Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ 10 Seconds ❯ curiosity ( Chapter 3 )

Chapter 3 curiosity

The next day brings the same opportunities, but they have grown larger in my sleep and loom higher when school begins and I am awaiting another chance to test my theory. I go through the motions to get me through the morning, but Duo has risen before me and gone—no doubt to spend his time soliciting "smokes" from the miscreants who climb onto the roof to conceal their activities.

While making a routine casing of the school, walking the grounds once or twice to get a soldier’s feel for the buildings, he had stumbled across them. He later professed to me the joy he got from feigning hesitance to try a cigarette and acting the timid, corruptible, naïve youth. The delinquents only thought they were having more fun. He will occasionally travel back there in the mornings, if only to threaten the kids with ratting on a professor and watch their faces contort and listen to them quickly offer him a full pack of cigarettes, which they scrapped their meager allowances together in order to pay an older classmate to buy for them. I remember the animated retelling with a nameless swell in my chest, picturing the humorous face he made, imitating another student "taking a drag" and choking.

I’ve seen him do it once before. In the dark hanger, the round, orange tip glowed, painting his face ever so faintly. I could see the silent, reverent expression as he stood there, gazing down at his Gundam, mind travelling far away from his body and tails of smoke gently puffing from his lips. His eyelashes were accented against his skin in the deep orange-red cast, making me count each before I could physically tear my gaze away, like a pining vampire.

I had then continued adjusting the operating systems in my own mobile suit, pushing the image away, for work had to be done. I only wonder now what he could have possibly been thinking so quietly about for so long, until the cigarette had nearly burnt down to his lips, my attention won again only when he swore and quickly spat it out, almost scalding himself.

I rise, shower, and dress less guardedly this morning than I had prepared myself for. I emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and await Duo’s drawl of complaint that I could have the decency to turn on the fan, or crack the door and am left wanting. His bed is unusually straightened and made. But his books again have been left in their haphazard pile.

Alone, I walk to my first hour class.

At study period, I am left to my own devices at my secluded table. Duo has not shown his face and the supervisor impassively glances over his empty seat before continuing his silent head count. Not an expression crosses his face when he glides down to the next name, pen arched at the ready. Somehow it feels like a slow knife dancing across my chest. Perhaps it is only because it reiterates the fact Duo is strangely absent, but I make sure to bury an unpleasant look in his back when it is turned for good measure.

A few minutes pass, anxious hope abounds, but they fade into a period of acceptance of the fact. I sit at the table, watching the doors. Duo is not coming to this study period and suddenly the gentle, book-burdened walls of the library are likened to a cage.

I want to know why Duo has not shown up. I want to know why he was not present in the morning, why he has left me without a hint of explanation. It’s not his usual way.

I glance backwards a moment at the supervisor. He is busily typing at his computer and pausing to shift the piles of papers, picking out pieces of information. He has not glanced at his charges for some time now, as they are slowly flexing their rebellious natures in absence of regulation and crowding together in raucous groups. Some leak out into the hallway, successful. They laugh with their fellow conspirators and stroll off to parts unascertainable.

And it is then that I allow my eyes a light of inspiration, rationing my time glancing between the beckoning door and the supervisor.

It has now been a full five minutes. This cannot continue. My legs lift me into action, unable to withstand the beckon of my curiosity. I make as if I am simply wandering into the shelves of books surrounding us, perhaps a supplement to a literature class in which I pretend to enroll, something perfectly inconspicuous in a place like this. I will make it to the doors, slowly but surely, and my eyes train on the supervisor as I walk cautiously.

Duo would have been a much better actor, had our roles been reversed, and would have not needed such a visual dependence. He would have strolled, the picture of unaffected absorption, making the laziest and most purposeful beeline toward his target, and gotten their in seemingly mere moments. But I lack this skill—I need direct information and will sacrifice a portion of my credibility for security of knowledge. I am not what Duo is, but I can still achieve what I want. My eyes do not leave the supervisor’s concentrated expression and gliding fingertips as I walk, crossing the open aisles.

It is by chance that I pass through a familiar aisle as I begin my inconspicuous curve towards the doors. It is not my fault that I cannot refocus my attention the moment I catch sight of it—I know fully where it is. It jumps into my vision and I cannot help but to pause and glance at the spine. I feel a trickle of electricity carve its way through to my fingertips.

I see Duo again, unreal. And I want that unreality, however brief, again.

I hesitate for a moment as a part of me, which I had not quite realized existed, urged to take it from the shelf and open it. Open it to the page, read the words, and replay a incomprehensible image. But somehow I push past it, even as the unreal Duo’s hand comes and touches the side of my face, and quietly stalk out of the aisle of books, holding close to the wall.

The doors beckon. I believe this is what American slang dictates as "home free," with a little smirk growing in the corner of my mouth, but it short-lived. I turn my head at the sound of the supervisor’s voice calling a false name assigned to me, and immediately drop any hint of expression of all.

"Mr. Hito?" I hear the little spores of contempt catching hold in his tone. He knew exactly where I was headed, even though I’ve since turned to face him and his condemning volume. "You’re missing out on valuable study time. Wouldn’t you like to return to your seat?"

"Yes, sir," I say, my lips moving without my notice. I let it go. My shoulders loosen, my jaw slackens, and my mouth evens out. I don’t display a single thing as I return, impassively, to my empty table and waste the remainder of the hour tearing my mind apart with curiosity of Duo’s whereabouts and status.

I missed out on valuable study time, anyway.