Well, now. You'd think that I'd've learned by now that I shouldn't be
writing. Gundam Wing stories, anyway. I just can't help it, though. It
compels me, what can I say?
Warnings: This story is majorly AU, as such, you can expect OOC-ness from almost all of the characters. Especially Heero. But then, it's hard to write him IN character, isn't it? I digress. There's swearing, eventual shounen-ai ( oi, 1+2, and 3+4 will most likely weasel it's way in. ) Umm.. It may be a little dark. It may be a lot dark, considering your personality. And it's a POV. It'll be a little tricky to see who's POV at first, but then.. yeah. It tells you. –cackle.- AND, it will also be a chaptered story.
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing, the characters, even the made up town in this story.. none of it is mine. Not a thing ( By the way, if there's an Attlie, New York, someone can just shoot me. Don't bother suing, it'd be a helluva waste of money. For the person suing. )
And for the record; I do like feedback. I won't hurt you if you review. Good or bad, I'll probably want to give you a cookie.
I stared lethargically ahead; my normally clear cobalt blue eyes were most likely glazed over, in my mind-numbed state. This had to be one of the most boring classes I had ever gone to in my 10 years of schooling.
It was the middle of winter term, and unbelievable cold. Of course, when you live in Attlie, New York, it generally is. And it didn't help that the temperature controls kept bouncing from non-existent, to unbearable heat. Damn shoddy air conditioning services. Just because this is a high school, doesn't mean that people are indifferent to the temperature.
God, could this class get any worse? I blinked a few times, and sat up stiffly in my chair, rubbing my eyes, trying to get some moisture back. Once they had most likely lost that glazed look, and were once again dewy, and probably red from rubbing, I slouched in my desk again, my elbows resting painfully inside my jacket and tee shirt. One hand was in my hair, the other under my chin, the wrist bent at an odd angle, I'm sure.
I liked to read, and everything, but this teacher just killed my English literature class. This was awful. She's slaughtering it beyond repair. Oh well. There are always my books at home, which she can't possibly touch. I hope, anyway.
Sitting through seemingly endless classes like this one always made me remember my elementary school days. Those were the days. If you screwed up a little, no worries, it was fine. You were still a kid, and learning. Of course, school was more fun because of my friends back then. Not implying that I don't have any friends now; I do. One, but one is more than enough for me. I digress.
I had this one friend, who I could never forget. He was always laughing, and playing pranks on the students, and the teachers. Even though a lot of the teachers were telling him to calm down, they always had the tiniest of smiles on their faces when they said it, and a special twinkle in their eyes, saved just for him. It was impossible to /not/ like him. But he had chosen me to be his best friend, way back in kindergarten. I had had a head start on everyone.
He had planned things out perfectly, so that most of the time, I was the one who seemingly did the crime, but the teachers knew him better than that. And I didn't mind. He always got me out of trouble in the end.
I can't help but get a tiny wistful smile in nostalgia. Things were cut short, though. He mysteriously vanished in Sixth Grade. Just vanished without a trace. No one speaks of him. I even watched the news the week he had vanished—something that I never do. Nothing was reported. Just a few people murdered, this was robbed, that was derailed, the same news as usual. ( Which would be the reason as to why I don't watch the news. )
When he was around, I used to talk a lot. I don't talk as much anymore. It was weird. I felt … more than horrible when he vanished. I felt abandoned, alone, and well… just downright shitty. I'm not that open anymore. I usually keep to myself, and am generally pretty apathetic about a lot of things.
One generally is, after having their best friend vanish without a fucking trace. And it didn't help that my parent both died two years ago. They were idiots, anyway.
One night they were both drunk, and arguing. He hit her, and somehow or another, she got a hold of a gun, killed him, then killed herself. Of course… I'm not sure the police know this. They still believe that someone murdered them both; the police get really lazy around here. I know differently. The reason being that I was sitting on the stairs, hidden the shadows, watching the whole horrifying scene unfold. I still have nightmares once in a while, but not as much as right after it happened. The nightmares lost a lot of their scare value too.
I live with my brother, and his roommate, now. Trowa, my brother, is still in college, and he's been best friends with Quatre—his roommate—since like… forever. Before high school, even.
We all live in an apartment about 15 minutes away. It's okay living there, I guess.
But I can't help but wonder how much better life would be if my friend hadn't vanished like he did, when he did.
I miss him a lot, it's weird. Maybe I'm just in withdrawal of a friend in such a connection. No one will ever replace S—
"Heero!" The teacher snaps at me. I sit up, immediately, blinking myself into awareness.
"Yeah?" I responded slowly. A few kids in the back row were snickering.
"Would it be too much trouble to ask for a LITTLE conscious effort of staying alert in my class?"
I was about to respond, "Yes," when the bell rang, and saved me from getting myself in trouble.
I gathered my things, and got out of my chair, blending in with the hoards of other students, the teacher yelling something over the noise level to me, that I couldn't comprehend. Oh well.
The room was gone in one fell whoosh, and I was suddenly in the crowded hallway, the noise level rising amazingly. I elbowed, and shouldered my way over to my locker, did the combination on the padlock, and opened it. I heard a thunk land next to my locker, so loud in my ears that it sounded rather painful.
"Hey," I muttered, loud enough for the person to have heard me over the noise.
I grabbed my thick, bulky, blue overcoat, and my backpack, before sliding on both—coat first, naturally, and closing the locker door, with a bang, while giving a sidelong look to my present partner in crime.
"Hey," Wufei responded.
Wufei Chang was currently my only friend at this cold, indifferent high school some people affectionately call Attlie High. He waited patiently for me to click the lock back into place, before pushing himself off of the lockers with his foot, and we wheedled our way out of the hallway, and outside, where the air hit us like a forty-pound anvil.
I instinctively zipped up my jacket up to the collar, while I noticed Wufei casually buttoning his white parka up.
We headed over to the sidewalk, wearily looking out for any of the idiots around here, who had a bad case of discrimination. I was half-Japanese, and Wufei was full-blooded Chinese, though neither of us had any of our family's accents, as we were both born and raised in America. Despite this, though, due to our family's strong pride of their cultures, we both spoke our ancestors tongue fluently. We even knew a little of each other languages. But since we were both Asian, a few of the morons around here figured us to be stupid easterners, or something along those lines. Hey, it's better to be Asian, than a cowboy, I think.
"Only two more weeks until winter break." I said, almost to myself. If he responded, so be it.
Wufei was odd like that. He only responded to what he deemed 'worthy' of responding. Or he just wasn't paying attention. Though he was American, in every aspect, he had a weird justice-head thing going on. I couldn't figure it out. I didn't feel like figuring it out.
"Perhaps you're looking forward to it, but you don't have your parents trying to arrange a marriage for you." He muttered darkly. Wufei was very resentful of this, as anyone no doubtedly could tell.
"I don't have parents." I said, matter-of-factly. I would never know what that felt like. I don't think I would have, despite.
He only shrugged in response.
I paused for a moment, his step faltering a few feet ahead of me, before he turned, and looked questioningly at me.
Not meeting his gaze, I stared at a snowdrift by the sidewalk. "I have to buy a gallon of milk for the apartment." Not home. Never home. I felt like an orphan.
"Aa. Ryoukai." He said, in acceptance. He turned, and kept walking without me, as I went the other direction towards the closest Quickie Mart.
The walk was cold, silent, and rather boring. By the time I had gotten to the convientantly placed Convience store at the gas station, my entire face was numb. The sudden heat of the building burned against my frozen skin. I unzipped my jacket so I could move more easily, and walked slowly over to the refrigerated section.
I had to pull twice on the door, because the suctioning was sticky with goop that I don't think I EVER wanted to know what it was. Keeping one hand on the handle, I grabbed one of the yellow gallons of milk, the sudden drop in temperature against my hand, caused my fingers to burn all the more. Well, no, that was wrong. Now they just hurt. Bad. I really ought to have gotten some gloves.
I headed over to the register, taking my time. I wasn't in a hurry, really. The snow that was caked onto the bottom of my jeans was starting to melt, and soak into my skin, freezing it, and making my socks get soggy.
As I turned the corner of one of the mini-aisles, and walked toward the register, I noticed that the cashier—a semi-friend for a long while now, named Howard ( He was a crazy old man. Even in this weather he's wearing sunglasses, and has a long sleeve shirt underneath his Hawaiian shirt. He's always wearing those. )—was talking to a bundled up person, who was sitting on a chair, elbows resting on the counter. It wasn't unusual for Howard to have heart-to-hearts with some of the customers, but this person was new. I hadn't ever seen them before, which, when you've lived in Attlie as long as I have, is really odd. This is an extremely small town. Bad for gossip.
As I approached the counter, and lifted the gallon of milk onto the counter with a thunk, Howard grinned at me, and moved to where he actually /was/ behind the cash register.
"Hey, Heero! How's it goin'?" He asked, as usual.
I shrugged my shoulders heavily in my coat. "It's cold." I said, as I handed him the money.
He laughed heartily at this, and I snuck a glance curiously over at the person. Well, whoever it was, they had chestnut coloured hair. Or at least, their bangs were. The rest of their hair was shoved underneath a black bucket hat. Come to notice it, this person was only wearing black. A black pea-coat, a black turtle neck, black jeans, black boots. Huh.
I tore my gaze away, back to Howard, and my brow furrowed, in thought. "Howard, are you from California?" Curiosity clearly imbedded into my voice.
He laughed heartily, before grinning at me. "Naw, but I've been. I lived there for about 10 years. I'm from Pennsylvania."
I couldn't help it. I stared at him. He was from Amish Country? Or, well, not Amish Country, but the state KNOWN for their Amish?
"Don't look so dubious, Heero! I'm not Amish. I believe in electricity. Though it still confuses me quite a bit…" He said, a grin still playing upon his lips.
I shook my head, and took the plastic bag he had put my milk in, and took one last look at the person.
They turned their head, and their eyes met mine. They were so blue they almost held a violet tint in them. In fact, if I had to describe them to anyone, I'd call them amethyst. But their eyes held a slightly-glazed over look. The person looked way older than whatever their age was—which I presumed to be around my age—even though I don't think it mattered if they were Howard's age. No one should look that emotionally old. For any reason.
They turned their gaze back to Howard, and I turned, and left the little store, and headed straight to the apartment.
All the way to the complex, I couldn't help but wonder what it was about that expression that that person had given me. I had seen it before, I knew, and on occasion, I knew I had even administered it, though usually I was alone.
As I was climbing the stairs to the apartment ( Who the hell had the genius idea to live on the THIRD floor? ), it hit me like a bowling ball rolling down the stairs at top speed. It was the look of the lifeless. The look of utter despair. The look that someone gives when all they REALLY want to do at that moment is go find a quiet corner alone, to do /the/ dirty deed.
No wonder it was so familiar.
I walked down the hallway, and fished the keys out of one of my pockets, before inserting it, and sliding the lock out of the doorframe, and back into the door. I opened the door, and was thankful for the warmth that greeted me. Kicking the door closed behind me, I set the bag onto the ground, and shrugged off my jacket, and backpack, while trying to toe off my snow-crusted shoes at the same time. I wound up having to hop and yank, but the desired came off, and all hit the floor with resounding thuds.
"Oi," I called out. I knew someone was home, by the smells that were wafting out of the kitchenette area. Smelled like… Pasta and vegetables.
"Heero?" Quatre's almost-childish voice called out. Ah, of course. The only thing Trowa can make when it comes to dinner ( That can be considered edible ), is a phone call for pizza.
"Hai, Quatre-kun." I responded. Though Quatre was Arabian to the bone, after living with Trowa for college for so many years, and after being such close friends, he adapted to our native tongue… Or at least, mine. Trowa was my half-brother, but as he wound up with my father for half his life, he learned Japanese, as well. Trowa's biological father was European. Go figure.
"How was school?" He asked, trying to make conversation.
I walked into the small dining room that we all crowded into around 5 o'clock, and leaned heavily against the back of a wooden chair with my forearms, and shrugged my shoulders tensely. "Cold," I supplied, helpfully.
"Still haven't fixed the heating system, I guess." He replied, staring down at a pot that was bubbling, while stirring once in awhile.
Usually conversation ends about there, and I meander off to do nothing in my room, until dinnertime, but this time I stay. "Ne, Quatre-kun, do you know if any new families moved in the neighborhood lately?"
"On the way to classes this morning, I saw moving trucks parked outside 974 Chaplin Road. You know, the house everyone always bickers about how it's haunted, because of the murders that took place down the street. Since it was the only other house on the block, and all…
"The way people talk, it wasn't a wonder that no one wanted to live in there for so long. The people around here have absolutely nothing to do, and have way too much imagination. But I suppose it's no wonder since this town is so small. I mean, they must need something to keep them busy, and something to do—" I think he's still going, but I'm already heading to my room, calling out where the milk is. I'll probably be reprimanded for where I left my coat and shoes too.
A few years ago I probably would have been in a lot of trouble for my shoes, because I was supposed to leave them outside the door, and put on a pair of house slippers, but since living with my half-brother, we didn't really pay that tradition much heed. We had wooden floors, anyway. So no carpet was going to get stained.
I entered my room, and closed the door softly behind me; I think Quatre was still talking. Quatre really was nice, and all, but shit. I think he has too much time on his hands at night, because he's overly talkative. I think so, anyway. Trowa doesn't seem to mind so much.
I padded across the room, and fell onto my made bed ( A habit embedded into my mind when I was very little. Despite the fact that I make my bed, I find it pointless. You're only going to mess it up, anyway. ) my face smothered into my soft down pillows. I stayed like that for a minute, before the moisture from my breath and the heat got to me.
I pulled myself up to my elbows, and flipped over, so I was lying on my back. With a sigh, I sat up, and reached over to turn on my stereo system, before flopping back down again, and closing my eyes. A little nap before dinner wouldn't hurt.
I lay there quietly for a few minutes, my eyes closed, my mind blank.
Warnings: This story is majorly AU, as such, you can expect OOC-ness from almost all of the characters. Especially Heero. But then, it's hard to write him IN character, isn't it? I digress. There's swearing, eventual shounen-ai ( oi, 1+2, and 3+4 will most likely weasel it's way in. ) Umm.. It may be a little dark. It may be a lot dark, considering your personality. And it's a POV. It'll be a little tricky to see who's POV at first, but then.. yeah. It tells you. –cackle.- AND, it will also be a chaptered story.
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing, the characters, even the made up town in this story.. none of it is mine. Not a thing ( By the way, if there's an Attlie, New York, someone can just shoot me. Don't bother suing, it'd be a helluva waste of money. For the person suing. )
And for the record; I do like feedback. I won't hurt you if you review. Good or bad, I'll probably want to give you a cookie.
I stared lethargically ahead; my normally clear cobalt blue eyes were most likely glazed over, in my mind-numbed state. This had to be one of the most boring classes I had ever gone to in my 10 years of schooling.
It was the middle of winter term, and unbelievable cold. Of course, when you live in Attlie, New York, it generally is. And it didn't help that the temperature controls kept bouncing from non-existent, to unbearable heat. Damn shoddy air conditioning services. Just because this is a high school, doesn't mean that people are indifferent to the temperature.
God, could this class get any worse? I blinked a few times, and sat up stiffly in my chair, rubbing my eyes, trying to get some moisture back. Once they had most likely lost that glazed look, and were once again dewy, and probably red from rubbing, I slouched in my desk again, my elbows resting painfully inside my jacket and tee shirt. One hand was in my hair, the other under my chin, the wrist bent at an odd angle, I'm sure.
I liked to read, and everything, but this teacher just killed my English literature class. This was awful. She's slaughtering it beyond repair. Oh well. There are always my books at home, which she can't possibly touch. I hope, anyway.
Sitting through seemingly endless classes like this one always made me remember my elementary school days. Those were the days. If you screwed up a little, no worries, it was fine. You were still a kid, and learning. Of course, school was more fun because of my friends back then. Not implying that I don't have any friends now; I do. One, but one is more than enough for me. I digress.
I had this one friend, who I could never forget. He was always laughing, and playing pranks on the students, and the teachers. Even though a lot of the teachers were telling him to calm down, they always had the tiniest of smiles on their faces when they said it, and a special twinkle in their eyes, saved just for him. It was impossible to /not/ like him. But he had chosen me to be his best friend, way back in kindergarten. I had had a head start on everyone.
He had planned things out perfectly, so that most of the time, I was the one who seemingly did the crime, but the teachers knew him better than that. And I didn't mind. He always got me out of trouble in the end.
I can't help but get a tiny wistful smile in nostalgia. Things were cut short, though. He mysteriously vanished in Sixth Grade. Just vanished without a trace. No one speaks of him. I even watched the news the week he had vanished—something that I never do. Nothing was reported. Just a few people murdered, this was robbed, that was derailed, the same news as usual. ( Which would be the reason as to why I don't watch the news. )
When he was around, I used to talk a lot. I don't talk as much anymore. It was weird. I felt … more than horrible when he vanished. I felt abandoned, alone, and well… just downright shitty. I'm not that open anymore. I usually keep to myself, and am generally pretty apathetic about a lot of things.
One generally is, after having their best friend vanish without a fucking trace. And it didn't help that my parent both died two years ago. They were idiots, anyway.
One night they were both drunk, and arguing. He hit her, and somehow or another, she got a hold of a gun, killed him, then killed herself. Of course… I'm not sure the police know this. They still believe that someone murdered them both; the police get really lazy around here. I know differently. The reason being that I was sitting on the stairs, hidden the shadows, watching the whole horrifying scene unfold. I still have nightmares once in a while, but not as much as right after it happened. The nightmares lost a lot of their scare value too.
I live with my brother, and his roommate, now. Trowa, my brother, is still in college, and he's been best friends with Quatre—his roommate—since like… forever. Before high school, even.
We all live in an apartment about 15 minutes away. It's okay living there, I guess.
But I can't help but wonder how much better life would be if my friend hadn't vanished like he did, when he did.
I miss him a lot, it's weird. Maybe I'm just in withdrawal of a friend in such a connection. No one will ever replace S—
"Heero!" The teacher snaps at me. I sit up, immediately, blinking myself into awareness.
"Yeah?" I responded slowly. A few kids in the back row were snickering.
"Would it be too much trouble to ask for a LITTLE conscious effort of staying alert in my class?"
I was about to respond, "Yes," when the bell rang, and saved me from getting myself in trouble.
I gathered my things, and got out of my chair, blending in with the hoards of other students, the teacher yelling something over the noise level to me, that I couldn't comprehend. Oh well.
The room was gone in one fell whoosh, and I was suddenly in the crowded hallway, the noise level rising amazingly. I elbowed, and shouldered my way over to my locker, did the combination on the padlock, and opened it. I heard a thunk land next to my locker, so loud in my ears that it sounded rather painful.
"Hey," I muttered, loud enough for the person to have heard me over the noise.
I grabbed my thick, bulky, blue overcoat, and my backpack, before sliding on both—coat first, naturally, and closing the locker door, with a bang, while giving a sidelong look to my present partner in crime.
"Hey," Wufei responded.
Wufei Chang was currently my only friend at this cold, indifferent high school some people affectionately call Attlie High. He waited patiently for me to click the lock back into place, before pushing himself off of the lockers with his foot, and we wheedled our way out of the hallway, and outside, where the air hit us like a forty-pound anvil.
I instinctively zipped up my jacket up to the collar, while I noticed Wufei casually buttoning his white parka up.
We headed over to the sidewalk, wearily looking out for any of the idiots around here, who had a bad case of discrimination. I was half-Japanese, and Wufei was full-blooded Chinese, though neither of us had any of our family's accents, as we were both born and raised in America. Despite this, though, due to our family's strong pride of their cultures, we both spoke our ancestors tongue fluently. We even knew a little of each other languages. But since we were both Asian, a few of the morons around here figured us to be stupid easterners, or something along those lines. Hey, it's better to be Asian, than a cowboy, I think.
"Only two more weeks until winter break." I said, almost to myself. If he responded, so be it.
Wufei was odd like that. He only responded to what he deemed 'worthy' of responding. Or he just wasn't paying attention. Though he was American, in every aspect, he had a weird justice-head thing going on. I couldn't figure it out. I didn't feel like figuring it out.
"Perhaps you're looking forward to it, but you don't have your parents trying to arrange a marriage for you." He muttered darkly. Wufei was very resentful of this, as anyone no doubtedly could tell.
"I don't have parents." I said, matter-of-factly. I would never know what that felt like. I don't think I would have, despite.
He only shrugged in response.
I paused for a moment, his step faltering a few feet ahead of me, before he turned, and looked questioningly at me.
Not meeting his gaze, I stared at a snowdrift by the sidewalk. "I have to buy a gallon of milk for the apartment." Not home. Never home. I felt like an orphan.
"Aa. Ryoukai." He said, in acceptance. He turned, and kept walking without me, as I went the other direction towards the closest Quickie Mart.
The walk was cold, silent, and rather boring. By the time I had gotten to the convientantly placed Convience store at the gas station, my entire face was numb. The sudden heat of the building burned against my frozen skin. I unzipped my jacket so I could move more easily, and walked slowly over to the refrigerated section.
I had to pull twice on the door, because the suctioning was sticky with goop that I don't think I EVER wanted to know what it was. Keeping one hand on the handle, I grabbed one of the yellow gallons of milk, the sudden drop in temperature against my hand, caused my fingers to burn all the more. Well, no, that was wrong. Now they just hurt. Bad. I really ought to have gotten some gloves.
I headed over to the register, taking my time. I wasn't in a hurry, really. The snow that was caked onto the bottom of my jeans was starting to melt, and soak into my skin, freezing it, and making my socks get soggy.
As I turned the corner of one of the mini-aisles, and walked toward the register, I noticed that the cashier—a semi-friend for a long while now, named Howard ( He was a crazy old man. Even in this weather he's wearing sunglasses, and has a long sleeve shirt underneath his Hawaiian shirt. He's always wearing those. )—was talking to a bundled up person, who was sitting on a chair, elbows resting on the counter. It wasn't unusual for Howard to have heart-to-hearts with some of the customers, but this person was new. I hadn't ever seen them before, which, when you've lived in Attlie as long as I have, is really odd. This is an extremely small town. Bad for gossip.
As I approached the counter, and lifted the gallon of milk onto the counter with a thunk, Howard grinned at me, and moved to where he actually /was/ behind the cash register.
"Hey, Heero! How's it goin'?" He asked, as usual.
I shrugged my shoulders heavily in my coat. "It's cold." I said, as I handed him the money.
He laughed heartily at this, and I snuck a glance curiously over at the person. Well, whoever it was, they had chestnut coloured hair. Or at least, their bangs were. The rest of their hair was shoved underneath a black bucket hat. Come to notice it, this person was only wearing black. A black pea-coat, a black turtle neck, black jeans, black boots. Huh.
I tore my gaze away, back to Howard, and my brow furrowed, in thought. "Howard, are you from California?" Curiosity clearly imbedded into my voice.
He laughed heartily, before grinning at me. "Naw, but I've been. I lived there for about 10 years. I'm from Pennsylvania."
I couldn't help it. I stared at him. He was from Amish Country? Or, well, not Amish Country, but the state KNOWN for their Amish?
"Don't look so dubious, Heero! I'm not Amish. I believe in electricity. Though it still confuses me quite a bit…" He said, a grin still playing upon his lips.
I shook my head, and took the plastic bag he had put my milk in, and took one last look at the person.
They turned their head, and their eyes met mine. They were so blue they almost held a violet tint in them. In fact, if I had to describe them to anyone, I'd call them amethyst. But their eyes held a slightly-glazed over look. The person looked way older than whatever their age was—which I presumed to be around my age—even though I don't think it mattered if they were Howard's age. No one should look that emotionally old. For any reason.
They turned their gaze back to Howard, and I turned, and left the little store, and headed straight to the apartment.
All the way to the complex, I couldn't help but wonder what it was about that expression that that person had given me. I had seen it before, I knew, and on occasion, I knew I had even administered it, though usually I was alone.
As I was climbing the stairs to the apartment ( Who the hell had the genius idea to live on the THIRD floor? ), it hit me like a bowling ball rolling down the stairs at top speed. It was the look of the lifeless. The look of utter despair. The look that someone gives when all they REALLY want to do at that moment is go find a quiet corner alone, to do /the/ dirty deed.
No wonder it was so familiar.
I walked down the hallway, and fished the keys out of one of my pockets, before inserting it, and sliding the lock out of the doorframe, and back into the door. I opened the door, and was thankful for the warmth that greeted me. Kicking the door closed behind me, I set the bag onto the ground, and shrugged off my jacket, and backpack, while trying to toe off my snow-crusted shoes at the same time. I wound up having to hop and yank, but the desired came off, and all hit the floor with resounding thuds.
"Oi," I called out. I knew someone was home, by the smells that were wafting out of the kitchenette area. Smelled like… Pasta and vegetables.
"Heero?" Quatre's almost-childish voice called out. Ah, of course. The only thing Trowa can make when it comes to dinner ( That can be considered edible ), is a phone call for pizza.
"Hai, Quatre-kun." I responded. Though Quatre was Arabian to the bone, after living with Trowa for college for so many years, and after being such close friends, he adapted to our native tongue… Or at least, mine. Trowa was my half-brother, but as he wound up with my father for half his life, he learned Japanese, as well. Trowa's biological father was European. Go figure.
"How was school?" He asked, trying to make conversation.
I walked into the small dining room that we all crowded into around 5 o'clock, and leaned heavily against the back of a wooden chair with my forearms, and shrugged my shoulders tensely. "Cold," I supplied, helpfully.
"Still haven't fixed the heating system, I guess." He replied, staring down at a pot that was bubbling, while stirring once in awhile.
Usually conversation ends about there, and I meander off to do nothing in my room, until dinnertime, but this time I stay. "Ne, Quatre-kun, do you know if any new families moved in the neighborhood lately?"
"On the way to classes this morning, I saw moving trucks parked outside 974 Chaplin Road. You know, the house everyone always bickers about how it's haunted, because of the murders that took place down the street. Since it was the only other house on the block, and all…
"The way people talk, it wasn't a wonder that no one wanted to live in there for so long. The people around here have absolutely nothing to do, and have way too much imagination. But I suppose it's no wonder since this town is so small. I mean, they must need something to keep them busy, and something to do—" I think he's still going, but I'm already heading to my room, calling out where the milk is. I'll probably be reprimanded for where I left my coat and shoes too.
A few years ago I probably would have been in a lot of trouble for my shoes, because I was supposed to leave them outside the door, and put on a pair of house slippers, but since living with my half-brother, we didn't really pay that tradition much heed. We had wooden floors, anyway. So no carpet was going to get stained.
I entered my room, and closed the door softly behind me; I think Quatre was still talking. Quatre really was nice, and all, but shit. I think he has too much time on his hands at night, because he's overly talkative. I think so, anyway. Trowa doesn't seem to mind so much.
I padded across the room, and fell onto my made bed ( A habit embedded into my mind when I was very little. Despite the fact that I make my bed, I find it pointless. You're only going to mess it up, anyway. ) my face smothered into my soft down pillows. I stayed like that for a minute, before the moisture from my breath and the heat got to me.
I pulled myself up to my elbows, and flipped over, so I was lying on my back. With a sigh, I sat up, and reached over to turn on my stereo system, before flopping back down again, and closing my eyes. A little nap before dinner wouldn't hurt.
I lay there quietly for a few minutes, my eyes closed, my mind blank.
