Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ A Reason For Me ❯ Part Two: Chapter Two ( Chapter 5 )

Title: A Reason For Me
Author: Prynesque
Genre: Yaoi/slash, romance, angst
Pairing: 1x2
Rated: R
Warnings: Potential (though unintended) OOC, some swearing, lime/lemon, alternating POV, possible Australian-isms.
Feedback: Hell yeah? What I'm trying to say is that if you feel the urge to review, please indulge it. I don't even care what you say. Good, bad, it's all the same to me - just so long as I get to hear from you.
Disclaimer: Duo, Heero, Gundam Wing… they are copywrited to someone else. They are being used without permission and no money is being made. I reiterate: they aren't mine (and if you think they are you should probably take this opportunity to get your head checked). However, this story is mine and mine alone, and if you so much as think of nicking any part of it, I'll hunt you down and set my demon kitty cat on you (be afraid, be very afraid).
Notes: This story is AU. It's set in modern-day Chicago and I think it's safe to say that that means there will be no mentions of Gundams, colonies or any other various fantastical science fiction-related entities. This story is also slash (or yaoi or whatever you want to call it), so if you don't like that… well, bugger off and come back when you have some taste!

Author's Notes: Wow, this took me much longer to update than I had anticipated. But I do have an excuse. I was ambushed by a rather persistent plot bunny; it simply wouldn't leave me alone until I made a start on this new story, and I confess I got rather caught up in it. It's another 1x2 AU (I seem to have developed an affinity for them) so hopefully I'll be able to start uploading it soon, and hopefully you'll all enjoy it.

Anyway, here is the new chapter; I hope you like it. For some reason I hit a bit of a block whilst writing it. I think I'm over it now, but I'm still a little wary of this chapter anyway. Let me know what you think.

Part Two - Chapter Two

Duo:

You ever get that feeling that God's out to get you? I've got that right now. Just when my life seems to be going OK, just when I think I've got everything sorted, something comes hurtling out of the shadows and throws me for six.

That happened the night I met Heero. He came out of nowhere and completely bowled me over. And now he's done it again.

In that first moment that I saw him, I was so shocked I'm surprised my legs didn't give way beneath me. And then I was angry. Angry like you wouldn't believe.

You see, it took me a whole year to get over him last time. A whole fucking year! For months I couldn't work without feeling guilty, without feeling like I was betraying him.

I almost didn't make it. To be so close to something so good only to have to turn around and leave it all behind… it was devastating.

I used to blame Heero. I used to blame him for showing me a world I could never be a part of, for making my life seem so much worse. But now I accept that that's just the way it has to be. The world doesn't change. People like me don't change. We don't get the chance to change because we don't deserve it.

In the end, I moved on. I got over Heero because I had to. I wouldn't have survived if I hadn't. But in letting go of Heero, I let go of a part of myself, that little part of me that always hoped that things would get better. I had to sacrifice that in order to survive. I didn't want to, but I had to… you have to understand that.

I was cold. I didn't feel anything. It was better that way. Sure, there was no happiness or joy or pleasure, but that didn't matter. So long as I wasn't feeling all the pain and misery and loneliness, everything was OK. Just.

Until Heero came back. And suddenly now I'm feeling so many different things it feels like my body is just going to implode in on itself.

He smiled at me, you know? Just a tiny little one, but it took me back to that night and suddenly something flickered inside of me… something I haven't felt for five long years.

It's such a wonderful, overwhelming feeling that it's impossible to describe. But it's dangerous, too. Dangerous because it threatens to consume me. I barely survived the last time Heero entered my life, I don't think I'd make it through again.

So why do I feel like that doesn't matter? That I would willingly risk everything just to spent one more minute in his company?

It doesn't make any sense! I'm so fucking confused! All these words, all these thoughts… they're just swirling around in my head, mocking me, confusing me. And it's all bullshit. In the end, they don't mean anything. They're just a random outpouring of nothing. OK, now it really does feel like my head is going to implode. Too much thinking, too much feeling.

I've started carrying his watch around with me again. I don't know why. I used to carry it around after that night we spent together. I couldn't bear to leave the house without it.

One night, this guy tried to mug me. I let him press me up again the wall, knife to my throat; I let him search my pockets in the hope that he'd take the money I had and leave me alone. But he found the watch and, I don't know, seeing his dirty, stubby little fingers wrapped around Heero's watch… I felt sick and then angry. I fought back, catching him off-guard, and I just went crazy… laid into him like I was possessed. I probably would have killed him too. But then he dropped the watch. It fell to the concrete with a tinkle, shining gold amongst all the dirt. And I stopped. I grabbed it and ran.

After that night, I never took it out with me again. I couldn't bear to risk losing it again. I'd carry it around with me when I was at home, but every night before I left to work, I'd hide it under the floor boards by my bed.

But now for some reason, since seeing him again, I've gone back to that stage where I can't leave the house without it. It's risky, I know, but the weight of it is strangely reassuring, like he's here with me.

But tonight, it's not the watch I'm particularly aware of. It's the business card in my other pocket. It's burning a hole right through my tight denim shorts. It's cold tonight; the wind is picking up and the air is damp, like it's going to rain, but I swear I can feel the heat in my pocket, like that little scrap of cardboard is somehow alight. It's painful and yet comforting. I don't get it. But then I don't really get most things to do with Heero… it's all so bloody contradictory.

My fingers creep into my pocket and it's not until I feel the smooth paper beneath my fingertips that I even realise what I'm doing. Slowly I take it out. It's so very white and clean in the darkness.

Heero Yuy, the black swirling letters proclaim. Yuy. I didn't know that was his last name. I read his home address. It's not familiar. I've probably never been in that part of town. I'm not even sure I know how to get there.

But I recognise Tanaki Industries. The Tanaki Building is one of the tallest in Chicago. Sometimes when I get home from work in the early hours of the morning, I'll sit on the roof of my apartment building. Across the city, I can see the Tanaki Building; it towers above the heart of the CBD, the neon sign on the side proudly proclaiming its name, and winks at me in the early morning gloom. It sort of fits that Heero would work in a place like that, a place so removed from my own world.

I turn the card restlessly over and over in my hands as though I'm afraid it will burn me if I let the movement still.

For some inexplicable reason my heart is racing now. This is so pathetic. I see Heero for five fucking minutes and suddenly I can't think of anything else. Suddenly my heart is racing because I'm touching something he once held in his hand.

Anytime… his voice echoes in my head and I can almost feel the sensation of his hand in mine again.

Deep inside me, a tiny part of my mind is jumping up and down, screaming "Go to him, you fucking fool! You know you want to!" I thought that part of me was long since dead and buried. Apparently not. But what am I supposed to do about it? How do I shut it up again? Do I want to shut it up again?

I already know the answer to that question, but I'm too afraid to admit it out aloud.

"Duo?" Smokey's oily voice cuts through the chilly darkness.

I start at the sound and that's when I remember where I am as reality comes flooding back to me. It's Sunday night, two nights since Heero's unexpected reappearance, and I'm standing on the sidewalk in the dark waiting for the next punter that crosses my path. Hastily, I shove the card back into my pocket. I don't want Smokey to see it. I don't want him to know about Heero.

"Duo, you OK?" the voice asks again. I look up just as Smokey materialises out of the darkness beside me. I hate it when he does that; it's creepy and unsettling. The tip of his ever-present cigarette glows red in the gloom as he inhales. For a split second I actually believe he cares when he asks if I'm alright, but then I spot the cold, disinterested glint in his dull brown eyes and I remember that he doesn't.

"Yeah, you look kinda off tonight," Joe confirms as he appears behind his companion.

"Gee, thanks guys, that's what I really need to hear right now," I mutter acerbically.

"Yeah, well we ain't paid to make people feel good. That's your line of work," Smokey retorts between drags.

Even thought it's true, Smokey's comment still cuts through me like a hot knife through butter. I feel sick and I can almost taste the bile rising in my throat.

Smokey and Joe have somehow become an integral part of my life. And strange as it might sound, I'm actually glad. Not because they're good people or because I enjoy their company (because they're not and I don't) but because I feel safe with them, or rather, safer. A feeling I haven't felt since that night in Heero's hotel room.

The way I work has changed dramatically in the last five years. After I left Heero I embarked on a rather spectacular downward spiral. I was being ripped off and roughed up left, right and centre. I had simply lost the strength and the will to fight back.

Enter Roly. I was once told that Roly got his nickname because he looks like a roly-poly pudding. And to look at him, it's certainly a very plausible explanation. But I've never had the guts to ask him outright for confirmation.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, Roly offered me a deal I couldn't refuse. A deal I'd be crazy to refuse: protection in return for a cut of my earnings.

At first I hated the thought of having a partner in my so-called business. He represented a permanent tie to the sleazy, dirty world of hustling, a tie I'd never be able to escape. But like I said, it was an offer I couldn't refuse despite all my pitiful misgivings.

I should probably clarify something. Roly isn't, nor will he ever be, a pimp. He's not interested in facilitating the connection between horny pervert and whore. He's in the security business (at least, that's what he calls it). I believe that at some point, he did actually run a legitimate security business. And then he realised that he could make more money faster by capitalising on the need for protection on the prostitution circuit. He's not the only guy in this city who runs a 'goons-for-hire' style business, but he's definitely the most reputable.

His patch is strictly invitation only, and I'm lucky to be working here rather than the district I used to hang out in. I can turn over more tricks a night and the punters are generally more reliable and pay better. I don't actually make any more money than I used to, that extra cut goes to Roly, but I'm a hell of a lot safer. The fact that I haven't been raped or robbed for some time is testament to that.

And take it from me, it's definitely worth putting up with Smokey and Joe's company if it means I'm relatively safe from the sick and twisted brand of pervert.

So that brings me to my two security shadows. Smokey is small and thin; weedy one might even say. But I've seen him action, and believe me, he is anything but weak. I don't know how someone his size manages to wield such strength; I've seen him take down a guy with one blow… broke his collarbone and his nose with one hit. He's quick and clever and he takes advantage of the fact that most people underestimate him. He's also a little bit mad (and by that, I mean completely and utterly fucking psycho).

Someone once told me that Smokey was there to keep the punters in line and Joe was there to keep Smokey in line. I'd say that was a pretty good estimation of the situation.

Joe is the opposite of Smokey; he's big and heavy and packs one hell of a punch, but he's mainly for show, I think. People take one look at him and scarper. He seems to be the only one who can control Smokey.

I remember once when I'd just started working with them and this guy was roughing me up, trying to get something for nothing, if you catch my drift. Smokey appears out of nowhere and just starts beating the fucking crap out of this guy. I almost felt sorry for him. Nah, that's a lie, he got what he deserved.

Anyway, Smokey is about five seconds away from killing this guy when Joe arrives. He puts one hand on Smokey's shoulder and says "I think he's done," as though he's merely commenting on a batch of cupcakes, and Smokey just stops, like some switch has been flicked in his brain. I'll never forget that. I was scared shitless and eternally grateful at the same time. Weird combination.

Since then, I've come to appreciate having them around. Although that said, I doubt I'd miss them if I ever managed to get out of this shithole.

I suddenly realise that one of them is talking again. I manage to drag myself out of my thoughts in time to hear Joe's comment. "Fuck, it's cold tonight, ain't it?" He's waiting for Smokey's confirmation, as though it's only cold if Smokey agrees that it is.

But he's right, it is cold… colder than it usually is at this time of year. I predict that it's going to be a long, depressing and freezing winter.

Smokey lights a new cigarette with the butt of his old one and takes a deep drag. Smoke streams out of his nostrils, swirling around his head in thick grey tendrils.

"Yeah, fucking cold," he confirms eventually.

Suddenly the bile is rising in my throat again and I feel sick. Sick of my life, sick of Smokey and Joe, sick of the cold, sick to death of everything.

My hand slides into my pocket, ghosting over the embossed writing on Heero's card. I stare down at the pavement as my fingers gently caressing the smooth cardboard. What harm would it do to just take one night off from my miserable life? Just one night.

The smart, logical part of my brain is telling me that one night with Heero will make every other night after it even worse, but it's still so very tempting. I can almost feel myself falling.

Joe catches me just as I start to pitch forwards. He straightens me up and claps me on the shoulder. The force of his gesture almost sends me careering forwards again.

"You OK, kid?" he asks, bending down to stare into my face.

In my head, I can feel the words 'I'm fine, Joe,' forming, but what actually comes out of my mouth is a whispered, "No."

Joe murmurs something and looks vaguely torn. He turns to Smokey for guidance. "He does look kinda crook, Smoke," he says, scratching the back of his neck.

Smokey steps closer to me, carelessly blowing smoke in my face as he surveys me. I resist the urge to cough.

"Hmmm, yeah." He takes another long drag and then stubs out his cigarette butt on the wall behind me. "It's cold and there ain't much happening tonight anyway. Why don't we call it quits? Roly don't need to know," Smokey suggest, lighting up again and turning from me to Joe and back again.

I nod gratefully and out of the corner of my eye I can see Joe grinning. "Great! Mystique is stripping at the Club at 12; I'll just make it in time!"

Smokey rolls his eyes and then he nods to me. "Go home, kid," he says and then turns away and starts walking away down the street.

"Night, Duo." Joe winks at me and then stride away after Smokey. I stand in the darkness, surrounded by Smokey's lingering cigarette smoke, and watch them disappear.

My hand wrap around the card, drawing it out into the open once more. I look down at it, so white against my slightly grubby skin. Slowly I slide my other hand in my pocket and take out the watch. I stare from one to the other and my heart is racing again; I can feel the blood roaring in my ears, mingling with the rapid thumping of my heart beat.

As I slowly make my way down the street, my fingers curl around my precious cargo, the two tenuous links I have to Heero.

When I reach the end, I pause on the sidewalk and look right and then left. Left takes me home to my dirty, damp, dark, miserable excuse for home; right takes me to Heero. I hesitate and then I take a deep breath and turn right.

It takes me forty-five minutes to find Heero's apartment building. I spent twenty minutes alone wandering around the same block trying to figure out where the hell I was. For someone who has lived in Chicago all his life, I really know fuck all about this city. But then Heero does live in a pretty respectable, classy neighbourhood, so it's not exactly surprising that I don't know my way around the area.

I've been standing outside the building for the past ten minutes trying to work up the courage to go in. Walking over that threshold is such a simple action and yet I've blown it out of all proportion so that now it feels like this is the biggest defining moment of my life. And who knows? Maybe it is.

Slowly I step off the curb and cross the road. As I draw closer I realise there is a doorman sitting on the other side of the solid glass doors; he's probably been watching me ever since I arrived.

I hesitate, shuffling from one foot to the other, nervously. My stomach is churning as I step forwards and grasp the heavy brass doorhandles and push.

The doorman rises slowly from his seat, taking the weight of the door. He steps forwards, effectively blocking my entrance. His dark eyes survey me suspiciously and his lip curls slightly.

"I'm sorry. I can't let you through if you ain't on my list." His voice is low and gravelly, catching slightly in the back of his throat.

I swallow. "You haven't even checked yet. How do you know I'm not on your list?" I say evenly.

He raises one eyebrow doubtfully as he casts his gaze over my outfit. He frowns but I refuse to back down. We stare at each other for several minutes. I find myself wishing that I had the force of Heero's glare; that'd certainly get the old man to back off.

Eventually he clears his throat and breaks eye-contact. He reaches behind him and his ageing hands find his precious list. "What's your name, then?" he asks still frowning. I wonder if that frown is ever-present or whether he's just brought it out in my honour.

"Duo Maxwell," I reply, trying to sound confident.

His eyes flicker down the list. A tiny smile spreads across his face. "You aren't on my list," he says, sounding vindicated.

My stomach stops churning and drops down around my knees. It hadn't occurred to me that I might not be able to get in once I got here. Maybe Heero changed his mind or maybe he was just playing with me. Poor gullible little Duo… actually thought someone cared about him.

I shake my head fiercely. I refuse to think those thoughts. I remember Heero, I know Heero, and he's not like that.

"Please, I need to get in. I'm a… a friend of Heero Yuy's. He gave me his card, see?" I wave the evidence in front of the elderly face. "Please, I need to see him. I know I'm not on the list, but can't you please let me in?" I'm begging. I'm actually begging, and completely shamelessly too. I'm suddenly very desperate. Having come all this way, I can't bear the thought of having to go back without seeing Heero. "Please?"

The old man sighs and stares at the card in my hand. "A friend of Mr Yuy's, you say?" I nod wildly. "Hmmm, I think he mentioned something about a friend coming. Didn't say when though. Said I'd recognise you by your hair…" He pauses and runs his eyes over me.

My heart leaps. Recognisable hair I can do. No one in this city has hair more recognisable than mine. I reach behind me and pull my braid out from under my jacket. It falls heavily down over one shoulder.

The doorman follows the movement with his eyes and finally he nods. "Mr Yuy is on the nineteenth floor."

I breathe heavily in relief and cast the doorman a grateful smile. It's been a long time since I smiled for real. It feels strange as the corners of my mouth turn upwards… but it's a welcome feeling.

"Thank you," I say sincerely, nodding as the doorman steps back to let me pass.

"Hmmm," the doorman mumbles as he lets the door swing shut again and takes his seat. "Next time, make sure you're on the list," he warns me.

I nod expressively, wondering if there will ever be a next time. I can feel his eyes on my back as I wait for the elevator. It's a relief when the steel doors glide effortlessly shut and I'm born upwards.

I pause in the nineteenth floor corridor. Suddenly I'm feeling like this isn't such a good idea. I stare down at Heero's watch. It's nearly 1am. God, what am I doing here? As if Heero wants to see me in the middle of the fucking night.

He did say anytime, a little niggling voice whispers in the back of my mind.

I stumble slightly as I follow the path of the plush red carpets down the hallway. When I arrive outside No. 19-01, I waver and take a long slow breath. My heart is rattling away in my chest like a runaway train.

I lift my hand to knock and that's when I realise than I'm shaking. I don't know whether I'm scared or nervous or excited or some crippling combination of all three.

I grit my teeth, close my eyes and my knuckles connect with solid wood as a hollow knocking sounds echoes around me.

Several agonising minutes pass and I'm greeted by nothing but silence. I open my eyes again, sighing heavily. I sway slightly from side-to-side as I try to decide whether to knock again or whether I should just take this as a sign and leave.

Just as I make up my mind and turn to go, I hear a faint shuffling on the other side of the door, like bare feet on carpet.

My heart seems to be lodged somewhere in the vicinity of my throat as I wait with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation.

Finally there is the sound of a bolt being drawn and a doorknob being turned. And then the door is swinging open and there he is.

His lips part and his eyes widen in surprise as he looks up and sees me. He swallows and I follow the movement of his adam's apple with my eyes.

He's wearing a faded pair of jeans and no shirt. My gaze crawls across the smooth, sculpted expanse of chest before me. He's broader than he was five years ago, but not bulky, just well-defined. One hand is still resting on the doorknob and the other is hanging by his side, fingers wrapped around a sheaf of papers.

On the way here, I had pretty much worked out what I wanted to say when I got here. I had it all figured out but now, face to face with Heero again, I can barely remember my own name let alone a bunch of nervous explanations.

For what feels like eternity, we just stare at each other, neither making any move to cross the threshold. When I finally open my mouth to speak nothing comes out and I'm left mouthing gormlessly as I try to get my brain to function again.

Eventually he seems to snap out of his stupor. He swallows again. "Duo?" he whispers, questioning, disbelieving, hopeful.

His hoarse whisper jolts me in to action. I'm nervous and, though I hate to admit it, scared. My voice is quivering slightly as I manage to finally force some sound passed my lips.

"Yeah." That's it? That's all the sterling conversation I can come up with? Yeah?

I shake my head. "I was just… working… and it was cold and I just… I wanted… You said anytime, so I thought…" My stuttering is practicably undecipherable but I plough on; once I've started with the nervous babbling I find it very hard to stop. "I'm sorry. It's late… I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry, I'll just go." I turn away, painfully aware of my face burning red with embarrassment.

My movement seems to galvanise him into action and he reaches out to grab my arm. He steps forward as his fingers find the cuff of my shirt and I reflexively step back at his plaintive tug. When I turn back, he's suddenly so much closer. Our chests are almost touching and I can feel his breath on my face, ruffling my bangs.

I'm uncomfortably aware of the fact that he's bare from the waist up and suddenly I'm overcome by an overwhelming desire to just lean forwards and fall into his arms. But I don't. Instead I manage to drag my eyes up to meet his. Deep blue. After all these years, that is still the only way I can think of describing them.

He clears his throat awkwardly and steps back. I almost moan at the loss of his warmth. He swings the door further open and moves backwards to let me pass. He doesn't speak but at his tiny, gentle nod of invitation, I cross the threshold into the apartment.

I step into a cosy living-room. It's neat and clean and yet strangely welcoming. Gleaming wooden floorboards are partially covered by a plush rug, and black suede couches and curtains contrast and frame the clean white walls. A long white tapestry hangs on the wall above the TV. Graceful, delicate black Japanese lettering runs down the centre, elegant brushstroke flowing into elegant brushstroke. On the far wall, a fake fireplace is flickering with imaginary flames. The vents below are blowing warm air across the room; the heat kisses my cold face and the relief is instantaneous. On the mantle above the fireplace a series of photographs are lit up by the spotlight overhead.

The room seamlessly melds into an informal dinning room. Heero's laptop is set up on the dark, carved timber table, surrounded by clean white sheets of paper. Through the far doorway, I can see white kitchen cupboards with dark shiny handles gleaming under glowing lights.

Everything is a perfect blend of dark and light, contrasting and complimenting. It's very simple and yet, completely and utterly elegant and classy. I feel like I should feel out of place in this world of clean, matching, stylish furniture, but I don't. I feel inexplicably, bizarrely at home.

Behind me, Heero closes the door with a click. He shuffles past me; long legs move effortlessly inside their denim casing. I find my eyes lingering on his arse and I have to consciously pull my gaze upwards. He sets his papers down on the table and then turns back to me.

It's more awkward than our first time. Neither of us really knows what to say, where to go from here.

"I really am sorry about the lateness," I say eventually, desperate to break the oppressive silence between us.

"It's fine. I was up anyway," he replies, waving those long pianist fingers casually.

"Working?" I ask, although it's fairly clear from the laptop that that's what he was doing.

"Hai," he nods briefly, his gaze dropping to the computer and then back up to me.

"It's the weekend," I say, rather redundantly. Inside, I mentally curse myself for sounding like a complete idiot.

"I know. But I didn't have anything else to do." He wavers and stares down at the smooth floorboards. "Actually, I went into the office this morning to get something to work on," he confesses after a minute. He looks across at me sheepishly, a tiny, half smile gracing his lips.

And suddenly I find myself grinning. "Workaholic, huh? That figures," I say and for the first time in too long a chuckle rolls of my lips and hangs in the air like a long-forgotten melody.

He laughs as well and the sound causes shivers down my spine. "I'm hopeless, I know," he says, shaking his head.

Our eyes meet across the room and suddenly all the oppressive, awkward tension evaporates. Some strange, inexplicable silent mutual decision has passed between us and we relax; suddenly if feels like I'm 17 again and we're standing in Heero's hotel room, enthralled by the mere presence of the other.

His smile widens and then so does mine. Our nervousness is almost ridiculous, and yet strangely endearing as well.

"Can I get you a drink or anything?" he asks. "Or a shower?" He shrugs uncertainly.

I grin. "Yeah, a shower would be good. Plus I'd hate to break with tradition," I reply flippantly, although my insides are currently turning to mush under his warm gaze.

"Sure," he smiles at me again but doesn't move. I hesitate and then he shakes his head. "Oh, right. Um… it's through here. Clean towels are behind the door and shampoo and everything is on the shelf," he says, as he crosses the room and opens a door to reveal a gleaming white bathroom. "The door to the right leads into my bedroom. I'll leave some clothes on the bed for you."

I follow him across the room, pausing behind him to peer over his shoulder. My heart rate quickens… it would be so easy to rest my chin on that bare shoulder. He turns slightly as I squeeze past him. Our hands brush gently and I'm fairly sure I'm blushing. My fingers twine around his. I can't look at him. I might just start to break if I do.

"Thanks, Heero," I manage to utter.

"Like I said, anytime." His voice is barely louder than a whisper, but it stays with me, echoing through my ears, even after I've closed the door and the rushing water drums down around me.

I spend a good forty-five minutes relaxing under the steadily beating water. It's only when the hot water starts to wane that I realise where I am and hastily reach for the taps. I feel slightly guilty about consuming Heero's time and hot water so thoughtlessly but at the time it felt like I was cemented in place by the hot torrent of water. I could practically feel the dirt and grime being washed from my body and then the water penetrated even further, cleansing and replenishing whatever is left of my soul. God, that sounds stupid, but I swear that's what it was like.

Heero's bedroom is dark and still when I enter from the bathroom. I fumble around, groping for the light switch and when I find it, the room is suddenly lit up by a soft warm glow.

Heero's bedroom is neat. Really neat. And clean. There are no clothes left lying haphazardly on the floor just in case he feels like wearing them again. There are no pillows flung across the room in the direction of an incessant alarm clock. The covers haven't been dragged halfway across the room in a morning, sleep-addled haze.

Everything is in its proper place. The covers are neatly arranged over severely folded hospital corners and the pillows are piled tidily against the head board. A tall bookshelf in the corner is orderly stacked with books, filed alphabetically by author and genre and an equally organised dressing table stands beside it, the bare essentials neatly arranged in front of the mirror.

I hesitate but then I drop my clothes on the floor beside the door, instantly leaving my mark on this obsessively organised sanctuary.

There are only two items in this room that reflect the man who occupies it every night. The first is a large framed print by some famous artist, hanging in pride of place on the far wall. I creep closer. "Van Gogh, Starry Night," I read off the label at the bottom. I follow the confident brushstrokes with my eyes as the vibrant blues and yellows blend and swirl around each other as the represented stars twinkle above the city below.

I step back to look at the whole picture. At first I'm not really sure I like it. I'm not sure I really get it. But then it starts to grow on me. It's beautiful and ugly, calming and unsettling all at once. I don't think I really expected Heero to be into shit like this; another element to the complexity that is Heero Yuy, I guess. I kinda like that. Nothing is more boring that something simple and explainable at first glance; I like people that you have to work to understand.

The second is a single framed photo sitting on top of the chest of drawers. I shuffle closer, stopping just inches away. I recognise the faces instantly, even though I've never met two of them, merely glanced at them for the briefest of moments many years ago.

A shorter blonde man is standing in the centre. He's laughing at something I can't see, leaning on the man beside him for support. This must be Quatre. I try to recall the words Heero used to describe him. Loyal, kind, gentle and yet tougher than you would ever think to look at him. That's right. And I can kind of see that through this picture. He looks like the sort of person I would like… someone I could be friends with. I smile unconsciously.

The face beside him is less inviting but perhaps more intriguing. He's all sharp, angular lines and his black hair is severely pulled back. Dark eyes are twinkling with a mixture of disapproval and amusement as he looks down at the blonde leaning into him. Wufei. Stern, intelligent, passionate and honourable. He looks almost scary at first, but I peer closer and I can see the shadow of a smile on his lips as he tries not to laugh out loud. I'm not entirely convinced he's the sort of person I would naturally warm to, but he seems interesting.

And the last face, on Quatre's other side is instantly familiar. It's a face I've seen many times in my dreams, a face that has always been with me despite many attempts to forget it. At first glance, Heero looks stern and blank but then I see the slight upwards turn of the corners of his mouth. He is turned slightly inwards, leaning towards Quatre protectively but his gaze stares straight head, almost penetrating through the glass that separates us. It feels like those deep blue, icy eyes are fixed specifically on me; the kind of eyes that follow you around the room.

Out of the blue, I shiver violently. Someone's walking over my grave, as Sister Helen used to say.

I shake my head to dispel the uncomfortable sensation and, turning away, I let the towel drop from around my waist and reach for the clothes Heero has laid out for me. Same deal as last time. Sweat pants and a t-shirt. I'm pleased to realise that the pants aren't as long on me as they were five years ago. Proof that I have managed to grow, at least a little bit. But the t-shirt is still too big. Not surprising really, considering how broad Heero's shoulders are now.

The clothes are warm and comfortable and they smell like Heero. It's like I can feel him all around me, almost like he's hugging me. Damn, now I'm just sounding pathetic.

Automatically, I reach down and my fingers search through the bundle of clothes I had dropped to the floor. When I find Heero's watch I slip it into my pocket. I don't even know why, but somehow I just feel better having its weight with me.

I stride across the room and brush my hair perfunctory, weaving my fingers through the long mane and curling it into my usual braid.

I pause to look at myself in the mirror. I seem so much older. My face looks tired and slightly worn. Fuck, I'm only 22 for God's sake!

I continue to stare at my reflection, running my gaze slowly over each feature, over each line, each mark. What really strike me are my eyes. And then I suddenly realise that what I'm seeing is not all depressing. I'm used to seeing nothing but emptiness swirling behind them, feeling nothing but emptiness. But now I fancy I catch a glimmer of the spark I used to have. It figures that Heero would be the only one who could reignite it. Damn cruel irony.

I sigh but it doesn't feel as heavy as it perhaps could have been and that's probably a good sign. So I turn away from my perplexing reflection and go back into the living room to where Heero is waiting.

He has put on a shirt while I was in the shower and I find myself strangely disappointed. But the top button is undone and I can still see a sliver of bare chest.

He's sitting at the dining room table his eyes focused on the computer before him, but he looks up as I enter. "Better?" he asks.

"Man, you have no idea. I feel almost human. Good feeling," I joke, a tiny smile breaking across my face.

"I'm glad." He smiles at me and suddenly there are butterflies swirling around in my stomach like a herd of wild, rampaging elephants. "Have a seat." He nods towards one of the couches, folding his laptop away and swivelling in his chair to follow my movement as I cross the room to sit down.

I sink down into the soft suede leather, my body instinctively relaxing, layers of tension falling away.

"Would you like a drink or something? Tea, coffee, water, beer? Anything?" he asks, standing awkwardly to the left of my vision.

"I don't suppose you've got any cocoa in that kitchen of yours?" I ask. I'm fairly sure there is a goofy, childlike expression of hope on my face.

"I think I could probably manage that," he says and disappears through the doorway into the kitchen beyond.

I close my eyes and listen to the calming, reassuring sounds of Heero moving about in the next room; the sound of drawers being opened, the kettle being filled, a spoon swirling around a china cup.

I'm half asleep by the time he returns, steaming mug in hand. He sets it down on the coffee table and rests his hand on my knee, shaking gently.

My eyes fly open and the first thing I see are those eyes, staring down at me, staring through me. Slowly I register the warmth of his hand seeping through my sweatpants. I sit up suddenly with a jolt and his pulls his hand away sharply.

We stare at each for several moments, each confused. Then he shakes his head and clears his throat. "There's your hot chocolate," he says, half whispering, as he sits down beside me. I can feel his warmth creeping across the couch towards me and I can almost feel the weight of his hand on my knee again. I curse myself internally for scaring him off.

I pull the mug towards me; it's hot and comforting in my hands and the steam drifts upwards, the scent of chocolate swirling around my nose. I breathe deeply in contentment.

We sit together in silence while I gulp down the almost scalding cocoa. Sister Katherine's voice echoes in my mind, long-forgotten words suddenly resurfacing… Don't rush it Duo! You'll burn your tongue!

I don't realise I'm smiling until I hear Heero's voice, "Why are you smiling?"

"Just remembering something someone once told me," I say, tucking my legs underneath me and turning slightly so I can see Heero without having to crane my neck.

He nods but doesn't reply. We lapse into silence again.

Just as I'm setting my now empty cup down on the table, Heero breaks the silence once more. "Why did you come here? What made you change your mind?"

Damn, I was hoping he wouldn't ask. "I dunno. It was so cold… and I was just… sick of it all, I guess. Wanted to see a friendly face," I smile to myself and stare down at my hands.

"I'm glad you came." Heero's words wrap around me like a warm blanket.

"Yeah, me too. Sure beats standing on a street corner with Smokey and Joe," I laugh even though it's true.

"Smokey and Joe? The two guys with you on Friday night?" Heero asks.

"Yeah, they kinda… watch out for me. For a price. Roly pays them to watch over me and in return he gets a cut of my earnings." I suddenly realise I don't want to be talking about this shit with Heero. I came here to forget about it all. "It's complicated and all. Anyway, forget it, you don't wanna know, trust me."

"I do," he says quietly. "I do trust you."

That catches me off guard. I don't think anyone has ever said that to me before. "You shouldn't," I tell him.

"Probably, but I still do," he replies simply.

I'm confused now. "But… why? I stole from you. I took your money and your watch and I left. You have no reason to trust me. You have no reason to want to see me again."

"I don't care about that." He waves his hand casually. "And I don't need a reason to want to see you again." He makes it sound so simple when he says it like that. And the look on his face leaves no room for argument.

"Yeah, well, thanks, I think." And then I laugh, a real laugh, loud and unrestrained and unusually joyful. I don't even know why I'm laughing. It's ridiculous. Heero just watches me, a tiny, amused smile playing on his lips.

When I finally calm down, I turn around to face him properly. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about stealing from you," I say sincerely. As soon as I've said it, it's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I've been waiting five years to say that.

"Forget it; it doesn't matter now," he says, emphatically.

I reach into my pocket and pull his watch out; it shines golden in the glowing orange light from the mock fire. I hold it out to him. "Here, you can have it. Have it back, I mean. It's yours, after all." I'm pretty sure I'm blushing as I sit there with my hand stretch out to him, waiting for him to take it.

He looks momentarily shocked as he stares down at it. "I expected you to sell it," he says as he meets my eyes again.

"I meant to. Even got as far as the pawnbrokers… but then, I just couldn't. Here, take it."

Heero looks down at the shimmering gold lying flat in my palm and then back up at me. Slowly he reaches out and curls my fingers back around the watch. "No, you keep it."

"But it's yours," I protest.

"I don't need it. I want you to have it."

This is ridiculous! He's giving me a watch I originally stole from him. "Heero…" I begin but he cuts me off with a look and I meekly put it back into my pocket. "Thanks," I say quietly, surprised by how glad I am that it's still in my possession.

"Anytime," he says with a smile, relaxing back into the couch.

"So, what kinda work do you do?" I ask, settling back, desperate to shift the focus of our conversation to matters less depressing.

"I'm a computer engineer," he says.

"Still obsessed with your computer, then?" I joke.

"Yes, but I haven't married it yet, so I don't think I'm completely lost," he jokes back. I'm sort of surprised by the fact that he's grown a sense of humour in the years since I last saw him. But I'm pretty sure I like this new development.

"You've changed." Oops, did I say that aloud? Obviously I did because Heero regards me for a moment and then nods.

"Yes, I suppose I have. For the better, I'd like to think." We both pause to think about this. "You've changed as well," he says quietly after a minute or two.

This momentarily floors me even though I know exactly what he's talking about. "Not for the better, but," I whisper, staring down at the soft leather of the couch.

"I wouldn't say that."

My head snaps up as he speaks. I want to ask what he means by that, but I'm too scared. So in the end, I just cast him a wan smile.

He smiles back at me. The butterflies are back and now they're trying to dive-bomb my insides. It's a strange feeling. I kinda like it. I kinda like that Heero can make me feel like this.

But it's scary too because I'm suddenly overcome by the urge to ask him to hold me. Would he if I asked? What would it feel like to have his arms wrapped around me?

I want to know. More than anything in this world, I want to know what that one simple little sensation feels like.

But I don't ask. I don't let myself. I refuse to be some pathetic maiden in distress. I've lasted 22 years without feeling Heero's arms around me, I'll live without feeling it now.

Won't I?

Author's Notes: So, there we are. Feel free to review, I honestly wouldn't mind if you did.

On an unrelated note… is it sad that I've changed my brand of washing powder from Omomatic to DUO purely because the new brand appealed to my ever-so-slight 1x2x1 obsession? Hmmm, probably.