Heero returned with Catherine to the tables lined along the large, brightly
lit ballroom. Guests swept across the floor, hand in hand. The artist and
his date for the night sat beside each other lovingly, scooting their
chairs closer together, Catherine taking one of Heero's hands and placing
it in her own.
Heero smiled warmly at the young girl who's forehead glowed with perspiration, her necklace shining brightly as well in the ballroom. He squeezed her hand gently, whispering in her ear.
"It's almost midnight," he pointed out, nodding his head towards the large clock that was mounted on the far wall in front of them. "I'd still like to paint you; I don't want you to fall asleep on me."
Catherine's eyes went wide, her attention immediately darting to the clock that Heero motioned towards. "Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know it was so late. Sebastian must be waiting for us." She began to get up; instead, she slipped on the heels that had caused her such worrisome ttention the whole night and she slid back into her seat accordingly with a small "oof!" escaping her lips.
Heero chuckled. "Well, it could have been worse. You could have fallen out there." He pointed to the dance floor with the hand that was not helping to support Catherine. Catherine blushed furiously, eyes darting back and forth to make sure no one had seen her almost-disaster. Heero laughed quietly again, putting his arm around Catherine's waist and helping her stand, Catherine paying strict heed to her unsteady feet.
Leaving with small farewells and eleventh-hour small talk, Heero and Catherine departed Madame Pomfrey's banquet and down the stony stairs to meet Sebastian at the bottom, waiting patiently for their return. Upon seeing Heero, descending the steps with an courteous and cautious arm around Miss Catherine's shoulders, he smiled lovingly and opened the carriage door.
"Thank you, Sebastian," Heero said to Sebastian, motioning to his butler that he might need assistance to get Catherine into the carriage without hurting herself. She had had a few glasses of wine, and Heero learned that her alcohol tolerance was quite low; Trowa had told him that he and Catherine had drinks only on occasion--any more than that would threaten their acts as performance gypsies. Heero was beginning to regret not heeding Trowa's information as Catherine hit her head soundly on the ceiling of the carriage.
"Ouch!" was her cry, and she rubbed the new bump on her head thoroughly. Heero and Sebastian exchanged a glance before soothing Catherine's pain and helping her climb into the carriage, which was apparently a very difficult feat for an agile gypsy performer under the influence.
When Catherine was finally settled inside, Sebastian offered Heero a sympathetic smile as Heero climbed into the carriage besides Catherine. Catherine immediately snuggled into the crook of Heero's neck, breathing in his heavy scent as she closed her eyes. Heero shook her slightly, laughing lightly.
"Don't fall asleep yet," he ordered gently. "You're my work of art for tonight, remember?"
Catherine smiled again, her teeth pressing against Heero's neck. "I remember."
After several minutes, Catherine struggling to keep her eyes open and Heero consistently assuring her they'd be home soon, they arrived at Heero's abode. Heero helped Catherine up the stairs and to her room, advising her to clean herself up before coming into his room. Catherine agreed, stepping over a slumbering Trowa who lay on the floor to get to the powder room. Heero watched her stumble with a smile on his face before he turned to leave the room.
Before he left, he knelt beside Trowa who slept heavily, his chest rising and falling as he slept. Heero brushed a few strands of hair from Trowa's face, smiling as the gypsy wrinkled his nose. Heero planted a small kiss on that troubled nose before standing and preparing for the night's painting.
Catherine stood in the powder room that was connected to her bedroom. Through her hazy vision, she was introduced to a self she was unaware existed. Her eyes were bloodshot; her skin pallid. She frantically attempted to cake make up on her face to resolve her self-induced beauty flaws.
//I can't believe I let myself get like this,// she scolded herself, applying a foundation two shades lighter than needed to her already pale, almost transluscent face.
When she believed she'd hidden all of her natural features behind a variety of makeup, she smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, the collar stained a bit with wine. She decided not to be bothered with it. Catherine made her way to Heero's bedroom on sturdy feet, her heels discarded in the powder room.
Heero heard the clear, yet hesitant knock on the door, knowing it was Catherine-it was so different than Trowa's quiet, but presistant knock. He beckoned Catherine to enter, and she did so quickly, her stockinged feet pitter-pattering against the polished wooden floor.
The look on Catherine's face was one of wariness and hope of approval. Heero regarded her with a complimentary smile, motioning for her to sit among the blood red draperies that flowed behind the upholstered chair where she sat. She gripped the mahogany arms and tapped her fingers on them lightly, waiting for Heero's guidance.
"You're fine where you are," Heero said, answering her silent questions. He stood and relit the flame of an extinguished candle, blown out by the wind that flowed through the open window. He closed the window accordingly, the darkness of the room remedied by the ever-present candlelight.
Heero finished altering the light to his taste and turned around to face his anxious subject. She nibbled her bottom lips nervously.
"Relax, Catherine." He stepped towards her, pushing her tensed shoulders down. "It's okay. It's just a painting; you'll be sitting for awhile, so you don't want to be uncomfortable, okay?"
Catherine relax, releasing her shoulders. She put her hands in her lap, folding them over each other. "Is this alright?" she asked.
Heero tilted his head to the side. "Perfect."
He shot Catherine a reassuring smile before sitting down in front of his easel. Rinsing his hands in the bowl of water he kept by the table nearby, he shook his hands out, water splattering on the floor sporadically. Heero peered around the easel, sensing Catherine's discomfort.
"Look at something behind me," Heero said, dipping his brush into a few paints to try to concoct a mixture of creams that would compliment Catherine's complexion. "Fix your focus on a point and don't let it leave there; most people I paint find it hard to be under my scrutiny." He winked playfully at Catherine, and touched the brush tentatively to the canvas, making the first brush strokes.
Catherine obeyed Heero's advice and fixed her eyes on the far wall, specifically on a painting. She narrowed her eyes a bit to see the people painted, but she couldn't make out facial features from where she sat and in the light cast so dimly around her. She just knew the figure sitting in the middle of the picture, the center of attention, had beautiful golden blonde hair.
She didn't bother to ask who the person was--she just didn't have the energy. Her eyes began to droop and the more she attempted to keep them open, the more they willed to shut like iron doors. She finally gave in, her eyes fluttering shut and her head nodding forward.
Heero had first painted Catherine's elegant collarbone, her best feature in his opinion. When he looked up from the easel, he found the collarbone in its original position--but not Catherine's face. She was slumped over in the chair, her shoulders rising slightly with each heavy breath as she slept. Heero sighed and smiled, noticing how innocent and beautiful Catherine looked as she slept.
//I suppose most people are in their utmost untainted state while in their sleep,// he thought, not stopping his painting process and continuing to illuminate the canvas with Catherine's comeliness.
He realized in this pure, immaculate state, how much he'd corrupted Catherine. The wine that stained her dress was a dull sanguine, the color of the draperies, the color of blood. Around her neck was the necklace he'd given her that morning, along with several others he'd purchased for her, all in his attempt to give her the life she never had. They didn't glitter and gleam as much as they once had; as much as she had thought they did.
//Her life was satisfying before I came along,// he thought to himself, standing. //I dirtied her. She and Trowa would have been better off without me...//
He approached the girl heavy with sleep, and he quietly removed her jewelery from her neck, the rings from her fingers, and even some of the makeup from her face. He wanted her untouched.
He began to paint again, painting well into the early hours of the morning. The dark circles under her eyes, her full, naturally lucious lips, her flushed cheeks, her pale ivory skin--this is what he wanted to see. Not the things that he'd given her, but what she'd given him. His arm felt free, like it never had before. Before, he'd painted with a tense hand, fingers bruising with the force he used to grip the brush, his hold unsteady and labored. Now, his arm, his elbow, his hand, his fingers, and the brush worked as one organism that flowed like the tide, weaving in and out in a steadfast pace that, for the first time in a long time, was natural.
He finished the painting, sitting back and stretching towards the ceiling. His muscles ached and his eyes were sore from squinting in the darkness; most of the candles had burned out already. He shamefully admired his own painting; he was quite happy about it, because it had turned out quite well. He'd even painted the jewelery by her feet; he wanted to show the world that he found natural beauty in this girl and any additions would be entirely unnecessary.
Sighing, he stood and walked over towards Catherine, still sound asleep. He lifted her effortlessly from the chair and onto his bed, pulling the covers over her bare shoulder where the collar of the dress had slipped and fell down the milky span of skin. Her auburn curls spread like fire across the pillow, licking at the sheets. Heero stood to admire her for a few fragile moments, then walked out of the room to look in on Trowa.
He walked silently on bare feet to Trowa's room; upon arriving, he opened the door silently to find Trowa still asleep. The gypsy's soft brown hair covered his face, his bare shoulders and chest glowing in the dark of the room. Heero sucked in a breath, taking in the beautiful angles and curves of Trowa's lithe body; the muscles that stretched across his back and shoulders, the slender waist leading to narrow hips that lead to long, muscular legs that were covered by a thin sheet. Trowa's skin was covered in goosebumps, but he was unaware of the chill that hung in the air that resulted from the bitter weather outside.
Heero let the doorway cradle his figure, his slacks unbuttoned and hanging on his lips. He didn't touch Trowa; he didn't want to ruin the image before him. Instead he stood and stared lovingly, stared adoringly. He didn't know what to do or what to say; he could only stand and do nothing. He didn't know how he could win Trowa's love back. He recalled Trowa's words...
//"I've extinguished; perhaps one day I'll burn with you again."//
Those were words that set him free and imprisoned him tightly at the same time. He looked on, the realization finally hitting him that Trowa wouldn't be a part of his life that he needed. He needed love, and he found it in Trowa. Catherine gave him...Catherine gave him the gift of life. The gift of childish wonderment and fascination. The gift of seeing things with new, accepting eyes; the gift of simple pleasures. He loved Catherine for this gift.
But from Trowa, it was the gift of love. Trowa wasn't a simple pleasure; he was a rather complex enigma that endlessly captivated and enthralled Heero with Trowa's everyday choices. He was the catalyst that helped Heero learn to love himself again; and learn to love others as well. He had embraced Trowa; and unwillingly hurt him in the process. Heero didn't know what to do with his feelings; he didn't even know if he COULD do anything. He just knew that he had to get Trowa back into his arms, among the candlelight and among the flame.
The desperation was killing him. He'd never felt this way about anyone--the sacrifices he was willing to make, the hopeless heartache.
Trowa awakened to the sounds of light laughter. It was coming from the kitchen.
He stretched languidly, and stood on wobbly legs, similar to a newborn fawn. He slipped on a robe over his naked torso, and walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.
Heero and Catherine were at the table, sharing coffee and eggs. Sebastian had this back turned to Trowa, prodding something in the wood oven with a knife.
"Good morning," Trowa greeted, happy to see such a smile on Catherine's face. Catherine grinned at her brother, and stood, running to Trowa to embrace him warmly.
"Good morning, Trowa!" Catherine said softly, her voice like a whisper across his ears. He smiled; Catherine had been noticably happier the past few days, and seemed particularly gleeful that morning, considering she had never awoken before Trowa had.
Trowa realized he hadn't been awake to see the sun rise for the past couple of weeks; this fact bothered him. What had become routine and tradition had vanished under a pile of attention and material things.
"Good morning, Trowa," echoed Heero. Heero, however, looked extremely fatigued, altough his eyes continued to shine brightly as he passed a mug into Trowa's hands with warm coffee steaming in it. The mug immediately warmed Trowa's icy hands, and he nodded his greetings and thanks.
He took his time to sit, bracing one arm on the table and placing his mug on the table. Catherine was the first to speak her voice excited and hurried.
"Trowa, Heero has a display in a week!" Catherine announced. "It's a whole showing of just his work!" She grinned broadly, rubbing Heero's hand with her own encouragingly.
Trowa stared at their contact as he replyed, "Congratulations, Heero."
Heero didn't smile, following Heero's eyes to his hand that was linked with Catherine's. He swallowed. "Thank you, Trowa. And because I have a showing in a week, I'll need some new work to display."
"And he wants to use us in all his paintings!" Catherine interrupted. "Think of it, Trowa! We'll be displayed in the houses of all the rich people we envied when we were young." Realizing Trowa wasn't reacting with the amount of encouragement she believe he would, she paused and cocked her head to the side. "Arent you honored, Trowa?"
Trowa nodded, eyes still fixed on the linked hands of the artist and his sister. "I am. Thank you, Heero. When would you like for us to begin?"
Heero swallowed again. "Tonight. Midnight."
Catherine patted Heero's hand lovingly. "I still don't understand why you insist on starting work so late." She turned to Trowa. "I was so tired last night when we came back from the banquet that I fell asleep when Heero was painting me! And he painted me anyway!"
Trowa attempted to smile, the muscles in his cheeks pulling at the sides of his mouth with no avail. "I'm sure it turned out beautiful, Catherine," Trowa said. He locked eyes with Heero's wary gaze.
"Well, I'm no critic, but it really is quite lovely. I think I look more becoming in the painting than in reality." Catherine laughed her sweet laughter that was filled with honey.
Heero squeezed Catherine's hand assuringly. "I think it turned out quite nicely." He turned towards Trowa. "On second thought, your sister's probably right. How about coming into my room at around ten? We'll have time to talk and prepare before we get started." He eyed Trowa nonchalantly, with a hint of encouragement in one cobalt blue eye.
Trowa nodded, taking a quiet sip from his coffee before replying, "I'd like that."
--to be continued--
Heero smiled warmly at the young girl who's forehead glowed with perspiration, her necklace shining brightly as well in the ballroom. He squeezed her hand gently, whispering in her ear.
"It's almost midnight," he pointed out, nodding his head towards the large clock that was mounted on the far wall in front of them. "I'd still like to paint you; I don't want you to fall asleep on me."
Catherine's eyes went wide, her attention immediately darting to the clock that Heero motioned towards. "Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know it was so late. Sebastian must be waiting for us." She began to get up; instead, she slipped on the heels that had caused her such worrisome ttention the whole night and she slid back into her seat accordingly with a small "oof!" escaping her lips.
Heero chuckled. "Well, it could have been worse. You could have fallen out there." He pointed to the dance floor with the hand that was not helping to support Catherine. Catherine blushed furiously, eyes darting back and forth to make sure no one had seen her almost-disaster. Heero laughed quietly again, putting his arm around Catherine's waist and helping her stand, Catherine paying strict heed to her unsteady feet.
Leaving with small farewells and eleventh-hour small talk, Heero and Catherine departed Madame Pomfrey's banquet and down the stony stairs to meet Sebastian at the bottom, waiting patiently for their return. Upon seeing Heero, descending the steps with an courteous and cautious arm around Miss Catherine's shoulders, he smiled lovingly and opened the carriage door.
"Thank you, Sebastian," Heero said to Sebastian, motioning to his butler that he might need assistance to get Catherine into the carriage without hurting herself. She had had a few glasses of wine, and Heero learned that her alcohol tolerance was quite low; Trowa had told him that he and Catherine had drinks only on occasion--any more than that would threaten their acts as performance gypsies. Heero was beginning to regret not heeding Trowa's information as Catherine hit her head soundly on the ceiling of the carriage.
"Ouch!" was her cry, and she rubbed the new bump on her head thoroughly. Heero and Sebastian exchanged a glance before soothing Catherine's pain and helping her climb into the carriage, which was apparently a very difficult feat for an agile gypsy performer under the influence.
When Catherine was finally settled inside, Sebastian offered Heero a sympathetic smile as Heero climbed into the carriage besides Catherine. Catherine immediately snuggled into the crook of Heero's neck, breathing in his heavy scent as she closed her eyes. Heero shook her slightly, laughing lightly.
"Don't fall asleep yet," he ordered gently. "You're my work of art for tonight, remember?"
Catherine smiled again, her teeth pressing against Heero's neck. "I remember."
After several minutes, Catherine struggling to keep her eyes open and Heero consistently assuring her they'd be home soon, they arrived at Heero's abode. Heero helped Catherine up the stairs and to her room, advising her to clean herself up before coming into his room. Catherine agreed, stepping over a slumbering Trowa who lay on the floor to get to the powder room. Heero watched her stumble with a smile on his face before he turned to leave the room.
Before he left, he knelt beside Trowa who slept heavily, his chest rising and falling as he slept. Heero brushed a few strands of hair from Trowa's face, smiling as the gypsy wrinkled his nose. Heero planted a small kiss on that troubled nose before standing and preparing for the night's painting.
Catherine stood in the powder room that was connected to her bedroom. Through her hazy vision, she was introduced to a self she was unaware existed. Her eyes were bloodshot; her skin pallid. She frantically attempted to cake make up on her face to resolve her self-induced beauty flaws.
//I can't believe I let myself get like this,// she scolded herself, applying a foundation two shades lighter than needed to her already pale, almost transluscent face.
When she believed she'd hidden all of her natural features behind a variety of makeup, she smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, the collar stained a bit with wine. She decided not to be bothered with it. Catherine made her way to Heero's bedroom on sturdy feet, her heels discarded in the powder room.
Heero heard the clear, yet hesitant knock on the door, knowing it was Catherine-it was so different than Trowa's quiet, but presistant knock. He beckoned Catherine to enter, and she did so quickly, her stockinged feet pitter-pattering against the polished wooden floor.
The look on Catherine's face was one of wariness and hope of approval. Heero regarded her with a complimentary smile, motioning for her to sit among the blood red draperies that flowed behind the upholstered chair where she sat. She gripped the mahogany arms and tapped her fingers on them lightly, waiting for Heero's guidance.
"You're fine where you are," Heero said, answering her silent questions. He stood and relit the flame of an extinguished candle, blown out by the wind that flowed through the open window. He closed the window accordingly, the darkness of the room remedied by the ever-present candlelight.
Heero finished altering the light to his taste and turned around to face his anxious subject. She nibbled her bottom lips nervously.
"Relax, Catherine." He stepped towards her, pushing her tensed shoulders down. "It's okay. It's just a painting; you'll be sitting for awhile, so you don't want to be uncomfortable, okay?"
Catherine relax, releasing her shoulders. She put her hands in her lap, folding them over each other. "Is this alright?" she asked.
Heero tilted his head to the side. "Perfect."
He shot Catherine a reassuring smile before sitting down in front of his easel. Rinsing his hands in the bowl of water he kept by the table nearby, he shook his hands out, water splattering on the floor sporadically. Heero peered around the easel, sensing Catherine's discomfort.
"Look at something behind me," Heero said, dipping his brush into a few paints to try to concoct a mixture of creams that would compliment Catherine's complexion. "Fix your focus on a point and don't let it leave there; most people I paint find it hard to be under my scrutiny." He winked playfully at Catherine, and touched the brush tentatively to the canvas, making the first brush strokes.
Catherine obeyed Heero's advice and fixed her eyes on the far wall, specifically on a painting. She narrowed her eyes a bit to see the people painted, but she couldn't make out facial features from where she sat and in the light cast so dimly around her. She just knew the figure sitting in the middle of the picture, the center of attention, had beautiful golden blonde hair.
She didn't bother to ask who the person was--she just didn't have the energy. Her eyes began to droop and the more she attempted to keep them open, the more they willed to shut like iron doors. She finally gave in, her eyes fluttering shut and her head nodding forward.
Heero had first painted Catherine's elegant collarbone, her best feature in his opinion. When he looked up from the easel, he found the collarbone in its original position--but not Catherine's face. She was slumped over in the chair, her shoulders rising slightly with each heavy breath as she slept. Heero sighed and smiled, noticing how innocent and beautiful Catherine looked as she slept.
//I suppose most people are in their utmost untainted state while in their sleep,// he thought, not stopping his painting process and continuing to illuminate the canvas with Catherine's comeliness.
He realized in this pure, immaculate state, how much he'd corrupted Catherine. The wine that stained her dress was a dull sanguine, the color of the draperies, the color of blood. Around her neck was the necklace he'd given her that morning, along with several others he'd purchased for her, all in his attempt to give her the life she never had. They didn't glitter and gleam as much as they once had; as much as she had thought they did.
//Her life was satisfying before I came along,// he thought to himself, standing. //I dirtied her. She and Trowa would have been better off without me...//
He approached the girl heavy with sleep, and he quietly removed her jewelery from her neck, the rings from her fingers, and even some of the makeup from her face. He wanted her untouched.
He began to paint again, painting well into the early hours of the morning. The dark circles under her eyes, her full, naturally lucious lips, her flushed cheeks, her pale ivory skin--this is what he wanted to see. Not the things that he'd given her, but what she'd given him. His arm felt free, like it never had before. Before, he'd painted with a tense hand, fingers bruising with the force he used to grip the brush, his hold unsteady and labored. Now, his arm, his elbow, his hand, his fingers, and the brush worked as one organism that flowed like the tide, weaving in and out in a steadfast pace that, for the first time in a long time, was natural.
He finished the painting, sitting back and stretching towards the ceiling. His muscles ached and his eyes were sore from squinting in the darkness; most of the candles had burned out already. He shamefully admired his own painting; he was quite happy about it, because it had turned out quite well. He'd even painted the jewelery by her feet; he wanted to show the world that he found natural beauty in this girl and any additions would be entirely unnecessary.
Sighing, he stood and walked over towards Catherine, still sound asleep. He lifted her effortlessly from the chair and onto his bed, pulling the covers over her bare shoulder where the collar of the dress had slipped and fell down the milky span of skin. Her auburn curls spread like fire across the pillow, licking at the sheets. Heero stood to admire her for a few fragile moments, then walked out of the room to look in on Trowa.
He walked silently on bare feet to Trowa's room; upon arriving, he opened the door silently to find Trowa still asleep. The gypsy's soft brown hair covered his face, his bare shoulders and chest glowing in the dark of the room. Heero sucked in a breath, taking in the beautiful angles and curves of Trowa's lithe body; the muscles that stretched across his back and shoulders, the slender waist leading to narrow hips that lead to long, muscular legs that were covered by a thin sheet. Trowa's skin was covered in goosebumps, but he was unaware of the chill that hung in the air that resulted from the bitter weather outside.
Heero let the doorway cradle his figure, his slacks unbuttoned and hanging on his lips. He didn't touch Trowa; he didn't want to ruin the image before him. Instead he stood and stared lovingly, stared adoringly. He didn't know what to do or what to say; he could only stand and do nothing. He didn't know how he could win Trowa's love back. He recalled Trowa's words...
//"I've extinguished; perhaps one day I'll burn with you again."//
Those were words that set him free and imprisoned him tightly at the same time. He looked on, the realization finally hitting him that Trowa wouldn't be a part of his life that he needed. He needed love, and he found it in Trowa. Catherine gave him...Catherine gave him the gift of life. The gift of childish wonderment and fascination. The gift of seeing things with new, accepting eyes; the gift of simple pleasures. He loved Catherine for this gift.
But from Trowa, it was the gift of love. Trowa wasn't a simple pleasure; he was a rather complex enigma that endlessly captivated and enthralled Heero with Trowa's everyday choices. He was the catalyst that helped Heero learn to love himself again; and learn to love others as well. He had embraced Trowa; and unwillingly hurt him in the process. Heero didn't know what to do with his feelings; he didn't even know if he COULD do anything. He just knew that he had to get Trowa back into his arms, among the candlelight and among the flame.
The desperation was killing him. He'd never felt this way about anyone--the sacrifices he was willing to make, the hopeless heartache.
Trowa awakened to the sounds of light laughter. It was coming from the kitchen.
He stretched languidly, and stood on wobbly legs, similar to a newborn fawn. He slipped on a robe over his naked torso, and walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.
Heero and Catherine were at the table, sharing coffee and eggs. Sebastian had this back turned to Trowa, prodding something in the wood oven with a knife.
"Good morning," Trowa greeted, happy to see such a smile on Catherine's face. Catherine grinned at her brother, and stood, running to Trowa to embrace him warmly.
"Good morning, Trowa!" Catherine said softly, her voice like a whisper across his ears. He smiled; Catherine had been noticably happier the past few days, and seemed particularly gleeful that morning, considering she had never awoken before Trowa had.
Trowa realized he hadn't been awake to see the sun rise for the past couple of weeks; this fact bothered him. What had become routine and tradition had vanished under a pile of attention and material things.
"Good morning, Trowa," echoed Heero. Heero, however, looked extremely fatigued, altough his eyes continued to shine brightly as he passed a mug into Trowa's hands with warm coffee steaming in it. The mug immediately warmed Trowa's icy hands, and he nodded his greetings and thanks.
He took his time to sit, bracing one arm on the table and placing his mug on the table. Catherine was the first to speak her voice excited and hurried.
"Trowa, Heero has a display in a week!" Catherine announced. "It's a whole showing of just his work!" She grinned broadly, rubbing Heero's hand with her own encouragingly.
Trowa stared at their contact as he replyed, "Congratulations, Heero."
Heero didn't smile, following Heero's eyes to his hand that was linked with Catherine's. He swallowed. "Thank you, Trowa. And because I have a showing in a week, I'll need some new work to display."
"And he wants to use us in all his paintings!" Catherine interrupted. "Think of it, Trowa! We'll be displayed in the houses of all the rich people we envied when we were young." Realizing Trowa wasn't reacting with the amount of encouragement she believe he would, she paused and cocked her head to the side. "Arent you honored, Trowa?"
Trowa nodded, eyes still fixed on the linked hands of the artist and his sister. "I am. Thank you, Heero. When would you like for us to begin?"
Heero swallowed again. "Tonight. Midnight."
Catherine patted Heero's hand lovingly. "I still don't understand why you insist on starting work so late." She turned to Trowa. "I was so tired last night when we came back from the banquet that I fell asleep when Heero was painting me! And he painted me anyway!"
Trowa attempted to smile, the muscles in his cheeks pulling at the sides of his mouth with no avail. "I'm sure it turned out beautiful, Catherine," Trowa said. He locked eyes with Heero's wary gaze.
"Well, I'm no critic, but it really is quite lovely. I think I look more becoming in the painting than in reality." Catherine laughed her sweet laughter that was filled with honey.
Heero squeezed Catherine's hand assuringly. "I think it turned out quite nicely." He turned towards Trowa. "On second thought, your sister's probably right. How about coming into my room at around ten? We'll have time to talk and prepare before we get started." He eyed Trowa nonchalantly, with a hint of encouragement in one cobalt blue eye.
Trowa nodded, taking a quiet sip from his coffee before replying, "I'd like that."
--to be continued--