What the Hell am I Going to Name This?
Disclaimer::sigh: I don't own Gundam Wing… never will. Does that satisfy all rabid fangirls out there?
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WuFei and Quatre sat on separate sides of the same couch. The first boy had his typical glare in place, and the second had the same, though out-of-place fixated stare. The object of their ire was—oddly—Trowa, who had the most unusual shit-eating grin plastered on his normally calm façade.
Across from Trowa sat Heero, his usual 'I-don't-give-a-damn-whether-you-live-or-die-just-don't-interfere-with-me' impassive look on his visage. Between the two latter boys was a chess table, and Trowa's fingers were poised above one of his last pieces on the board.
He wasn't winning the chess game, so why the funny look? One might also ask why Quatre was so angry looking, and why WuFei was even bothering to pay attention to them at all. It certainly makes one pause to consider what exactly is going on.
Before Trowa could place his last fatal move, there was a distinct 'pop', and Duo Maxwell appeared out of nowhere, resplendent in Death's robes and Shinigami's gleam in his bright, amethyst eyes. One word was uttered after his grand entrance—"Mine." And with that, he disappeared with Heero in tow, another loud 'pop' left in his wake.
A scowl replaced Trowa's smug grin, and he stomped out of the room, chess game forgotten, followed closely by a fuming WuFei. The last lone occupant was left glaring at the empty chairs in front of him.
"God dammit."
OWARI
AN: So, I know nobody really ever reads these, but I figured I'd better explain myself. Usually, I write angst, so this was a radical 180 for me. And it was stupid. And pointless. I was smacking my lips together like the stupid donkey from Shrek, and this story popped into my head. Whatever.