Hey guys, sorry, I know I lied. I meant to put something up on Friday. But then my wire in my power cord died, and I haven't been able to really go on the computer. I'm jumping on quick to put this up and save in my mail so I can work on it on another computer. This is probably getting corny, but oh well. I like it I 'll get to the next chapter this week tho, I promise!

"Quatre. I recognize you now," Quatre returned, shaking Trowa's hand. "I hear you're a guy who likes his solitude."

"I did up until this afternoon. There's just something about Hilde that makes everything seem… bright again for me," Trowa replied. The boy before him was a vision of innocence, even more pure than Hilde even. There was a fire burning in his eyes and a beautiful calm underneath it. He hoped to capture that. He knew that he would not be able to destroy this boy, but maybe he wouldn't have to. Zechs would be put to shame as he worked with Quatre. He would out do all his previous work with the purity of this boy, instead of the darkness Zechs had caused that nearly consumed him.

"When shall we start? Are you busy now?" Quatre asked. Trowa's lips curled into a smile. He wanted to claim Quatre in every form, perfect every medium to praise this boy. He was completely intoxicated with him already, and they'd only just met.

"Let me invite you in," Trowa offered, realizing again they were still in the hall. Quatre smiled and entered the apartment.

"Wow! You have such a beautiful piano! Would you mind if I played?" Quatre asked, possessed it seemed.

"It's not my piano, but I'm sure Wufei wouldn't mind if you played. I hear you're very good," Trowa said. Quatre opened the piano running his fingers over the keys as though they were silk, before sitting down in front of it.

"You're seeing someone? Or a roommate?" Quatre asked,

"My best friend. He was my roommate until he started seeing someone," Trowa said, coming to sit next to Quatre. He played Fur Elise. Another Beethoven fan, Trowa mused.

"This is an antique. I'm sure your friend knows that. This must have cost… Was it kept in such good condition, or was it fixed up?" Quatre asked.

"It was in fairly good condition. He fixed it up some. The cost was of no consequence. He wanted to teach me on this one," Trowa said. Quatre looked at him and smiled.

"You play as well? You must play something for me," Quatre pleaded.

"I only know depressing songs," Trowa said as Quatre finished the song.

"I don't care. I want to hear you play," Quatre said, moving Trowa's hands to the keys. Trowa sighed. "I won't look," Quatre joked, looking down at the keys. Trowa closed his eyes and began the song, fingers methodically searching out the songs to play Moonlight Sonata for the eleventh time today. Halfway through he could feel Quatre's eyes on him. He could hear Quatre's soft breathing, and his heart beating faster. It was as though he did not want to breath. He continued, moving a little closer to Quatre in the seat. As he finished he lifted his fingers gently from the keys and let his eyes open slowly. He looked at Quatre, who had tears in his eyes and rolling down his cheeks.

"What's wrong?" Trowa asked in shock.

"That…that was so beautiful. I could feel that," Quatre said in shock himself. "How long have you played?"

"A few weeks," Trowa replied. Quatre's mouth fell open and his eyes grew wide.

"You're not kidding?" Quatre asked. Trowa shook his head. "People play their whole lives trying to achieve what you've got. If you're as talented as an artist as you are a musician, I fear what you will do with me," Quatre whispered.

"When I saw you walking, I had different intentions of the direction of our sessions… But just being with you now, I feel the same way for you, as you feel of my music," Trowa said, trying to describe it. Quatre blushed furiously.

"Be honest with me then. What was your original intention?" Quatre asked.

"I wanted to destroy something beautiful, twist it to make it ugly, like the hatred and pain inside me," Trowa whispered in shame, letting his head fall down.

"Someone hurt you very badly," Quatre whispered. "But I feel like I can help you. Like maybe I can heal some of those wounds."

"So do I," Trowa said looking up into Quatre's eyes. They were both feeling very emotional. Quatre traced Trowa's cheek with his thumb but Trowa suddenly felt like withdrawing.

"I'm sorry, I overstepped. Please, let's begin. What shall I do?" Quatre said, attempting to keep the boy he'd brought out with them. He had often felt like reaching out to Trowa in the coffee shop. He knew who Trowa was, and what he'd been through. His father owned 'Of Despair.' It was Trowa's last painting, the one he'd done in blood. Quatre felt the pain inside of it, almost so much that he'd been taken to the hospital for a panic attack. His father paid 5 million dollars to have that painting, and he only now felt grateful for it. He had wanted to help the artist then, and finding out it was a boy who wanted to use him as a muse now, he thanked Allah above.

"I'm short on canvases right now. I don't usually paint early on anyhow. I like to use pencils and pastels in the beginning. I've got a sketch pad. I'll go get it," Trowa informed him. As he went into the other room, Quatre smiled and sighed in relief. Trowa unbuttoned his shirt and looked in the mirror. A deep red scar ran diagonally from his right collar bone down toward his left hip. It stopped a few inches below his ribs. He ran his fingers over it. "Just don't let it get like last time. Try to keep this professional. You don't want to get hurt again." But he suddenly yearned for that touch he'd all but flinched away from. He wanted to have a personal relationship with Quatre, but now was not the time. After he had perfected the mediums, then he could let him in all the way, see his scars, his pain, and tell him everything…

"So what should I do?" Quatre asked Trowa as he rejoined him. He could tell Trowa was hiding something, he was suddenly very stressed. "Have you eaten tonight?"

"No, I usually order something…" Trowa said, remembering that he'd forgotten that in his excitement.

"Let's go out then. We can go somewhere to eat and talk some more. We'll start tomorrow," Quatre offered. Trowa felt thankful for the suggestion. The mood was too awkward here right now.

"Yeah. Do you know any good places to eat around here?" Trowa asked.

"I can think of a few," Quatre assured him. While they ate Quatre listened to Trowa, but he could not take his eyes off of him. He kept scolding himself and forcing himself to look at his food. He had wanted to be close to Trowa for such a long time, but he couldn't believe it just happened. Staring into those emerald eyes for only a second had made him exist, and one phone call had started their relationship. He had almost ruined it all by touching him…

"What's on your mind? You haven't said much," Trowa asked. Quatre smiled.

"Just working things out in my head. I'm excited. This is very different for me," Quatre replied. He picked at the remainder of his plate as they waited for the check.

"Do you think the coffee place is still open?" Trowa asked, looking at his watch.

"No, it's almost 12. Hilde probably closed at 10," Quatre answered.

"Are you two good friends?" Trowa asked.

"Well I suppose you could say that we are in a way. We're close in the shop, but I never see her outside. I was shocked to find out she'd saved my number. She tries to do so much when she gets off that she has no time. That's why she makes friends at the shop, to keep her company. She's got Duo but they barely see each other outside of the shop. It's really sad," Quatre explained.

"I'll have to stop in there more often," Trowa said thoughtfully. They paid and left, walking close together down the street. "What can we do now?"

"Not much. It's a weekday and it's kind of dangerous at night around here," Quatre replied. They decided there wasn't much to do so they took a cab back to the apartments.

"Shall I walk you to your apartment?" Trowa joked.

"If you like," Quatre said. "You can bring your sketch pad and pencils up and hang out for a while if you want."

"Alright," Trowa said. They stopped at his apartment and grabbed his things. They got back in the elevator. "What floor?" he asked.

"21," Quatre said. The doors closed and the elevator ascended. "It would be funny if we got stuck," Quatre joked.

"It would be very cliché. At least we wouldn't be bored," Trowa said, motioning to the drawing pad. They both smiled as they stared at the numbers of the floors. They kept rising much to their amused disappointment. When they got to 21, however, the doors wouldn't open. They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"You've got to be kidding," Quatre said. He pushed the door open button a few times. He shook his head.

"Hello!" Trowa yelled, banging on the doors. They heard people shouting on the other side but couldn't tell what they were saying. They pushed other buttons to go up or down but the elevator had stopped responding. A few minutes later a voice came over the intercom telling them they were calling someone to have the elevator fixed and to stay calm.

"Well we found something else to do," Quatre joked. Trowa smiled. He opened his sketchbook and sat in one corner while Quatre sat in the other one. He rested his elbows on his knees which were pulled up to his chest. He rested his chin on his hands and looked at Trowa's shoes.

"Now just stay in that pose," Trowa said. Quatre looked up at Trowa and smiled. "You ruined it!" Trowa joked. "Look down where you were, reflecting," Trowa said, taking the box of colored pencils out of his bag. He picked up the colors that would best match Quatre's clothes, skin, eye, and hair color. For 10 minutes he just did the outlines of Quatre. He began to fill the picture in with color and darker color to imitate the shadows playing over Quatre's features. Quatre lifted his eyes to see the intensity with which Trowa was drawing him. He couldn't help but smile and blush a little. "You're not cooperating," Trowa said softly, not looking up from the paper. "Or did you want me to draw you with a blush?"

"I'm sorry," Quatre said turning an even darker shade of red. Trowa half smiled.

"It's ok. I finished your face first," Trowa assured him. Quatre laughed.

"I'll try to be better next time," Quatre said.

"I forget that you're new at this," Trowa said. "Don't worry. Eventually, you'll be an expert, and be demanding I paint you in the poses you want," Trowa assured him. He put the pencils back in the box and closed the book.

"Perhaps," Quatre replied. "May I see?" Trowa looked down at the book and held it closer to him. "Alright," Quatre said with a small laugh. Trowa handed the book over to him.

"No, I want you to see it. I just… I haven't done anything in a long time…I," Trowa whispered, eyes diverting to the floor.

"It's beautiful," Quatre softly interrupted. It was a little smoky looking, a little distorted, but it was drawn perfectly. There were no black lines for an outline, just color. There were small gray lines around him to signify he was sitting in a corner. Trowa smiled despite himself. Zechs had never asked to see his drawings; he looked at them at the end of the week usually and just smiled. He mentally smacked himself; he didn't want to think about him any more. Quatre was here now, and he wanted to help him, not destroy him.

"Thank you Quatre," he simply said. They did not talk for a long time. Quatre moved over toward Trowa and rested his head on the older boy's shoulder. Trowa put his head on Quatre's and sighed softly, happily… Quatre's smile grew wide and he nuzzled into Trowa a little. He felt Trowa tense so he stood up and stretched. "Why did you agree to model?" Trowa asked suddenly.

"There's a story behind it for sure, but I don't think now is the appropriate time. I will tell you, but not now," Quatre answered. Trowa looked at him quizzically but decided not to pursue the topic.

"What do you do?" Trowa asked instead.

"Right now I'm going to a music school," Quatre replied.

"Do you work?"

"No, I don't really have to right now. Not that I like taking money from my father… He's a rich and influential business owner. He'll realize some day soon that I never intend to go to business school. I love music too much. I think I want to be a teacher. There are a lot of private schools that have offered me jobs, and schools in the city. I may take business so I can open up my own place and hire people I know love music just as much. Even still, I hate to get my father's hopes up. He might disinherit me if not disown me," Quatre explained.

"Why?"

"I'm his only son, but I'm also the youngest of a lot of sisters… My eldest sisters have been working for him a long time, but he wants me to take over. It's a very chauvinistic thing to do… I know they love business and they could split the company up. Most of them don't want kids after growing up pretty much raising younger siblings. It's gonna be a horrible shock when he finds out I'm…"

"You're what?"

"Gay…"

"That might not be something to bring up at a family event. Once you've got your finances settled, when you can provide for yourself, then you should talk with him," Trowa suggested. Quatre rubbed the back of his neck.

"It's not like it would stay hidden for long if I got a boyfriend. The reporters snoop around every once and a while to write a story about me. There was a lie in the papers that I was disowned for going to music school. My father assured them I was going through a phase, but we didn't speak for months after that. I had to speak through sisters."

"I guess being sort of famous will do that to you. So you're not dating anyone because you're afraid it'll be in the papers?" Trowa mentally smacked himself. He must've seemed like he was hitting on Quatre.

"No. Of course I'd rather tell my dad myself, but I haven't met anyone. I went on a few blind dates with people who never found out who I really was. They were all looking to get laid… I wasn't looking for something like that." Quatre wanted to say more, but again he'd agitated Trowa twice tonight by trying to get close. Telling him, I'd date you in a minute, wasn't going to be the most comfortable subject. To his surprise Trowa continued his thought.

"Would you ever date someone like me?" Trowa asked. His hair was hiding his face. "I mean, if you got to know me?"

"Well do you mean would I date someone like you or actually you?" Quatre teased.

"Never mind," Trowa answered in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to tease you," Quatre assured. He kneeled in front of Trowa and smiled warmly. "I think I would date an artist or a musician if anyone. Someone who enjoys the arts in all forms. Art is life, and I love life with all my heart. I'd want someone who at least appreciated music."

"We've both got secrets," Trowa remarked, pulling his feet to his chest.

"That doesn't necessarily mean something bad," Quatre said.

"It does for me… I don't want to…" Trowa began. He wanted to tell Quatre about Zechs but he didn't want him to be scared away so quickly. Maybe if he got to know him better first, it would be easier to hear. He might understand better and stay despite it. Maybe that was selfish of him…

"I think for now we should both keep our secrets. There will be a time to explain everything in the future," Quatre whispered. Trowa was thankful that they already got along so well. The blonde could almost read his thoughts, and knew when he had said too much or did something wrong. They'd only been together a few hours…

"What time is it anyway?" Trowa asked with a yawn.

"Allah! It's almost 3!" Quatre remarked loudly.

"We're sorry for the wait! We were calling people for almost an hour before anyone called back. The guy just arrived. Please come see us at the front desk when the elevator is fixed," a voice said on the intercom. It sounded like a girl who was nervous. Did she think they were going to sue them?

"It might be five minutes or five hours now," Trowa joked. He took out his sketch book and made rough sketches of Quatre's face. He wanted to get acquainted with drawing him.

"Shall I stay still?" Quatre asked.

"No, I'm just sketching. I may move around to draw from different perspectives though," Trowa replied.

"What shall we talk about now? Something about you?" Quatre asked.

"Hmm," Trowa said, wondering what he could even say. His whole life had been one big slap in the face until now. Wufei was his only good friend. The only person he ever loved walked out on him. His parents had split up, and split Catherine and him up…

"When did you know you wanted to be an artist?" Quatre asked to break the ice. He could tell that Trowa had a lot of painful memories…

"I was always doing drawings of my sister. She brought me to her high school and introduced me to the art teachers. They said I was brilliant. She started to take me out with her all the time to show me off because she was proud of me," Trowa began. He stood up by the doors, holding the pad in one hand as he sketched with the other. Quatre sensed they didn't see each other anymore, perhaps they'd fought… or worse still she had died…

"You don't have to go on," Quatre said softly, angry that he could only seem to bring out bad memories.

"No, it's not a big deal. Before I got to go to high school our parents split up. My dad took claim on her, and mom took claim on me. They both moved us out of our house to apartments. They had a bitter divorce and they never let us see each other. Mom changed our last name back to Barton, her maiden name. Hilde and I actually started talking today because she knows Catherine. She's been looking for me apparently. I gave Hilde my number and email to give her. I'm nervous, but excited," Trowa finished. Quatre smiled.

"Do you think she'll come visit New York, or will you go back to where you lived before?" Quatre asked.

"She'll probably be on the plane as soon as she hears from Hilde," Trowa joked. Quatre smiled as Trowa put the pad away again. Quatre curled up on the floor and yawned. Trowa stood against the wall and crossed his arms. Quatre talked a few minutes more but then fell asleep. "You must not stay up much," Trowa said sitting down next to the boy. He moved Quatre so that his head rested on his leg. Absently he ran his fingers through Quatre's hair.

"I like it when you play with my hair," Zechs said. They were wrapped in blankets and the blonde man was resting on his chest. Trowa smiled.

"Good, because it helps me relax," Trowa replied. Zechs looked up and caught his lips in a kiss. He crawled on top of the boy, who wrapped his arms more than willingly around the blonde.

"Trowa you drive me crazy," Zechs whispered, biting his neck.

"Will you stay tonight?" Trowa whispered, arching into the older man. He bit his lip and let out a small moan. Zechs moved down his chest, licking, biting and sucking on him.

"Maybe," he whispered playfully.

"You're a bad liar," Trowa said.

"Look who's being bold," Zechs joked.

"Maybe I'll be bold later if you stay," Trowa said suggestively, raising an eyebrow.

"What an offer… I guess I'll have to stay," he responded. Trowa smirked. "It's hard to believe how much a small boy like you takes out of me."

"A shock really, you know, since you're doing all the work," Trowa joked.

"Even when you're in control. You're so talented Trowa, in so many ways…" Zechs said half serious, half seductive.

"I'm only as talented as the model I'm using," Trowa replied, instantly tensing. Zechs laughed.

"You don't seem to have a talent for words however. I know what you meant to say, but you're still wrong. You have some emotion in your art. One day someone will be brought to tears Someone who will truly see what you're conveying." Trowa felt weird to hear him say such a thing.

Maybe that was his way of telling him he was leaving. Was he obsessed, did he scare Zechs away? He was pretty sure he was just in love, and that mixed with the passion he had for his paint had perhaps driven him over the edge. He looked down at Quatre and remembered how he had cried when he'd played piano. If Zechs had known him so well, cared for him, why had he left? He had almost gone mad… He put his hand on the scar beneath his shirt, clenching his jaw tightly. He quickly wiped his eyes and forced the images out of his head. He looked at Quatre and continued stroking his hair.

Quatre's eyes fluttered open, but he was not curled up in the corner any longer. His head was on Trowa's leg and Trowa's fingers were stroking his hair. He sat up, seeing Trowa was upset, but said nothing. He didn't think Trowa would tell him yet anyhow. "It's almost 4." No sooner had he said this, the elevator started to descend. It opened in the lobby. The two stepped off, Trowa, after grabbing his box of pencils. They went to the front desk.