GW 2x1 Yaoi fic, PG, higher in later chapters.
You know the drill; Someone else owns them, I stole them, yadda yadda yadda. Any damages will be replaced, fear not
This is here because yesterday I was looking at some pictures of the Dior Homme models a few seasons ago, whilst thinking of an article I read in a magazine, ages ago, written by Ian Winwood. I love the stuff he writes. I stole several of his metaphors I think blush no, borrowed with intent to plagiarise is closer.
--ooOoo--
'Duo Maxwell is known. He knows this. Even if you saw him walking down the street, you could tell that this man is one who knows where he's headed. It's in the way he walks, the way he talks, the way he holds his head high when he speaks to you. But you can't dislike him for this. His engaging manner, the smile that constantly lights his face, and the grin when something strikes him as funny, all come together to make a figure that you can't help but like. He sits opposite me, cheekbones angled like pinball flippers in a face that seems angelic and oh so devilish all at once, and it is easy to see why so many ladies have fallen for him. But it's no use trying; when I mention this to him, his face lights up in that grin and he pulls on what is quite possibly the twentieth cigarette of the hundred he will smoke in any given day, it being 10am. He seems contemplative. 'Sure, the girls have tried, but I'm afraid I'm just not into that. Never have been, and I can't see that I ever will be. So sorry girls, but just keep your guys on a leash around me.' He winks and grins again; this complete honesty comes totally natural for him.
Finishing his cigarette, he turns his attention to the large ice cream sundae in front of him. Heaped up is the oddest combination of ice creams, sauces and toppings one could imagine. When asked if it's so no one wants a taste, he simply says he likes the intricacy of the flavours. Waxing lyrical, he states 'It reminds me of my life. Some things mix well and some don't. It's always different. But it's sure fun finding out.' So how on earth do you keep the shape needed to be a top end fashion model? 'It's sport. I love it. I never used to, but at high school I joined the basketball team, and fell in love with it.' a pause, 'It was about a guy at first, of course.' At this he smiles apologetically. 'It's always about a guy.'
Walking through Camden town, passing people on the street; people who recognise Duo straight away, fans who want a chat and a photo, and others who don't yet recognise him but turn all the same to see this handsome 24 year old, with chestnut hair down to his waist and a crowd of people surrounding him. We head into a shop to pick up an order he placed; a pair of fitted leather trousers, soft and luxurious, and he smiles at me, showing me several photos, male and female, with phone numbers or email addresses scrawled on the back. He points to one, a young Asian boy, perhaps 16 years old. With a serious expression, he says 'that kid reminded me of someone. I like him.' For a second he looks wistful, before the grin is back and no amount of probing will make him reveal more. Clutching his bag, he bounds across the road to look in another shop window. Like a child in a candy store, for the rest of the afternoon he bounces back and forth, making purchases for his new flat (several large panoramic views of London) because he needs them (black eyeliner and something silver and sparkly) or simply on a whim (a bright coloured bag, covered in sequins).
And yet I still can't help but admire him. For someone so well known and admired on the international fashion scene, one known to be bitchy and hierarchal, he is surprisingly down to earth. Originally only in London for several shoots and fashion week (next week he's in Paris), he has bought his riverside apartment and plans to make a life in this city. And I for one wish him well. Unlike so many stars interviewed on these pages, with Duo one senses an almost childlike honesty, a wish to be accepted simply for what he is. And at the moment that is a refreshing change. ●'
Heero Yuy finished reading the article, torn from Cosmo magazine, a faint smile playing at his lips. He hadn't seen Duo in years, and now he would be in the same place for a week. It was almost impossible to think that they wouldn't meet, especially with Heero's resourcefulness. Reading the article again, he remembered those high school days.
He had hated it at the time of course. He'd been the quiet Japanese boy in the corner, always studying, or watching everyone else from afar. Duo had been popular, how could he not have been? He had the looks and personality that drew people to him. When you were near Duo you felt special, blessed almost to be in such company. Heero felt so anyway. He had adored Duo, envied him almost, but like the article said, you couldn't dislike him for this. Heero spent his time casting furtive looks across the room when no one was looking. Not that they ever were looking at him, if Duo was in the room.
Duo was so loudly gay, even way back then, flirting with everyone and pouncing on the guys when they least expected it, making the kinds of comments that coming from anyone else would seem crude. No one had suspected Heero.
There was only one time when the two were equal. On court, Heero was the star even if he didn't act like that the rest of the time. Duo was good, sure; you had to be to make the team. But with his limber muscles and hidden strengths, this was where Heero shone. It was where he was most natural. He had been surprised when Duo joined the team. Even more so when he knew Heero's name, would strike up conversation. It didn't make sense; people like Heero and people like Duo were like water and oil. And yet he did. In the changing rooms, during practice, even if they bumped into each other on campus.
But the small pleasure this offered faded instantly when Heero realised he offered the same to all the team members, to anyone in fact. He had grown jealous, bitter almost as it continued; he hated the fact that Duo had time for everyone and the fact that he wanted him for himself. Eventually he dropped out of the team, spending all his time studying. That was when he decided to forget him, just put him out of his mind completely. Duo still smiled at him occasionally, but this no longer meant anything. It was then that the feeling had faded from his face. He was very near to uncaring when the news came that Duo had been signed to a modelling agency and was moving to New York. He hadn't even thought of Duo in years.
And now reverting his attention to the first sheet of the fax; the newspaper Heero worked for had decided to send him to cover Paris fashion week. He was one of the few who could go and know what they were talking about, and the editor 'liked his writing charm' apparently. He frowned, hoping it had nothing to do with the editor being Quatre Winner, the person who had sent him the article, another old school friend, confidant and hopeless romantic.
And yet, what if…? Even to Heero with his low self-esteem it seemed like Duo was talking about him. An average school in London's suburbs in the eighties, there weren't that many Asian people at the school, and nearly none on the sports teams. It couldn't hurt of course. If he were wrong then Duo probably wouldn't even recognise him.
He wandered around his kitchen, all steel and black tiles, on a busy street in the centre of London. He liked his flat; it was small enough to not cost the earth and yet big enough to give him some space. A short bike ride from his office and right near a main bus route. All the practicalities necessary for life in the city.
The email icon on his laptop flashed. It was the details for the trip. He would fly out that night, to catch the 'early buzz' as Quatre put it, and spend the next week touring the shows and parties looking for potential stories and interviewees.
As he packed his things into the dark navy holdall, he could feel two dangerous emotions, hope and excitement, building inside him, although his flawless face revealed very little. By the time he had reached the door, unassuming luggage in one hand, black coffee in the other, the face had regained its usual blank expression. After all, this was just another business trip.
--ooOoo--
Hola, I'm back! Sorry. I just go through phases where I have a seemingly wonderful idea and just have to write, and others where I'd rather dive head first into hydrochloric acid. Y'no how it goes. If this phase goes on long enough, I may even neaten up (otherwise known as rewriting) the Elephant piece too. Fingers crossed.