Still only U rated, I'm afraid, but I'm working on it
--ooOoo--
Heero cast his eyes about, a little bit apprehensive, a little bit awestruck. He was surrounded by some of the richest and most beautiful people in Europe. He recognised many from articles, written and read, in financial magazines and broadsheet newspapers. There were broad shouldered men in silk ties and understated Armani suits, arm in arm with petite tanned ladies wearing tailored skirts or Chanel dresses, exuding elegance and glamour. Above the crowd bobbed hats by Boyd and Treacy, and many more. The cream of the world's couture houses were very well represented.
He smiled to himself. The day had gone very well. Sitting in the hotel bar with the photographers and the other journalist from his paper, they went over the day's events. He had spent the afternoon talking to and interviewing the designers and models as they began preparing for the evening's shows. He had left as things got hectic, but not before he got the numbers of several of Calvin Klein's models, and the promise of a champagne dinner from an angelic looking young man dressed in nothing but a jersey shirt and a pair of sky blue footless tights.
A text from Quatre: 'Have you found him yet? Q.' reminded him that no, he hadn't had sight nor sound of Duo yet. Maybe he wouldn't be here. Maybe he had changed so much he was unrecognisable; Quatre hadn't sent a photo with the article and a person can change a lot in eight years.
Did he WANT Duo to not be there? He didn't care either way. This answer came to him too quickly, and he was forced to think about it, to truly consider the question. To hell with it! Of course he wanted to see Duo, if Duo wanted to see him. And since he couldn't answer that from here, he would just have to risk it. What if Duo DID want to see him? The implications of this made him squirm in his seat, suddenly aware of how uncomfortably tight his jeans were.
Forcing his attention back to the here and now, he was just in time to wave off two photographers and the other journalist as they left for the shows. Tonight, as well as the Calvin Klein show, were the Westwood and Miu Miu shows, which he was not particularly interested in. Looking at a programme the woman to his left, a photographer and forceful woman called Sally, who really did have the power to make her subjects 'growl like a tiger', or whatever else she wanted them to do, started reading off the shows tomorrow night.
'Right… there's the Gucci and Burberry shows, 'Fei said they were excellent last year, and Gucci at least is an important one…' she trailed off for a moment. 'Fei' was her fiancé, an ex-model who had reinvented his career on the other side of the camera. Also there's the Valentino show which Trowa wanted to cover so you don't have to, Heero, and then the Dior Homme and Emporio Armani, which we'll do. OK, Heero?'
He nodded noncommittally, but was pleased with the way things had turned out. He wasn't a particular Valentino fan, but the Dior show was the one he was looking forward to this week. Over the years Hedi Slimane's designs had been getting tighter and tighter, and Heero thought that the 16 year old waifs that were the only ones able to fit into his clothes now were the prettiest creatures. He enjoyed the clothes, watching the way the fashions changed from one season to the next, but with models like that, he didn't give a damn if they were wearing floral print tents.
--ooOoo--
The crowd was buzzing. Heero and Trowa sat together, with Sally behind, each lost in their own thoughts. The Dior show had just finished, and the Heero was truly mesmerized. The outfits had been amazing, simple and yet radiating quality and wealth. He looked around again at the crowd. There were several women still wearing the expression he was sure he'd been wearing for most of the show, the gaping one of someone who is in the presence of something close to genius. The men of the crowd ranged from the hip youngsters who could well have modelled the collection to Mediterranean men in dark glasses, sitting with wives, obviously waiting for the Armani show.
Sally and Trowa were now talking together, discussing favourite outfits and the trends. Trowa's mother had been a designer and Sally's photography education had been heavily involved with fashion, and Heero felt way out of his depth listening to them.
Suddenly the room went dark and the crowd was immediately silenced. Spotlights lit up the stage and catwalk, clean white lights on the black screens. Already Heero could tell that this show would be something else entirely. The music started and the models began their display. The suits were gorgeous, another level up from the shows before. Even the models seemed a cut above the rest.
Looking to the next three, Heero saw a suit that instantly caught his attention. Comparatively baggy trousers, and a very low fronted waistcoat between a longish jacket and silk shirt, open at the neck; it stood out from the rest. And the model walked like he owned the show. The most attractive one so far too, Heero thought with a small grin. A slightly pointed chin and well defined cheekbones, visible beneath long bangs, reddish brown hair. Heero blinked. It was Duo.
He was there. Less than ten metres away, and coming ever closer. Heero blinked again, Duo appeared to be staring right at him, a glint of recognition in his eyes. He had barely changed at all, Heero noted. There was an air of maturity about him, but otherwise it was still Duo. In that moment, everything Heero had ever felt for him came rushing back, he was a lonely schoolboy again, all eyes were on Duo again. A wave of dizziness came over him, and he shut his eyes, willing it to all go away, fighting it, refusing to give in to such weakness. For the rest of the show he sat there, rocking backwards and forwards slightly, unable to focus on the show, the lights suddenly too bright, the flashing of cameras making his head spin.
There had only ever been one person Heero couldn't win an argument against. Himself. All through the show there was a constant row in his head, the side that said he was imagining, projecting things that weren't real, versus the side that said Duo had seen him and recognised him, and he should go find him. When the house lights went up, the war was still raging and he was only brought back to reality by Trowa's suggestion that they hit the bar. Instantly Heero agreed, since it saved him making the decision of what to do.
He didn't often drink, but when he did it was with a vengeance. The first round, he took a double Jack Daniels over ice, which he drained in one, before settling for large glasses of red wine.
When his next round came, he was standing at the bar and heard a sudden increase in the noise or the bar. Turning to look at the source, he saw Duo walk through the bar with several other models Heero recognised. Turning back quickly, he willed the queue for the bar to go down so he could run back to the corner where Trowa, Sally and the others were waiting.
He felt a jab in his back. 'Bloody handbags' he thought. Already today he had been hit, poked, and otherwise assaulted by various accessories. Ready to give the woman behind an earful about controlling her possessions, he spun around to find himself face to face with a grin he hadn't seen in nearly a decade.
--ooOoo--
So there we have it. does that count as a cliffhanger ending?
Thankyou to my reviewers, I love you guys SO SO much. Big hugs and sloppy kisses all round xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx