Ummm.....hmmm....yes, yaoi/shounen-ai/slash, whatever you want to call it, cute boys with other cute boys. No flames unless you intend to be laughed at. Hohoho! This is 3x4. A semi-sequel again, this one for Don't Cry Out Loud because someone requested it, sparking my urge to write. ::nod:: In 3rd person, but some of Quatre's thoughts are shown in the text ^____^

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The small blonde slipped his nightshirt on, then paused, taking a few moments to look at himself in his vanity mirror. Pitiful. He was simply pitiful, at least in his own mind. The moonlight streamed through his window, making his pale, almost-white skin seem to reflect the rays. He looked even smaller than he really was.
Quatre let out a soft sigh, brushing his long bangs out of his eyes with his sleeve, which, too long for his short frame, easily went past his wrist, covering even up to his fingertips. No one could think that he was attractive, looking like this! No one! He stared at himself in the mirror, silently continuing to berate himself in his mind.
A bit of motion behind him drew his eyes away from his own reflection. He turned, glancing back at the bed across the room from his own, where Trowa lay sprawled out in sleep, the covers wrapped rather tightly around himself. Although this safe house was of better conditions than the last they had stayed in, it was still lacking in many modern conveniences. Needless to say, it was cold, and the brunette's thin figure was shaking slightly, regardless of the covers. A small smile played over Quatre's lips. God, he was beautiful. Trowa...at least, that's how he liked to think of him. He knew it would never be that way, but it was so nice to pretend.
A few short steps carried him over to the side of the bed, and he sat carefully, not wanting to disturb the taller boy sleeping there. Hesitantly, he lifted a hand, drawing his fingertips lightly over Trowa's cheek. So perfect...
A few tears trickled over the blonde pilot's cheeks. Dammit, now he was crying...so weak...He wiped them away fiercely with his other sleeve. He shouldn't be crying like this!
His gaze slowly slid back to the other boy. Silently, he sank down beside him, slipping between the covers until his body touched the brunette's just a bit. A small blush spread over his cheeks, realizing what he was doing. But by then it was too late.
The cool green-blue eyes slid open, then widened, seeing the small boy who was now against him.
Quatre blanched, then grew scarlet, quickly trying to scramble out of the bed. Regaining his thoughts, Trowa reached out, gently catching his wrist. The blonde's movements ceased, and he stared.
What are you doing? Trowa asked, confused.
Stammered Quatre, He bit his lip, then, quietly, Don't hate me...
Trowa blinked.
I don't hate you. He told him, I've no reason to.
The smaller boy was shaking just slightly, his voice lowering down to a small whisper, I'm in your bed...I...aren't you...you....disgusted?
A gentle finger over his lips silenced him, and he looked up at Trowa, surprised.
I'm not disgusted. The other pilot assured him softly, ....I don't mind.
Quatre stared.

Trowa shook his head.
There was a small pause, then the Sandrock pilot spoke up once more, not looking up at the other.
....Can I stay here? His voice was barely audible.
A slight smile crossed Trowa's lips, and he set his arms loosely at Quatre's waist.
Please do.