat
- - -
The lean form made his way down the road, steps hesitant and halting. He paused sporadically to consult the scrap of paper that he held in his hand, and then to look up at the apartments that lined either side of the residential street.
As he stopped for the umpteenth time, raising the paper, Heero smiled, cynically, to himself. Each letter and number on the page was memorized. Each detail was etched into his brain. "Duo - 29B Shake Street." The handwriting he could also picture in his mind: a broken, hurried scrawl. The paper was white with two torn edges, dampened with the sweat from his palm. Heero's head tilted upwards and his cobalt eyes scanned the apartment numbers: 28 and then 29. Duo's apartment was on the second story with stairs leading to the door. Two steps brought Heero to the foot of the stairway, and there he paused again. This time the hesitation was cut short as he grabbed the railing, his movements forced, and began to climb. He was at the top all too soon, balanced on the thin piece of beaten metal that jutted from the building and acted as a doorstep. The white door faced him, drab, the paint pealing. He knew what was hidden behind that door.
Looking away from the rigid and nondescript entrance, Heero's eyes slid downwards. They stopped before his feet where an old doormat lay, occupying most of the narrow floor. The yellow fibers and painted black letters were time bleached but readable. Heero scanned them and smiled again, softer this time. /It Had Better Be Important/. It was so like Duo, the sarcastic, humorous, witty teen that he had known.
But then Heero Yuy paused.
/It Had Better Be Important/. He reread the words. This day felt like the most important of his life. It stretched far past each battle, leaving victory and 'mission complete' - the things that had ruled his life during the war - far behind. Yet he still did not know why was there. He did not know if Duo would listen to what he said or if he would even care. He was not sure what words he would say.
The moments frozen on the doorstep extended. Footsteps clacked on the street below, slowing as the passerby glanced up at Heero, above, standing unmoving. He was thinking.
There had been no 'goodbye' and no other recognition of the parting at all. The fighting had ended and they had begun to drift apart. Duo had come to live on Earth, in America. Heero found no home but instead jumped from place to place - a colony, Japan, anywhere, always skirting the States. The contact between them had been broken and never regained.
Life without a war was unlivable from day to day. Heero felt no purpose and had nothing to survive for. Wufei had retreated to China. Trowa and Quatre had married in a small, private ceremony. Relena had become a successful politician. Even Duo seemed to have a place to be. He did not.
He had watched as Duo moved away. It happened slowly. Their nights together grew further apart; their moments in company disappeared. Over time, they began to share different worlds. Without the war their relationship had broken apart.
They had talked, once, since their last night together, over the phone. It was late. Duo had called Heero at the small apartment that he had been living in at the time. The conversation had been stunted. Duo had asked if they wanted to get together sometime.
"I'm moving out tomorrow," Heero had said.
"Where to?" From the speaker Duo's voice had been dull, and on the screen he was looking away dispassionately.
"L1, for now. I've been offered a job at the Peacecraft agency."
"As a body guard?"
"Yes."
"You'll be busy, then. How about you call me sometime, when things calm down, ok?"
Although Heero had agreed he had never called. It was their last conversation.
Heero felt an emotion that he called loneliness. Using words to describe how he felt was new to him. This word, one of the few he had tried to use as a descriptor, he knew was right.
- - -
Am I here out of desperation? he asked himself. For too long he had been a wanderer, lacking reason or intent. He had been soulless. The idea of soullessness was alien in his mind, too philosophical and lacking in fact. It was true that in the past, however, that Duo had provided personality enough for the both of them. He had been able to bring some light to Heero's face. He had done something, blowing air on the charred embers of Heero's soul and turning them to flame. But in only moments (or so it felt), Duo was gone. The embers had become ashes again. Heero was not a philosopher and he refused to concern himself with emotion - to him, soullessness was a thought so intangible it was incomprehensible. But the emotions remained.
He did believe in following his emotions, even if he found it difficult to label them with names. He knew he wanted Duo back - the words, the touches, the steady breath and pulse of the night. This was why he had come.
The ex-soldier's face was void of emotion as he stood, cut off from the physical world, seeing and feeling nothing. His mind registered the facts in its analytical way. He had come and stood on Duo's doorstep, having nothing to convey and no thoughts other than desperate, unworded wants. Heero closed his eyes in hopeless defeat. Reason told him there was no reason to be at Duo's house and that he should leave and not return until he knew what he would say.
Heero swallowed, sure but not pleased. Cobalt eyes, dull in the bright afternoon light, opened, and he turned, his body slumped. He had journeyed to the foreign and unwelcoming America, only to go back in rejection. One foot in front of another, he began to walk back as he had come, reaching for the dingy metal railing.
Everything then occurred at an unreal speed. It felt, to Heero, as if his body was not working but somehow things were occurring. His body was acting without permission, acting to fulfill the self-set mission that had brought him to Duo's apartment. This frightened Heero. His feet pivoted and he tread on the doormat. His vision was white and his heartstrings vibrated through his body. When his senses returned, no more than seconds later, his thumb was pressing the doorbell and the ringing was audible through the wall. Heero's free hand gripped the white frame, forcing him to stay where he was.
There was a scramble within the apartment and seconds ticked by, heartbeats and white noise heavy in Heero's ears. There was a hasty scrape of the bolt being pulled, and then the door was opened with a tug.
Duo stood there, clothed in only a tight pair of jeans and a silver cross on a chain. So little of him had changed. His braid was still there, his own personal burden of lives lost. His age, just over twenty, suited him. He wore it in sure, graceful but solid features and an alluring face. His face was frozen, the eyes dancing with emotion and jaw slack. The talkative Shinigami and once-a-Perfect-Soldier stood in silence, one on either side of the entrance.
"Hee-" the broken word trailed off and Duo gulped. "Heero."
Heero said nothing; he did not even think. Heero only stared at his old friend and once lover. He watched Duo blink, watched him grab the end of his braid and twist the long cord. There was a long silence before he spoke.
"Duo."
