Warnings: Shounen ai
Pairings: 2+5, 1+3(minor), unrequited 4+3
Summary: Wufei's depression begins to take its toll and Duo is worried.
A/N: I don't much like Quatre. I'd hoped that I wouldn't be updating this again. Nothing great, though, the product of early morning writing.
Dying While Alive
by Amyeyl
Chapter 3
It had been weeks since his last mission. For a while he had begun to wonder if there was a lull in the war. This was disproved quickly as the others seemed to be swamped with them. So why not him?
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It seemed to be all he did of late. It didn't really bother him, it wasn't as if he had the desire to do anything anyway. In fact, he wished it were that simple. To a casual observer he could pass for doing nothing, but if you watched closely you could tell it was not the case.
Thoughts plagued his mind endlessly. He couldn't rid himself of them no matter what he tried to do. He couldn't focus well enough to meditate and sleep brought them about in frightening new ways. The dreams were so bad it had gotten to the point that he didn't want to sleep anymore. And so he lay awake day in, day out, trying to ignore the thoughts that swirled through his mind.
His pillow was a tiny comfort to him, and he was rarely seen without it. Even now, as he thought about the war and his friends, he was curled around his pillow, squeezing it for all he was worth. If it had been alive, it would have surely suffocated by now. He rubbed his cheek against the smooth surface and sighed softly.
Why wasn't he being assigned any missions? Had Master O lost faith in him after his failure? Or perhaps his fellow pilots? It would explain why they were all so busy. If they were taking his missions because they didn't trust him to be able to do them...
The thought made him angry. It had been a while since he had felt anything other than pain in his torso, and it was a welcome change. He was just as capable as they were, just as capable as he had always been. So why were they treating him like a child?
He climbed off of his bed and left the room. He made his way downstairs, unaware of the pillow still clutched tightly in his arms. He found Quatre in the kitchen. To say the least, the blonde pilot was startled to find see him.
"Wufei? You're up."
"Is that such a surprise?"
"Yes-well, no, I mean..." he sighed at his fumbling then took a slight breath. Smiling this time, he started over, "It's nice to see you up." Wufei stared at him for a moment, unsure of how to respond. What did Quatre mean by that? At one point, he may have seen it as true concern on the blonde boy's behalf, but in his angered state he could only see it as negative. He frowned, unconsciously squeezing his pillow.
"I'm sure," he mumbled, turning his face into the pillow. He blinked, pulling back as he realized that he still had it with him. He stared at it like he'd never seen it before. He was so focused on the pillow that he hadn't heard Quatre for a while.
"Wufei!" Startled out of his confusion over the pillow, he looked over to Quatre. "I asked you a question." At the boy's blank look, Quatre repeated it. "What did you mean by that, by what you said?" For a moment, Quatre thought he was going to have to ask again. As Wufei thought back over the short conversation, wondering just what he had said, his eyes had gone slightly out of focus. When he remembered, though, they snapped back.
"Oh... nothing..."
"Wufei," Quatre began, unsure if he should be angry or concerned, and moved around the kitchen table towards him, "That wasn't nothing. You know I care about you, right?" At times, Quatre wondered about Wufei. If he hadn't seen him crying a few days ago... no, that was nonsense, and he brushed the thought away. "Sure Quatre..." he whispered.
"Dammit, Wufei!" Quatre yelled, slamming his hand against the tabletop. "Stop that! We're your friends, all of us, and we DO care about you whether you want to believe or not. Now I don't know what's crawled up your ass lately, but I think it's high time you pulled it out!"
Wufei left the kitchen without another word. A few moments later, Quatre heard the door close. It was probably locked as well.
"Shit!" This time it was his fist that connected with the wall. It left behind a depression and cracked plaster. Nothing of any use.
The shouting brought Trowa into the kitchen. He was passed by an obviously upset Wufei. For a moment, he was unsure of who to check up on. He couldn't be in two places at once. The sounds from the kitchen that followed the closing of Wufei's door made up his mind. True, he worried for the black haired boy, but Quatre was his best friend. He hated rationalizing his decisions, the scales never balanced.
He found the blonde slumped in a chair, shaking slightly. He came up behind him slowly, trying to discern if he were crying or not. He couldn't be sure, but it didn't seem like it.
"Quatre?" he asked softly, kneeling beside him. "What happened?" The boy in the chair sniffed, but tears had yet to fall.
"I..." he gestured towards the damaged wall, "I put a hole in the wall."
"That's what has you so upset?" He didn't think that was the case, but it would make things so much simpler.
"Not completely, but it doesn't help matters." he sniffed again, before managing a slight, watery smile. Trowa shifted to face him fully and rubbed the boy's arm in comfort.
"What else, then?"
"Wufei..." he gestured loosely towards the doorway, then rubbed at his nose and sniffed. "I yelled at him, and, and I shouldn't have. I mean, I shouldn't have, he... something's wrong with him and my yelling couldn't have made it any better. But he made me so mad, Trowa. It's not like him, it's not like me. I don't know what to do. I just.." his voice cracked and he leaned forward against Trowa, trusting his friend to support him while he cried.
The tears soaked into Trowa's turtleneck as he held his sobbing friend. Quatre was still mumbling through his tears, but what he was saying wasn't too important. Trowa knew Quatre knew he couldn't really be understood. He'd tell him exactly what had happened after he calmed down some. For now, it was enough that Trowa was there to hold him and let him cry.
Then something different happened. Quatre's voice moved from the vicinity of his shoulder to directly next to his ear. Slightly confused, Trowa turned to face the still crying boy. He was unprepared when Quatre stopped talking and pressed lips against his own. The blonde whimpered when Trowa jerked back.
"Q-Quatre?"
"Don't let go, Trowa. Please don't... I don't want to be alone right now."
"You know I'd never leave you alone, Quatre, but I-"
"I know, Trowa... I know you don't feel that way about me."
"I..."
"I know."
Wufei stood beside his bed, anger and pillow both long forgotten. One was pushed to a corner of his mind, the other dropped carelessly to the floor. Both discarded in favor of the object held gingerly between his fingers. A tiny, sharp knife, taken from the kitchen at some point in time he didn't remember. The silver of it glinted in the light when held just so. He stood, as he had for a long moment, in contemplation of it. It was so small, yet perhaps... Just perhaps.
He smiled briefly, not a happy smile, but the smile of the desperate. He thought it was stupid. He didn't want to kill himself, he didn't want attention. He didn't want to be trendy or fit into any groups. He knew it was stupid, but just maybe...
He moved over to his desk and set the knife down. Holding out his left arm, he rolled back the fabric of his sleeve. Picking up the knife again, he scrutinized his flesh. He could vaguely make out the veins trailing blue throughout his arm. Why was he doing this? It didn't make sense really. But he had to try, if it could help...
He placed the blade against his flesh, not pressing, not dragging. The colors were so different. But there was his arm again, reflected back at him. He made a swift cut, pulling the knife a barely a centimeter towards himself. It wasn't deep, and it didn't hurt.
Blood welled up, a few drops at a time. More would rise to replace what he wiped away, never threatening to spill over or trickle down his arm. Just a few drops. It bled longer than he thought it would. Soon after, though, came the pain. It was a dull throb, easily ignorable if one chose to do so. But he focused on it. On the pain, on the blood. It was real, it was there for him to see and feel. Not like everything else, that was all so far away. It was all so confusing, the other pain. He didn't understand it, couldn't. But this, it was so simple and it made sense. You cut yourself and you bleed, you feel pain.
A refuge in logic. A sanctuary in the pain.
A/N: shameless self plug like thing- tartarus.keenspace.com -(tuesdays and saturdays, for now)