Title: My Funny Valentine
Author: M of M&Em-chan
Feedback: Why not? Knock yourself out.
Warnings: sap, careless use of "deelyboppers" headwear
Pairings: 3+4
Disclaimer: Does anyone out there actually believe I have the slightest claim to GW? Thought not. The supposed quote is a terrible rending of W. Shakespeare's Sonnet 23---read the entire piece, please.
"Delivery for Mr. Winner." Brandishing a black and gold box, I stand at ease before a scowling harridan. Having come directly from the spaceport, I'm a little worse for wear. However, a flash of recognition melts her face into a warm, soft grin.
"Oh, Mr. Barton, sir! I can't tell you how glad I am to see you... please go right in. Young Mr. Winner could definitely do with some cheering up---he's been in a foul mood all morning. I've done all I can, but he needs something more."
Smiling, I resettle the duffel's strap on my shoulder and push open the door.
"If you could, please set it on the table with the others. Thank you, `Genia." Quatre, head bent over several charts in concentration, motions to a frighteningly large pile of ornate boxes. Red sequined hearts sway in sympathy, gently bobbing on springs attached to a garish headband. The stock of several top-rate confectioners wobbles precariously next to humble offerings of fudge, pralines and brownies undoubtedly from Hilde. Sure enough, when I move closer, I can see a note in her distinctive stationery: super-deformed Space Leos in battle poses.
"Right you are, dear."
Shock and amazement is overtaken by a flying bundle of arms and questions. Squeezing mercilessly around the ribs, he nuzzles close. "I had no idea! You ought to have given me some warning." I stroke his fair hair, idly tapping at the holiday deelybob's coils.
"Perhaps I should have... it seems I've let the competition score a few points." His sulky pout warms my heart more than any spoken protestations ever could. "Of course you didn't ask to be labelled `the most eligible bachelor in the L4 cluster,' but you haven't done a thing to dissuade the media."
"They're not the ones who matter, Trowa," he says, reaching up on tiptoes to brush a chaste kiss on my forehead. "Besides, it's impolite to reject innocent tokens given in the spirit of friendship."
"Speaking of which..." Disengaging from his still-fervent embrace, I present my meagre gift.
"You really didn't have to, Trowa," he demurs, opening the box.
"It's tradition," I counter.
Taking a caramel for himself, he presses a toffee chip on me, knowing I can't resist plucking the buttery treat from his slender fingers. He frowns, consulting the map on the inside cover, and picks his way to the second layer for the only other toffee in the box. I had counted on his generous nature many times before, leading me to concoct this particular scheme. I could barely contain the satisfaction his gasp sparked.
"My goodness..." His astonishment is muffled somewhat by the half-chewed caramel, but his eyes gleam brightly as he smiles at me. Almost in a daze, I take the gold band from the paper wrapper and present it to him, speaking its doubled inscription: "O, let my looks be then the eloquence... who plead for love, and look for recompense."
I can't trust myself any further; the carefully scripted speech I had rehearsed on the way over flies from me.
My eyes ask acceptance; his outstretched hand answers. Shakily, I slip it home.
"I shall learn to read what silent love hath writ," he whispers, completing the verse as he makes whole my heart.
~~Owari