Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ I Got Game! ❯ Green Eyes ( Chapter 13 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Alternate Universe, Sci-Fi? Sporty, Some Events Based On Authoress's own experiences....(wee! Basketball!)

Standard Disclaimers Apply: Don't own Gundam Wing, but I own every original character that emerges...Don't own the songs listed with the chapters, either...

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<= means scene change

Pairings: 3+4, 1+2, 5xM & various others...

A/N: Eh. Nothing real special about this chappy-there's nothing but dialogue. But real meaningful dialogue. I wanted to try and capture a sense of realism in their characters, so that people could kind of identify with them. That's what makes a story work, I guess. But sometimes I fail miserably. ::frowns:: Ah well, there's nothing wrong about practicing...And that last bit of the last chapter was based on a true experience with someone I know-it was really ickle and sad to see that person fucked up like that.

Chapter Thirteen~

"Green Eyes"= Coldplay

Quatre opened his eyes, feeling slightly dizzy. Frowning at the brightness of his open window, he groaned and pulled the blankets over his head, burrowing down within the comfort of his bed. Snuggling against the wall that his bed was pressed against, he sighed. He didn't feel like getting up anytime soon... he felt so exhausted. When last night's incidents came to mind, he froze, opening his eyes. He sighed heavily once more, curling into a fetal position.

"Christ," he muttered to himself. "By now he fucking hates me..."

Utterly miserable because of the mistakes he'd taken to get here, he stared at the various plaster designs on the wall, then remembered with a start that he had basketball practice. He threw the blankets off and rolled to dive out of bed. But seeing Trowa sitting in his desk chair nearby startled him, and he instead flopped onto the floor with a heavy thump amid his blankets.

"Fuck-! Quat, you all right?!" Trowa shouted in panic, flying off the chair and rushing over to help him up.

Quatre jerked out of his helping hands, staring at Trowa with confusion. "What are you doing here?!" he asked, trying to remember how Trowa had ended up in his room. Wait-this was his room, right? Yep-there's his shoes, his uniform, his basketballs...

Trowa stared at him, wiping the grit from his eyes. Looking at the digital clock nearby, he saw that it was nearly three in the afternoon, and classes were being let out. He looked back at Quatre, blinking. He didn't remember? he thought, frowning.

"I...came here to make sure you were...all right," he answered slowly, his mind running over this early morning's frightening experience. That had been scary-that deathly relaxed expression on Quatre's face, that continuous vomiting, that urgency he felt when he thought Quatre was going to asphyxiate on his own vomit...now that he was looking at an obvious all right Quatre Winner, he felt somewhat relieved that nothing was seriously the matter. Things were going to be all right.

"Why? Obviously, I made it home okay," Quatre muttered, flushing red as Trowa stared at him.

Trowa thought for a minute. Quatre really didn't remember what had happened...it was so frightening that Trowa didn't think he wanted to talk about it. It was distressing enough for himself to remember it...then he smiled weakly and shrugged.

"Yeah, it looks like it. How'd you get home?" he asked slowly.

"I...don't...I ...think I caught a bus." Quatre looked genuinely confused at this, frowning as he tried to remember.

"Oh. Well...that's good. How did you get in?"

"I...don't know. I think...I came in with the newspaper truck. Um, that's how I came in when I went into the city with Triton..."

"Oh. Maybe..."

"How'd you...? How did you get in here? I thought...I thought you were mad at me."

"I am. I could kick your ass, Quatre Winner! For being so stupid!" Trowa growled. Then he softened. If Quatre didn't remember what had happened than he wasn't going to bring it up. He would have to pay the others off to keep it that way until he could relate it without being so angry...

Quatre stared at him, blinking in confusion. Then he flushed, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. When his fingers became stuck in a very sticky part at his neckline, he frowned and tried to comb through. Trowa saw this, realized that the blond's hair was crusted with dried vomit and pulled on Quatre's arm.

"Go take a shower. You're really gross," he said, pushing the blond toward the door. "And you missed classes already! It's past three in the afternoon..."

"Oh my God, did I really? Will I get into trouble for that?"

"I don't think so. Just say that you were sick..."

Trowa thought he heard Quatre mutter that he didn't remember changing into the clothes that he was now wearing, but he watched as the blond gathered some things for the shower and left without another word in his direction. With a relieved sigh that things were all right, Trowa left the room to take a shower of his own.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

As he took a shower, Quatre wondered about last night. Things were a little fuzzy here and there, and he had his share of hangovers from alcohol indulgences, but today, he didn't seem to have any of the symptoms. He didn't feel nauseated, nor did he have a headache, or cotton mouth, or anything! He felt just as fine waking up from a good night's rest. He finished showering up, then quickly toweled dry. He had a few bruises from last night's encounters with that stupid goth boy, and after he wrapped a towel around himself, he grabbed his things and walked out into the sink area. Propping his box of toiletries up on a nearby bench, he dressed hastily in a pair of jeans and t-shirt with a 1940's drawing of a boy flexing an arm muscle with the words over it declaring, "Chick Magnet!"

He hastily brushed his teeth, swiped on deodorant, attempted to fix his too-short hair, and hurried out after throwing the towel in the appropriate receptacle near the door. He made his way to his room, and found it empty. He wondered about Trowa. The goth was acting strangely, and looked somewhat troubled when Quatre mentioned that he didn't remember anything. Somewhat troubled, and somewhat relieved. He frowned as he slipped his feet into a pair of shoes, bemoaning the loss of his Jordans the night before. He walked out from his room, closing his door slowly. Kids were moving into the stairway with their usual mass of sound as they changed from their school uniforms to casual clothing. Saturday signaled the end of the six-day school week, and it was a night everyone used to relax, go into town and do whatever. He wondered what he was going to do tonight, then remembered that he'd missed basketball practice. He must have slept through the alarm.

He descended the stairway, slowly making his way to Trowa's room. The goth seemed to be talking to him, now. Maybe they could fix things. No one called him 'stubborn' for nothing. He hesitated outside his door, hand raised. Or...maybe...maybe it was a fluke...no, Trowa wasn't staying in his room- no matter how he had gotten in in the first place-just because...he was there because the goth was trying to make peace with them. Yeah, that was it.

"Hey, man, where were you this morning?"

He turned to look at Duo, frowning. "I think I slept through my alarm."

Duo frowned back, adjusting his bag. "Really? Ramos was kinda pissed that you didn't show."

"Yeah...I didn't mean to."

"You didn't come to class today, either."

"No...I was tired."

"They don't like that sort of thing, you know. Players missing class, missing practice." Duo gave him an exasperated expression. "You weren't skipping because you weren't being played this Friday, are you?"

"WHAT?!"

"Er...no one told you?"

Quatre stared at him. "Why is that?!"

"Er...why don't you go talk to Ramos?"

"I'm asking you!"

"Dude...god. Look, Ramos made up the roster. I didn't have anything to do with it. Don't get mad at me."

"I can't believe this! Where is he?!"

"Er...coach's room in the gym."

Duo watched as Quatre stomped off toward the stairway, wondering if he'd said the right thing. Well, he didn't lie, anyway. It was the truth. He walked into his room and barely had time to set his things down when Trowa stormed in, dressed in a simple black tee and baggy pants that were held up with red suspenders. When Duo looked up at him, he saw that Trowa's normally auburn hair was a little darker, which told him the goth had been out partying last night. Which was really none of his business, but it explained some things about his teammate. Wrinkling his nose with disgust, he figured the two had been out carousing.

"What did you say to him?" Trowa demanded, for once looking normal without that crap on his eyes and hair out of his face.

"Dude-! I just told him what the coach was sayin' this morning! He ain't playin' Friday."

"Why?"

"I don't fuckin' know! He's gonna go find out."

Trowa sighed as he dropped his box of toiletries on his bed, then grabbed his comfortable Gucci trench coat and ran out from the room, hoping to stop a possible carnage. Duo stared after the closing door and wondered if he'd ever have something that interesting to look forward to whenever he found someone to dramatize over.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

"But that's not fair! Why is it that I'm being benched and no one else is!?" Quatre protested, following after Ramos as the older man walked away from the coaches' office within the gym to head out to the parking lot.

"Winner, please, calm down," Ramos sighed. "I already explained why."

"But that's not fair!!"

"Quatre, in a perfect world, you would definitely be playing no matter what happened between you and your teammates. But because I believe in absolute teamwork, which is gained when everyone is cooperating with each other, that's why you aren't playing...until you can find a way to get along with your teammates, I'm going to keep you on the bench. There's too much trouble within to have a successful team...you know what I am saying?"

"This is so stupid!!" Quatre exclaimed, pausing on the sidewalk. "This is stupid!! What kind of coach are you, anyway?! You aren't even fully capable of performing your duties! You rely on your assistant coaches to do your fucking work! You blame me for making all this fucking trouble, and it's those guys' faults, too! I'm not the only one with a problem!"

Ramos paused. Then he turned around and faced a very indignant Quatre Winner. "With that attitude of yours, Winner, it's a wonder how you even got this far," he said, frowning. "How your other coaches dealt with you is beyond me."

"That's-! That's-! You're being racist!"

Ramos bit back a snort of laughter, and schooled his features. It wouldn't do to show his amused expression at an otherwise furious student. Think of the lawsuits. "How can it be 'racist' when we're both the same color?"

"No, you're an American. You're probably carrying a grudge against Arabs still, because of that World Trade Center thing..."

"You're Arabic? Huh. I never knew that. You really don't look like it...And it this isn't racism. It's my own opinion. I've had much experience with coaching, Quatre, and you are just...You are just something I had never encountered, before. I want to fix this in a completely suitable manner. Instead of punishing the entire team, I need to focus on the troublemaker him or herself. And, I'm sorry to say, you are that troublemaker."

Quatre frowned, flushed at his rising ire. He stared at the pavement of the street and tried to think of something to say that didn't involve Ramos' background, his mother, his father, any siblings...

"Winner...please think about what you're doing. Maybe look into an anger management class, something! Improve your own attitude, and you can play."

"That's not how games are won! They can't be won by fucking attitude alone!"

"Then that's how it's going to be, then. Have a good day, Winner. See you at practice Monday after school..."

Quatre scowled and whirled to stomp back toward the dormitory. This was absolutely ridiculous! This was stupid! This was----it was all a conspiracy against him! What could possibly be-?!

He paused, a small, niggling thought worming its way into his mind, but something that made him gasp aloud. He whirled, ran back to where Ramos had left him, and found the coach unlocking his SUV driver side door within the cluster of teachers' cars.

"My dad's paying you off, isn't he?!" Quatre shouted from the sidewalk.

Ramos startled at the accusation, then frowned as he tossed his leather bag onto the passenger side seat. "What?" he exclaimed, moving away from the vehicle to hear what Quatre had to say.

"My father...he hates that I prefer basketball to anything else...he's paying you off to keep me from playing, isn't he?"

"Winner-! Quatre, that's ridiculous!"

"It's true, isn't it?!"

"Quatre! Don't be ridiculous!"

Quatre huffed, whirled, and began stomping toward the main school building. Ramos hung his head, sighed heavily, and hoped that there was still a bottle of his strongest import vodka stocked in his freezer at home.

Trowa had just spotted Quatre as the blond stormed into the main building of the school. He'd just come from the gym, so Trowa didn't know what was going on as he ran over in that direction. He made his way inside, and caught sight of the blond as he turned a corner that led toward the phones the students used to call home with. He hurried over as Quatre picked a booth furthest from the door. Quatre barely glanced at him, shaking with barely disguised fury as he picked up a phone and hastily dialed a number.

Trowa still didn't know what was going, but he pulled up a chair as Quatre kicked his own chair, sending it flying and began pacing as far as the phone cord would allow him to.

"You fucking paid off my coach, didn't you?!" Quatre shouted as a greeting once Ramid answered.

Trowa sighed, but was inwardly amused. This was so much more fun, having a dramatic boy-toy that held more drama and action than one of Catherine's movies. He didn't know what was going on, or how this conclusion was made, but by God, he was going to stick around and find out.

"Don't give me that bullshit, Ramid! You fucking paid him off! To teach me some stupid lesson-! No, you listen! You hate that I love playing and would do it more than-! No, you're fucking stupid! I fucking hate you! No-! NO! I know you paid him off, you fucking jerk! I hate you! No, you'll listen to ME, now! I always have to listen to what you have to say! Why can't you just-! Don't blame this on Rashid, Ramid! Just because you're a fucked up father-! Yes! Yes, that's what I think!"

Trowa leaned forward in his seat and perked with an amused smile as furious, angry Arabic filled the air. Fuck! He thought, looking around. Where's Felicia now?!

Quatre slammed the phone back down on the receiver, stared at Trowa furiously, then stomped off, screaming that the world hated him. Trowa rose from his chair, put it away, then carefully picked up Quatre's chair and set it right. Then he set off to look for the furious boy. He had to admit-though times were sometimes simply exasperating, Quatre was never boring.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

"I don't think your dad would pay Ramos off like that," Trowa said, trying to sound reassuring. But he didn't know Ramid-from what it sounded like, the guy despised the fact that Quatre would rather play basketball than focus on his academics. It sounded too farfetched to be true.

"You don't know my father, Trowa. Don't even try to defend him."

Quatre's voice was muffled underneath the pillow that he had over his head. Trowa leaned onto the bed, resting his chin upon his folded arms.

"Everyone's not against you, man. Perhaps you should really look at yourself. To you, you may not come off as a jerk. But to everyone else, you're a fucking mean-ass, selfish, entirely rude prick that everyone loves to hate. You know what I mean?"

"...Gee, thanks, Trowa."

"You're welcome." Trowa sighed, straightening from the bed as he jerked the pillow off of Quatre's head to talk to him face to face. He was stunned to see that Quatre's eyes were red and it looked as if he were crying. He smashed the pillow back down on Quatre's head with a startled yelp.

Quatre chuckled slightly, pulling the pillow off his head and wiping his eyes. "Sorry. I'm so gay, huh? Crying...I can't help it. Things just fucking suck right now."

Trowa sighed again, leaning back in his seat. "Quatre, you gotta do what you gotta do. If you feel it helps to cry, then, be my guest. But it's so weird to see that you actually would allow yourself that privilege."

"Quit making it worse, Trowa. I feel stupid enough as it is." Quatre sniffled and wiped his eyes once again. "I hate my father. I don't even want to call him that. He would definitely pull this bullshit to keep me from playing...and he keeps track of my grades...My grades aren't so good. I mean, they weren't like, the top of the class, you know? I did good enough to pass, but...since I got here, I've been...I don't know. Averaging D's, I guess."

Trowa blinked, but realized that aspect fit Quatre. He leaned his chin into his palm, leaning onto the bed once more. "That's all right, then. At least you're passing. If you need help, I can help, or I can find someone to help you."

"It's so embarrassing..."

"Quatre, you of all people should not be embarrassed by such things..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Quat, that we're going to drop this subject, and you are going to talk to me." Trowa dropped his arms onto the bed, folding them slightly as he took in the other's face. "Let's talk, Quat. I mean, really, really talk. Let's not talk about basketball, or your father, or about anything else. Let us talk to each other about each other, all right?"

Quatre shrugged, picking at his pillow. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Fine."

"Good." Trowa leaned away from the bed, but kept his hands at the edge. Quatre shifted on the bed, sprawling out so that his feet were hanging off the end, his shoe-less feet in the air. "So...what is it you wanted to talk to me about, last night? About...you and...your friend?"

"Oh, that." Quatre shifted again, looking at Trowa with some uncertainty. Then he attacked his pillow once more, pulling at the seams. "Well...um...the reason why...Well, okay. Um, you know Jamie and I were friends for, like, forever, right?"

"You've made that part clear..."

"Well...see, this one night? Well, we won championship after this tournament, and we'd already made plans to go out spotlighting-"

"What is that?"

"What?"

"Spotlighting..."

"We go out with a really big flashlight to shoot anything that moves."

Trowa stared for a few moments, then shook his head. "Fucking hicks..."

"Shut up, Trowa! You wouldn't know unless you tried it!"

"Quatre, oh my God...never mind. Go ahead. Continue with your story..."

"Well, so, anyway...um, his older brother's friend was having this party, and Jamie's brother, James, wanted him to deliver these cases of beer over, and he...well, he kept a case and we drank it all while we were...spotlighting."

"Hmm. Interesting. Alcohol's involved. I think I can tell what happens from here..."

"Trowa-! If you want to hear this-!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Go ahead."

"Well..." Quatre grew uncomfortable with this part, wondering just how much to say. He felt his face flush with color and he grew flustered. "Well, we got drunk...um...Jamie came out to me. I was all shocked, because, well, I kinda knew, but he told me he...he loved me and all that...and I didn't know what to say to him. Well, he goes on and on about what he feels and I didn't know what to say because over there, we made fun of all the...gays and such, and it just didn't fit, but then it did, and...well, things led to some things, and....I don't want to talk about that part."

"You don't have to," Trowa said softly.

"And...well...when it was over-we didn't, you know, do it or anything, just...anyway, when it was done, um, I looked out the window, and there was this truck outside. We didn't even hear it pull up. Um...then James was there, dragging Jamie out of the car, and I was all...well, you know, scared because... you know. And...James had all his friends there, and they were pulling me out of the truck as well. I-I saw James and Jamie fighting, and James was pissed because they found us...and...well, I wanted to stop it, but the other guys...there was like, four of them. I don't know. It was dark, but their had their brights on, and it was all kind of confusing. Um, well, they all ganged up on me while James beat Jamie up, and when they finally left, James was taking Jamie back to town and they left me there. It really sucked, Trowa. We were like, ten miles out of town, so I had to walk back. But then Lana somehow heard about it, and-by the way, she's Rashid's wife-and she came and picked me up nearly three miles in. It just...when I got home, Jamie's dad had called my dad, and Rashid had been instructed-instructed-to help me get my things packed. Rashid didn't want to do that, this was his house and all-I stayed with Rashid and his wife because Ramid travels all the time and never saw me much anyway, but-Ramid was coming out to get me. I don't see what his problem was anyway, I only see him, like, three or four times a year, anyway. But Rashid, I don't know, had to do it because I wasn't under his legal custody, you know? So then Ramid comes along, yells at me because I'm a fucking homo and has me already signed up for here. I'd never even heard of this place, this school, I mean, and I'd never been outside of Wyoming before. So then...but anyway, there was only like, one time, well, two, but I don't really count that part...but that's what I wanted to tell you, was that...there was nothing between us.

"I didn't want you thinking that there was, because it seemed that you did think that." Quatre finished, forcing himself to look at Trowa. Trowa stared at him quietly, his expression blank. Quatre felt nervous that Trowa wasn't saying anything, and flushed as he ducked his head. "Really, there wasn't...I don't know, I guess I just felt...really nervous when...when this started. I mean, touching...being...I don't even know if I really am gay, I just----"

"Quat..."

"...what?"

Trowa opened his mouth to speak, but the story had struck something inside of him. He felt utterly angry that had happened to his blond upstart, but at the same time...truly grateful that it had. Because if it hadn't, he would have never met Quatre. The story made him sick and momentarily shocked that if things had turned into the worse... Trowa didn't want to think about it. But it certainly explained a great deal of things. Now that Trowa understood what happened, a lot of things fell into place. And it certainly didn't drive him off-no, he wanted to get even closer. Because there was still hope in Quatre changing.

"What, Trowa?"

Trowa shook his head, realizing that his hands were shaking. He straightened in his chair, intertwining his fingers. "I...I kind of figured that...something of that caliber happened, I mean...but...wow. I'm really sorry I didn't bother to listen to you before..."

"That's all right, Trowa. I should have explained better in the start. You're not going to feel sorry for me, are you?"

"No," Trowa snorted, amused at Quatre's tone of annoyance. "No, I won't. I just...I'm very glad that you...shared that with me. I...well, I feel like I understand you better. I mean...with physical contact and all...Were you hurt bad?"

"No. Well, I mean, I had some bruises, but...I used to get into fights all the time, anyway. It's not like I'm a pacifist or anything."

"Christ. I can't imagine you being a pacifist." Trowa chuckled, the image just too foreign. "What were you like back there?"

"What? Oh, I don't know." Quatre reached up to play with his hair, scowling as he missed the familiar bangs. "Kinda the same as here, I suppose. Except...I don't know. People never told me I was a jerk. I mean, I guess I was, but...I don't know."

"Did you have many girlfriends?"

"Did you ask me that before?"

"I don't remember..."

"Well, I didn't. I mean, basketball and all."

Trowa stared at him for a few minutes, then smiled. "All right."

"'All right'? I mean...you're okay with it?"

"I'm more than 'okay' with it, Quat. I just...that just told me a lot of things. I guess I just feel like a jerk for being..."

"Well, you didn't know anyway, Trowa. You're not the jerk-I am. Sorry."

Trowa tapped his fingers together, taking in Quatre's appearance, the obvious indication of his exhaustion evident in the bluish circles under his eyes, the way his skin seemed paler than usual. As much as he wanted to touch him, he refrained. He didn't want to put that pressure on him. "Now...your turn..."

"What? Oh...um..." Quatre's face turned red, then, and he shifted up and away from his bed with an embarrassed air. "I...um...well...see, the thing is, I...you know a lot about me, but I don't even know about you. I mean...you were asking me that one night how old you were, and...your favorite color... Trowa, I don't even know anything about you, except that you love...popping pimples."

"Mm. Yes. That's true." Trowa indicated for him to go on with his hands. "Well, whatever you want to know, ask."

"Well, all right. Um...well, I learned a few things. I asked Felicia...you're seventeen and you like the color purple..."

"Quatre."

"What?"

"She didn't...show you anything...did she?"

"No." But Quatre's suddenly reddening face told Trowa differently. Instantly embarrassed himself, Trowa rose from the chair and hurled Quatre's pillow at him.

"NO! No, she didn't show you, did she?!"

"Trowa, it was a really nice picture-!"

"Argh! God, I don't know what I was on...I did need the money, and...well, I was hoping that..." Trowa sighed heavily, hiding his reddened cheeks with his hands. "Shit. That was so embarrassing."

"It was a really, really nice picture, Trowa. Um...I bought it from her."

Trowa stared at him in shock. "What?"

Quatre's face turned even redder than before, resembling an overly ripe tomato. Trowa faced him. "What did you do?"

"I...bought the page from her."

"Are you serious?"

"...um, are you mad?"

"I'm fucking embarrassed that I posed for millions of teen girls...Do you seriously have it?"

"Yeah."

"....Show me."

"No! You'll tear it up, or something. Throw it away. No. I have it in a safe place..."

"Quatre, I'm serious, give me that picture."

"No. Besides, it's only fair. You have all those stupid drawings of me. I can have this one thing of you."

"Quat-!" Trowa paused, then shook his head as he sat down at the edge of the bed. "Whatever. Just don't...don't go showing that thing to everyone you know. It's embarrassing enough..."

"I won't."

"...you really thought it was a good picture?"

"Yeah."

"...why?"

"I don't want to say!"

"I'll bet you jack off to it, don't you?"

"TROWA!"

"You do, don't you?"

"NO!"

"Hey, I do to you with those pictures I have..."

Quatre stared at him, eyes widened to an abnormal size. Trowa shrugged with so much nonchalance that he could have been talking about the weather. Then the blond blinked and tried hard not to freak out, but at the same time...he was intensely curious. Was he really that interesting to Trowa? Grumbling, he pushed himself against the wall, drawing his knees up to rest his elbows on them. It flattered him in a nice way. But it was embarrassing to hear that someone desired him so much that they would draw pictures of him and masturbate to it. It was sick, really. But flattering. In a sick way.

"Whatever, you sick freak."

"Seriously. I even saved what-"

"TROWA, that's disgusting!"

"I'm just kidding. I'm not that weird."

"Still...I wouldn't doubt that you'd try if you could."

"Quatre, you're much sicker than I'll ever be."

"Am not. Compared to you, I'm entirely normal."

"Whatever."

Trowa looked back at him, grinning. Just like at the restaurant, things were just...perfect. Absolutely perfect. They were on talking terms again, they were comfortable, they were joking...perfect. Trowa felt that he was floating on air, an insanely happy feeling building up within. Everything was going so right! How could he want to lose this by his own insane insecurities? Thinking about it now, he'd only acted the fool by distancing himself from Quatre. He couldn't pull away from the blond completely-no, he was stuck too far in to get back out.

Quatre looked up from destroying his cuticles, then peered at Trowa's teeth when he observed the grin. Trowa frowned, pulling his lips tightly over them. "C'mon. I know they're there!"

"Forget about them. I have only three more months in them, then they're taking them out."

"What did you look like before?"

"I had an overbite, and my left incisor was turned inward."

Quatre tried to imagine this, furrowing his brow as he stared at Trowa's mouth. But unfortunately, his imagination wasn't as good as the other's, and he just couldn't see it. He shifted his attention back to Trowa's green eyes and found that they were sitting entirely too close to each other. He became very much aware of how Trowa smelled, how it felt to be kissed by the other, how it felt to be touched and to touch. He grew embarrassed at his train of thought and ducked his head as he felt his cheeks redden.

"What?" Trowa asked, having sensed the shift of the air between them, as if he'd heard Quatre's thoughts.

"Nothing. Just...I don't know. Thinking."

"About what? It's still your turn, you know."

"Well...I was just thinking...you know, how weird you are. You and your...interests."

"What's so weird about them?"

"I don't know. Just...last night, when you were with that...well, I think it was a guy..."

Trowa laughed, turning so that he had one leg on the bed, the other touching the floor. This put him in closer contact with Quatre, his knee bumping against his foot. "What about him? His name was Gabriel."

"Well, shit, Trowa. I mean, I thought you were obvious about things, but that guy..."

"What was wrong with him? He was interesting."

"Yeah, if you're into that sort of thing..."

"Welcome to the gay world, Quatre."

"Shut up. It's just...I don't know. Back in Laramie, I would have made that guy cry, or something. I mean, he was so...obvious. He just begged to get made fun of."

"You're such a fucking jerk, Quat."

Quatre stared at him, noted their closeness. He felt some anxiety at feeling this way toward Trowa, but then again... He grinned, watching as Trowa looked away from the comforter to look suspiciously at him. Quatre reached out and swatted him with a limp wrist. "Oh, stop," he lisped in perfect mimicry of Gabriel's voice. "Don't be so mean to me!"

Trowa stared, then hit him. "Don't fucking talk that way, you stupid jerk!" he ordered, but snickered at the impersonation.

"Don't talk to me that way, Trowa Barton. I'll make you regret it."

"Stop talking like that, Quatre!"

"Don't be silly. You like this sort of thing."

"Cut. It. Out." But Trowa was laughing at this time, feeling his cheeks grow red as he wondered why he'd even associated himself with the goth boy from last night. "All right, all right. Stop. Seriously. I don't know why I was with that guy."

"Can he even be a guy when they're like that?" Quatre wondered aloud, talking normally.

"Quat...don't...don't make me lecture. Shit."

"No, I mean, seriously..."

"Quat...drop it."

"Fine."

Trowa waited for the blond to say something else, but when he didn't, he smiled. This was a new side to Quatre, something he hadn't seen before. The loose way of joking, of impersonating and of being relaxed around him made Trowa feel...feel ten times more for the blond. It made him want to get closer, made him want to be with him even more...he loved him.

Trowa froze at this new thing, staring at Quatre as the blond picked at his nails. He loved him. Sure, he joked about it and he figured it as part of his obsession, but it was more than that. Trowa could think this particular thought and it would fit with his feelings. It fit with the way that he found himself unable to let go, of how he himself depended on the other's presence, of how he felt so comfortable and relaxed around the blond when he hadn't been this way with Ralph before. He felt uplifted and yet heavy with emotion at the same time. Was it possible to fall in love upon knowing a person for such a short time? Trowa couldn't deny that it was anything else...no, this emotion was much too heavy to be something as flighty as infatuation or friendship. No, he loved Quatre Winner and that's what made it so dangerous. The other was just beginning to grow into his status, beginning to let Trowa in, and...

But Trowa couldn't deny what he felt. But he sure as hell wouldn't let anyone else know, not even Quatre himself. That would be too dangerous. Love was just too dangerous when it came down to gay teenagers in a big city. And their backgrounds...their interests...everything was all wrong! But then again, it felt so right...how could it be wrong when it felt right? He wondered what Quatre really thought of him, what his real feelings were to him. Trowa had an inkling as he remembered Quatre's persistence to explain himself, the way he depended on him...but Quatre himself had to finish identifying himself before identifying his own emotions towards another.

This all proved very frustrating, and Trowa sighed heavily. He knew that what they had could develop into something entirely bigger than what they thought. And that in itself was a scary idea, indeed. There really wasn't a future that he could see for them, and yet...yet the way that he felt about Quatre said differently. But it was all on the other, now.

He reached out, wanting physical contact. He touched Quatre's feet, the Nike no-show socks still brand-new and soft to the feel. He could feel the other's bones and muscles flex under his palm as Quatre curled his toes, and he could feel the hesitation the other felt upon the casual contact. Trowa looked at Quatre, finding him staring down at his hand with some worry on his face. When Quatre lifted his eyes to his, Trowa felt that feeling intensify.

"I-I'm still kind of scared of this, Trowa," Quatre admitted quietly.

"I understand. It's all right," Trowa said just as quietly, squeezing his foot before pulling away.

"But-! It's all right, I mean...I'm just scared. I...I never thought things would turn out this way. I never...never thought this would happen to me. I don't want you to go away..."

Trowa faced him, shifting once more on the bed. "I won't go away. But I can leave you alone when you need me to."

"I just...I don't know. I want to feel comfortable with it, but...I-I can't."

"It's all right. It's not like I'm running around with everyone under the sun."

Quatre chuckled, curling his arms around his knees, pressing them against his chest. "Trowa? I have a question for you..."

"'K."

"Um...I know this is...really...personal, but...do you...do you have a lot of experience?"

"With what?"

"I-with...everything. I mean, you know...."

Trowa watched with some amusement as Quatre's face turned red. He understood what Quatre was trying to say. But he wanted the blond to come right out and say it. "No, I don't. What, specifically, kind of 'experience' are you talking about?"

"You know!"

"No, I don't."

Quatre sighed. He shifted so that he was sitting cross-legged. He rested his elbows on his knees and picked at his nails, trimming them with his teeth and ripping the ends off with his fingers. He'd forgotten where he'd put his nail cutters. "Never mind."

"No, now you have to explain what you meant!"

"No, Trowa, change of subject."

"Come on, Quatre. I never expected you for you to be a coward..."

"So? I am. I'm the world's biggest coward."

"Whatever." Trowa shifted, rolling onto his stomach so that his knees were bent, feet in the air. Quatre shifted to give him room, but Trowa stopped him from moving. He placed his head on the other's thigh, closing his eyes at the feel of the other's closeness. Quatre hesitated, but relaxed after awhile, leaning back against the wall. As silence fell, Trowa listening to the sounds of the other's body noises, realizing that the other probably hadn't ate yet. But he felt too good to move just yet. After confirming his own feelings and his own wants and needs, he just couldn't bear to move just yet. He wanted to stay here, in the presence of the other, for as long as the other would let him.

"Trowa?"

"Yes?"

"Do you...do you expect anything of me?"

Trowa turned so that he was lying on his back, his face pointed up to look at Quatre with a curious expression. "Like what?"

Quatre shrugged, biting off the top of his thumbnail, then ripping that away. "I don't know. I mean... you...I mean, it's good and all, but...are you...just with me because..."

Trowa instantly understood what he was saying. "No, Quatre, I'm not with you just to fool around with you. You should realize that by now. We don't even fool around-you don't like it."

"I do, I just...it's just weird for me."

"I'm not in it for that, Quatre."

"Mm."

Intertwining his fingers over his stomach, Trowa studied Quatre's features from his upside down position. He could see the blond's worried blue-green eyes, the way his blond eyebrows scrunched together with his thoughts. Trowa took this in, wondering how to capture it on canvas when he found time to separate himself from Quatre.

"Quatre, you want to know the real reason why I took that picture?"

"You said you needed money..."

Trowa sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, that, too. But...I took that picture just so Ralph would notice me. We...I...we never did anything like that. I wanted to, but he was never interested. That should have given me my first clue, but...I was dumb."

Quatre lowered his hands to his sides, propping himself up as he stared down at Trowa. "You guys never...?"

Trowa shook his head. "No. I never tried it before with anyone. Male or female."

"So you're a virgin?!"

"You're one, too."

"But...you seemed so...experienced!"

"Only with making-out and all that. Not with anything else."

"Oh...oh my God, Trowa. That...I never would have thought...."

Trowa rolled over so that his chin was now on Quatre's thigh, and he stared up at the other with a smirk. "I hide it well, don't I?"

"Well, yeah."

"Quat...?"

"Hm?"

"Would you be interested in doing it with me?"

Quatre looked down at him, blinking. Then he blushed, ducking his head. "Well...it's not like I haven't completely rejected the idea...I mean..."

"You're not scared?"

"Well, I am, I just...that's a little too much for me, right now. But...to be honest...I can't imagine doing something like that with anyone else."

The straight-forward answer pleased Trowa. He smiled again, pushing himself up to sit on his knees. He curled his fingers underneath Quatre's chin, tilting the other's face up to his. Capturing his lips with a firm press of his own, Trowa tried to convey to the other without talking what the other meant to him.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Felicia was singing quietly to herself, sitting on the top step of the stairway. She was starting to get tired, hadn't yet gotten a wink of sleep in the last twenty-four hours. She glanced around herself to make sure no one could her, and sung just a little bit louder, recalling a song she'd heard a while back in one of her classes. She thought the artist was someone by the name of Sarah, and it was something about "Fallen". It was a beautiful song, and she truly had a beautiful voice, but she would be embarrassed if anyone had heard her singing. Shuffling through her backpack, she withdrew her cell phone, and immediately began to text message someone she knew. She wondered how Trowa and Quatre were making out (not in the physical sense), and hoped that they were able to fix things. It was such a shame when a good relationship like theirs went to waste over stupid things. Really, she felt Trowa and Quatre were meant to be together- there was just something about those two that screamed peanut butter and jelly.

Recalling last night, she remembered how panicked, how scared Trowa was when they had found Quatre. The goth's actions simply screamed that he was in love-it was so obvious. She went over what had happened, frowning as she paused in texting someone. She was sure Quatre was going to be all right-her own experience with such things had assured her so. She had thought that, at first, Quatre was dead-the cold weather, the cold clothes, the fact that he'd been laying in his own vomit for an indeterminable time... but then he was still alive, and she'd done what she could to help him breathe clearly. Trowa had been so scared...she realized that it was probably the first time Trowa had witnessed something like that.

She wondered how they were doing today-neither of them had made their classes, and while she was insanely curious as to why not, something told her they were just fine. That aspect kept her from barging in on them and demanding answers. Sometimes, patience brought you so much.

"Just the person I wanted to see."

She shrieked in surprise, her phone flying up in the air.

Whirling around, face reddening with embarrassment that she'd been caught singing to herself, she scowled at Trowa. "What the fuck, dick head?!" she exclaimed, picking up her phone and rising. "I didn't even hear you!"

"Never mind that." Trowa reached into his back pocket, and withdrew a roll of cash. "I was going to ask you to do something fun for me, but something else came up. I need you to look into Quatre's dad's financial history and find out if he's paying Ramos, or anything indirectly connected to Ramos."

"Why?" Felicia asked with a frown, looking rather puzzled.

Trowa shrugged, unrolling the wad of money. There goes ten thousand of his dollars... "Just a hunch."

"Shit. Do you think he's paying off Ramos for something?"

"Just try and see."

"While I'm at it, want me to get some info on that dude?"

"What do you know about him?"

"He's a fuckin' oil-man, but then again, he's real familiar with the Underworld. Know what I mean?"

"No."

"Dude, he fuckin' deals with drugs to people that want 'em. He's in charge of this huge opium field on Mars and on that fuckin' agricultural space field they have orbiting Earth. But that's hush-hush. No one in the respectful world of business knows that. Winner himself probably don't even know that."

"Just get that information. And like before, don't let him know."

"Tro-Tro...did you guys make up?"

"Eh? Oh, yeah, whatever. Here."

"No. Keep it. I'll do this one free."

"Really? Okay, then. I offered."

"When do ya want it?"

"Just as soon as you can."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Trowa smirked. It felt so good to know the right people that knew what to do in such times. All it took was a wad of cash, of which he'd hoarded from selling drugs and from the monthly allowance that he was given. He had more than five hundred thousand stashed here and there, and worked his connections mercilessly whenever he needed them. Satisfied that things were going to be fixed no matter what it took to fix them, Trowa left the fifth level of the dormitory with a broad smile on his face and a spring in his step.