Title: "I hate Valentine's Day"

Author: Leo (heh, yep Makoto brought me out of the closet!)

Part: 1/1

Archived: not up yet

Warnings: Death... Hey, I'm the dark, angsty muse, I write that kind

of shit (oh yeah, bad language may be seen within this fic)

Pairings: 2+1+2

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Don't own it, don't clame to, so leave me alone

Notes: I hate Valentine's Day, don't you? Sorry this is late, too

much on my mind. Duo's prespective.

"I hate Valentine's Day 1/1"

God, I hate this fucking day! Who's brilliant idea was it to create a

day that pretty much dictates when you are to be romantic? Isn't

romance a show of the feelings in one's heart? Thus, shouldn't it be

speratic? Why do you have to be all mushy just one day of the whole

fucking year? Do you only love them that one day?

No.

I love him everyday. With every breath I need him more. The thought

of him makes my pulse quicken, my mind race. And when I am lucky,

when I make some physical contact, it feels like the world is

trembling benieth my feet. I want to melt, ooze down into a puddle of

goo. My throat swells shut, making it hard to breath. But, I don't

care, for he is there. His existance makes my pain better, my

heartache heeled, my universe complete.

But, he doesn't know.

Wufei says, 'Tell him.'

How do you tell the 'Perfect Soldier' you love him? Send him a card?

A box of chocolates? Write him a poem?

Someones already beat me to it. Ms. Peacecraft has tried them all and

what does he do, wrip them up, though I must admit, I find some mirth

in this. Still, if she can't get him, how can I?

Trowa says, 'Show him.'

And risk a bloody nose or a bullet wound to the chest? I don't think

so. Heero is deffinatly not the type you can just go up to a plant a

big wet one on.

Then Quatre opens his mouth to speak, and I tremble in anticipation.

For in his infinate wisdom, in his magnificent secret knowledge, he

has managed to snag his own stoic pilot, thus I hold his advice above

all.

So I stare intently, watching his mouth open, his small tongue begin

to form the words, the tongue that holds the secret of the universe,

and just as the melodic sounds are about to dance their way into my

waiting ear, one Japanese pilot of Wing walks in and all goes quiet.

'Shit.' I mentally curse. 'Of all the times Heero had to show up!'

But for him, I simply slip on the wear-worn, tattered mask.

"Hey Heero."

"Hn."

---

As the witching hour nears, I realize I still haven't given him my

Valentine's gift. It was so hard to pick. I had torn apart every

store in site that day, but to no avail. The perfect gift just could

not be found.

Then it hit me.

There is one gift. One, single, solitary gift he might actually take

notice of...

I know he hates me. It's evident in the way he casts those annoyed

grunts. Those, 'Hns' that basically mean, 'Go away baka, I have no

time for you.'

So, why not give him what he wants?

Will you cry for me Heero when you find me dead on the ground? Will

you sob out a desperate, 'Why Duo? Why didn't you just tell me?' or

will you just remain your impassive self.

I'm sorry Heero, I just wanted you to notice me. I'm sorry this had

to be the way.

Ironic it had to be this day, the day I loathe above all that I end

it. It's almost cruel that my passing will be associated with it, but

that's fate.

So, before you burry me into the war-torn ground, and say your final

goody-byes, I want you to know how I feel. I wrote it in that card

that lies near my once warm flesh. Don't bother reading it, I'll tell

you what it says:

Dear Heero,

I love you, now and on into eternity.

Happy V-day.

-Duo

~*Fin*~