Formerly known as

By trivia-game

Angsty, if I did my job right, dark, yaoi, 1x2, a bit of lime implied, and (gasp!) 1xR (I'm sorry!)

Disclaimer: Not mine, and you better hope it never is, or else the little kiddies (think about the 10-year-old boys who are actually **supposed** to watch the show!) will be traumatized.

Note-ness: Read the book "Annie on my mind"!

::eye twitches:: damn it, I really want to write a freaking lemon, as one of my reviews suggested (screamed?), but FFN isn't too thrilled with the possibility. What do you think about the idea? It would be a depressing lemon. Probably hosted on MMO.

And I didn't mean to be writing this part third person in a non-letter format…but I felt like it after a reviewer got it in my head. Meh.

Duo looked at the letter below him. The envelope it was to be sent in had a ring off coffee stained across the address written in Duo's slightly sloppy cursive. He knew every letter and number of Heero's new address. Fifty years from now, if he survived, Duo knew he could ramble it off without a pause to think.

The letter was long. Really long. It went on page after page, wrinkled in parts, and smeared with brown-red blood on in random places. God, was he ever getting sappy in these. There was too much emotion there, and he already wanted to stop writing. Fuck Heero and the fact that he was talking.

Sure, he was in love with every word spilling onto the page from Heero's pen, but it was hurting. A lot.

There was that address. It was glaring at him. Duo knew this chase was ridiculous. How couldn't he? But there was an inevitable fear screaming at him, forbidding him from taking the action he so wanted to. This was becoming an obsession. Some kind of a twisted obsession. He glanced across the tiny apartment room, past the mounds of clothes and scattered papers, past the used scissors blotched with blood, past the unmade bed out the window, where the black sky hung over the bitter world. Somewhere out there, Heero was probably sound asleep. Somewhere out there, Heero was.

.:.

The sound of mucus-laden breath was drawn out rhythmically beside Heero's form in the large bed. Her eyes were closed next to him. Her inhalation was heavy with sleep. Even after those past two hours together, the instant Heero started to think of him, he doubted he could have even remembered her name.

They were in her house. The silhouettes and forms around him were unfamiliar. Things started taking on twisted, gnarled shapes. Heero couldn't sleep. His limbs were weighed down with post-orgasmic exhaustion, but his eyes were wide, seeking figures he could identify in the sweeping darkness, trying to look past the guilt and self-loathing. But there was nothing—everything he'd known before and had taken for reality…was now warped. A joking smile turned to blood and anger, and a small lonely apartment was transformed into a wide mansion with a broad bed occupied by two strangers and empty passion.

Where the hell was the light switch? Squinting in the dark, Heero scanned the ample bedroom for the switch, but in the nighttime shades of black, the world smeared. Two years ago, he could have picked it out with his eyes closed. Now, his skills were as smudged as the darkness around him. He hated himself.

Silently, he slipped out of the bed, naked in the bitter gloom. He dropped to his knees, feeling the floor for his clothing, filthy as it may be after stumbling out from the bar, or wherever he'd been. The sharp edge of the leg that balanced that pretty bed on wheels clawed at his ankle as he crawled, feeling the floor.

Slowly, he gathered his clothing…slid it on…grabbed his wallet…drifted out.

Outside, in the stretched corridor, the light was blinding. Though it couldn't have been too bright, the effect was painful. As he squinted beneath the lighting, searching for the winding staircase, servants stared, asking him vaguely if he needed any help. They politely backed away at his refusal, hissing amongst each other about what to tell the mistress, what should they do, how to tell the lady, and who was he?

"Good evening Mr. Yui," a cool voice murmured as the door to the outside world was opened swiftly before him. Icy, Dorothy held it open for Heero as he slid out like a whisper. Her pose was forceful, but calm and composed, like a tiger crouched and watchful.

"I'm leaving," Heero acknowledged and heard the door slam behind him.

They loved her in there, they were eager to protect her—they all were.

God, he hated himself.

**I didn't want to put the mention of self-mutilation in here, because it's a really painful subject, and that might be stretching the angst thing a bit, but I wrote a third-person view of when Duo wrote the first letter, and there was blood involved, and I figured it should be mentioned. If anyone is going through a period where self-inflicted pain is part of their routine, I've been there, and am ready and willing to talk about it—no one should have to go through that, especially alone.

Sprained my ankle. Plenty of free time now. Gonna be making up for the time I've been away in regards to update. -_-;; I miss the outside world…