Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Hyperballad ❯ One-Shot

Author: Cherry Blossom

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing.

Warnings: male/male relationship, mention of past NCS, mention of suicide. Companion fic to Bleeding On the Inside.

Title: Hyperballad

~ ~ ~ ~I go through all this
before you wake up
so I can feel happier
to be safe here with you…

~ ~ ~ ~

He always wakes first now. There was a time when he didn't, when the nights were too thick with demons and terror and even the sound of his own voice screaming and the bite of his own nails as the ripped into his flesh could not awaken him. During these times, only the calm, soothing voice of the auburn haired man who lay next to him could rouse him from those thick, grasping dreams. But that was nearly two years ago.

He wakes first now, still and silent in the pre-dawn chill, the covers long since kicked down around his hips to tangle in between their legs. He lies quietly for a few moments, taking the time to breathe and pull himself from the world of night. The dreams still came, almost every night. They weren't as bad anymore. Not screaming dreams, as he'd become accustomed to calling them. These ones were silent and light, vanishing with dawn while leaving behind the clinging remains of a fear that somehow had settled itself into a kind of disappointment.

Why am I still having these dreams? Shouldn't it be getting better?

That's what everyone had assured him of. "It will be better in time," they said. "Just give it time." He'd given it two years. How much time would it take?

There was no good answer to that question.

And no point in asking it either, he said to himself. So just do what you have to and get on with it.

Careful not to wake the sleeping body next to him, the blond eased out of the bed, wincing as his feet brushed against the cold wood flooring. He grabbed a sweater to throw over the tank top and loose sweatpants he'd worn to bed. The unnecessary clothing was probably the main reason the covers ended up at his feet every morning but he couldn't help it. He just didn't feel comfortable wearing just his boxers or nothing at all to bed. And Trowa had wisely never questioned his choice of nightclothes. It was one of the things he was supposed to be getting better about that hadn't happened yet.

Quatre slipped from the room like a shadow, leaving his lover to the warmth of the bed. He didn't bother to put on shoes on his way out the door, only pausing to pick up a cream coloured ceramic bowl from the kitchen. He had bought it yesterday for precisely this purpose so Trowa would not miss it and wonder…

The air was damp and cool against his sleep-warmed skin. Quatre took a moment to look at the sky, a dark blue curtain with a pattern of softly shining stars that would quickly fade with the coming morn. The edges of the horizon were tinged a brilliant purple and the barest hint of an amber sun was just beginning to peek over the hills. Quatre walked out across the small plain, feeling the dew from the grass wet his feet.

It had taken ages to convince Trowa to live in this house with him. It was a pretty cottage on top of one of the small mountains in the region of Sank. The view from the top of the mountain was stunning and Quatre had loved it on the spot. His lover had protested. It was too isolated, too far from everything else. What if one of them was hurt? How would their friends visit them? How would they get their supplies? But Quatre had insisted and Trowa relented after they had obtained a helicopter in order for quick passage up and down the mountain.

Quatre reached the edge of the plateau. By now the morning dampness had soaked the bottoms of his sweats and flattened his platinum locks against the side of his face in long strands. The cliff was not the highest in the world by any means. Quatre could still see the bottom and the jagged rocks below. He held the bowl to his body, feeling the smoothness of the polished ceramic, the edges warmed from his hands. He allowed himself to think back on the images of the night. A breeze ruffled his hair and he shivered, closing his eyes.

Cool dark eyes raking over his body. A hand on his stomach.

Quatre breathed deeply, his hands flexing against the bowl. The pictures came faster.

A warm, wet mouth on his neck. A cruel smile.

His arms reached out, holding the bowl over the crevice as if in some sacred ceremonial offering to the gods. His breathing grew faster and his heart pounded in his ears.

Pressure on his back. Fear.

Almost there. His arms shook slightly.

Pain.

Almost…

Laughter.

"There." Quatre's eyes flew open as his fingers released the bowl to drop into the crevice. He followed the path of the small object, listening as it shattered on the first rock, watching the fragments spilt apart and scatter like startled butterflies. He watched the delicate pottery break and imagined himself tumbling towards the rocks at the bottom of the cliffs, his bones shattering with that same sound. He imagined Trowa alone on this cliff. He imagined oblivion…and then very deliberately stepped back from the edge.

It had started one year ago, when the pain was still fresh enough to wound openly. Back when the screaming dreams prevented his sleep and touches and kisses were dangerous things to covet. Frustration bordering on insanity and extreme drunkenness had brought Quatre to the cliff with the intent of throwing himself off the side. Instead he dropped the bottle of wine off the cliff and saw the glass shatter and the darkness of the wine as it spread like blood on the rocks. The sight had calmed him, much more then Trowa's earlier assertion that time was all he needed. He did not want to die. He did not want to shatter against the rocks. He could give the cliffs a substitute, for every nightmare, every memory, every time he had to turn his lover away.

The cliff could have his breakables. Quatre was unbreakable.

The ritual finished, Quatre became aware of the cold of the day, despite the bright orange sun that was now fully visible over the mountains. He shivered and headed back to the house, carrying the safe feeling that always came with the completion of his morning habit. Shedding his sweatpants and sweater, Quatre crept back into the still darkened room where his lover still slept. Quatre reached for another pair of sweatpants and then paused, watching the slow breathing of the man on the bed and feeling the warmth of the sheets and that man's embrace calling him. He let out a slow breath and then pulled the t-shirt over his head. Cautiously, he crawled onto the bed in only his boxers, curling into his lover's arms. Trowa smiled in his sleep and pulled the blond closer to him. Quatre froze for a few seconds, but when the crippling panic did not come he relaxed at his lover's side and gave a smile of his own, twining their hands together.

Trowa had said that he just needed time. Very well. He would give himself time.

After all, I waited two years for this. I can wait two more.

As the day peeked through the window, Quatre waited for his lover to wake up so they could start the day together.

And Trowa, who always woke up first, forced the tears of joy from his eyes and slowly drank in the heat from his lover's body, savoring the small victory for what it was.

A beginning.

~ ~ ~ ~

Here is the song that inspired this piece.

Hyperballad - Bjork

we live on a mountain
right at the top
there's a beautiful view
from the top of the mountain
every morning i walk towards the edge
and throw little things off
like:
car-parts, bottles and cutlery
or whatever i find lying around

it's become a habit
a way
to start the day

i go through all this
before you wake up
so i can feel happier
to be safe up here with you

it's real early morning
no-one is awake
i'm back at my cliff
still throwing things off
i listen to the sounds they make
on their way down
i follow them with my eyes 'till they crash
imagine what my body would sound like
slamming against those rocks

when it lands
will my eyes
be closed or open?

i go through all this
before you wake up
so i can feel happier
to be safe up here with you