Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ I Got Game! ❯ Step Up ( Chapter 18 )

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...

Pairings: 4x3/3x4, 1+2, 5xM & various others...

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

A/N: Whew...it's now 1:21 a.m., and I've gotta get up at six to go to work for ten hours...but at least I got this chapter out!!! Wee!! It's kinda long and may not make any sense since my Diet Coke ain't working on keeping me eyelids awakie...but what the hell, eh? Thanks Myca for your wonderful review! You may not know me, chickie, but your reviews surely keep me uplifted. And thanks to Precognition74, for your suggestion. I need to bring Wufei back to the story...poor guy...~_^ !

Chapter Eighteen~

"Step Up"=Drowning Pool

The crowd was cheering loudly, the pep band belting out a cheap version of "We Will Rock You," by Queen. Filled to capacity, with the doorways crowded and the downstairs level filled with even more people, the gym was roaring with sound from the noisy crowd that filled Darken's blue colored bleachers. All because of the teams that were playing against each other on the court. The score read 10-10, and since tip-off, it had been a very exciting game.

Quatre found himself panting hard, pushing himself to keep up with Stanton's excellent point, who was very skilled in handling the ball. Around the back, between the legs, over and under, #20 was clearly adept at keeping the ball from a possible turnover. Quatre shuffled with him as Stanton began setting up for the offense, Darken's players moving to their assigned positions, all of them working just to keep up with the visibly more adept players. Stanton was ranked high on the high school list, had won State several times over the last ten years, and they played every second with the same maddening determination that Quatre himself used. Their coach, an older man wizened from years of high school ball, shouted at them from the sidelines, pacing the court as the crowd cheered.

It was highly competitive, and Quatre was quickly losing his patience because his team wasn't handling as good as he originally gave them credit for. Hiiro, filling Hautta's lost post, seemed a bit lost as he found himself trying to take over on Quatre's position, and Quatre, not one to let this pass, let the Japanese know right off that his territory wasn't to be messed with. The Stanton players sensed this and seemed to use the animosity for their advantage.

Reaching up high when #20 pulled the ball off the court and stopped dribbling, Quatre was in his face, shouting the ball-ball-ball chant as he worked to throw off the player's concentration. Stanton had taller, more experienced players working the court, and Quatre found it hard to play his position and the others when they abandoned their post in favor of man-to-man contact. #20 lowered his arms, using his elbows to keep Quatre back, but that didn't deter the blond. He pressed forward, ready to snatch the ball once it was within reach. The refs were particularly iffy tonight-they already had ten fouls up on the board, and one of them was his.

#20 swung his elbow low, catching Quatre in the gut, but that still didn't push him away. Seeing a chance, Quatre reached in to touch the ball, and #20 fumbled with his grasp. The ball hovered for a second in mid-air, and Quatre snatched it into his possession, turning quickly and tearing down the court. Hiiro was at the hoop, so Quatre passed it to him. Seeing that the score was now 12-10, Quatre ordered for a full press, directing Duo, Hiiro and Hilde to cover #'s 60,10, and 23 respectively. As the players converged on those three, Quatre stayed on #20, careful to keep an odd watch over his shoulder for any set screens. #20 wasn't affected by the previous play, and brought the ball down the court, Quatre working hard to stay on him, fumbling only when #10 placed a screen on him and #20 hurried around them. As the ball went up to the hoop, their taller players began to rebound, all of them battling for possession as Quatre stayed on #20, the pair of them running about just outside the three-point line, ready for either a fast break or a rebound. Triton caught the ball, and thrust it out to Hiiro, who began maneuvering down the court amid a fierce press of the defense, and Quatre quickly signaled for possession, figuring that he could bring about a chance for a drive via Duo to the hoop. Duo was easily in position, and Quatre managed a quick bounce-pass between players for the long haired shooting guard, who pitched off a three. Unfortunately, his aim was off as it bounced off the rim, rebounded by Stanton's taller center.

Upon seeing this, Quatre moaned slightly, then indicated for a full-court press, despite Ramos' orders for them to drop back. The press proved effective as a turnover occurred in Darken's favor, the ball falling into Hilde's hands. She dribbled around their only female and managed a spectacular hook-shot, that, had it failed, would have earned Quatre's furious yell. The score inched up another two points, and Stanton's coach signaled for a substitution. Seeing a couple more players readying themselves to enter the court, Quatre indicated for the team to fall back into half-court press, then moved up to take on #20. #20 watched him warily as he began dribbling, frowning as Quatre moved with him.

Movement at the corner of his eye signaled a screen, so he quickly pivoted around the set player, moving easily with #20 as #20 passed it off to #10, who began a quick drive through Triton and Zechs, both of whom were ready to block the shot. #10 quickly passed to #60, who stepped back and performed a three point shot that was successful. Frowning, Quatre wiped his face with the collar of his jersey and walked up to retrieve the inbound pass. Hearing the scuff of rubber against wood, he quickly shifted to dribble with his left hand, effectively dribbling around #20 and headed toward the opposite end of the court. #20 stayed on him, pressing on him as Quatre searched for an clear pass to someone capable enough of getting the shot. Seeing that everyone was covered due to Stanton's man-to-man defense, he looked at #20 and began to weave his way through the various sets, keeping #20 at a distance. Seeing that a small instant of misdirection had left Zechs open, he flung the ball over #20's head at the blond haired boy, and watched as Zechs made a good bank shot, putting them ahead by inches.

Quatre looked up at the scoreboard, seeing that the score was now 16-13, and the team had five fouls on them. The clock was inching down to the second quarter, so it would be awhile before halftime. He turned his attention back to #20, who was bringing the ball down with #60 at his side. They quickly separated and worked fast, #60 setting up a screen to prevented Quatre from advancing on #60.

"C'mon!" he shouted at the ref as #60 kept up with him. "Moving shield!"

The ref indicated for them to play on, whistle in mouth. Quatre ducked underneath #60's arms and plowed right into #20, the ref instantly signaling an offensive charge. Utterly disgusted at the tactic used, Quatre walked off to the half-court line while #20 moved up to the free-throw line to shoot his two.

"Winner! What the hell?" Duo hissed from the free-throw line, bent at the waist.

Quatre glared at him, wiping his forehead once more and shifting that glare to #23, who was standing at the half-court line with him.

"You guys suck, dude," he chuckled.

"Kiss my ass."

"Fuck that bullshit. I ain't a fag."

"Then stop giving little suggestions that you are."

"Whatever, butt-fuck."

Quatre ignored him after #20 made his last shot, and concentrated on the game. As soon as he was given the ball, #20 was on him immediately, crowding him toward the out-of-bounds line. Quatre ducked underneath his arms, pushing him aside with his shoulder, and throwing a pass at Hilde. The ball landed with a dull thunk against two of her fingers, causing her to squeal with pain as #10 picked the loose ball up and made a fast break, earning Stanton two more points. Quatre stared at Hilde, then back at Ramos, who was signaling for Sally to take Hilde's place.

Reining in his temper, Quatre paced the line, trying to think 'happy thoughts' as Hilde left the court and Sally came on. #20 looked at him with sympathy. "Dude, I have the same problem," he confessed under his breath as he waited for the ball to come in his direction. "I try not to pass to them."

"I do the same thing. But then I have to pay for it in the end," Quatre muttered.

"Fuckin' sucks. Oh well."

The two played hard until the buzzer signaled the end of the first quarter, and while Quatre quickly took a drink of his Gatorade, searching the bleachers for Trowa, Hilde moved over to him.

"You did that on purpose!" she hissed, indicating her jammed fingers, of which were rapidly turning blue and swollen.

"I did not! Stop starting shit," Quatre muttered, throwing his Gatorade aside and walking away from her, determined not to let this bother him. Wiping his mouth, he briefly listened to Ramos give orders on following through with a man-to-man press, and to keep an eye out for #10, who was the main shooter. As the ref signaled for them to return to the court, Quatre wiped his face once more and hurried out, taking position near the corner of the right side, where Stanton would take the ball.

The score began inching up, with Stanton slowly overtaking them. By the time the second quarter ended, the crowd was deafening in its roars, with shouts of both cheer and disgust raining down on both teams. Quatre ignored the comments that were thrown to hurt and felt a little cheered by those that supported them. He ignored the shouts of the fans for Stanton and was happy for the fans for Darken. All in all, the crowd was rather supporting, but it just wasn't the same. It wasn't the same as his own home crowd, where he knew faces and he knew people that supported him without bias. He glanced up in the crowd again to search for Trowa, but with a scowl, realized that he wasn't there.

Once entering the locker room, he resumed his position away from the team and pulled his collar up to hide his mouth. He hated stressing over the fact that Trowa wasn't there to watch him. Would it really kill the goth to watch him, even for ten minutes?!

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He found himself trapped by three of Stanton's players in the third quarter, the shot clock running down to the last five seconds. The coach had noticed Quatre's persistent tactics on-court, and had roared that he had to be covered at all times. The three players, all of them taller boys, were immediately on him as soon as Hiiro passed him the ball. With one man on his left, the other at his right, and the other crowding his front, Quatre searched for a way out, keeping his cool even as they moved in on him, threatening to crowd him against the sideline. Dribbling calmly, he saw that there wasn't a way for him to pass out without having to forcefully shove his way through and earn another whistle from one of the three refs. So, he went for the next best thing and eyed the basket between the crowding shoulders of the two players in front of him. With a desperate lunge, he flung the ball up and over their heads, muttering under his breath a quick basketball prayer as the orange sphere sailed away from them. The net make a 'flpht' sound as the ball passed through, earning them three points. With a satisfied muttered, Quatre dashed away from the three crowding him and went after #20. #20 frowned at his sudden attention and drove forward, elbow in Quatre's side. Quatre ignored the persistent nudging, aware that he'd be bruised, but that was nothing compared to other injuries he'd received throughout his years of playing hard ball. Reaching in, touching the ball enough to thrust it out of #20's grip, he watched as Duo shot forward, scooped the ball within his capable hands, and sprinted toward the basket. Stanton already had players set there for blocks, so Duo passed it back to Quatre, who immediately found his way through the set players and made a seemingly easy bank-shot. The accumulated five points did not get them closer to Stanton's score, through, and Quatre drove himself mad trying to add enough to catch up.

Taking on a personal mission to add points, Quatre worked hard at stealing the ball, #20's tactics on forceful defense pricking his anger. It was during the last five minutes of the third quarter when Hilde lost the ball once more due to mishandling of the ball once a Stanton player pushed against her in an offensive manner, the refs refusing to call anything even as the Darken crowd scream their protests. The ball made its way toward the sideline, an easy out for Stanton because it would benefit their possession, but Quatre didn't think so, spying a somewhat cognitive Duo making his way down the court, signaling for him that he was wide open. The ball was far enough away that Hiiro and the others didn't bother with chasing it-to Quatre, it was still in play, and he sprinted toward it, eyeing the distance he had to take to reach it. He heard the Stanton coach scream at his players to retrieve the ball before he did, and that spurred them into action. Just as the ball near the white side line, Quatre threw himself at it, twisting violently once his hands touched the ball and hurling it at Duo. He didn't see the long-haired sophomore catch it and make a simple two points because by then, he was buried underneath the judges' table, entangled in legs and electric wires.

Emerging with an embarrassed air from underneath the table, he shook off the stiffness of his shoulder, the one that had made contact with hard floor, and ran after #20. #20 frowned at his sudden approach and backed toward the half court line while he directed his players into suitable position. Quatre stayed with him, eyeing the ball with an almost hungry expression. #20 looked at him, then made a fake pass at his left-Quatre had seen the movement with his peripheral vision, but knew the ball wouldn't leave his hands because he was moving right. Quatre moved with him, stopping #20 in place, forcing the player to move back into his previous position. Quatre stayed with him, arms rising as he tried to guess which direction he was going to take next. The shot clock was counting down the seconds, forcing #20 to make a pass to #45, who was running by with Hiiro in tow. Quatre moved with #20, the two pressing against each other as the ball made its way to the hoop, the taller players of the court battling it out underneath the rim in an effort to rebound or assist.

The ball was loosed onto the court, and Quatre dove for it instantly, #20 mimicking the movement. Quatre proved faster and was up and running as #20 pushed himself back to his feet. Quatre eyed the hoop as he approached it, and prepared for an easy lay-up when a considerable force plowed into him from behind, completely knocking him off the court and into the wall with a loud thunk that had many spectators wincing. Momentarily stunned at both impacts, Quatre sat on the floor for a few moments while Darken's crowd screamed for blood and Stanton's cheered. The refs waved their arms about, signaling no offensive move was made-the noise grew in volume as Darken's crowd noisily protested the call.

Blinking away his momentary confusion, Quatre shakily made his way to his feet, the ball passed in and play resuming before he could touch the court with his brand-new Ginobuli's. Still shaking off his confusion, Quatre began to run again, wondering who in hell had taken him out and vowing revenge. He reached #20 when the taller players began their battle again, the ball making its way into the hoop to give Stanton two points. Seeing that the score was still outside their favor, Quatre hung his head momentarily, then quickly took the ball from the inbound pass from Sally, who quickly made her way to her post down court.

He began dribbling, watching as his players set themselves in practiced position, Stanton's players set in their own. He reached up, patting the top of his head in signaling a zone position, Darken's players immediately shifting again-Duo popped out to the three-point line, signaling for a pass, and Quatre passed it to him quickly as Duo moved his way down to the baseline, with Hiiro taking his previous position, Triton emerging from underneath the hoop to avoid a three-second call and for a pass, and Quatre made his way down the middle, into Triton's position. The move proved effective, as Quatre was wide open as Stanton players quickly tried to compensate for the sudden change, with Duo passing quickly to the blond, who made the easy bank shot.

The crowd cheered noisily as Quatre signaled for a full court press, keeping them up on Stanton's end. #20 took the inbound pass and turned to make his way down the court, but Quatre was with him. Somehow, their feet became entangled, and #20 fell, Quatre quickly raising his hands to indicate that he'd had nothing to do with the move. But the only female ref whistled, signaling that he'd made a foul.

"What?! I didn't even touch him!" Quatre shouted in protest as the crowd roared.

The ref turned from him, signaling that he'd made the foul while the players automatically lined up so #20 could make the designated free-throws.

"Ref! Are your glasses dirty, or what?" Quatre muttered as he passed her.

"Shut it, #20," she ordered, glancing after him with a frown because she did not wear glasses.

"Really, geez, all your calls really suck."

"You want out, #20? Because I can kick your ass off the court if you keep it up," she snarled, spitting the whistle out of her mouth.

Clamping his mouth shut to keep from making any more remarks, Quatre watched as #20 made the two free throws, Stanton inching ahead by twelve points. Sighing heavily and muttering about aging, blind lard-asses, he jogged up court to work on #20, who only smirked at him. Quatre indicated for another full-court press, Ramos screaming for them to go half court. Ignoring him, finding the coach incompetent and fully incapable of doing anything right, Quatre indicated at the others to do what they were doing, despite their shared frowns and glares in his general direction.

Quatre turned his focus back on #20, and began moving with him. Hearing someone set a screen behind him, he turned left while #20 moved right, and ran around the screen. He raced after #20 as he prepared for a three point, and just as the ball left #20's hands, Quatre made a desperate lunge forward, slapping the ball out of mid-air, pushing it toward the sideline. #20 started after it, Quatre doing the same thing. Both hands clasped around it, and three whistles sliced through the roar of the crowd. Both players looked up from the floor to look at the refs for the call, and the older ref declared a jump ball.

Quatre shot to his feet in immediate protest as the Darken's crowd screamed their displeasure, and Stanton hooted their approval.

"What the fuck is up with these guys?!" Duo exclaimed breathlessly from Quatre's left. "This is fucked up! They're totally calling for their team!"

#20 turned from his position, handing the ball off so someone could pass it inbound. He smirked at the two players. "You guys just ain't good enough, is all," he chuckled, taking the ball once it was passed in. Quatre scowled at him, and immediately crowded him. If the refs weren't going to call the right and fair calls, then he had to lower himself to play their level. It was the only way to regain some ground because the refs weren't doing a fair job. As #20 presented his shoulder into his chest, Quatre shoved back with one arm and used the back of his arm to plow into #20's stomach, jerking the player to a stop, the ball moving out of his control. Bodily keeping #20 from moving after the ball, Hiiro had the ball under one hand and was making his way down the court to make a cool three-pointer from the left.

#20 began to work roughly in keeping Quatre from the ball, using his own forearm in keeping the blond a distance away from him, while the blond persisted in shoving his way in close. When #20 lowered his arm and forcefully plowed his elbow into Quatre's gut, Quatre sucked in what breath remained and moved in close, reaching in to flick the ball from #20's hand. The ref immediately called for a 'reach', and #20 smirked as he moved to pass it in. But Quatre was ready for this, watching as #50 moved in to take the ball. As #20 passed it in, Quatre leaped upward, both arms outstretched as far as they could go. Surprise registered on their faces as he made the easy leap, surprising them of his ability to jump so high standing still. Quatre quickly moved from his position, eyeing the hoop as the rest of the competing teams made their way down court. He drove his way into the proximity of the Stanton guards and made a tricky over the back pass to a startled Hiiro, who was in a better position to shoot and make a shot.

Hiiro put it up rather clumsily, the ball being rejected by a taller Stanton player. Without hesitation, Quatre snatched the ball out of mid-air and put it up again. The ball bounced off the rim, and he ran in to rebound, managing the wrest the ball out of the other player's grips. Holding it close, he pushed to put it back up, the ball bouncing off the rim at the awkward position. With an annoyed shout, he ran after it, throwing himself to the floor and catching it before it touched the sidelines. Clearly an inch away, he slapped a hand on it to keep it in place, and looked over his shoulder to pass it to Duo when the ref let loose with her whistle.

"Out of bounds!" she shouted, signaling for Stanton to take the ball.

The crowd screamed, those closest to the action actively pointing out the ball's position. Quatre stared up at her from the floor with an incredulous expression as she stepped over him and took the ball. She ignored the fans' protests and waited for a Stanton player to retrieve the ball. With frustrated shout, Quatre slapped both hands on the court and rose to his feet, glaring at the somewhat misguided referee. She glared right back, and Quatre moved from glaring at her to focusing on the ball. He waved his arms about and performed jumping jacks in an attempt to foul up #34's attempt to pass the ball in. #34, a somewhat nervous redhead with an immense amount of freckles, tried to bounce-pass it between Quatre's legs, but the blond was quick, retrieving the ball and turning to search for someone to pass it to, but two solid bodies slammed against him, preventing him from moving. He continued dribbling as #34 jumped at him, the ball dangerously within his reach. Desperate to get out of the trap and pass, Quatre took a deep breath and ducked very low, practically crouched inches from the floor, continuously dribbling. He slithered through #65's legs and shoved the pass at an open Triton, who only shook his head and made a shout of laughter as he made the three point shot.

Quatre rose from the floor, dusting himself off as he watched Ramos, who was busily instructing a harried Hilde to take Sally's place. Groaning, Quatre resumed his hard play against #20, who looked rather winded as he began bringing the ball down from back court to front.

Quatre kept his arms out, focused solely on #20, and heard the squeaking and scuffling of feet behind him. He turned just as #20 moved to sprint around him, and Quatre found himself with a face full of elbow. That stopped him in place with a pained cry, hands flying to his nose as the gym erupted into crazed chaos, protesting the violent shield.

Blinking furiously through the pain-filled tears that automatically filled his eyes upon the forcible contact upon his nose, he walked away from the Stanton player and wiped his nostrils, trying to determine if he'd earned a bloody nose. Sure enough, his fingers came away bloody, and he cursed loudly as he pinched his nose shut and walked off court as the ref signaled for a substitution on his behalf. The gym erupted into full-blown cheers and shouts of approval over Quatre's game, and he looked up in surprise, having forgotten all his worries about needing familiar support over his playing. The timid manager handed him a towel to plug his nose with, and he took a seat on the bench, leaning forward to allow the blood to drain hastily. He watched the court apprehensively as Hiiro took over his position, Hilde taking over Hiiro's abandoned past.

Ramos sat next to him, clapping his arm with approval. "You're playing just excellent, Winner!" he said, rather proudly. "The crowd loves you!"

"I'm not playing for them," Quatre muttered, pulling the towel away from him to determine the blood content, and then resuming the position upon feeling his nose still dripping.

"You're still pleasing them. You're hustling, you're not fighting with anyone, and despite the ref's stupid calls, you're doing so very excellent. Who do I have to thank for this change in attitude?"

"It wasn't like I was playing like this before! I just stopped talking back to the others," he mumbled as he checked the progress and sighed in frustration as his nose continued to drip. "What's with the refs?! They're fucking up every call!"

"Watch the language. We don't have control over the refs. Just do your best, all right?" With that, Ramos patted his arm once more and walked back to his previous position, yelling at Hiiro to perform the zone maneuver. "Call me when you're ready, Winner!"

Quatre nodded, removing the towel to check on the progress. Five minutes later, he was being subbed back in, the crowd for Darken screaming with delight. #20 scowled at him as he wiped his face with one of his wrist guards as Duo shot two points due to a foul.

"What are you? Someone important?" he asked Quatre, who briefly checked to make sure his nose was not dripping.

"Not that it's any of your business," he said on a sniff.

"Whatever. Your parents, are like, famous, huh? All you rich pricks here at Darken make me fuckin' sick, man. Alla you are spoiled brats. Fuckin', I bet you wouldn't have gotten this far without your mommy or daddy paying for you, huh?"

"Says the jealous, insolent little cry baby. What are you from, the ghetto? You want a donation? Cry me a river."

"Hey, fuck you, you fuckin' dick!"

"You started it!"

"I'll fucking stop it if you keep talking shit!"

"Do it, then!" Quatre challenged, facing him. #20 faced him instantly, stepping up so that their faces were mere inches from each other. Amid all the shouts for them to break it up, Quatre refused to back down. Triton intervened, shoving his way between them and shoving Quatre aside as #20's teammates tore him away.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go!" Triton ordered, shoving him into play, the refs staring with malice in their direction. "Stop talking shit and let's go!"

Quatre let go of the confrontation in favor of moving after the ball, finding himself in tandem with #20. #20 began dribbling wildly, making an over the back pass to #65, then slicing through Darken's defense to signal an open shot. Quatre was right behind him, so he intercepted the pass and indicated for the team to move down court. #20 was on him instantly, crowding him in an attempt to keep him on the back court as the ref counted down ten seconds. Quatre was calm, watching his teammates move into formation, and he dribbled easily enough that he was confident to keep the ball between him and #20. #20 reached out to bat at it, but Quatre used that movement of his to dribble around him, looking at Duo to pass. As Duo prepared for the pass, #32 moved out from his position to cover the long haired player, as Quatre thought he would. That left Zechs wide open, so Quatre passed to him. Zechs passed to Winnie, who made a dunk, rattling the hoop, much to the approval of Darken's crowd.

"Fuckin' show-off," #20 muttered as he pushed past Quatre to take the inbound pass.

"Jealousy just made you even uglier," Quatre replied as he made an easy snatch of the ball, throwing it up for a bank shot. Furious at the quick steal and even quicker score, #20 took the ball out, passing it in to #65. Quatre moved back from the baseline in favor of the half court line, and waited for #65 to pass it back to #20. #20 took the ball and began dribbling slowly, pointing upward at the scoreboard with one hand. Quatre frowned, refusing to look at it to see that Stanton was still points ahead of them. He gathered his shorts hem within both hands and waited for #20 to edge closer to him. Seeing that Stanton was setting up around them, he moved back, pointing at Hiiro to take #65 and Duo to take #70 on his right. Quatre glanced back at the others, seeing the taller players engaged in a shouldering battle with the players for Stanton. He turned back in time to see #20 moving to run past him, so he quickly intercepted, snatching the ball from mid-dribble.

The ref's whistle was shrill, and he looked at the older man with stunned surprise.

"Reach!"

"THAT WASN'T A REACH!" Quatre shouted. "Where do you people come FROM?!"

The ref blew his whistle once more, and formed a 'T' with his hands. Quatre dropped the ball and looked up at the ceiling in exasperation as Stanton's fans roared with approval.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Hiiro screamed at him as #20 moved to make the three free-throw shots.

"Shut up, HIIRO!"

"What the fuck?! You trying to make us lose?!" Zechs roared from his position at half court. Quatre scowled at them all, wiping his face with his wrist guard as he turned to look at Ramos. Ramos's face was stony, but he held up three fingers to indicate how many fouls Quatre had. Sighing in remorseful exasperation, Quatre turned and watched as #20 made all three shots.

The ref that had called the technical on him stopped him from advancing to the back court. "Keep up this attitude, Winner, and we'll have you booted," he warned.

Quatre stared at him in incredulous shock. "What?! Those guys are playing much more forceful than I am! Why are you always on my ass and not on theirs?!"

"Want another technical? Watch the language and play fair," the older ref ordered as he stuck the whistle back into his mouth and moved away.

"Why don't you focus on your reffing than on what I'm doing," Quatre muttered as he turned to walk away.

"What was that, #20?" he demanded, signaling for a pause of the game, everyone trying to quiet down to hear the exchange.

"I said, 'Thank you!'," Quatre yelled.

The ref signaled for the game to begin, Quatre shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Hiiro heard something about reffing school and age, but he didn't really catch all of it.

Quatre resumed his play, fueled by the refs' obvious dislike of him. Really, it didn't matter. He knew his skills more than made up for the refs' calls, and he knew how to move around them. Though, his temper sure didn't fare very well with it-in the fourth quarter, just as he'd moved to make a shot, #20 ran in front of him and set up a screen, resulting in Quatre knocking him over rather forcefully. As another foul was called on him, Quatre whirled to give the ref a piece of his mind, absolutely tired of the woman's obvious picking on him.

Triton moved forward from his position and slapped both hands over his mouth with a loud clap of sound, pulling him forcefully to the half court line as the woman watched them closely. "Shut your mouth, fucker," Triton hissed in his ear, removing his hands only when Quatre ripped them from his face.

"Will you stop touching me?!" he growled as #20 made his first free throw.

"Watch your fuckin' mouth and stop back talking the refs!" Triton snarled. "Don't fuck up because they're stupid! Keep a cool head!"

"Whatever. I know what I'm doing. And don't touch me again," Quatre muttered, pulling at his jersey collar to hide the gnashing of his teeth. #20 made his last free throw, and with a reluctant sigh, he dropped his jersey to resume his seemingly tireless assault against the other team.

#20 was smirking as he indicated the scoreboard, which Quatre refused to look at. "We're winning," he whispered as the blond glared at him, moving with him.

"That's only because you paid them off," he growled, gesturing at the ref nearby with a lift of his chin.

"No, it's all skill, baby."

"I'm not your baby, you stupid fag."

"You may not, but you're the student and I'm the teacher because I just schooled you," #20 said, making a somewhat tricky three point from near the half court line. Quatre gaped as the ball passed through the net without trouble. Glancing at the scoreboard, he saw that there was no way they were going to catch up within the last ten minutes. He looked back at #20, who made a kissing motion in his direction. Clenching his fists, Quatre fought to resume control of his temper, half-caught with the need to sock #20's smug face and another to kick the refs' asses for making such calls on his person, allowing Stanton to inch ahead merely on free throws alone.

But he knew that losing his temper would only eject him from the game, so he exhaled loudly and decided on doing what he could. They would lose, yes, but that didn't mean he had to play half-ass because of it. It just wasn't his style of play. He wiped his forehead and resumed his play, cursing the refs the entire time.

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

Trowa lingered with a frown outside the gym doors, hearing the roars of the crowd within. As much as he disliked the thought of it, the need to go in just to take a peek at what was going on on the court was just as strong. He paced the sidewalk, avoiding contact with other people that were moving around in the cold air, the sun just barely setting in the west. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was nearly six, so the game should be almost over. He sighed heavily, watching his breath as he did so. Pulling his trench coat closer around him for some warmth, he looked up at the doors then froze with fear once he saw Middie heading in his direction, still dressed in her dance team uniform, complete with colored ribbons in her hair.

He looked for some way to escape as she called his name and ran over to him, broad smile on her face. Quickly, he ducked when a group of girls walked by, laughing and giggling amongst themselves, and Trowa walked with them, keeping low as he watched Middie walk up to where he'd been standing previously, looking around with a confused expression.

"What are you doing, you weirdo?" one of the girls asked, bringing all their attention to him. Quickly, Trowa hurried through the doors of the gym, sure that he'd lost Middie for the now. Grumbling underneath his breath upon seeing the various persons in the lower level of the gym, seeing that it was immensely crowded due to the teams' fans and families, he made his way up the crowded stairway of the second level, the sounds of the gym growing louder as he approached the doors. He shoved his way in, and stood near the wall underneath the scoreboard with a bunch of other spectators, immediately picking Quatre out from the other players of the teams. The blond was picking his way through a crowded court to the hoop, a Stanton player close on his heels. Amid the taller center and guards, Quatre made a jumpshot that wouldn't have gone in, except that it bounced off one of the guards' hands. The cheers in the gym was deafening, making Trowa grimace as Stanton made its inbound pass.

With a half frown, Trowa watched Darken play spectacularly, except that it was obvious Stanton was much better. Despite Darken's excellent players and Quatre's way of keeping the score tight, Trowa knew who was going to win because during a five minute period, Stanton upped their score by ten points. He could see the frustration in Quatre's face, the way the blond paced the sidelines as the team fought for possession of the ball. When it became loose, he was immediately scooping it up and making his way down the court. Trowa found himself craning his neck to watch as #20 kept easy pace with him, and just as Quatre was about to make a shot, #20 used an elbow to shove Quatre off-balance while he was in mid-motion. Amid the shouts that were directed at three harried refs, Trowa watched with a grimace as Quatre landed on the court with a loud squeak that didn't sound too good as skin was scraped raw against the wood.

The crowd was going wild from the action, Trowa saw, leaping from their seats and shouting at the ref to make a foul call. But the refs merely inquired if Quatre was okay, and when the blond rose, he looked furious that a call hadn't been made, and argued for a small bit with one of them. #20 got away with the foul with a shrug of his shoulders, and Trowa frowned. The game continued on, and Trowa found himself entranced with the way Quatre handled himself on court. Whether it was to save a ball from bounding out of bounds, or making his way through a tough defense to make a shot, Quatre was obviously the golden player of the game. He didn't rack up the points like Duo did-he just made sure they got there, and made whatever he points he had just because he'd had the opportunity to do so.

Finally, when the score read 60-69, the buzzer signaled the end of the game. Both Darken and Stanton fans were on their fans, clapping and shouting loudly for a game well played as players moved to their respective benches, exhausted from the level of play that had been displayed. Amid all the clapping, Trowa watched Quatre walk with his team to their coach, looking pissed off. Trowa couldn't blame him. From what he saw, the other players just weren't clicking very well with Quatre's level of play, the referees were simply atrocious in their calls, and it was surely frustrating. The gym began to empty, then, everyone making use of every door available to leave.

After the teams congratulated each other, they made their way to their respective locker rooms. Quatre was wiping his face with a towel, the redness of his exertion evident, and when he passed by Trowa, he looked up at him with surprise. Trowa managed a small smile, and in automatic reaction, Quatre smiled back, looking instantly cheered before remembering that he was pissed off at the results of the game.

As the team disappeared into the locker room, Trowa looked away from Quatre just in time to see Triton Bloom scowling down at him, and if Trowa didn't know any better, that look plainly asked that he die soon within a horrible, maiming accident. Trowa smirked back as the junior looked away, slamming through the doors. Somewhat smug, Trowa looked away from the doors and stared down in horrified surprise once he saw that Middie was standing before him, just inches away. Her grinning face, surrounded by her neatly curled hair and pert dance team uniform outlining a slender, coltish body, made him recoil instantly, the need to run causing his legs to shake.

"Hi, Trowa Barton!" she greeted cheerfully, then she reached out to hit him lightly on the shoulder. "You silly! You were hiding from me, weren't you? I like it when a guy plays like that. Makes the challenge much more interesting. So, did you think about my offer, yet? I mean, to take me out and about and learn about the city? It sure is neat! It's really huuuuugggge. My, when I first saw it, I was so totally amazed! I mean, I've never seen anything like it! So, what are you doing after the game? Are you waiting for somebody? Does your boyfriend play? I don't recall seeing him-does he even get off the bench?"

Trowa found himself grinding his teeth. For some reason, Middie reminded him of that cheery blonde, Reese Witherspoon. They didn't look alike, but they sure acted alike. Their cheery manner was enough to make him nauseated.

"Never mind, I guess I'll find out. Say, you look really hungry. That famine look is just right for you. But," she reached behind her, into the small blue backpack that was almost hidden within her hair. She withdrew a coveted Snickers bar, and waved it in front of his face. Despite his want to ignore her, he eyed the Snickers bar with something similar to interest. She smirked, comparing him to a hungry dog with a steak dangling in front of its face. "Duo told me you like these...if I tempt you with one, would you like to come with me to dinner? I'm sure they have an awesome dinner salad. Come on...just this one time...I promise I won't tell your boyfriend..."

Once saying that, Trowa snapped out of his chocolate wanting daze and shook his head, looking for a way to escape. There were still people filing out from the gym, and it was pure madness trying to get out. He glanced back at the locker room entrance and wondered how long it took Quatre to hurry up and change so that the blond could rescue him.

"Come on, Trowa. I know you want it...are you even going to talk to me? Trowa, pay attention to me! It's really rude to ignore someone when they're talking to you!" Middie said on a huff, hand on one bony hip.

C'mon, Quatre, c'mon! He thought feverishly, adjusting his jacket around him. Really, the gym was stifling due to the crowd and the heater, but it offered some protection against the closely standing Middie. It wasn't that she wasn't attractive or anything-really, she was really pretty, and she would be the type of girl he'd date just because. But he was currently attached, and frankly, right now, she was scaring him. Her bold, aggressive way was actually quite scary. And he feared for his manhood.

"All right, all right, I won't force you into having dinner with me," she said on a sigh, hanging her head. She suddenly glomped him tightly, squealing. "But you are so handsome! I've never met such a handsome guy! And you're so confident to wear that makeup! It sooooo fits you!"

"Get off me!" Trowa growled, pushing at her.

"Just a little hug?! Come on! Ooh, I can feel your muscles! Do you work out?" Middie asked, pulling away from him, but her arms were still around his waist.

Trowa pushed her away and moved to escape, but she shuffled with him, smiling brightly.

"Are you trying to run away, again?"

"Leave me alone!"

"Ooh, I like it when you boys get rough. I can show you just how rough I can be, too!" she said, then Trowa was startled when she gripped both of his arms and shoved him back, rather painfully hard, against the wall. Frankly, he nearly lost his breath as he gaped down at her, wondering if she was a normal human, or superhuman.

"See?" She panted with the effort of slamming him against the wall. Trowa guessed that she wasn't actually superhuman if she had to try that hard to keep him in place. Really, he wasn't struggling against her hold because he wasn't the type to push girls around. They were really so delicate, so unlike men. Er, boys. "I can be rough, too. And I want to talk to you."

"Look, I don't want to talk to you. I'm waiting for someone. Go away, please," Trowa said, jiggling his arms to get her to let go. She resisted, hanging on tightly. Trowa began looking for help, pleading with his makeup covered eyes for someone that was more understanding. But everyone ignored him as they continued to filter out from the gym.

"Hey, Tro, you met Middie all ready?" Duo asked, emerging from the locker room with Hiiro right behind him. The pair hadn't bothered to change out of their uniforms, and looked relaxed and comfortable. If one looked closely, they'd noticed the too close way Duo stood next to Hiiro, and the way Hiiro brushed his arm against Duo's. Trowa always knew something was going on between them, but the two were so closeted that it was practically impossible to really tell.

"Hi, Duo! Hiiro! Isn't he sweet? He invited me to dinner!" Middie exclaimed cheerfully as Quatre walked right out behind them, stopping short at the announcement.

"I did NOT!" Trowa exclaimed, upon seeing Quatre's shocked expression. That shock turned right into heavy annoyance, and Trowa watched with a small growl as Quatre stomped away from the group and plowed his way through the crowd.

"He's such a prick," Duo muttered.

"Oh. Was he mad about something?" Middie asked, blinking. Then she smiled and wrapped her arms around Trowa's. "That's all right! Just take me out, Trowa! Just this once, and I'll leave you alone! Just once, Trowa! Trrrrrooooooowwwwwaaaaa!"

"Gah!" Trowa shouted, ripping his arm from her and making a mad dash out of the gym, more to escape her than to go to Quatre.

Duo snorted as Middie looked faintly annoyed, frowning her pink colored lips. "You're making leeway, chickie," he said, playfully punching her arm. "He's sure interested in you."

"Really?" Middie asked brightly, turning to him. Hiiro rolled his eyes.

"Yeah. I mean, c'mon. If he really wanted to leave, he would have done so, right? I mean, he never. He was still standing there when we went in. So, obviously, you're getting somewhere!"

"This is soooo neat! I'll invite you two to the wedding! I've got to go! Bye!" Middie said, waving at them as she hurried off.

Hiiro looked at Duo. "And this benefits you, why?"

Duo shrugged and tried not to blush. The intensity of those cobalt blue eyes were sometimes too much. It wouldn't be too manly if Hiiro detected his slight 'admiration' of him and get offended. "I dunno. I just think Trowa needs a girl, and not a guy. You know? It's kind of gross to walk into the room, and he's making it with Quat."

"They...they do it in your room?" Hiiro looked scandalized at this, making Duo realize once more that there was no way they could ever be together in a way that he'd dreamed about. Licking his lips nervously to hide what he felt about this, he looked at the crowd that was steadily filing its way out the doors.

"Well, I'm sure they do. I mean, they've already done it. I mean, that's what everyone says..."

"And you believe what people say without knowing the true fact for yourself?"

"Er...shut up, Hiiro."

"Fine, Duo. Whatever makes you happy. He's your roommate." Hiiro snorted, then walked off. Duo scowled after him, then hurried to catch up before he caught up with Relena.

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

Quatre fumed over his dinner, stabbing the rubbery chicken with a spork and mauling it completely before thinking of putting it into his mouth. The thought of Trowa skipping his game to hang out with that girl pissed him off to no end. First, his game sucked ass because the refs were entirely for Stanton, his teammates sucked, and now Trowa was making it with a girl just as Quatre was allowing himself to grow comfortable with the goth. Things were so screwy that it made him want to scream and break things in a very violent way. As such, he tore apart the grilled chicken that he always seemed to pick no matter how many times he'd discovered that it taste gross. His plate resembled something that looked similar to a city after a huge mecha had decimated it, but he picked whatever his deformed spork could pick up and scowled at the empty table.

In an effort to keep himself from fantasizing six ways he could hurt Trowa using his basketball, he went over the game. It had started off all right, and the teams were pretty evenly matched. But, really, it was because of him. He wasn't being conceited-it was the truth. If he wasn't there to catch and pass the ball to those that needed it, Darken would have seriously failed to overcome. Because, quite simply, they didn't have the needed talent. It was because of him that Stanton failed to decimate Darken because of their superior playing skills.

He frowned, recalling that instant when he'd made the desperate three, running over the position of his body and the way he'd let the ball fly. Really, if he'd tried harder, he would have made it around the players and given the pass to Hiiro, but at that moment, he'd had no other choice. It wasn't that he couldn't make threes-he'd prefer not to have to resort to that choice.

He finished his food and scowled at the remains. Really, what was Trowa's problem?! Was he really interested in that girl? She was kind of pretty...and she was a girl...He quickly shook his head. No, he wasn't jealous. Just...irritated that Trowa would spend time with her at his game...wait. Trowa was at his game! He was in the gym! Quatre wondered just how long Trowa was standing there watching him and felt a slight blush on his cheeks upon this realization. How much did he see? What did he think?

No! No changing the subject! Trowa was there with that girl! Quatre would bet that Trowa wasn't watching the game at all, but talking to her. With their body language, it was clear that Trowa was equal in his desire for her.

The doors opened, and he heard the shuffling of many feet on the cafeteria floor. He looked up from his decimated meal to see that Stanton team had been invited to have dinner there instead of heading to a fast food restaurant on their way home. He scowled at the team, and especially #20, who pointed out his alone-ness with a smirk to #65. They both laughed in his direction, and Quatre stabbed the remaining amounts of his foot with his deformed spork, which was now missing all its tines.

He turned to look down at his food, wondering if he was done when he realized someone was approaching his table. He looked up to #20 coming over, and wondered if the guy liked to fight. Quatre sure did, when it was even. It would sure help out with all of this aggression and anger he had holed up in him.

"Hey, good game, man," #20 said, sitting across from him. "No offense, an' all, but hey. That's how things are, right? How long have you been playing ball?"

Quatre wasn't sure if he should answer and be on friendly terms with the guy that played dirty. He stabbed his food once more and pushed his plate aside. #20 eyed it with an uncertain frown, then looked at him. "Long enough," Quatre replied curtly.

"'Long enough', huh? C'mon, man. Let's just get along, all right? We're not on the court. You played really good," #20 said with a nod. He held his hand out. "My name's Jake. Jake Trip."

Quatre eyed the hand, then cautiously took it. "Quatre Winner."

"'Winner', eh? Dude, that must leave you open to so much shit," Jake said, raising his eyebrows. He gave Quatre's upper half an up and down. "Because, really, you aren't."

Quatre frowned, his eyes turning stony. Jake held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just kidding! Shit! So, how long have you been going to school here?"

Quatre chewed briefly on the inside of his cheek, and figured that Jake was right. They weren't on the court. He shrugged. "Since September."

"Really? Where you from?"

"Laramie, Wyoming."

"Where's that? I've seriously never been outside of New Park. I've lived here all my life."

"Well, then, it's rather pointless trying to point it out, isn't it?"

Jake stared at him, then laughed. "No wonder you're sitting by yourself! You're a little shithead, aren't you?"

"Look, if you haven't anything nice to say, get the fuck out of here and leave me alone," Quatre ordered, rising from his chair. "No, never mind. I'm leaving."

"Whatever, man, shit. Take a few, get laid, something," Jake muttered, rising from his chair and rejoining his teammates. Quatre scowled at him, then walked out from the cafeteria, barging out into the cold night. He wondered if Trowa was still with that blond dance team member, and he ground his teeth quite audibly as he made his way to the dormitory. It was nearly twenty degrees out, and so he was quite chilled by the time he reached the doors. Walking in, he was immediately bombarded with congratulations by those that were milling around.

Quatre was a little bothered by the sudden attention, but was polite with his 'fans' when they approached him. He grew a little more discomforted by the approach of a couple of giggling boys that asked him to autograph their notebooks and what looked to be paper-texts bound together by cheap plastic. Unsure if the text were just instruction manuals or scripts from drama class, Quatre reluctantly wrote his name in his neat script on it and watched them leave with a puzzled expression, sure that he'd just seen his name written in an almost feminine scrawl on the title page.

After that was finished, he headed up the five levels to his room, where he immediately grabbed his things and headed for the showers, eager to wash off the sweat he'd accumulated through the game. The bathroom was arranged so that upon entering, one could either move left toward the two rows of sinks underneath a large spread of mirror that stretched from floor to ceiling. Straight head was the entrance way into the stalls and urinals, and to the right was the entrance into the shower area, which was merely an area with a dozen stalls on each side, the stalls equipped with a sliding door. It was pretty open, so anyone having a conversation managed to have the entire bathroom hearing it, save for the toilet area, since that part was closed off with a swinging door. Quatre took a towel from the rack near the entrance and marched into the shower area. There, he relaxed as best he could, sighing heavily from both exhaustion and physical exertion. He counted his injuries, noting at least six bruises where he'd caught various elbows and, upon some instances, feet. His nose felt sore, but it had stopped bleeding, so that wasn't of any concern. All that really hurt were the floor burns he'd gotten from forced impacts and from the instances in which he'd thrown himself after the ball. They were the worse and he grimaced upon examining them.

After his shower, he brushed his teeth and returned to his room, frowning when he wondered where Trowa was. He hated feeling this way, always wanting to know where the goth was, and that Middie Une made it entirely worse by throwing herself at him constantly! It wasn't that he cared-well, okay, so he did. He bit his lower lip upon this realization and frowned as he set his toiletries upon their usual spot on the floor. He flopped face first on his bed, sighing heavily. Upon instant contact with his bed, he gave a comforted mewl, feeling all his aches and burns give way to relaxation. He was nearly asleep in the awkward position when there was a knock at his door.

He frowned, resolving to ignore it, but the knocking continued.

With a low growl of annoyance, he rose from his bed to answer it, looking down at himself to see if he were presentable. Plaid pajama bottoms? Check. Wife-beater? Absolutely. Bare feet? Yup. He ran his hands through his hair, wishing that it were already back in its familiar style, then caught himself in the process of grooming himself for Trowa. Grimacing, he opened the door and sighed heavily with both exasperation and annoyance upon seeing who it was.

Triton let himself in, pushing the door open and barging in, noting with some satisfaction that the goth was no where in sight. Quatre was too tired to kick him out, so he looked after him with a frown, still standing near the door. "What do you want?" he asked with irritation.

Triton turned, dressed in his own pajamas, which were cotton drawstring pants and a plain black t-shirt. He filled both out rather handsomely, the paleness of his skin contrasting with both the starkness of his hair and his shirt. He frowned down at Quatre, crossing his arms. Quatre shut the door, figuring he may as well, then caught sight of Triton's slippers-they had Winner the Pooh heads on them, and he gave Triton a pointed look.

Triton waved the obvious away. "Now, what's all this bullshit about your man and Middie Une?"

Quatre scowled, hanging his arms from slouched shoulders. "What?"

"Seriously, dude. They're in the cafeteria, having dinner."

"Whatever, Triton. Like I care, anyway. Why are you making such a big deal out of it!?" Quatre exclaimed, completely ignoring the fact that he himself had been doing the same thing since leaving the game.

"I'm not, I'm just asking," Triton said, raising a thin eyebrow at Quatre's reaction. It was obvious that Quatre was totally pissed off at the entire thing. "Aren't you worried that Middie will steal him away?"

"Jesus fucking Christ...it's not like we're serious! If he wants her, then he can have her," Quatre ended on a mumble, sitting down at the edge of his bed. Triton then knew his weakness and grinned as the blond tried to glare holes into his hands as he picked at his cuticles. Triton had merely overheard that Middie wanted to take Trowa out to dinner, or whatever, and it wasn't even true-he'd seen Middie have dinner with the rest of the dance team. Maybe he'd have a chance with the blond, yet.

Shuffling his feet, he walked over to the desk and pretended to study what was there. He only did so to allow the blond to see the thick manual that he'd tucked rather ostensibly in his waistband.

Quatre knew what the junior was up to, but as he scratched his cheek, he found himself completely curious as to what that thing was sticking out from the drawstring pants. He finally had to ask as Triton began to snoop through the various texts he had on his desk, untouched. Which reminded him, he had makeup homework to do. "What's that?"

"What? My ass?"

"NO!" Quatre exclaimed, cheeks burning at the thought. Well, so what if he'd taken a very brief, very quick glance at that as well? It's not as if he were married.

Triton took out the manual, and flipped through it. "Oh, this? I caught this floating around school. You're a very popular guy, Winner. It was released today to those that wanted it. I bought it off this guy for like, five bucks."

Curious, because he'd seen the same thing earlier when he'd 'autographed' some material for those that asked for it, Quatre reached for it. Triton watched his face with a carefully hidden smile as Quatre studied the title with something that resembled a disgusted frown. He opened the page and Triton repressed the urge to jump up and down and yell at him to turn to page fifty to see if it were true.

Quatre read through what was an elaborately drawn out fiction of him-oh, God, someone was writing about him in third person and drawing out an alternate universe of him going through military academy. It was so totally weird-! Someone was writing about him in this sense?! What the fuck-?! He flipped through the pages, shaking his head, very much sure that he was weirded out by the entire thing, and yet somewhat interested as to what the rest of the manual consisted of. It had nearly sixty pages of type written text, and when he flipped to page thirty-nine, he paused on a very heavily italicized paragraph and felt his entire world fall out from under him upon reading pornographic material about himself and someone named 'Jeff'.

Triton burst out laughing at Quatre's expression, the pale blond's face turning extremely pale, then extremely red upon further reading of the document. With a highly disgusted scream, Quatre flung the text from him. "What the fuck is that bullshit?!" he screamed in humiliation as the text hit the opposite wall and fluttered to the floor.

"That, my lowly sophomore, is your introduction to fanfiction world," Triton said, grinning. "It's nothing to freak out over. There are simply people in Darken that wish for something they can't have and because of it, they write it out and share it with others..."

"That's FUCKING disgusting!!" Quatre shrieked.

Triton laughed. "Well, get used to it. You have a fan club, now. That's what happens when people like you. Trust me, I have my own little collection. It's quite flattering."

"IT'S WRONG!!!"

"Maybe. But think of it, Quatre. People really like you. They really, really like you."

"THAT'S NOT AT ALL FLATTERING! It's DISGUSTING!!"Quatre covered his face with both hands, shaking his head from side to side. "Someone writing about you in pornographic detail-!"

He stopped, recalling that Middie had mentioned this very same detail earlier today. He grew red with rage, recalling that a certain gay senior had been named in writing about him. He rose from the bed and prepared to pull on his ass-kicking shoes when Triton hauled him back with a laugh, knowing full well of what he was going to do.

Quatre struggled against him, kneeing him in the upper thigh in order to make him let go. Triton cursed, slipped, and brought Quatre down with him when he fell. With a yelp, Quatre found himself in another questionable position with his teammate, and struggled to free himself. Triton laughed and went with it, playfully wrestling him on his back. Panicking, not liking where this was going, Quatre started to kick and curse, doing all that he could to get Triton off of him. It was seriously growing scary as the junior, who was inches taller than him and certainly fifty pounds heavier, pinned him to the floor by straddling his hips and using his weight to keep his arms in place. Quatre struggled hard, but was unable to push the junior off of him. The position and the suddenly determined look on Triton's face really scared him. It wasn't the kind of scared that he knew would pass with a casual laugh from the junior, but the kind of scared when one is facing a very certain danger and was unable to get out of it.

He paused in fighting, breathing heavily, looking for something to aid him. Triton's hands tightened around his wrists, and he tried using his knees to kick, but only succeeded in making the junior laugh in a low way that didn't sound right with the Triton Bloom that he knew. Suddenly, Quatre grew still, hearing his heart race in a very frightened way within his chest. It made his insides grow cold the way Triton was holding him, the way he refused to acquiesce to Quatre's struggles to get him to let go.

"Get off me, Triton," he demanded firmly.

Triton stared at him for a few silent moments, then slowly shook his head. With growing panic, Quatre began struggling anew, throwing his hips from side to side to try and dislodge the junior. "GET OFF!" he shouted, rising his voice, hoping that someone would hear. Triton shifted quickly, with a frighteningly practiced ease that had Quatre's hands above his head and one of Triton's hands over his mouth. He tried to bite his palm, throwing everything he had into trying to get the junior off of him. But the activity of the extremely competitive game from earlier had just about taken up his energy reserves, and he tired out quickly, panting heavily.

Triton continued to stare down at him in a very unnerving way that had Quatre's stomach turning in knots, and he felt a cold trickle of fear race down his spine. The way that the junior was holding him down and the way that he stared made Quatre suddenly very eager to scream the whole building down. He opened his mouth to do just that, damn the fact that his voice broke, but Triton merely kept his hand on his mouth and murmured soothing words that were not soothing. Quatre started at the feel of lips against his cheeks, and he struggled in earnest, pure disgust and fury building its way through the fear. He shook his head from side to side, trying to dislodge the hand that was held over his mouth. Triton merely tightened his grip on his mouth, keeping his head in place, so Quatre focused on trying to draw his arms out of the junior's grip. His strength seemed to surprise the junior, as he was focused to let go of his mouth to hold his arms down.

Quatre opened his mouth and screamed the first thing that came to mind, Triton's eyes widening with startled fury. So Quatre screamed again, the sound seeming to knock Triton out of that scary state and forcing the junior off of him. Quatre quickly scrambled away from the junior, panting heavily. The door opened with a forceful push, Trowa rushing in with a bewildered expression upon hearing his name being screamed with such desperation. Triton rose from the floor with a huff, and he brushed himself off with a calm look in the goth's direction. Trowa wasn't sure what was going on, but one look at Quatre and another at Triton told him all he needed to know.

Triton pushed past him and barged out the door, and while Trowa wanted to race after him and teach the junior a lesson, Quatre's well-being came first. He turned to face the blond, finding him absolutely terrified and shook up. Trowa left the door, hurrying over to him.

"Are you all right? You all right?" he asked, crouching before him, noting the terrified expression. Trowa pulled him into a hug, feeling the way Quatre responded to him, his body shaking with the adrenaline fueled fear that he'd experienced. "You're all right. He's gone. He didn't do anything to you, did he?"

"No! No...Trowa, I couldn't-! I couldn't do anything! He-! Why would he do this?!" Quatre asked, his voice muffled by Trowa's shoulder. He closed his eyes in comforted relaxation, feeling rather secure in the goth's arms. He didn't care who walked in-or who saw, or who heard. He felt safe and secure in Trowa's arms, and certainly a lot better. He didn't feel so afraid. Trowa's hands moved in comforting circles over his back, and he was suddenly reminded of how tired he was.

"I don't know...I don't know...He didn't hurt you?" Trowa pulled away to check for injuries, settling both palms on either side of Quatre's face, searching for any visible indication that Triton had gotten further than he feared.

Quatre shook his head, suddenly feeling rather ridiculous that he was drawing comfort from another male the way a female would. He pushed away from Trowa, scowling as he paced his room. His entire body was still shaking from the incident, and his mind was working on overtime over Triton's very disturbing display. He made him sick realizing that he could still smell Triton's body scent on his skin. He was suddenly in a desperate need for another shower.

Trowa rose from the floor, glancing out the door for anyone who might be around, and then shutting the door when he saw no one. He faced Quatre, then spied the thrown text that he recognized was being passed around school. He bent, knowing that the blond would hate to have this around, and moved to Quatre's bed to start hand shredding the ugly thing. He looked at the blond as he paced, still disturbed by what happened. Trowa shook his head, feeling the same thing. Triton's forceful and ugly attack certainly left him with goosebumps. He didn't know the junior that well, but there was this niggling feeling of worry whenever he was around him. Triton, though genuinely friendly with those around them, was hiding a different part of him that one rarely saw. And judging from the attack on Quatre, it wasn't a very nice part, nor a sensibly reasonable one. Trowa shuddered to think about what would have happened if he hadn't heard Quatre screaming for him.

Which brought to mind a rather flattering thought-in times of need, Quatre looked for him. While that aspect was certainly flattering and uplifting for the goth, it was also very much appreciated because it made Trowa realize once more just how much Quatre depended on him. Which, of course, made him that much determined to stay with the blond. He would do whatever it took to keep him safe. That's what loved ones do, right? They watch over the ones they love?

Whatever the reason, Trowa knew he wasn't going to leave Quatre's side. He was in too deep. He was hopelessly in love and nothing to tear him away. Nothing.