A/n:

Ooh~! I'd just read lots of RK yaoi fiction and I'm so happy!!!  *people start staring at her weirdly* Haha..

Uh.. I'd like to thank you all for reviewing my story.

I'm very flattered by your comments and would like to say that this is dedicated to every single one of you who had reviewed and the flamer(s) as well.

You can never please anyone, can you? Well, uh, another thing though, I need a person who's quite... an avid fan of Fruits Basket, (when I mean avid, I mean it) to beta read my KyouxYuki fic.

If you're the one I'm looking for, please email me at: silverpride036@yahoo.com I really need some serious help. Literal and otherwise. Well, on to the fic. Heero wins, throw confetti everyone.

Teach Me How To Be Cool

Lesson #3: Love Means Never Having To Say You're Sorry

[Heero]

"He is so gullible."

Trowa stared at me like I had dung on my face. He shut the door behind him and looked me in the eye.

"So, you're playing with him now?"

"Playing is not how I'd like to put it."

I'm immune to emotion. I have been ever since I can remember which is helpful when people appeal to my sympathy. I don't seem to have any. [1] Trowa shoved me softly in the shoulder and glared hard. The guy was supposed to be my best friend, now he acts as if he's some kind of saint. You don't hear him expressing his so-called concern like that when Relena broke up with me this morning.

"The guy's madly in love with you." He sighed. "And his friend's waiting in the car too, maybe you should drop it off, Heero. I'll go drop him home."

"You only like that blonde." I walked towards the empty living room and threw myself literally onto the couch, switching on the flat screen TV.

"I don't dig men." I pretended to watch MTV. I guess I'm good pretending a lot of things.

When Trowa just stood there, rooted on his spot on the floor, I almost chuckled to myself. Almost because I never did and if I start now, that would break my demure character.

"You can screw the blonde Trowa."

That got him in a tiff.

Trowa Barton, my best friend for life, (maybe I should reconsider that as well) stomped towards me and in front of the television, literally blocking my view.

It wasn't as if I'd been watching anyway, but I feigned annoyance to add a more dramatic effect.

"This is not a game, Heero."

He towered over me, menacingly. Among many other things, I'd been immune to that.

"Getting Relena jealous over another girl seems so damned excusable, but over another guy?

Tell, me just how it will work."

I stared at him for a moment.

And then when his gaze never left mine, I looked away.

He was right.

It wasn't a game.

I couldn't just fool around with another guy just to get my ex back. (I think I'm just scared to lose Relena.)

I had to consider a lot of things.

I might even be breaking the poor braided guy's heart. (Why the hell's he wearing I braid anyway? This is Massachusetts for god's sake!)

That would be so sad, I'm sure. (snort) Yeah, that's his problem anyway, being so love-struck like that like a little pathetic puppy.

What was his name again? I think I'd forgotten. But well, I had to intentions of remembering it either.

"You think Relena's worth it?"

Kissing another guy in front of Relena was hell. I was embarrassed of course. I hadn't realized that the guy in the jumper was a guy, I was trying me best to search for any lumps in his chest, but was mortified when there weren't any.

First I just thought the braid had a flat chest (some females do) but I know I was just fooling myself because when I touched his ass, he seemed so flinchy. Girls weren't like that.

Anyway, I think he's the retard from the bus. Yeah, he's a lousy kisser.

"I think she's worth every penny I spent just to please her."

"I think you're in denial."

"I think you should shut up."

"I think you and Duo would make a great couple."

"I'm straight. And who's Duo?!"

Who named their kids that way anyway?

"God, Heero!"

I was supposed to say 'Yes, Trowa I am a God in fact' but Trowa shut off the TV and raised his arms. He does not appreciate sarcasm. Why was he such a difficult person to deal with?

"You can't even remember the guy's name? You kissed him twice-"

"Thrice." I reprimanded him as I walked to the door after grabbing my car keys. I didn't need this crap from my best friend, more often the only male person who had the patience to deal with me 24/7.

Before Trowa had another chance to open his mouth, I shoved the car keys to him.

"Winner's waiting in the car, lover boy. Drive him home already."

Trowa glared at me, taking the car keys as he slammed the door with a sickening thud. I glared at the door. No one dictated my life, not even Trowa and I couldn't stand it when some people think I'm doing the wrong things.

I know what I'm doing, and it's none of their business whether it be right or wrong.

I barely had the time to laze around the house when the braided idiot stumbled down the spiraling staircase, the baka klutz.

He had passed out on the road for a couple of hours now and I had to bring him home.

(Winner had fretted over and kicked me a few times for 'hurting' his best friend and I couldn't be more aware of the looks Trowa had been giving him since the ride home, though Trowa being the gentleman he was did nothing to save me from those hazardous kicks. They were of no impact though; Winner was quite short and weak.)

Of course, the house being mine and at the absence of my parents who both were in a business trip together, I had to rush over Maxwell and take his bruised form off the feet of the stairs.

"Where am I?" He blinked up at me, eyelids swollen and violet eyes liquid.

"In my house." I tugged at his wrist, to help him get up.

"Heeeerrrrroooo....?"

I tried to smile, and failed. I rarely smiled anyway, what was the use of learning now of all times?

"Get up."

The preacher's son was sitting on my floor; looking so pathetic it was almost cute, not quite though. He nodded frantically and stood clumsily to his feet, the top of his head accidentally knocking my jaws together.

I staggered backwards and he tried to save me from the forthcoming fall, grasping at my shirt but tripped down on top of me instead. Baka.

"I'm... I... I'm.. sorry... Heero..."

Maybe he should've said that earlier when he punched me in the face and I almost ran him over.

The feel of his skin against mine was like a collision of ice and fire.

Damn Trowa for polluting my mind. I guess that idiot's humping the Winner boy in my car right now.

Maxwell, something or other, scrambled up to his feet, face flushing bright crimson.

"I need to go home now." He announced.  "My parents might be worried sick. I'm really, really sorry for punching you in the face like that. I didn't meant to. And the kick in front of Mr. Craven's office, I was just so whacked then, I didn't think of my actions. Sorry for the bruises... I... well... Thanks for bringing me over to rest. Well, I gotta... I gotta run... Bye..."

He sure does talk fast. He nodded at me as I carelessly stood up and followed after him to the kitchen. Before he could reach the doorknob (of the kitchen) I pulled at his braid).

There was nothing left to do. He winced as I willed him to face me.

"The main door's out front." His face instantly turned bright red from that. "I'll show you."

I shrugged and let go of his braid. It was silky in my fingers and I took a liking into touching it.

"I don't like to bother you or anything-" Oh you already have. "-I could always find it through this huge house of yours, in a few minutes or so." He blushed and I took on tallying the number of times he did that.

"I'm showing you to the door, Maxwell."

Maxwell turned redder if that was even possible. I had a difficult time saying that.

Maxwell cupped his swollen face in his hands, winced in pain while I walked side by side with him to the main door. Stopping briefly to open it, ready to let him out of the confines of my homely abode, he smiled softly at me.

And I was stumped.

This person, no matter how badly I'd treated him today, had the grace to smile at me. The side of his lips twitched upwards, having it a difficult struggle to smile and suddenly I felt angry with myself for punching him, humiliating him in front of the class, Relena.

"Good night." He looked down at his shoes.

I sighed.

 I was never one for words all my life; I'd loved silence, not showing my emotions because they showed palpable weakness-vulnerability, however today I felt like letting my guard down.

And blaming Trowa for it as well.

"I'm driving you home."

"Wha... what?"

"Trowa drove Winner home, when he gets back with my car, I'll drive you."

"That's... so... kind of you...but...I can't..."

I had to roll my eyes, but I couldn't.

I wasn't like most people like I'd said. When everybody ogled over boy bands and rock bands, I stayed in my room and played with a knife, darting it on the door so that whoever had the decency to come into my room, would die a fatal death for not honoring my privacy.

"I made your day shit, didn't I? That's the least I could do to make it up to you."

Why was I bothering? Because I needed someone to get me through Relena, unfortunately my resources were scant and I had a feminine boy to make do with.

"Okay." He was blushing again. I hated him. I hated that Sebastian fellow who stole Relena away from me.

***

Trowa glared at me, after sending Winner home.

There were marks on his cheek, a small scratch where his other eye was visible, his thin lips albeit swollen; I'd loathe to think what happened in my car.

Then his eyes riveted to Maxwell, who I had given a bottle of water to, after him telling me he wasn't allowed to drink coke or anything with caffeine content when we had waited for Trowa.

We didn't speak to each other, I balanced a pen on my fingers, sitting a few feet across him while he stared at his water bottle and drank every now and then.

Trowa appeared into the doorway after a few minutes, which was surprising since Winner's place was just a few blocks away.

I didn't want to delve into what happened during those extra minutes.

Trowa was flushed and disheveled, eyes visibly dazed but as he took to look at me, his gaze hardened and anger seeped through him like a wave of blatant emotion.

"The car's out front." 

I smirked at him, grabbing the car keys and heading out the garage to heat up the engine. He locked the door behind us as we left and Maxwell followed dumbly after me, bidding Trowa good night as the latter walked home. (Trowa lived one house away)

I jumped into the driver's seat while the preacher's son sat on the passenger seat next to me.

"Your suitcase is in the back." I informed him, and then he looked at me, eyes never wavering from mine as if I had said something of great value.

(We had picked up his suitcase after Winner mutilated me.)

He pressed his bruised lips together, the small fresh cut visible even in the darkness, blushing gently and turning away. It was 7:00 pm. I didn't like people who blushed at nothing.

I asked for directions to his house, and he answered properly.

There was nothing more I wanted to say, nothing more I wanted to hear from him either.

I wanted to forget what happened in school earlier, wanted to forget Relena and our break up, the kiss I shared with another boy.

I knew I'd screwed up on a major basis. I felt shame, mortification. But no one knew I was capable of drawing out feelings. I intend to keep it that way. Intend to shove my emotions into a darkened space in my soul, or what was left of it.

So we kept our non- conversing, the silence between us so beautiful, and the almost inaudible music playing in the background. It was a song from Stephen Speaks.

I didn't care less—it was sugary romantic. Something about driving in the car. I wasn't like that. 

The car stopped; finally we reached his place.

The medium-sized old-fashioned house that belonged to his family was just like the endless row of houses without any utmost distinction, bearing the very same oak doors and quaint porches.

I remembered when I was a little boy, Trowa and I would throw paper balls at the Maxwells' front lawn and the Reverend would be so angry, he'd tell us off in church when he preached.

I wasn't even catholic, I just hung around the church to get a glimpse of my princess— a girl up to this point, I could not find. Maybe I'd imagined her in my childhood. Maybe not.

Trowa and me did that so the 'pretty girl in the braid' would come out. We watched every night as she played with a Barbie doll in the window. We always joked around that we'd marry her someday. Or at least, I did.

I remembered how I thought the Reverend's son was a girl, and how I'd place a small daisy flower (one I pulled out of my mother's garden when she still was around the house and not in business trips) on the front porch so that my princess (as I would like to call her) would take it and wonder who left it there.

I remembered what it felt like when she did as I planned and smiled sweetly before retreating back into the house.

She was never allowed to play with other children, never allowed to talk to people like us either. She was locked inside the house till she was old enough to go to school.

I remembered the sadness I felt because of it. How Trowa and I called the Reverend the evil warlock who kept the princess in his castle. Of course, I was the prince, Trowa the trusted sidekick.

Life was easier then.

My parents were happy with each other, now they couldn't even be in a room for a millisecond without yelling.

I was six. I was naïve. I was wrong about her being a girl.

Suddenly, I felt sick. Reminiscing about the past was a poisonous drug.

I sighed and watched as Maxwell pulled out a heavy suitcase from the backseat and brought it down to his feet.

He shut the car door, looked at me almost wistfully. I couldn't imagine him playing with a Barbie doll or being my princess bride either.

"Well...good night." He smiled.

"Oyasumi." I said in my own native tongue. I had Japanese blood coursing through my veins.

Maxwell looked surprised, smile dissipating and he limped with the suitcase to his front porch. He waved at me, smiled again as he watched me drive off.

That night, the memory of his smile recurred into my mind; I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned, drank coffee. I felt like killing Trowa; myself wishing I could grab hold of a gun.

***

The next day, I found myself driving up to his house to pick him up. It was half an hour before seven, too early to venture into school because class began at 7:50.

But I was there anyway, due to lack of sleep and the high amount of black coffee nauseating my coherence and logic.

I even called Trowa last night, but he hung up on me. I was almost drunk of coffee and only one thing was clear to me: I wanted a gun.

I drove relentlessly around the whole town, wondering why the baka klutz's smile didn't cease to fade from memory. I remembered things from my past that I didn't want to.

Somehow, I found myself driving along Maxwell's block.

I could see that the preacher's son was out there in the porch, reading the bible and sipping hot milk.

It was a school day and only shmucks woke up that time of the day.

I stopped the car and walked over to him.

He looked up at me; I didn't know what to say. I felt a lump on my throat forming and it was a strange, foreign feeling.

"W..w.wha..at ..a..are yy..you doi..ng here?" Maxwell stuttered, choking on his milk.

He wore an oversized red shirt that swallowed his thin frame, pajama bottoms and that strange pair of bunny slippers that girls love so much. (Relena had one of those.)

His hair was lose and not brushed, sticking out everywhere and covering his eyes. I was right enough that he was feminine. He looked beautiful.  

"I..." My mouth hung open and I looked like a complete idiot. He shut the bible and looked at me, blushing and shuffling the bunny slippers together. I could see that his bruises have healed a little. "I'm sorry."

I slapped my forehead mentally. He looked away. And there was a raspy sound behind the rusty screen door, a man's gruff voice resonating.

In seconds, the Reverend stepped out behind it, staring at me up and own with great distaste. He took one good look at my face, saw the few bruises and flared.

He still remembered the paper balls I threw, I guess.

"Was this the one who beat you up?" He asked Maxwell. Maxwell looked at me mutely, nibbling on his bottom lip. "Tell me, son. Was this the one?!"

Son, funny he should say that.

"No... Pa. He... saved me from the ones who beat me." Our eyes never met, and I wanted so bad to run away from the scene. But I couldn't. I was Heero Yuy, after all. Still am.

And I stood stoic as I'd ever been for the last sixteen years of my life. "He beat them all up... for...me. He rescued...me." Maxwell tumbled on his words helplessly, choking almost. 

He had lied for me. Saved my selfish ass. And being a preacher's son, that was saying a lot. The Reverend sneered softly at me, then his face grew stern but there was a gentle holiness wrapped around his expression.

It felt as if he was dissecting me under his gaze alone, and yet he let out a defeated sigh, or at leas I thought so.

"Let me ask you something," He garbled. "Why are you here 6:30 in the morning? If you'd like to pick on my son like the rest of those children in school do, then I suggest you leave. You people have no pity for Duo. Just because he's different and innocent, doesn't engage in sinful acts like you lot, it doesn't permit you the right to judge him stereotypically and cast him out of your circle."

"I'm picking him up for school, sir. Nothing more."

His eyebrow rose suspiciously but the screen door pushed open once more to reveal a beautiful woman in her mid forties with a wealth of chestnut hair. Her amethyst eyes and strong nose were here prizes and she wore a pink apron over her working clothes.

She smiled thinly at me through the red lipstick of her lips.

"Good morning Mr. Heero Yuy."

The Reverend looked disgruntled at this. I however, remained composed. How did she know my name anyway?

"Well, it's rude to leave a visitor outside the house, now isn't it? Care to have some breakfast with us Mr. Yuy?" She chirped happily.

She wiped her grease-stained hands over her apron and held the screen door open for me.

"Come on, don't be shy now! We've plenty of carrot pancakes." Carrot pancakes? Are these people on crack?

The Reverend gave me a stern look and I backed away, shaking my head. "Thanks but I've had my breakfast." I said as politely as I could. It came out as a snort though and the Reverend's eyes looked up to meet mine. Shit.

Maxwell seemed to be aware of my thoughts for he dodged a coy glance at me through his thick eyelashes.

"Ma, Pa, I'll be inside in a sec," Maxwell announced and Mrs. Maxwell nodded and smiled jubilantly at me before disappearing inside the door, although there was no reason to smile because half of the world is starving and dying from poverty.

I don't know why some people have it in them to be happy at all.

The Reverend complied rather hesitantly, still looking dubious of the fact I'd just save his son from getting his ass kicked really bad. I don't blame him though. Everyone knew I was a rebellious teen, that's why my parents fought a lot.

"Good day, Mr. Yuy." Then he left us finally. Maxwell let out a sigh of relief; dropping into the chair he had been sitting on earlier.

"Thanks." I murmured inaudibly but Maxwell caught that.

"You're welcome."

Silence stretched out before us like an uneasy sea, and I kept count of the seconds that ticked by. I was standing there, suspended in time.

"I'm sorry." I whispered, looking out to where my car was parked out front. I watched as the sunlight bounced off its tinted windows. "For everything."

I didn't want to elaborate. Like I said, I had never been one for words. And even if I were, it would be difficult to apologize for I rarely did.

I wondered about the coffee briefly. It has corrupted my way of thinking now. I think Maxwell nodded because he stepped behind me, a soft thudding sound ensuing from the soft pads of his bunny slippers.

"You didn't have to come all the way here, you know."

"Hn."

"Why do you bother, Yuy?" His voice was strained, desperate like a small sob. "You didn't know me, but you pulled me anyway and kissed me in front of the whole class like there was no tomorrow! You brought me to your house after literally treating me like a punching bag and kissing me again, now you come all the way to my place just to apologize? You think I'll let you off the hook that easy? Well let me just say that I won't!"

I faced him, a blank look plastered against my face. I felt guilt nagging endlessly at my conscience.

"And I don't care if you're the most popular person in my grade whatsoever, or if you and Relena broke up! I don't like being used, Yuy. Hell, I don't! Don't think so high of yourself because you're the so-called hottest guy in the grade-And.. And /stop/ looking at me like that because you make me feel so insecure and ugly and stupid and weird!!"

I stared at him. The sun was up now, tainting everything a mellow color of gold and soft shadows danced across the porch, grazing Maxwell's cheeks. There were crystalline pearls clinging to his eyelids and I grabbed his wrists before he tried to punch me.

He glared at me fiercely but fell limp on his sides.

I did the next thing I could think of: I hugged him, throwing a disdainful mental look at a mental image of Trowa smirking.

My arms wrapped around his waist, linking firmly around his back and he slumped on my chest, burying his face there and crying softly.

At first, it felt strange and our bodies were rigid with trepidation and confusion. I guess Maxwell was afraid as I was-I'd never hugged Trowa like this before. He was just like a brother to me.

"Shh..." I whispered and his knees gave away I had to catch him when he stumbled over slightly. "Don't cry."

Why the hell was he crying again? Because he didn't want to be kissed?

Odd.

"I'm sorry." His voice was muffled and he was creating a small wet spot on my new shirt but I hardly had the time to care. "I'm so sorry." I wasn't really sorry; I had nothing left to say but that.

I started to remember the daisy flower on the porch-the ones I'd leave for my princess to pick up. I did that because I had wanted my princess to smile. And now I knew, I wanted him to smile for me.

I feared somehow that I had downed too much coffee.

***

It was half past seven when Maxwell finished his shower and dressed for school. We still had a little time before class began.

We resumed our usual silence resembling last night's and neither spoke of the 'hug'.

The Reverend was nice enough to reconsider inviting me for breakfast but adamantly I refused for one because I didn't like carrot pancakes and didn't know how on earth they had managed to make them.

So I settled for some more coffee.

Mrs. Maxwell stared at me strangely before finally giving me a cup of black coffee. She chatted about the bookstore she worked in and how kids these days seemed so rebellious, to her husband.

I choked on my coffee.

Maxwell and I left quickly after that. He wore his usual jumper suit with a baby blue tee beneath it. His braided hair was in odd tangles and it looked damp and ranging somewhere in between wet and dry.

In the car, he tugged out the band that clasped his braid and began combing his hair.

"Do you mind if I... you know? Comb my hair like this?" He asked sheepishly.

I shook my head.

"I'm sorry about this morning."

He took me by surprise there. I never thought anyone would be this... kind and yet strong and innocent—at least his father said. I had to admit his fist was quite strong when it hit me last time.

"You have nothing to apologize about."  

We stopped at a red light and I paused to sneak a glance at him. He was oblivious to me, and his hair was flapping free against the wind, that's one of your advantages when you had a convertible.

He busied himself, combing the tangles of his hair out and frowning when they did not comply.

I almost smiled. But I didn't know how.

"Do you want me to.. Do that for you?" I found myself asking.

Maxwell hesitated before nodding and handing me the brush.

I reached out and leaned towards him, stroking through his chestnut hair gently, running my fingers through the silky wisps. In a matter of seconds I straightened out the tangles and was lifting up a wealth of hair in my fist and inhaling its scent.

I shut my eyes, enjoying the heavenly-

A soft tug at my shoulder brought me back to earth. "The green light's on."

I frowned and resumed driving. "Would you want to go somewhere before school starts?"

"I'm not sure." Maxwell wrings his hands together after fixing his braid. "Quatre's kind of waiting for me..."

"We'll get to school in time." I assured him.

A small smile crept its way on his face. "Okay, you're the one driving."

Tbc...

[1] Hard Love; John/Giovanni's thoughts.

It's short now, isn't it?

More of Heero Yuy's perspective or Duo? I think I made him OOC.

Oh, and I might be deleting BOY MEETS GIRL. Sorry... I had a bet with my friend and lost, so I have to let go of one of my gw fics... sigh... it was never going anywhere anyway.

Well, did you like it? I didn't. But it was fun writing and pleasing my little sister with yaoi fics she shouldn't even know about! HA! She's six years old! I am so sick.

Ban+Ginji forever! Peace out! Please review!