This is the sequel (parallel fic?) to "Shadow Dance," and should make all you sap fans happy (evilness! sap!). Gundam Wing and all its little people do not (unfortunately) belong to me. I just borrow them to create mayhem and madness . This was originally a songfic to the song "Dear Diary" from the M2M CD Shades of Purple, but the lyrics have been removed in accordance to Freakiness. Be warned of plot inconsistencies between this and the series. I've only seen 13 episodes and EW, pity, not anger, is what I deserve. :muse whines: Shut up. I'm still not done getting back at you for trying to bite my finger off.
Warnings: shonen ai, 3+4, TWT
By: M.E. (Magnificent Entity)
Running his hand through his hair, Quatre tapped his pen lightly against his lips, trying to concentrate. He was someone accustomed to routines, and part of his daily routine was- had been, for several years now- writing in his journal right before he went to bed. Usually when he sat down the words started to pour out of his mind and onto the blank page in the book in front of him. He would start out a brief sketch of what had happened during the day, then summarize his current thoughts and feelings.
At least, that was what he usually did. Today, however, was different, because he was having a hard time sorting out the emotions that had plagued him ever since late that afternoon. A slow smile spread across his face as he remembered the event that had called into being his current confused state of mind. As he thought about it his eyelids drooped, causing his face to take on a dreamy, half-awake look.
He fondly recalled the way it had sounded when the other pilot had first said his name, playing it back to himself over and over again in his mind. Even though he had only just met the other boy, he was already being affected by the other's actions in the strangest ways. Sighing, he decided that it would be best to keep today's entry short, or else he might end up going on and on for pages about that one event. Leaning forward, he put pen to paper and began to write.
–––
Absentmindedly rubbing a thumb across the palm of his hand, Quatre pondered the predicament that he had found himself in. It had been two months since he'd last seen Trowa, and yet he was still unable to keep the other boy out of his thoughts.
While Trowa avoided most people, Quatre had noticed early on the slim pilot's affinity for animals. At the last school they had both attended, he had discovered Trowa in the biology lab one day after class, and it had seemed that the other boy was almost in silent communion with the scaly, slithery, and furry beasts that inhabited the cages around him.
As he had watched Trowa from the doorway, his presence still undetected, Quatre was surprised to see him sit down at one of the lab tables, burying his head in his arms, almost as if he was weeping. Disturbed, Quatre had entered the room, placing a hand on Trowa's should and voicing his concern.
The brunette had sat up suddenly, surprised by Quatre's touch, then had slowly relaxed when he saw who it was.
Was it just his imagination, or had Quatre seen in the other pilot's eyes the same feelings that had been troubling him for the past few months...?
No, now that he thought about it and considered other evidence that he'd collected, Quatre was almost positive that Trowa felt the same way about him. But why hadn't the Heavyarms pilot said anything- was he shy? Trowa wasn't one to use a lot of words during the best of times, and Quatre had decided a while ago that the only way he'd ever get him to open up to him would be through the careful application of several alcoholic drinks, and even then, knowing his luck, Trowa would probably turn out to be a sleepy drunk.
Since it was clear that Trowa wasn't going to be the one to make the first move, it was obviously up to him, Quatre, to do so. But, for some reason, he hesitated to take any action, despite the fact that his whole body was screaming at him to tell the other pilot how he felt.
–––
Bouncing on his bed, Quatre chuckled to himself as he remembered what had happened earlier in the day. Who would have known that Trowa, stoic, I-speak-in-dot-language Trowa, would be a doodler? Quatre, who had been engrossed by the teacher's lecture- obviously the woman was passionate about that day's subject- hadn't noticed until about five minutes before the bell rang that Trowa had managed to, during the span of a fifty minute period, cover his arm with an intricate pattern of geometric and organic shapes, from elbow to finger tips.
Walking up next to the other boy at the end of the class, Quatre was surprised to see what Trowa had drawn on the back of his hand. Gothic type stared back at him like black, staring eyes, from the middle of a large, red heart. The blonde's own heart had nearly skipped a beat when he caught a glimpse of what the letters said right before the taller boy had grabbed his jacket and rushed out of the room. The numbers "04" had been very clear.
Well, if he hadn't be sure about how Trowa felt about him before, he was now. However, he still didn't know what to do about the situation, which frustrated him to no end. Glancing at the slim, cloth-covered book resting on the desk across the room from him, then down at the overflowing book bag beside him, Quatre tried to decide whether it would be okay to write in his journal now and put off his homework for a few minutes longer.
Giving his head a sharp nod to indicate his decision, he crossed the room and sat down at the desk, drawing the journal to himself. He couldn't wait to record what had happened today, and was pretty sure that it would be a big problem if he put off the essay that he had to do for history a few minutes longer.
The blonde Arabian grimaced at the thought of the essay. Ms Binz was a great teacher, but man, the homework load...
Leaning back in his chair, pen grasped between his clenched teeth, Quatre examined the words that he'd written. Sure, it was one in the morning, but he was proud of it- it had to be one of the best essays he had done, and, basking in the glow of accomplished schoolwork, he could easily forget the personal problems that had been plaguing him for some time now, as well as the gnawing responsibilities that came with being a Gundam pilot. Yup, he felt good.
Lulling in his pride, his mind, finally eased into peace, settled down and began to work regularly once again, something that it had not done for nearly five months. In this state of utter relaxation, his mind carefully massaged itself, working out the knots and kinks that had been confusing him for months. As his mind unwound itself, Quatre became more and more at ease.
Suddenly, Quatre sat bolt upright, his eyes gleaming, no longer full of sleepiness. He knew what to do about his problem.
Catching up his journal from its resting place on his desk, Quatre quietly opened the door to his room, and entered the hall. Footsteps falling silently on the thickly carpeted floor, he made his way down the hall, to the door of Trowa's room. The blonde hesitated a moment, then steeled himself. He had decided to do this, and he wasn't going to stop now.
Leaning over, he carefully slid the slim book under the door. Giving it one last glance, he straightened, turned, and made his way back to his room.
In the morning Trowa would find the book. Once he'd read it, he would know exactly how Quatre felt. If he still didn't say anything... well, Quatre would have to get his journal back anyway, and they would be able to talk then.
He felt happier then he had in months.