Warnings: Angst, violence, language, drug use, abuse, supernatural things, sex, yaoi, yuri, het. If you desperately need to know who is paired with who send me a message and I can tell you, but I'd rather you get to experience the evolution of the characters first.
A/N: Based on Misfits, but draws from X-Men, Smallville, and Heroes as well. These kids aren't the complete burnouts that the Misfits are, but they are NOT perfect angels. Be warned.
A/N #2: Thanks to the always amazing Cuzo, more than a beta and no less than a friend.
A/N#3: A special thanks to Snowdragonct, who has been so encouraging and supportive since I first started writing here. Thank you for your advice, conversation, and general brilliance. Also, you are a badass AND a classy lady.
A/N#4: I want to give credit to Cuzosu for suggesting Heero's powers be Storm-like. It saved me from the terrible mistake of giving him super lame powers, and I'm glad that so many of you have enjoyed her recommendation as well. Thank you for saving Heero!
Deviant
Chapter Four
Trowa kept to the same routine, every morning. He had for the last eleven months, and according to his doctor he should plan to keep the same routine for as long as possible.
Having a routine was supposed to help. Keeping things in order, doing the same thing every day – it was supposed to help him gain control of his life and put his problems into perspective. It was supposed to keep him from trying to kill himself again.
While it had kept him from attempting suicide again, it certainly hadn't stopped him from thinking about it. He even had it scheduled in – when he woke up at six every morning, he allowed himself ten minutes in bed, to remember what it had felt like to cut open his skin, and to think about what it would mean to do it again. After those ten minutes, however, he shoved those memories and dreams into a box and put it in a dark corner of his mind.
He knew it wasn't safe or healthy to dwell on those thoughts, but he also knew it was impossible not to think about it. So, he allowed himself ten minutes, every day, just to keep it manageable.
After that, every morning, he got up, made his bed, completed his morning ablutions, and dressed. He packed his backpack for the day, double checking his books, computer, and any assignments due before washing his travel mug and placing it at the top of the bag. Then he left his room and made the nearly mile long trek from his dorm to the coffee shop off of Main Street, across from the far corner of the campus.
Trowa had a meal plan, and while the caf wasn't five-star food, it wasn't terrible, and in any case, Trowa had never had a great deal of interest in food. But ordering hot tea from the coffee shop every morning was, just as much as remembering his suicide attempt, both a reward and torture.
It had taken him a few weeks to work out the pattern, but Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays were the days that he could look forward to. Wednesdays and Saturdays were almost always a disappointment, and the shop was closed on Sundays. When Trowa had first discovered that, it had ruined a week of a perfect routine, but even after he discovered that it was closed he found himself walking to the shop anyway, and then continuing on to the gas station two blocks down and buying tea, just to keep some semblance of the routine.
Today, Monday, was definitely a day he could look forward to.
Sure enough, as he entered the coffee shop at seven thirty, one of the first customers of the day, he was brightly greeted by the man behind the counter.
"Morning and welcome to Java Joe's!"
Trowa never responded to the greeting, and his silence usually resulted in the man turning around to face him. Which he did.
"Let me guess," the man put two fingers to his temple and closed his eyes, his face shifting into an expression of deep thought. Trowa allowed himself a small smile at the man's antics. "Hot water and… Earl Grey!" His indigo eyes snapped open and he shot Trowa a smirk. "Or have you decided to go crazy today and try the Irish Breakfast?"
"No," Trowa said as he handed over his mug, "just the Earl Grey."
"Strong choice."
The man's long fingers brushed over Trowa's as he took the mug, and Trowa swallowed hard and forced himself not to think about how warm and firm those fingers were.
He dug two singles out of his pocket and placed them on the counter and watched the man prepare his tea.
Trowa liked to flatter himself and think that the man didn't do this for every customer – that he didn't fill the bottom of the mug with a tablespoon of honey and a dash of milk before draping the tea bag into the mug and pouring hot water. This had been part of the routine since the second time Trowa came into the shop, and the man had asked him how he took his tea. There was a side table of condiments and sweeteners, so it was clear that customers were expected to flavor their coffee and tea as they desired. He had initially mistrusted the man, and his desire to prepare Trowa's tea for him, but after tasting it that time and being amazed at how perfectly he had gotten it, he had decided to just go with it and let it be part of the routine.
The other part of the routine, Trowa's favorite, had started the first day he had ordered tea. It had lasted all through spring semester, and over the summer, and he was grateful that it continued into the fall.
As the man handed Trowa back the travel mug, he wrapped a napkin around it, and pressed it into Trowa's palm.
"Here ya go!" The man smiled at him and added one dollar to the register while putting the other into the tip jar.
Trowa put the lid on his cup and started to walk away. He pulled the napkin away from the cup, expecting to see the same name and ten digits scribbled onto it that he had looked at for the last eight months, but the napkin was blank.
He stopped walking.
"I thought that would finally get your attention."
Trowa frowned, but turned to face the man. He was smirking and had his arms crossed over his chest.
"I mean, we've been doing this every morning since… what, the second week of January? I've got rules, you know. I don't date Clarkson students, and I don't try to pick up the same guy more than three times. But for you, I've broken one rule and I'd be willing to break the other."
"Then why…?" Trowa held up the empty napkin. "You decided to give up," he realized.
"Nah, you're too intriguing for me to give up that easily. I mean, I've only been trying to pick you up for eight months and gotten NO response from you, ever. But you still come in here every day. You still smile at me when I'm not looking at you –"
"How do you know? If you aren't looking?"
The man winked, but continued without answering Trowa's question.
" – you still leave a hundred percent tip. You still smirk, just a little, when I touch your hand over the mug."
Trowa felt his face flush. He hadn't realized he was being that obvious about how much he enjoyed this morning encounter.
"But, you know, now I know who you are, Trowa Barton. I know all about your reckless obsession with parking illegally. And I've seen how you look in an orange jumpsuit a few sizes too small for you. So, I'm not going to just sit back and give you my name and phone number every morning anymore. Besides, if you were interested – I'm sure you've got it memorized or at least programmed into your phone by now."
Which was true. Trowa had put it into his phone after the fifth time the man had given it to him. Sometimes he would pull it up and think about calling him.
"Besides, maybe now that you know why I'm in community service, you aren't interested in this whole hand holding over coffee mugs thing anymore."
"I'm here, aren't I?" Trowa said, trying to fight down the sudden sense of desperation he felt.
Why did things have to change? He didn't care what the man had done to merit community service – honestly, he was beyond grateful that he had yet another opportunity to look at him. He also appreciated that the man never tried to talk to him there, as if he understood that, for Trowa, compartmentalizing his life was the only thing that kept him sane. He tried not to think about the rest of his life while he was at community service, and when he wasn't at community service he certainly tried to pretend that he didn't have to go there every Saturday for the next two months.
"Yeah, that's true." The man sighed. "What do you want, anyway?"
"I don't understand."
"What do you want from me? Is it just that you like the attention? Because with this whole quiet, mysterious tortured soul thing you've got going – I'm sure you get plenty of attention from your classmates."
Trowa couldn't help his snort of disdain at that assumption.
"I'm invisible," he said without thinking, and instantly regretted it. "I mean – Saturday – no one even knew who I was."
"Heero did," the man pointed out.
Trowa shrugged. He was confident that Heero only knew who he was because they had both earned perfect marks on a Calculus test last semester, and Heero likely resented someone coming within striking distance of his perfect grade in the class.
"You could try talking to people, you know," the man suggested.
"I've tried it before."
The man arched an eyebrow.
"Didn't work out for you?"
"People are…" he knew it would be hypocritical to say that they were harsh, judgmental, and boring when he was also all of those things. Maybe it wasn't hypocritical, just ironic.
"Shitheads," the man finished for him when he waited too long.
Trowa couldn't help but laugh at the sincerity in his voice.
"Yeah," he agreed.
"Listen, I'm not going to pretend that I don't think that you're hot, or interesting, or that I don't enjoy starting off the morning getting to see you – and hold your hand for a few seconds. But… you're killing my ego here, man. I get you not talking to me at community service – but, seriously, I've given you my number hundreds of times."
"This is the best part of my day," Trowa blurted out, fearing where this conversation was going.
The man smiled, and it wasn't his usual, cocky grin, but a slow expression that warmed his entire face. Trowa felt his own lips turning upwards in response.
"Okay, well, why don't we try doing this for an extended period of time and maybe at some other venue? Maybe even longer than ten minutes?"
Time. Trowa winced and looked at his watch.
Usually he allotted himself exactly ten minutes to get his tea, ogle the man behind the counter, smile at the napkin with his name and phone number, and then walk back to campus. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he could take more time – sometimes he lingered in the coffee shop for a few minutes, watching as the man helped other customers or continued to prepare the first pots of coffee for the day. But on Mondays and Wednesdays he had an eight A.M. class, across campus, and because of his compulsive need to be ten minutes early, he was currently wrecking his routine by having stayed here for not ten or fifteen minutes, but twenty. If he didn't start for his class now, he would be in danger of actually being late for it.
"I have a class. I have to go."
The man's jaw dropped.
"That's it?"
"No, I –"
The man threw his hands up.
"Forget it. Dude, seriously. Eight months. Eight –"
"I'm not what you want anyway," Trowa interrupted him, angry at himself and the other man. He realized that, by allowing himself to enjoy this attraction to the other man, but not acting on it, he had been quietly encouraging the other man. Which wasn't fair, and it wasn't right. Not when the man clearly thought he was interesting, or that there was any value in knowing Trowa outside of these ten minute interactions.
He arched an eyebrow.
"And what do I want?"
"I have to go to class." Trowa started for the door, but he turned around again as he reached it. "Duo."
The man looked up at him. It was the first time, in eight months, that Trowa had ever said his name out loud. Despite the fact that he wore a name tag, and that he helpfully added it, with two underlines, to the napkin with his phone number every day, Trowa had never actually addressed him by name before. Not out loud, in any case.
"I'm really not what you want," he assured him.
"You saying that kind of makes me want you more, you know."
"That's not what I'm trying – you hate Clarkson students."
Duo shrugged.
"I could always pretend you were a student at the tech college down the road instead. I have a very active imagination."
"I don't talk."
"Aside from pointing out the obvious – that we're in a conversation right now – I think you're wrong. You do talk. You just don't… chat."
It was clear to Trowa that Duo wasn't going to let this drop. As much as Trowa didn't want to put an end to this, he knew, if he continued to come here every day, if he continued to talk to Duo, continued to 'hold hands over the coffee mug' with him – then he would have to tell him. And then, he knew, Duo would definitely put a stop to the casual flirting and the hand holding.
He checked his watch again. It was seven fifty-five. Even if he sprinted, he wouldn't make it to class on time at this point, and Professor Henry never allowed late entry to students.
It was going to end, one way or another, so he might as well end it now, on his terms.
Trowa set his coffee mug down and took off his backpack.
Duo eyed him warily, but remained silent, even as Trowa started to unbutton the neck of his button-down shirt.
Trowa stopped after three buttons, and he pulled the neck open wide.
"Jesus – what the hell happened to you?"
Duo came from behind the counter and approached Trowa. His right hand reached towards the left side of Trowa's neck, to the long, thick jagged scar than ran from his collar bone up several inches, across his jugular vein. He stopped, just short of touching him, and his hand fell back down to his side.
"I happened."
Duo's eyes went wide, and then narrowed. Trowa forced himself to meet the slightly shorter man's gaze. He expected to see disgust, maybe pity. But not raw anger.
"Why?" Duo hissed.
Trowa swallowed hard. He had been asked this question before – by his parents, his sister, his doctors, fellow inmates at the rehab center he had been shipped off to – and after a while, he had grown immune to the question. It became as mundane as someone asking him about the weather.
But no one had ever been this angry about it before. Not even his sister, who had been devastated and shocked, and had, ironically, threatened to kill him if he ever tried anything that stupid again.
Before he could answer, the bell over the door jingled, signally the entrance of more customers. Trowa hastily buttoned his shirt and Duo, with one last, fierce glare, turned from Trowa and resumed his place behind the counter. He smiled at the customers, his face an unreadable mask of false joy.
Trowa picked up his mug and backpack. His next class wasn't until that afternoon. He usually spent the time after his class and before lunch in the library, reading ahead for his history courses.
He felt unsettled and anxious staying here. His routine had been completely wrecked – and it looked like he would have to do some serious revisions to it for the future in any case – and he felt a sudden, bitter sense of hopelessness.
It wasn't even as though things had been going well. But they had been… going, and at this point, that was all Trowa really expected out of life in any case.
"Stay."
The command interrupted his thoughts, and Trowa looked up to see Duo, still glaring at him, as he added a swirl of whipped cream to someone's coffee order.
Trowa felt himself bristle at the angry tone. WHY? Why bother to stay just so Duo could yell at him and make the transition from anger to disgust? Things were already over. The routine was wrecked. There was no point.
"Please."
Duo still looked angry, but for some reason that made the second word seem sincere.
Trowa found himself sitting down at the table closest to the counter, out of Duo's direct line of sight. He thought about drinking his tea, but his was still too anxious, and the thought of burning his tongue on the hot liquid was too appealing. He forced himself to think about the essay due in his Russian history class next week, mentally editing the paper he had already started.
It was an hour before the coffee shop was empty again.
Duo came around the edge of the counter and leaned against it, his arms folded again, and sighed.
"I've got no right to judge you," Duo said slowly.
Trowa looked up at him. That definitely wasn't what he expected to hear.
"But why the fuck would you do something so stupid and selfish?"
"It's my life, isn't it?" Trowa demanded, Duo's anger giving birth to his own.
"Is it? You just sprang, fully formed, from the ocean or some shit?"
Trowa frowned. He didn't understand why Duo was referencing Greek mythology.
"You don't have a family?"
"Of course I do."
"Of course," Duo echoed, his lips twisted in a bitter sneer. "And fuck them, right? What do they care if you kill yourself?"
"It isn't about them. It's about me."
"Bullshit. You leave that in a note for them? 'It's not you, it's me?' I'm sure that would have comforted the hell out of them."
Trowa glared at him.
"It was a year ago."
Duo nodded. "So things have changed, then? You realize you're a stupid, selfish asshole and have no business ruining the lives of people who love you?"
"I promised them I wouldn't do it again."
"And you keep your word, huh?" Duo sneered.
Trowa did, as a matter of fact, pride himself on not breaking promises.
"Did you also promise to tell them if you thought about doing it again?"
Trowa swallowed hard and had to look away.
"Of course not. Well, do you? Do you still think about it?"
"Yes."
"How –"
"Every day. Every morning when I wake up. I think about it. I remember what it felt like, and I imagine how it would feel to do it again."
Duo's face went pale, and he offered no comment to that confession.
"I told you I wasn't what you wanted," Trowa muttered.
"Fuck you." Duo shook his head. "Seriously, fuck you. I –" he cut himself off when another customer entered.
Trowa took the opportunity to make his retreat. Even if Duo did want him to wait for another lull in customers, Trowa wasn't sure he could handle any more of Duo's anger.
He gathered his now cold tea and his backpack before shouldering open the door and walking out.
He wasn't surprised when Duo didn't call after him "See ya tomorrow," as he usually did, but it still hurt.
Altering his routine proved to be easier and far more painful than he had thought it would be.
Tuesday morning, instead of walking across campus to the coffee shop, he instead made his way to the caf, only a few hundred yards from his dorm, and joined the line of half-awake students shuffling through the food and beverage buffets.
The caf didn't have organic milk, or local honey, and the caf workers were a far cry from Duo. He managed to shoot a stream of boiling water across his hand as he pulled his mug away from the dispenser, and the pain was strangely unwelcome.
Because he now had extra time – eliminating the two mile round trip walk and the ten to fifteen minutes of chatting gave him an extra half hour – he made the colossal mistake of sitting down at a café table and drinking his tea amongst his peers.
He was, predictably, completely ignored. Several students that he shared classes with – even Quatre Winner and Wufei Chang – walked past him without even giving him a nod of acknowledgement.
It reminded him of his conversation with Duo yesterday morning, but it also reinforced the fact that he truly was invisible.
It had been a cruel and ironic twist of fate to wake up the Sunday after being struck by lightning and discover that he was literally as invisible as he metaphorically felt.
After discovering that he had no reflection in the mirror over his dorm room sink, he had ventured into the hall and the communal showers. He had been completely ignored – which wasn't unusual – but when he planted himself in front of the exit, no fewer than four people ran into him on their way out, and then stumbled backwards in confusion – never once looking directly at him.
Trowa had spent the day walking around, trying to get anyone to notice him. He wondered if maybe he HAD died in the lightning strike, and this was some kind of bizarre afterlife – he was a ghost, floating through the world of humans – but at three that afternoon he had wandered as far as the lake, three miles from campus, and as he sat down on the rocky shore and looked at the lake, searching for his reflection, it had slowly materialized. When he returned to his dorm an hour later, the RA had nodded a greeting to him as they passed in the hall, but no one else bothered to acknowledge him again.
It took him two weeks to figure out how to control it – and he had never felt more idiotic practicing anything in his life – but now, nearly a month after the Event, as he had mentally taken to calling the lightning strike, he could, at will, become invisible.
Wednesday and Thursday mornings were just as bad as Tuesday, and he debated the merits of actually just being invisible on a full time basis. It wasn't as if he would miss out on any human interaction, outside of his classes.
Then again, he clearly already was invisible, so why bother with the effort?
Trowa had read enough comic books growing up that he had, once realizing he wasn't dead, immediately thought of radioactive spiders and mutant cells evolving into superior humans. But he wasn't a superhero. His life wasn't crafted by Stan Lee, and he had no aspirations to be… anything, really.
Besides his apathy towards his new/old ability, Trowa felt that invisibility was – Wonder Woman aside – more of a villain's attribute than anything else. The only uses he could think of for it were robbing banks and spying on people. He didn't care about money, and none of his classmates were interesting enough that he cared to follow them around and learn more about them.
On Thursday night he was in his dorm room, working on final revisions for his history paper, when he heard loud voices down the hall.
This wasn't a quiet floor – and it turned out that half of the soccer team had rooms near his – so Trowa was used to people shouting at all hours. But this didn't sound like the usual arguments or friendly shouting matches.
"…on this floor! I'm not a crazy stalker, I just want to know if he's alive!"
He frowned. That voice sounded strangely familiar.
"If you're a visitor then you need to sign in and WAIT for –" Mark, the RA, sounded near the end of his patience.
" I did sign in. And he doesn't know I'm here. No, seriously, I'm not a stalker. Just – is he alive? Have you seen him or anything?"
Trowa got up from his bed and walked closer to the door. He looked through the peephole, squinting to make out the two men standing a few feet from his door. Mark, he easily recognized from his bright red hair. But the other man – he turned suddenly, and the swish of a long braid of hair was visible.
"I haven't seen him since… I saw him a few days ago."
"A few days ago! Dude, he could be –"
Trowa opened his door, and Duo turned to look at him.
"-right there?" Mark finished for him. He shook his head and looked at Trowa. "This guy claims he's a friend of yours and not a crazy stalker."
"He's not. Not a crazy stalker," Trowa clarified.
Mark nodded.
"When he leaves, sign him out and add your name to his sign in, will you?"
"Yeah."
Mark went back into his room, and Duo, still halfway down the hall, shoved his hands in his pockets and actually looked embarrassed.
"I guess I'll go…" Duo started to turn.
"This your first time in a dorm?" Trowa asked, unwilling to let him leave just yet.
"First time inside this dorm," Duo said and scratched the back of his neck.
Trowa was surprised that, with his hatred of Clarkson College, Duo had ever been in a dorm before. He frowned. Why was Duo in a dorm now?
"Look, I –"
"Do you want to come in?" Trowa opened his door wider.
Duo frowned and looked uneasy, glancing down the hall to make sure the other doors were closed, before he started walking towards Trowa's room.
Once Duo was inside, Trowa closed the door behind him.
"I like what you've done with the place," Duo said, and even if Trowa wasn't well versed in sarcasm it would have been impossible to miss it in Duo's voice.
The walls of the room were completely bare, his books were neatly arrayed on his desk and the small bookcase he had purchased, and with the exception of the pairs of shoes shoved under his bed, all of his clothes were out of sight in his dresser or closet.
Trowa had seen other dorm rooms, and he knew that his was incredibly abnormal among college boys, but he couldn't be bothered to fit in and cover his walls with meaningless posters, and clutter tended to make him anxious, so he kept his room as clean and orderly as possible.
"I'd rather you not yell at me again," Trowa said, and gestured for Duo to sit on the bed while he sat on his desk chair.
Duo sat down with a chuckle.
"But why? Wasn't it fun for you?"
Trowa spent enough time observing people, had certainly spent enough time observing Duo, to know that he used humor as a shield. If he was feeling uncomfortable or awkward – well, Trowa was inclined to let him stew in that. After all, the last three days had been hell for him.
"It's good to see that your RA is so concerned about you getting killed by a stalker in your dorm room," Duo said after a prolonged, tense silence.
"Only because of the murders last weekend."
"When we were at community service?"
Trowa nodded.
"Why – oh. One of them was a student here, right? And the rest were his family, down to visit."
"All six of them," Trowa agreed.
Duo winced.
"No wonder Dorothy and Une were so freaked out. TV keeps insisting that it looked like a wild animal had torn them apart."
"Why are you here?"
As much as Trowa would have been happy to sit here and just listen to Duo talk, he was angry and bitter enough to punish both of them by being short with Duo.
"Yeah… I was… kind of a jerk, on Monday morning. And then you didn't come by, Tuesday – and Margie told me you didn't come in Wednesday, and you didn't come in again today…"
"So it took you three days to figure that what? I might have killed myself?"
"No. After Tuesday I figured you might have just decided to take a day to cool off – and when Margie told me you didn't come in Wednesday I tried to track you down, but the bitch at the registrar wouldn't tell me anything and I went around to the dorms, asking, but fucking Trant was sitting night duty at the front desk to this one last night, so…"
"You went to every dorm, trying to figure out which one I was in?"
"Except for this one."
"And then you came back tonight. To make sure that I hadn't killed myself."
"Uh… yeah."
"I told you I wouldn't. I promised my family I wouldn't."
"Right. But that was before and –"
"Wait. You think that you yelling at me would… make me want to kill myself?" For some reason he couldn't pinpoint, Trowa found it amusing that Duo thought that he might have been responsible for Trowa trying to kill himself again.
"Well, it's not like I'm so awesome or anything, I just – you've never missed coming to the shop, in eight months. Even when I'm not there, Margie says you still come in Wednesdays and Saturdays. So it wasn't like you were avoiding me, you –"
"I didn't do it because of a person. Before. I wouldn't – people are shitheads."
Duo pulled one knee up to his chest and propped his chin on it. The pose was completely nonthreatening, and in fact made him look vulnerable.
"Why? Why did you do it?"
Trowa resisted the urge to pick up a pencil and fiddle with it, and instead forced himself to meet Duo's gaze. He decided to give Duo the real answer. Not the answer that he had developed over months of therapy and a desire for the doctors to just leave him alone, but the real reasons he had felt that taking his own life was the best course of action.
"Because why not? My life is – was – no, is– just this vast, empty wasteland. It's not one big thing, it's just hundreds of little things. I'm not happy. I can't actually remember the last time I was happy. I mean, sure, certain activities make me happy, but I'm not… I don't wake up feeling excited about the day or anything like that. Ever. I'm majoring in history because reading is something I can do without thinking about things. It lets me focus on words, on facts, on other people, and I don't have to think about me and how empty I am. I wasn't bored – I mean, yes, I was, but that wasn't it. I'm alone, even with a family – even with my sister calling every night to make sure I'm still alive – and this world isn't very good, and there's not a place for me in it."
Duo swallowed several times before he finally shook his head and sat back up.
"My brother committed suicide. Seven years ago."
Trowa blinked and tried to figure out what to do with that information.
"I… he didn't leave a note, or anything. He was home between tours. He'd just gotten back from Afghanistan, and he was going to be sent back again in a few weeks." Duo cleared his throat. "Anyway, I never got the chance to yell at him for doing it, and I guess…"
"You yelled at me instead."
Duo nodded.
"I don't know why he did it. I mean – yeah, war is really, really fucking awful. But he actually – he wasn't a bad guy or anything, but he was excited about going back. He thought he was making a difference and he was one of those guys who enlisted right after September Eleventh, you know?"
Trowa abruptly realized that, despite the fact that he had seen Duo almost every morning for eight months, he still knew almost nothing about him. He didn't know what kind of politics he believed in, he didn't know what family he had left – this was the only personal thing he knew about Duo.
"Fuck, this is not why I came here." Duo scrubbed at the his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm glad you're alive, and I'm sorry that I was an arrogant asshole and… fuck it. Just, don't think about it every day?"
"It's impossible not to. Even if I didn't want to – whenever I shave, it's right there. I can't ignore it."
"Then grow a beard."
Trowa arched an eyebrow.
"I mean, if you think about it, you're never not going to think about it."
Trowa's lips twitched at that logic, and Duo glared.
"I have a routine. After I got out of rehab, the doctor said that keeping to a routine would help me… evaluate my feelings and help me keep things orderly. Thinking about it, about killing myself, it's part of that. I have to remember it. I have to think about it. If I don't, if I don't remember the logical conclusion to my isolation and depression, then I'm just going to do the same thing again. I can't let myself forget."
Duo ran a hand through his bangs and sat up straight.
"So your routine. You wake up. You think about dying…"
"For ten minutes."
"Ten fucking minutes! Ten–"
Trowa decided to continue to list his routine, hoping to talk over Duo.
"Then I make up my bed. I brush my teeth, then I shower, then –"
"You masturbate," Duo interjected. "Or are you more of a 'in the sock before you hit the sheets' kind of guy?"
This was the Duo at community service, and while Trowa still preferred the Duo of Java Joe's, he liked community service Duo more than near-hysterical and yelling Duo.
"In the shower," he answered.
Duo nodded his approval and waved for him to continue.
"Then I shave. Although maybe I'll stop doing that," he added with a wry grin. "Then I dress, pack my backpack, wash my travel mug, and then I get ten minutes with you. Fifteen on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Then I go to my morning class, then the library, then the caf for lunch, then afternoon classes, then the library again – or the academic quad, when the weather is nice – then dinner at the caf. I study for two hours every night, then I watch Netflix for three hours, and then I go to sleep. On Fridays, I don't have a morning class, so I go to the public library downtown and read science fiction books. On Saturdays I have community service. On Sundays – "
"Joe's isn't open on Sundays."
"I go to the gas station, on the corner. Then I walk down to the lake for a few hours, and then I study."
"That… sounds boring as shit."
Trowa shrugged.
"It is – most of it. But it keeps me from thinking about things too much. It's not stressful. I try to spend as much time around other people as I can, to minimize the time that I'm alone."
"Why?"
"It's easier to think, when I'm alone."
"And thinking makes you think… of suicide."
"Not just suicide. The general fucked up state of things and the world. Of me. Sometimes I –" Trowa caught himself. There was absolutely no need to tell Duo that sometimes he thought about good things, that sometimes he thought about Duo, about calling him, about kissing him, or fucking him.
"Why have you never called me?"
"Because this is me." He gestured to the empty dorm walls. "I already told you the best part of my day was the ten to fifteen minutes I spend with you in the morning. What would I – what would I even talk to you about? At some point, I'd have to tell you about this," he gestured to his neck, where the scar was fully visible above the collar of the t-shirt had had changed into when he returned to his dorm that night, "and then what? Then it would be over. I never called you because I didn't want it to end."
Duo snorted.
"You're lucky I'm fucking persistent, then. Seriously, I gave you my number hundreds of times. And I read, you know – I've heard of this 'science fiction' you speak of. I've read my Asimov and my Ursula Le Quin. And… I'm here, aren't I?" He echoed Trowa's words from earlier that week.
"Because you thought you'd driven me to suicide."
"Well, that's why I came here, but I think we established, like an hour ago, that you're still alive."
"I don't know what I want," Trowa answered the question that Duo had asked him on Monday. "I… like looking at you, and talking to you. When you aren't yelling at me."
Duo rolled his eyes. "It was one time – okay, two times. Don't let it scar you for life." He shook his head, but then turned serious. "So… is that all you want, then? Just to look at me and talk to me for ten to fifteen minutes?"
"I think I'd fuck up anything more than that," Trowa answered honestly.
Duo shrugged. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."
Trowa frowned, unsure if he wanted to take that risk.
Duo got off the bed and stood beside Trowa.
"Don't freak out, okay?"
Before Trowa had a chance to ask what Duo was talking about, the other man leaned over and kissed him, his lips a light, but firm pressure against his own. Trowa could smell the other man – the sharp, faint scent of his aftershave – and he could feel the warm heat of his body, seemingly warming Trowa as well just by its nearness.
Duo pulled away and looked at Trowa, his expression serious.
"Did either of us fuck that up?" he asked, still serious.
"Not yet," Trowa answered, just as serious.
"So let's just give this a try… maybe you can work a few minutes into your routine for me? I mean, aside from those ten to fifteen minutes."
"You thinks it's funny that I schedule that, don't you?"
"No – no more funny than the rest of your schedule." Duo frowned. "When you say you're afraid to fuck this up, does it have anything to with you and wanting to – "
"No. But I barely manage to function on my own. I –"
"I'm not asking you to move in with me. Just… let's grab pizza or – okay. How about this? Saturday I'll say hi to you at community service. And if you're feeling crazy, you can say hi back. But no pressure. We'll just work our way up from there. Maybe next week we can grab a pizza, if you can find a way to work that into your routine."
Trowa glared at him, but Duo leaned down and kissed him again, this time running opening his mouth and running his tongue over Trowa's bottom lip and teasing his mouth open. The touch of Duo's tongue against his own was electric, and Trowa found himself reaching up to grab Duo's head and keep him from pulling away.
After a few minutes, they eased apart, and Duo smirked at him.
"Still not fucked up, then?"
Trowa shook his head.
"Good. Well… I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning?" He sounded just a little unsure of himself.
"Yeah. The caf doesn't have organic milk or local honey or –"
"Or me?" Duo finished and winked at him.
"Or you," Trowa agreed. He stood when Duo started towards the door.
"So…" Duo opened the door.
"I have to walk you out and sign you out," Trowa told him.
"Right. Cool."
Duo started down the hall, hands once again shoved into his pockets, and his entire attitude was such a drastic change from his usual, exuberant and confident self, that Trowa frowned. Did Duo really hate Clarkson that much? That just being in a dorm made him that uncomfortable?
When they reached the front desk, Duo signed his name with a flourish, while Trowa initialed beside it.
"See ya!" Duo waved and started off, a grin on his face that seemed a little forced, but at least his hands weren't in his pockets or his shoulders hunched anymore.
Trowa watched him walk away until he was out of the dim glow of streetlights, and then he walked back to his dorm room.
It was almost ten o'clock, and his paper was only half-revised.
So much, he thought, for routine.