Roommates
Chapter 5: Another Promise
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"Cheese is your friend."
Trowa smiles. "That's not cheese."
"Sure it is. It's just in a can. And in paste form."
"Name one cheese that naturally occurs in paste form."
"Feta. Ricotta. Cottage..."
He sighs.
"Hah! Here, try a smiley."
He stares down at the round wheat cracker being shoved into his hand. On its surface, lines of artificially colored and flavored "cheese product" depict two laughing eyes and a widely grinning mouth.
"Oh, wait. Here..."
And then, abruptly, a large dollop graces the center of the "face." He chuckles. It's a clown nose. "You're rather talented with that."
"Aren't I, though?"
He stares down at the cracker in his palm for a minute.
"Hey, where are your sexy duds? You're still going to the concert tonight aren't you?"
He doesn't reply immediately. He'd been hoping she wouldn't ask. He'd considered catching an early flight back home but he knows what's waiting there for him: an empty apartment filled with reminders of his roommate. Soon to be ex-roommate.
Trowa says, "Of course."
"Cool."
He looks up from the brown and orange smiley face in his grasp and studies her as she leans one hip against the counter and proceeds to draw a Christmas tree on another cracker.
"Yokaze..."
"Yeah?"
Very quietly, in a carefully neutral voice, he asks, "Is there... anything you need to tell me before... before you go?"
"Uhm... I'll miss wrestling you for the last coconut macaroon?"
Trowa takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. He absorbs the sight of the shadowed kitchen where he'd had his last conversation with Yokaze that afternoon. There's no one here now, just him and the shadows. Slowly, he lowers his empty hand to his side; her offering of dubious nutritional value disappearing with the rest of the memory.
He steps closer to the counter and runs a hand over the spot where she'd leaned her jean-clad hip against it. The surface is cool to the touch; it's no more adept at holding onto her essence than Trowa had been. His eyelids lower once again and he imagines he can hear her voice.
"Well, I've got to go."
He nods.
"There's going to be a small party backstage afterwards. I've already told the security guys to let you by..."
"Thanks," he says, knowing that he won't take her up on the offer.
"Okay... Wish me luck."
Trowa has to swallow and take a deep breath before he can grant her request. "Luck," he breathes.
With a heavy sigh, Trowa leans against the counter, one arm wrapped around his stomach and the other had sliding over his eyes. The stiffness seeps out of his shoulders and he stands there, in the dark kitchen, defeated.
I didn't tell her...
But what good would it have done now?
"Trowa! Everyone's here! Are you ready to go?"
He straightens from his slouch and drops his hands just as Quatre peeks into the room. "Trowa? Are you all right?"
He nods. "Fine. Just getting a glass of water."
Quatre steps aside as his friend shoulders past him and into the somewhat crowded living room. Still hovering in the doorway, Quatre glances to the sink. The empty sink. There's no glass in sight. With a frown, he retreats back down the hall and hopes that the concert will manage to pull Trowa from the strange mood that's settled over him.
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"You look to the sky..."
Trowa stands, arms crossed over his chest, and studies the woman on the stage. He watches as her eyes slide closed. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips and she brings the microphone close again. She cradles it as she might balance a glass of wine between her middle and ring fingers.
"You sink down into the sand..."
Her husky voice resonates over the enthusiastic crowd. The spotlight reflects perfectly off of her face as she feels the music, gives it life with every hitch of her breath and motion of her brows.
"You fall into a sigh as the day..."
Her entire body is drawn tight as the words fight to be released from her lungs and throat. Every pair of eyes in the hall is riveted to her form as she transforms the lyrics into a subtle dance.
"...just slips away."
A pause marks the end of the chorus and, softly, the music begins again, begins to build once more toward the next intense moment of emotion. But for now, everything is soft again. Whispered. The audience holds its collective breath.
"A glance in the tides..."
Even though Yokaze has relaxed, curling around the microphone in her hands as if sheltering a fragile flower from a roaring wind.
"A whisper on your skin..."
A deep breath then an aching voice as she unleashes just a taste of the passion to come.
"Can you feel the night begin?"
Trowa can feel his pulse quicken in response to the illusion of freedom she invokes with those words.
"Lovely black star shine..."
He almost closes his eyes to savor the images rolling off of her tongue.
"Falls from your immortal eyes..."
Her entire body fairly shivers in the heat of the white light as the music pulls her tighter into its passionate embrace.
"Can you heed the dream within?"
The music swells in the closed auditorium as the chorus approaches for the last time.
"You ascend to the sky..."
She's a vision when she looses herself in the melody, he decides.
"You tumble among the sand..."
And the ache of knowing he must watch her walk away makes him wish he could just close his eyes and shut out the memory of her. But he can't.
"You exhale one last time... and then..."
Silence. Resonating silence. A beat. Two. Three.
Unassisted by the other band members, Yokaze breathes, "Slip away..."
She lowers the microphone and opens her eyes as the thunderous applause begins. A corner of her mouth lifts and she waves in recognition of the praise. She's a contradiction: at home in the spotlight pouring her soul out into the sea of strangers, yet embarrassed by the roaring welcome her talents receive.
A moment more passes before she holds up one hand. "Tonight," she begins, her voice never rising far from the monotone she's known so well for, "tonight, is a moment of beginnings." The audience tunes into her words, absorbing the sound of every syllable. "Beginnings are powerful things. A single moment of inspiration and then..." She waves her hand over the audience to encompass both them and the universe beyond. "...and so, here we are. As mere mortals we can only honor the miracle of beginnings by creating more amongst ourselves." Yokaze smiles and holds out her hand to where Trowa stands with Quatre and a few other close friends of NW just off stage. "Zoe," she whispers, "come into the light."
Beside Trowa, a young woman jumps slightly, eyes wide. She glances around as if there must be another Zoe Yokaze is beckoning onto the stage. Ever patient, Yokaze waves her hand in a graceful invitation and waits. Reluctantly—as if she expects to be chastised by security—she approaches the band.
With every pair of eyes studying Yokaze, poised in the brilliant white light, no one notices as Ian quietly sets his guitar aside and skirts the shadows. And then he's stepping past Yokaze and claiming center stage. She passes the mic to him as she retreats to stand beside Jarret.
Zoe is shaking with anticipation and anxiety. Ian holds out his hand to her and gently pulls her close. The confusion and questions in her eyes are obvious, but before she can say anything, Ian lifts the microphone to his lips and tells her, "I stopped wishing on stars when I was about eight years old."
The audience is perfectly silent, wondering where this display is leading.
"I stopped not because I didn't believe in them anymore but because I wasn't sure how to ask for what I wanted. But what does anyone want when they wish on a star? A miracle." He pauses. "You are my miracle."
Still holding her hand, Ian sinks down onto one knee. A collective gasp of delight rolls through the hall.
"Zoe," Ian softly requests, "will you marry me?"
Trowa's eyes widen as he watches the young woman nod her head vigorously in reply. Ignoring the thunderous applause, he quickly scans the stage for Yokaze and stares at the completely content smile tugging at her lips. For one long, eternal, breathless moment, he doesn't understand.
And then he does.
Yokaze isn't engaged to Ian.
His heart pounds slow and hard in his chest as he finally drags in a breath of air.
Yokaze isn't engaged to Ian.
Trowa attempts to rationalize. What had he seen yesterday at the concert hall? What had that been if not a proposal?
His mind helpfully provides him with a possibility: a rehearsal. Ian had practiced his proposal on Yokaze...
He watches as Yokaze unobtrusively collects the microphone from Ian and, still smiling, lifts it to her lips. Ian regains his feet and holds his other hand out for Zoe to take. And when she does he pulls her close. A moment later, Yokaze's husky voice tumbles forth.
"I can't tell you I love you... the words are too easy to say..."
Trowa watches her as the newly betrothed dance smoothly in the spotlight.
"I can't give you my heart... I've already thrown it away..."
Ian and Zoe seem to be illuminated from within as they gaze into each other's eyes.
"I can't offer my soul... I sold to you for a smile..."
Trowa reluctantly turns his gaze back to Yokaze and freezes when he finds himself trapped in her dark stare.
"I can't die for you... my breath has been still for a while... and I know..."
He can't turn away. He doesn't want to turn away. She's looking at him like...
"It should hurt... it should bleed... it should scar... it should sear... it should blister... I should feel my mind falling apart..."
She's looking at him like...
"But I'm here... with you... and it's... beautiful..."
An ache explodes in his chest and it feels as if his sternum has cracked open. His blood is rushing just beneath his skin, tickling his wrists and stomach.
"And I reach... for the pain... but it simply dances away..."
Yokaze takes a shuddering breath and pours herself into the music and into the young man she's roomed with and watched over and cared for and trusted for years.
Softly, she sings. She wonders, "What have you done to me?"
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Yokaze pulls off her costume with a grateful sigh then dons the more familiar tank top and jogging shorts. It had been a long night. And she knows that this is only the first of ten months' worth of long nights. She pauses in folding up her discarded clothing and sinks down onto the bed. Plus, it would have been nice to know she had something... someone... to come back to, but she hadn't seen Trowa at the after-concert party.
She shakes her head and doesn't bother to dwell on it. Yokaze is well aware that she doesn't know what he's thinking after that little performance of hers. And especially recently he's become even more difficult to read and predict. And then there's the odd tension between them...
She leans her forehead into her hands. Maybe a nice, long break will do both of them some good...
A soft tap on the door mercifully distracts her. She grins wryly, imagining that Mark has finally managed to worm his way out of babysitting Luke and has come to complain about the sheer quantity of alcohol the drummer can put away. Yokaze hopes the others were successful in keeping him from getting too wasted. No one wants to have barf bag duty on a shuttle tomorrow.
"Come in. I'm decent," she calls.
She stuffs her outfit into her bag and shoves it between the bed and nightstand. She'll finish packing in the morning, as is her habit. That accomplished, Yokaze turns back to the now open door.
She blinks and then frowns. "Trowa?"
"May I come in?"
"Of course."
She watches as he quietly shuts the door behind him and approaches the bed. She doesn't say anything as he sits down next to her and rests his elbows on his knees. For a change, the silence that follows is neither awkward nor crackling with tension. Both of them are far too exhausted to work up the energy for either of those effects.
Trowa draws in a breath and slowly releases it. Eventually he says, "Good show tonight."
"Thanks."
Pause.
Yokaze continues, "I know you hadn't really been planning on going."
He looks up at her. "I'm sorry," he says.
She shrugs. "No worries." Yokaze offers him a tentative smile. "I appreciated you being there."
"I'm glad I went." He stares at the floor for a moment before hearing himself blurt, "Do you realize you sing to me?"
Yokaze pauses for a moment, digesting his words. She releases a long breath and admits, "Yeah. Yeah, I do."
"Why?"
She runs a hand through her hair. "Because I don't know how to say what I mean when we're just sitting here like this."
He frowns. In all his memory, Yokaze has never had trouble with finding the right words to express herself. She must sense his quiet disagreement because she elaborates, "Emotions are for feeling, not... not labeling with words and clichés."
"Things have been changing between us," he comments.
She nods. "I've noticed."
"What should we do about it?"
"What do you want to do about it?"
Trowa considers her words. "I'm... not sure."
Yokaze accepts that. "Okay."
He hesitates for a moment before asking, "What... what do you want?"
She sighs and meets his gaze with her own. "Just you. In whatever capacity you're comfortable with."
His eyebrows arc. "You're leaving the decision up to me?"
"Sounds that way, doesn't it?" She doesn't look overly thrilled by that observation but she doesn't offer to revise her position, either. "Shall we just see how we feel when I get back from this tour?"
Slowly, Trowa nods.
Yokaze looks relieved. "Shall I give you a call when I've got the chance?"
He gives her a small but sincere smile. "Of course."
She smiles back. "We'll sort this out when I get back," she promises.
Sensing the end of their discussion, Trowa glances at the clock and comments, "It's late."
She nods.
He stands.
"Hey, Tro?"
He turns.
"It seems kind of weird knowing we're not sleeping next door to each other, doesn't it?"
Trowa's mouth curves upward a fraction. "Yeah. I can't get used to it."
Her expression melts into mild amusement. "Then why try?" she asks as she reaches behind her a grasps one of the bed's pillows. Trowa stares at her as she holds it out to him. "It's a big bed," she says.
"Are you asking me to stay the night?" he inquires, looking from her to the pillow and back again.
"If you think we'll have a better chance at getting some quality rest," she replies.
His eyes narrow at her comment. Apparently he isn't the only one who has trouble sleeping when Yokaze's away. Trowa reaches out and accepts the pillow with an almost-smile. "It's worth a shot."
Yokaze grins.
They settle in for the night, starting out side-by-side on their backs. But sometime much later Trowa opens his eyes when he hears the sounds of a few people staggering down the hall to their own rooms. Lying on his side, he notices a weight across his waist. Looking down, he sees Yokaze's hand dangling beside his stomach. He suddenly feels the heat of her body leaning along his back, the soft puff of her breath between his shoulder blades.
Smiling, Trowa laces his fingers with hers and closes his eyes again. Much later, when Yokaze is on the road with the band and Trowa is living alone in their apartment, they both look back on this night and recall the best sleep either of them have had in a very, very long time.
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The End
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Author's Note: Well, that's how Trowa and Yokaze started out. The lyrics in this chapter are also my original stuff. And, you might be asking, why didn't I just barrow some lyrics from existing songs for the concert? Well, I felt that NW deserved their own voice. So there you have it. I've started on Night Wind and I'm rather pleased with it so far. Although I'm changing my formatting a bit and dividing the story into three large "Parts" rather than twenty or so "Chapters." So keep checking back and, if you have a moment, leave a comment or two on my review page. Thanks, folks!