~Rough Patches~

Summary: AU. Heero is in a gang. Trowa is a French foreign student who moved to America with his father to further his studies in music. What happens when they cross paths?

Comments would be lovely.

Chapter One: It was a normal day

Trowa

I wake with the uncommon feeling of being completely at ease. The weird combination of light-heartedness that nothing would go wrong today and the anticipation that something would actually go right, for once. I have not felt this way in a long time, not since my mother died. She's been gone long enough that I have no qualms of thinking about it or telling anyone, – but only if they asked, I would not go around spreading it like juicy gossip – but that did not mean I did not miss her.

I shake my head minutely. Enough reminiscing. The past will always there but the present will never wait. Pushing myself up from the swaddle of blankets around me, I stretch, feeling the cold air travel along my arms and under the large shirt that was previously warm under the layers of blankets. Wrapping my arms around my middle, I shivered. I never did well with the cold, what with being asthmatic and too thin for my age and height; but more so than that, I wished for someone to take away the cold deep inside my heart. I dare not trust.

I jostle myself again from my thoughts – though it is quite normal for me, coming from someone who seldom spoke but had so much running through his head – and climb out of my warm nest, wincing at the cold wooden floor under my soles. It is then I notice that the snare I had laid out yesterday was still intact. That was right. I was not woken up at all last night. Thank whoever-it-may-be-that-is-up-there. He did not come last night. Or at least, he did not do anything.

I will not think anymore on that matter. I roll up the string and put it back into the bottom drawer of my dresser. It may yet have more use tonight. Gathering some clothing – a T-shirt, jeans and a thick sweater with socks, I pause for a moment at the doorway before moving to the bathroom.

Absentmindedly, I run through the motions of my morning routine, standing under the cold spray that did much to wake me up fully and then trying to get out as soon as possible so as not to freeze. Jumping into my clothes, I remember that I did not hear anything going on downstairs. Dad must have gone to work, most likely. He had asked to be transferred to a branch here in New York the moment I had earned my scholarship to Julliard. It is odd that he would do that. But I am looking forward to continuing my studies on the flute. Pour maman, pour moi.

Walking swiftly back to my bedroom, I straighten the bedcovers and grab my flute as well as the music that I had been working on. Stopping to look at the picture of my mother on my desk, I whisper, "Maman, veille sur moi aujourd'hui, Je t'aime."

OOOoooOOO

I was on the close-to-empty bus, huddled under a thick sweater and my long over coat, but I was still cold. Even with heat packs in my pockets my fingers were freezing. Well, at least I had them. If I did not, I am sure someone could cut off my hands and get away with it.

Nearly curled into myself, shuddering with the cold, I failed to realize that someone had sat next to me, causing the seat to tilt downwards together with me, by association. Curse me for being underweight. The person – who I now saw had blond hair – stopped me from moving anymore with an arm against my waist. He flashed me a smile and moved his arm so that I was wrapped under his armpit.

I should have known. The blond hair was like a beacon. And only one person would want to sit next to me, a miserable scrawny wretch.

"Good morning, Quatre."

He grinned, nearly blinding me with its megawatt intensity and bright white teeth. He finished folding himself onto the space next to me, rearranging his violin case that seemed far too small for his lanky frame and settled his backpack on his lap with one hand, the other arm still wrapped around me. It was hard to believe that this six feet two inches tall giant was once shorter than me. I was – am – not considered short. Well, not that short. Just that he grew taller than me.

"Hey there, little cousin."

I let a barely perceptible scowl tug at the corners of my mouth. Yes I was his cousin on my father's side, but I am not little!

"You seem to forget that you were smaller than me."

"Yes, but I now have the privilege of tucking you under my arm!" He crowed triumphantly. I thank the heavens privately that the bus was very nearly empty. I would have killed him and grilled him gruesomely otherwise. It is in his favor that he is warm too. I soak up the warmth he is emanating and relax for the remainder of the journey, staring out the window.

I am sure somewhere along the way I saw rich blue eyes that seemed to cut straight to my core.

OOOoooOOO

Lunch was a hurried affair, being that Professor Aberly wanted a few private words with me before my first after-lunch class. Quatre had warned me to be careful during our meal together, smirking as he told me that Professor Aberly had a preference for young, pretty boys. I rolled my eyes then, and I did it again. I only wondered if the Professor had some new piece he wanted me to look at.

I raised my hand to knock at the wooden door, but the door opened before I could do so. I cocked an eyebrow, contemplating fleetingly if Professor Aberly was psychic.

"Ah, Trowa, you have come."

"That's right, professor. Is there anything wrong?"

"Trowa, I would like you to take part in the International Flute and Piano competition."

"Bu… But that's in three week's time!"

OOOoooOOO

The rest of the day passed in a daze. The International Flute Competition? How could I ever measure up to that level? And in such a short time? Three weeks is not even enough to prepare for a private concert! I turned down the corner, heading towards home so I could drop off some of my things before heading out again to my part time job. Not for the first time, I wished that the bus could stop at individual houses. Quatre was suspiciously missing, but I cared not as he did it frequently. Besides, all that was on my mind now was just the competition.

Letting my bag land on the floor with a thump and tossing my flute onto the bed, I flopped down onto the only chair in the room and buried my fingers in my hair, forehead in my palms.

"I had recordings made of your playing and sent them for the preliminary auditions. You have passed them! In three weeks time is the Concours. You will play then!"

I sighed, loud even to my own ears and glanced down at my watch. I will be late if I do not leave now. What on earth was the Professor thinking!

OOOoooOOO

The music shop I worked at was only a street down from where I lived. However, it was in a part that was hounded by a gang that had staked its territory right up to the avenue that Allegro was on. I had seen the gang at work before, in dark street corners and down creepy lanes. But as long as they are not right in front of me I will not do anything. Quatre always tells me to keep the hood of my sweater up and to try not to draw attention to myself. I must say I am good at that. I do not like people noticing me, anyway. My dad often offers to walk me home from work but I try to think of excuses to refuse him. He poses a larger threat than walking home in the dark by myself.

I nod at Sally as I pass her behind the counter. Walking to the 'staff only' back area of the store, I store my bag and flute into the locker labeled with my name and went back out front to see what needed to be done today.

Sally greets me with a smile as she always does – for the two weeks that I was here, at least; unperturbed that I did nothing in return, already used to my quiet – no, silent – ways. She motioned me with a tilt of her chin towards the scores section and I somehow knew that it would be in a mess.

"Punks came in today and flipped through the books but did not bother to put them back into the right places. Irritating and immature bunch of adolescents. Why couldn't they be more like you?" She lamented.

I snort lightly. If everyone were like me the world would be a very boring place indeed. I shook my head as I got to work. I am nothing if not a hard worker, and soon everything was put to rights.

Digging out my flute from where I had stashed it, I set it up and warmed it up, running through with some scales and arpeggios, before settling to play one of my most recent compositions.

I closed my eyes as the music swelled and dipped, bringing me to a whole new world of my own. I wanted to remain there for as long as I could, where nothing could hurt me.

Mère, tu me manques..

Translations:

Pour maman, pour moi: For mama, For me.

Maman, veille sur moi aujourd'hui, Je t'aime.: Mama, watch over me today. I love you.

Mère, tu me manques..: Mother, I miss you.

Please note, all translations are from a web translator. You are welcome to correct me if there are any mistakes. Also, with regard to Music Competitions, I am not very sure how everything runs. Therefore, I am taking great liberty in deciding what happens at Music Competitions. Please forgive any oversights on my part.