Chapter two
Lovers are in pain
Leon's PoV
Someone finally moved into that house. A cute guy, my age… and apparently a snotty bastard. Just my luck. It didn't help that Yuffie was going on nonstop about this friend of hers that had just moved here. I wasn't really listening until she smacked me. Scratch that, I wasn't really listening at all. I had my won life to get on with—getting ready for my sophomore year at a new high school. Yuffie swore I would love SHS, but then again, this is the same girl who once decided I would make a great dart board to test shuriken and kunai on, so her judgment was naturally a little circumspect. Still, she is the closest thing to a friend. I don't have friends. I have people I detest marginally less. Well, and my boyfriend, but Damian is and always will be a special case. Mostly, I just don't like people. All this thinking was just getting me depressed.
I pushed myself up off the bed in my messy second-floor room. When dad left, it was just mom and me in the trash heap that was all we could afford. We're better off without him. Since then, Mom went to college, working two jobs and a partial scholarship, and got herself a degree. Now she teaches at the local elementary school, and we live in a pretty upscale house in a (mostly) decent part of town. I glared at the poster covered walls of a moment, pictures of dead rock stars grinning back. I snorted and shut off the radio, cutting off the loud heavy metal, then changed into going out clothes—a loose black tank top and tight black jeans. Normally I would go for leather, but in Phoenix, I'd just be lightly broiled in five minutes. The black was bad enough.
My car was waiting in the driveway—my pride and joy, an ancient cherry-red convertible, perfectly restored, with black-and-blue flames painted down the sides by a friend of Yuffie's. Brat had charged me fifty bucks, plus materials, but it was worth it. I gunned the engine and backed out, mentally going over a list of places Damian was likely to be. My boyfriend refused to get a cell phone, so it could be a lot of work to track him down sometimes. Today was Saturday, so he'd probably be at the library. I flicked the stereo on as I drove, and loud music streamed out, but not the heavy metal I'd been listening to before. This was a j-pop disk Yuffie had bought me for Christmas. I had to admit, track two, 'Cynical World' really fit my mood some days. Fairly soon, I reached the library—practically Damian's second home. Five floors of books. I liked to read well enough—books were piled on nearly every flat surface of my room—but for Damian, it was a passion. It was pretty normal for me to look for him here before his house. Damian was in his usual chair—I had heard the librarians talking about just writing 'reserved' on it—in the back corner of fiction, right beside the plate glass wall overlooking the tiny park. I paused to admire him for a long moment before he knew I was there. Strait, blue-black hair falling just to the fine line of his jaw, fair skin stretched perhaps a tad too hard over impossibly high cheekbones and black lashes framing eyes the color of caramel. Even the harsh desert sunlight had failed to darken his fair complexion, and his eyes seemed to glow with enthusiasm for what he was reading, science fiction by the look of it. I cleared my throat and he looked up, a dazzling grin spreading across his face as he recognized me. I grinned back, a tad shyly.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself. You have a reason to come looking for me?" His eyes were so alive, so expressive as he cocked his head inquisitively. Damian's smile was infections, and my smile grew teasing.
"Do I need one?" Golden eyes glittered.
"I don't suppose you do." He rose gracefully and stoop before me. On his feet, he was about three inches shorter than me, and notably slighter, but he still gave the impression of being overwhelming. I hugged him quickly, and he responded by stealing a quick kiss.
"Was wondering if you wanted to go out for ice cream?" I suggested. I never got enough time with Damian. He grinned and nodded, and we walked out of the library side-by side. Our favorite ice-cream place was nearly full today, so we ate outside despite the heat. Mango for me, Chocolate for Damian. We'd both taken an online quiz, what ice cream flavor are you, and Damian had gotten mango for wild, exotic and optimistic. Of course, I had gotten vanilla for calm, mild-mannered, and subtle. Damian had laughed at that so hard he fell of his chair, and I had given the computer an ugly glare and switched to playing Halo on Damian's Xbox. I had a well-earned reputation as a fighter. I'd had more than my share of trouble with gangs, and I wasn't the loser in those troubles. Damian and I finished the ice-cream and climbed into my car, no words needing to be spoken. We knew each other that well.
'Where to?" I asked. 'Ian pretended to think or a moment.
"My place?" I grinned and nodded, flicking on the stereo and changing the disk. A female folk singer's voice spilled out, and Damian leaned back in his chair and watched me drive. Damian is, and always has been, an original. He moved out on his parents when he turned sixteen, and 'his place' is an apartment not very far from my house. Mostly he mooched rides off me, but he was near enough Sunnyslope to be able to walk there. That was one of the few reasons I agreed to go to Sunnyslope this year. He worked near school too, long hours to pay for the apartment. His parents cut him off when he moved out, and so far as I can see, the feeling was mutual. I looked over at him as we neared his house; his eyes were closed, with dark shadows under them, and even the warm sunlight pounding through the tinted windshield failed to lend color to his icy-pale skin. I was worried about him. Damian is proud, and that pride won't let him do less than his best at everything. He's incredibly smart, but homework, work and school wear him out, and he's too proud to complain to anyone. We were at his house. With no color to his skin at all, Damian looked like a statue carved from marble and ebony. His eyes opened slowly when I killed the engine, the music cutting off sharply.
"You alright?" I asked. Damian smiled, a tad wearily.
"Yeah. Nothing a little sleep won't cure." I frowned, not really wanting to heed the unspoken signal and drop it.
"You never seem to get any sleep, though." He flashed me a reassuring grin, the shadows never leaving his eyes.
"I'll be ok." I looked away, conceding the argument for now. I followed him into the apartment, smiling slightly at the faint smell of lemon furniture polish. You wouldn't figure a teenage boy's apartment to be pathologically clean, but Damian's sure fit the bill. He didn't have the money for much clutter, and what he had was kept neurotically clean. We sat down on the second-hand couch, a ratty thing that had seen better days, with Damian laying his head on my chest. I put my arms around him, and we just sat like that or a long time, not needing words. His breathing slowed, and I realized he was falling asleep. I shifted to make him more comfortable. Damian had a bad tendency to push himself until he dropped. It was pleasant, just sitting there with him in my arms, smelling faintly of shampoo and sweat. Then he began to snore slightly, and I held back a chuckle with difficulty. He was so peaceful asleep, so different from his colorful exuberance when he was awake. Even sitting still, he always seemed poised to fly. I picked him up, carefully, cradling him to my chest. He was light, lighter than he should have been. I made a mental note to make sure he ate something. His bedroom was spare, almost barren as I lay him down on the steel-framed bed and pulled the blankets over him. He never stirred.
I walked back to the kitchen/living room and opened the fridge. Unsurprisingly, it was mostly empty. When 'Ian got busy, he skipped shopping, and as a result, skipped eating. I grabbed the grocery list off the fridge and headed back out to my car. It took me about an hour to get everything on the list, as well as a bag of the lemon hard candies I knew he liked. When I put the stuff away and looked in on him, Damian was still fast asleep in the orange-gold sunset streaming through the dirty glass. Letting myself out again, I drove the eight blocks home. The house across the street still had stuff on the front lawn, but the blond brat was nowhere to be seen. I shook my head, trying to shake away the thought. I did not need to go picking another fight… When I got to the house, mom had already returned and left. She'd left a note, saying she'd gone on a date, and she'd probably be back around midnight. An ex-frozen meal was sitting in the oven on keep warm. I ate by myself, having no other company. The silence was near total, and I found it oppressing. Leaving the empty plastic tray in the sink, I headed up to my room and flopped on the bed, smacking on the radio as I passed. It was still early, but I was tired. I finally fell asleep just as the sun slipped below the horizon, to the haunting strains of Beethoven's fifth symphony. The last thing I remember was thinking about a report I'd had to do, years ago, on the five classical composers. Remembering that Beethoven's fifth symphony had once been called the symphony of destiny.
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Nobody reviewed. Way to kill my self-esteem guys. O.K., I don't mean that. Or I won't in the morning anyway. Still, is it so much to ask that out of 61 hits, just one reviews? I'm not even angry, just depressed. I don't have the, I don't know, enthusiasm to be angry. This is going to be a very short fic if this keeps up. So yeah, this chapter is up way early. I had it done early, and I was going to hold onto it at least until Tuesday, but it looks like this fic may already be in critical, so.
REVIEW! Please? OO
