Kassidy: Short and sweet, just the way we like it.

Kandice: Don't forget... we own nothing!

Kassidy: Shut up already and let them read.

Kandice: Okay. Shutting up.... now!

Chapter Three

Not Like The Rest

Trowa Barton worked the bar two nights a week. Four others were spent at the local zoo where he was one of the keepers for the big cats. He wouldn't work at the bar, except that it was his sister's and she really needed cheap help this time of year.

One met myriads of interesting people working the bar, and had Trowa been a social person, he might have liked it. As things stood, Trowa had as much people skills as a doorknob... and he hated the bar.

And not just because of his rather anti-social personality. Rather, it was caused by the same cause as his personality. Trowa Barton was, in his own words, a freak.

Physical skin contact with just about anything was notgood in his opinion. And physical contact with another person? Oh, he didn't even want to think about that. So, he always wore gloves, long pants and long sleeves- even in the height of the incredibly warm summers of Sanc. It wasn't foolproof, but it was some measure of protection. And all of this made him a freak.

He filled the order for the old man down at the corner, his gloved fingers sliding the glass down even as he kept an eye on the rather over-intoxicated bald man trying to eat the Clam Chowder he'd ordered- trying being the operative word in that sentence. It was rather slow for a Friday, even for this early. He had maybe seven or so people in all. Not counting the two men in uniform who'd just left. Their companion, a rather slender young blond that seemed maybe a few years younger than Trowa himself, walked to the bar and slid onto one of the cracked vinyl covered stools.

"What'll it be?" he asked, not really caring how he sounded. Cathy didn't pay him for outstanding customer service and rapport. She payed him to mix the drinks.

The blond smiled, and Trowa met his eyes. They were a bright crystal blue, ringed by sage green. A beautiful color. "My friend told me that the soup's good."

"So I've heard," he murmered. "Potato or Clam Chowder?"

"Potato, please. And if you have any bottled water, I'll have of those, too. Please and Thank you."

Trowa almost smiled at the very polite manners. Few people in this place treated him with any respect at all. Just anotherreason he hated this job. Trowa sent in the order to the cook, then pulled a bottle of Aquafina from the under-counter fridge and set it on the bar.

He retreived the soup, settled it in front of the blond and resumed keeping track of everyone else. But he kept coming back to the blond. There was something about him that was different. Not like all the others, the thought. There was something in that smile, in that tenor voice. He spent a few moments thinking of how he maybe could start a conversation with him, find out a little more about him.

Being plagued by his curse since early pre-teens, Trowa'd mostly always been shy and anti-social. And so, while he'd never given much thought to his sexuality... or sex in general, really... he'd wondered a bit. Like any young boy would, naturally. And he'd come to the conclusion long ago that he really wouldn't care if his partner was female or male. But that wasn't saying much, since Trowa didn't like people in general. A few people had turned his head, but he'd quickly, quickly learned that to kiss, or do anything else, touching had to be involved. So that settled that. Trowa was a twenty-six year old virgin.

Since he was pondering how to try his hand at flirting with this intriguing blond, he wasn't paying attention as much as he could have been to everything else. So he didn't see the drunk at the bar slip off of the stool, or his wild attempts to regain his balance, thus knocking over his drink and sending the bowl of chowder flying through the air.

Before Trowa could even blink, he was coated from forehead to navel in the goopy, now cold soup. One of the waitresses rushed to help the customer. (Hopefully to get his check paid and get him OUT of there.) Trowa retreated to the far end of the bar, near the blond. He grabbed a towel and swiped the mess of of his shirt, then ran the rag over his face until it felt like he'd gotten all of it.

The blond was trying hard, it seemed, to repress giggles.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, catching Trowa's glare. "It's just you never saw it coming. And then... te,he... the look on your face was so adorable. And... and wait... you've missed some..."

He leaned up out of his seat, reaching across the bar. Trowa had no time to move, and was so surprised (and maybe still a little shell-shocked from his drenching) he couldn't even think to move. All he could do was brace himself for the flood of memories, thoughts, premonitions and visions that always, always invariably followed any physical contact with another human.

He felt the brush of the smooth, warm fingers against his cool cheek. He felt that little tingle of electricity that always preceded the hurricane of information, stronger this time than usual, and then... nothing. The blond must have felt that tingle, too. Blue green eyes narrowed sharply, that mouth opened in a silent gasp before pink lips frowned, but the finger remained gentle as it wiped away a dollop of chowder. His own emerald eyes met and were held by that sharp gaze.

"Hey, Trowa, I think you can knock off for the night," came a woman's voice. A redhead came behind the bar. "I'll watch the bar 'til Hank comes in."

"Ah... um.... yeah. Thanks, Sis." Trowa turned and ran. Rushing past his sister, Trowa ran away from the blond. Away from the first physical touch he'd felt without the flood of knowledge since he was eleven.

tbc....