I hung up on Quatre. Sometimes I wonder what happens when I hang up on him. I have a little picture of Quatre in my mind, holding the phone, looking puzzled. Then Trowa wanders and looks at him. Quatre scratches his head.
"He hung up on me."
"Oh" Trowa says and then they start making out.
The last part of that little picture has been burned into my brain because they seem to do it all the time. In front of people.
There is often loud smacking notices that accompanies their making out, and usually when I hear those noises I walk away and find Hilde to hang out with.
Sometimes I have nightmares that Trowa has eaten Quatre's face.
After my lovely call from Quatre....I have lunch after that, and by lunch I mean I microwave old Chinese food, and then eat half of what I microwave and then put it back in the box, because it's gotten weird and goopy, and there is chicken juice (or at least what I am hoping is chicken juice) running down the plate.
'Chicken fried rice...chicken fried rice....see how it runs...see how it runs...'
I think I am going to be sick. I stumbled out of my kitchen and made my way up to my bathroom. I head to my bathroom because it's a mess in there anyways and if I puke all over the floor it wouldn't really matter.
Nope. Not going to puke. I closed my eyes and then sunk down onto the cold tile of my bathroom floor. Lovely. I sigh, and doze a little on the floor, before my dog comes in and licks my face.
Oh dear lord he has been eating tuna. I hate tuna. It's nasty. No one in their right mind eats it. It's like 'Here....I have puree stink that came out of the see...I seem to have put it on a cracker...would you care for some?' Nasty. Dogs are supposed to have a better sense of smell then humans aren't they? So either the tuna smells different to them because their is like...a hidden scent to it that is unsmellable to human noses...or my dog is just retarded. Either way...I didn't want him licking me.
"Ughhhhhhhhhhh... Get away from me."
He cocks his head at me, and looks confused, then lies down on the towel I used to dry off with this morning.
I reach down and rub his belly. He closes his eyes. For a brief moment I have a flashback of the last time Quatre was drunk. He had the exact same expression on his face as my dog.
"Stupid drunk Quatre-dog..." I mutter, and pet him for several minutes.
After that...I go to the mirror and stare at myself for a good deal of time.
I am not sure if I look good or not. I think I look tired probably.
I don't really feel tired though. I just look like I haven't been sleeping too good, which is the truth, because usually I am up late doing homework or making weird music videos on the computer or talking or downloading music. Mostly downloading music actually. Papa Roach...you will eventually kill me.
Hmmm...
Maybe I am dying.
From runny-chicken rice goop, and lack of sleep.
Maybe I have Salmonella. Maybe I will die from it right now, on the cold bathroom tile, and my parents will feel bad that they ever left do community service and vow that they wouldn't ever go to community service again. Then a lot of poor people will starve to death. Then eventually the economy will fail because without the poor people the whole system is flawed and can't work, and everyone on earth will go back to medieval times, except now they have nuclear weapons, and guns and deadly things like that so there will be huge wars, and the death toll will be very high.
Hello my name is Duo Maxwell. I am the arch angel of death.
I am going to put that on my job résumé.
Eh. I think that I'm going to have to go get some sleep before I go to Quatre's party, seeing as how I almost yakked chicken goop all over the place.
I need sleep. I am not getting enough of it.
I trudge upstairs to my room, and fall asleep, clutching my pillow to my chest.
I woke up around 5:15, Quatre, like the good friend he was, had called me twice to see where I was in my fifteen minutes of absence from his presents.
Speed dial, it seems, is an invention that he does not use for the good of man kind.
I like the bad friend I am, didn't call him back, but instead rushed downstairs, found my jacket, rushed back upstairs, found my shoes, and then ran outside. It was then that I realized that I had forgotten to lock the front door, so I went back inside. When I got inside I found my keys, (which my mother had placed on the key rack, seeing as how she is a very tricky woman) backed up onto my dog's chew toy, slipped, fell down a flight of stairs, pulled myself up off the ground, and ran back outside.
How could I have fallen down the stairs? God has a sick sense of humor. I can see it now.
'Well God...Duo's life seems to be going pretty good...'
'Oh...Throw him down the stairs.'
Good news is...I fell mostly on my face, and that area, so I didn't mess up anything I needed. People can still ride bikes, and go on runs, and play soccer and football with broken jaws, and cracked skulls. I think. I hope. Still.
Bad News is my face hurts like a bitch, I can actually feel it like...throbbing, probably because I am not a light little fella, and I fell off of a flight of stairs, gaining momentum from each step...also I think I landed on one the rope bone thing that my darling puppy always seems to have with him.
My dog has a whole lot of chew toys. His chew toys are everywhere, all covered in dog drool, and you can't pick them all up and like put them away like you can do with children's toys because I am pretty sure that the concept of having a toy box escapes most animals.
Or maybe not.
Half way to Quatre's house, I stop and look at myself in the side view mirror of some guy's car. I'm a mess.
My hair is messed up because I didn't have time to do it over after my nap...My lip is bleeding...which I didn't notice until now...and the side of my face that I landed on is already starting to turn a lovely teal color.
I'm going to need to go to the hospital.
"Well Doc...you see...I seem to have fallen down the stairs...My face isn't supposed to be this color. What do you suggest?"
I am thinking this exact thought as I turn the corner of Quatre's street. The thought is still passing through my brain when I see him.
His brown, beautiful, soft, crazy hair, standing on end like there is an electrical storm occurring (and not just in my pants)...each strand like a thread spun by a crazy spider that prefers the color brown.
"Uh..." was all I could manage. I pull my bangs away from my face like I usually do when I am nervous...and I wince when my hand comes in contact with my forehead. Uggh. Damn it. I am going to have a huge bruise all over my face.
I realize...very suddenly...that it must look like I have been beaten up or something, I mean...I'm late to the party, I didn't call to tell anyone I was going to be late...suddenly it hits me. Heero is outside with his jacket on. He is right next to his pick-up truck and has his keys in his hand. "Are you...where you going to leave Heero?"
"I...no...your really late. Duo...what happened?"
"Nghghhh..." I mutter. "Fell down the stairs..." I say, sheepishly.
"Seriously? Idiot...aw man...when did you do this?" He slowly puts his hands on my shoulders. I watch as he does this. I watch his hand moving over to cup my shoulder and give it a little squeeze. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah I'm fine." I grin at him, and throw my head towards the front door of Quatre's mansion. "Want to go back inside? I'm starving...."
"Yeah....ok...."
"I haven't talked to you for a while man..."
"He hung up on me."
"Oh" Trowa says and then they start making out.
The last part of that little picture has been burned into my brain because they seem to do it all the time. In front of people.
There is often loud smacking notices that accompanies their making out, and usually when I hear those noises I walk away and find Hilde to hang out with.
Sometimes I have nightmares that Trowa has eaten Quatre's face.
After my lovely call from Quatre....I have lunch after that, and by lunch I mean I microwave old Chinese food, and then eat half of what I microwave and then put it back in the box, because it's gotten weird and goopy, and there is chicken juice (or at least what I am hoping is chicken juice) running down the plate.
'Chicken fried rice...chicken fried rice....see how it runs...see how it runs...'
I think I am going to be sick. I stumbled out of my kitchen and made my way up to my bathroom. I head to my bathroom because it's a mess in there anyways and if I puke all over the floor it wouldn't really matter.
Nope. Not going to puke. I closed my eyes and then sunk down onto the cold tile of my bathroom floor. Lovely. I sigh, and doze a little on the floor, before my dog comes in and licks my face.
Oh dear lord he has been eating tuna. I hate tuna. It's nasty. No one in their right mind eats it. It's like 'Here....I have puree stink that came out of the see...I seem to have put it on a cracker...would you care for some?' Nasty. Dogs are supposed to have a better sense of smell then humans aren't they? So either the tuna smells different to them because their is like...a hidden scent to it that is unsmellable to human noses...or my dog is just retarded. Either way...I didn't want him licking me.
"Ughhhhhhhhhhh... Get away from me."
He cocks his head at me, and looks confused, then lies down on the towel I used to dry off with this morning.
I reach down and rub his belly. He closes his eyes. For a brief moment I have a flashback of the last time Quatre was drunk. He had the exact same expression on his face as my dog.
"Stupid drunk Quatre-dog..." I mutter, and pet him for several minutes.
After that...I go to the mirror and stare at myself for a good deal of time.
I am not sure if I look good or not. I think I look tired probably.
I don't really feel tired though. I just look like I haven't been sleeping too good, which is the truth, because usually I am up late doing homework or making weird music videos on the computer or talking or downloading music. Mostly downloading music actually. Papa Roach...you will eventually kill me.
Hmmm...
Maybe I am dying.
From runny-chicken rice goop, and lack of sleep.
Maybe I have Salmonella. Maybe I will die from it right now, on the cold bathroom tile, and my parents will feel bad that they ever left do community service and vow that they wouldn't ever go to community service again. Then a lot of poor people will starve to death. Then eventually the economy will fail because without the poor people the whole system is flawed and can't work, and everyone on earth will go back to medieval times, except now they have nuclear weapons, and guns and deadly things like that so there will be huge wars, and the death toll will be very high.
Hello my name is Duo Maxwell. I am the arch angel of death.
I am going to put that on my job résumé.
Eh. I think that I'm going to have to go get some sleep before I go to Quatre's party, seeing as how I almost yakked chicken goop all over the place.
I need sleep. I am not getting enough of it.
I trudge upstairs to my room, and fall asleep, clutching my pillow to my chest.
I woke up around 5:15, Quatre, like the good friend he was, had called me twice to see where I was in my fifteen minutes of absence from his presents.
Speed dial, it seems, is an invention that he does not use for the good of man kind.
I like the bad friend I am, didn't call him back, but instead rushed downstairs, found my jacket, rushed back upstairs, found my shoes, and then ran outside. It was then that I realized that I had forgotten to lock the front door, so I went back inside. When I got inside I found my keys, (which my mother had placed on the key rack, seeing as how she is a very tricky woman) backed up onto my dog's chew toy, slipped, fell down a flight of stairs, pulled myself up off the ground, and ran back outside.
How could I have fallen down the stairs? God has a sick sense of humor. I can see it now.
'Well God...Duo's life seems to be going pretty good...'
'Oh...Throw him down the stairs.'
Good news is...I fell mostly on my face, and that area, so I didn't mess up anything I needed. People can still ride bikes, and go on runs, and play soccer and football with broken jaws, and cracked skulls. I think. I hope. Still.
Bad News is my face hurts like a bitch, I can actually feel it like...throbbing, probably because I am not a light little fella, and I fell off of a flight of stairs, gaining momentum from each step...also I think I landed on one the rope bone thing that my darling puppy always seems to have with him.
My dog has a whole lot of chew toys. His chew toys are everywhere, all covered in dog drool, and you can't pick them all up and like put them away like you can do with children's toys because I am pretty sure that the concept of having a toy box escapes most animals.
Or maybe not.
Half way to Quatre's house, I stop and look at myself in the side view mirror of some guy's car. I'm a mess.
My hair is messed up because I didn't have time to do it over after my nap...My lip is bleeding...which I didn't notice until now...and the side of my face that I landed on is already starting to turn a lovely teal color.
I'm going to need to go to the hospital.
"Well Doc...you see...I seem to have fallen down the stairs...My face isn't supposed to be this color. What do you suggest?"
I am thinking this exact thought as I turn the corner of Quatre's street. The thought is still passing through my brain when I see him.
His brown, beautiful, soft, crazy hair, standing on end like there is an electrical storm occurring (and not just in my pants)...each strand like a thread spun by a crazy spider that prefers the color brown.
"Uh..." was all I could manage. I pull my bangs away from my face like I usually do when I am nervous...and I wince when my hand comes in contact with my forehead. Uggh. Damn it. I am going to have a huge bruise all over my face.
I realize...very suddenly...that it must look like I have been beaten up or something, I mean...I'm late to the party, I didn't call to tell anyone I was going to be late...suddenly it hits me. Heero is outside with his jacket on. He is right next to his pick-up truck and has his keys in his hand. "Are you...where you going to leave Heero?"
"I...no...your really late. Duo...what happened?"
"Nghghhh..." I mutter. "Fell down the stairs..." I say, sheepishly.
"Seriously? Idiot...aw man...when did you do this?" He slowly puts his hands on my shoulders. I watch as he does this. I watch his hand moving over to cup my shoulder and give it a little squeeze. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah I'm fine." I grin at him, and throw my head towards the front door of Quatre's mansion. "Want to go back inside? I'm starving...."
"Yeah....ok...."
"I haven't talked to you for a while man..."
