Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ I Got Game! ❯ Just A Phase ( Chapter 24 )

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: That's it. I'm going to bed. Sorry if it sucks.

Chapter Twenty-Four~

"Just A Phase" = Incubus

Drake wasn't sure what was going on-but he was growing suspicious that he'd missed something while he was away. It was Wednesday morning, and it was the first time he'd seen the goth and the psychotic baller since before Christmas Break, but the last time he'd seen them, the two were all over each other. Now, Quatre was looking off in one direction and Trowa was looking in the other. Despite their hard tries in ignoring each other, the teacher had seated them together at a station and they weren't talking. Nor were they looking at each other. Nor were they even acknowledging each other.

Sighing heavily stinky cigarette breath, Drake shifted in his seat, running a thin hand through his spiky blue hair. Despite the fact that he didn't care for homosexual relationships unless they were girls, he was curious as to why the two were being so cold to each other. He nudged Felicia beside him, who was looking through the 'articles' of his newest Playboy.

"Hey. What's going on with them?" he asked in a low whisper, gesturing at Trowa and Quatre as they ignored each other.

Felicia didn't look up from her magazine. "Middie Une."

"Ah." That explained it. Middie had been infatuated with the goth since she first seen him. Drake had seen her drool over the guy, and while that didn't bother him because that's how things should be, it bothered him that Trowa was glaring back at Felicia as if the girl had stood up on her chair and yelled 'Funky Dick Sex!' over and over again. Not that he cared what was going on there, but what did Trowa have to be so mad about?

Drake nudged her again, and she looked at him with an annoyed roll of her eyes. "Why's he mad-dogging you?"

"Fuck if I know," she muttered, shifting the magazine so that the pin-up fell open. "Gross. Her lips are hanging down to her ankles, man."

"Dude. Seriously. He keeps mad-dogging you. What's up?"

"Drake, if I knew, I'll be sure to let you know," Felicia said, wadding the pinup back into its position and flipping through the magazine. "I think it's because I beat up his new chick."

"He an' Quat ain't together anymore?" Drake asked incredulously. Not that he cared-but it had been so obvious that the two were amorous of each other, that this change was completely shocking.

Felicia shrugged. "I dunno. Whatever. Say hey, got five bucks?"

"Not for you."

"Dick."

"Suck it, busta."

"Gross."

Drake leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling. Mornings were always so slow...he turned his attention to the side, where the other kids in class were clustered in various groups, trying to figure out the problems they were assigned earlier. Once a certain time limit was up, they were to report to the front of the class and let everyone else know their findings on their assigned subject. Their side of the class had finished, and while he and Felicia had stayed out of it because of the general animosity radiating toward them from their classmates, they occasionally pitched their ideas to Quatre, who acted as a neutral between both groups. Frankly, Drake didn't give a fuck what they were doing. Government was so boring when it had a lackluster teacher heading it.

Felicia chuckled, tossing the magazine into his lap. He put it away, then kicked his pack underneath the computer station. He contemplated his need for a cigarette as she leaned back in her seat, propping her chair back on its back legs and her feet set upon the computer station. "I think it's funny..."

"What?"

"Those two. Fuckin', Trowa was kissin' on Middie the other night."

"Oh, not uh. I thought he was all loved up on Quat..."

"I did too! And here, I was all tryin' to help them out. Tryin' to teach that fucker a lesson, an' just when he gets it, fuckin' Tro-Tro goes an' gets it with that chick. So, they ain't speakin'. I had to kick her ass, man. She's such a bitch."

"Whatever. She's hot."

"Shut up, Drake. You just say that shit because it pisses me off."

"What are you, my mother?"

"Your momma would kick your stupid druggie ass for thinkin' that white girl's cute. Whatever, Drake. You just don't get it..."

Drake sighed, fingering his goatee. He straightened in his seat, kicking one of her legs off the station. He had known her long enough to recognize her interfering ways, and it bothered him. She was getting too involved with other people's shit to avoid her own that she was fucking up everywhere she stepped. Frankly, Drake was tired of trying to bail her out when she needed it. "Dude, stay out of their bullshit. Why you gotta be involved? It ain't your business..."

"Dude, I set them up."

"So what?! Stay out of it!"

"I can't! I'm involved, now. I fuckin' set them up, I haveta do somethin' about it," Felicia muttered as she let her chair fall to the floor. She leaned on the station, chin in her palm as she stared through the slight opening of the station at the pair seated a couple of rows ahead of them. She sighed, shaking her head. "I thought I did good, too. I was expectin' weddin' invitations and adoption sign-ins in my future. Now I got nothin'. Damn it. I suck."

Drake snorted. "Whatever."

Felicia chuckled, looking at him. "Where's the party this weekend?"

"This guy Jake's house. On Bronston and third."

"That's on the South Side of the city, ennit?"

"Yop."

"I ain't going."

"There's another one at this guy name Earl's house, in Sageville."

That name rang familiar with her, and she winced, trying to place it with a face. Then she recalled a white guy she'd found entertaining at the party that she'd taken Quatre to over a month or so ago, the guy that had been so excited to find a newly outed gay guy for some friend of his. She'd talked to him only shortly before realizing what was really going on between Trowa and Quatre at that time, so she hadn't paid too much attention to it. But now, now that Trowa and Quatre were having obvious problems, maybe this other guy would do Quatre some justice and she could help him move on since Trowa was being a prick.

"HEY! I know Earl! Hey, Quat!" Felicia called, rising from her chair to wave and catch his attention. Quatre glanced over his shoulder at her, then turned around in his seat to face her direction. "You remember Earl?"

"No..."

"Yeah, you do." Felicia sat back down and looked at Drake. "He does."

Drake shrugged. "Anyway, party there, or Jake's. Friday. I don't know about Saturday. I think I'm stayin' in on Saturday, though. I picked up a good shipment from Delson and the others yesterday. Think I'll just kick it in my room this weekend, and share a toke with some guys..."

Felicia picked at her nails, idly staring off into space. When she peered through the open space once more, Trowa was staring up at the ceiling while Quatre had his back turned to him, facing the other students that were gathered in groups, discussing their assigned activities. It was so obvious the two were really hating the fact that they were seated together. She observed Trowa's stiff posture, the way his usually slouched shoulders were rigid and straight, the way he kept his head tilted so that his fall of hair hid his face from Quatre. And the blond was pointedly keeping his back to the goth, refusing to look in that direction for any reason. She could just feel the animosity the pair had for each other from her position in the back of the class.

The noise level of the room was pretty high, and so she and Drake spoke with relative ease and casual volume. She snorted and leaned back in her chair, tilting it backwards once more. Staring up at the ceiling, she contemplated life while Drake stared off into space, mouth slightly open as he wondered how fast he would be able to smoke a cigarette between classes. While he devised plans to escape to smoke somewhere in private, he heard Felicia's amused snort.

"I think Quat's hot. For a gay guy."

He rolled his eyes, snapping his mouth shut. "Fuckin' traitor."

"Fuck you. He has that short-guy complex, you know? Always starting shit with somebody..." Felicia stared up at the ceiling, hands behind her head. "Kinda reminds me of Hautta...."

"Oh, God, not this shit again," Drake muttered, bending to hold his face in his hands. He had heard enough of the Hautta situation to last him five lifetimes, and while he seriously contemplated shooting himself if Felicia launched into another Why Me? episode over her abrupt breakup with the alien, Felicia chuckled.

"I mean, you have to admit it. Trowa's hot, too, because he has green eyes and he's nicely built. Wouldn't mind a taste of that, but then again, thinking about him in that way's like, messin' around with you. Utterly gross."

"Did you just insult me?" Drake asked, raising one pencil thin eyebrow.

"I think so. But Quat's hot because he's like...well, one of those guys that start shit just to start it. I think that's hot. You don't have to take 'em seriously. Just mess around with them just cuz..."

"Fucking Christ...you thinkin' of converting him?"

"NO. I'm just saying, that for a gay guy, he's hot."

"That's fuckin' sick, man. Like he'd ever be interested in you..."

"It's not like I'm gonna try an' snag...I'm just saying...Besides, I think it would be gross if we somehow hooked up," Felicia grumbled. "He's so fuckin' pale...like a corpse offa GrossOutDotCom. He has nice eyes, though. They're really pretty."

"Whatever," Drake muttered, looking at his horribly chewed nails. "Stay out of it, stupid. You're just going to make things worse between them..."

"No, I really want to fix them. I mean, shit, I fixed them up. So, I need to fix it. You know?"

"Leash. Seriously. Stay. The. Fuck. Out. Of. It."

"Whatever, Drake. You just don't know what's going on. The guilt I feel," Felicia moaned dramatically, dipping her head forward, effectively hiding her face as her hair swept forward in a dark curtain.

"Fuck that..." Drake mumbled. He wondered what time it was, and looked at his watch. Shit. Twenty more minutes. He was really feeling the craving for a cancer stick, and it made his entire body fill with nervous energy. He eyed the teacher, wondering what excuse he could bring up to leave class early.

"Seriously. Drake, talk to Trow, all right?"

"What the fuck. What the fuck am I going to say to him that's gonna fix shit?" he asked in annoyance, looking at her.

"Dude, just...do it. Dooooo iiiiittttt," she drawled on a cowboy accent. "Just let 'im know that Quat wants him still."

"Does he? No, seriously, I don't wanna know. I hate that fag shit..." Drake shrugged a shoulder. "I mean, they're cool, it's just...I ain't talkin' to no guy about his relationship with another guy. Fuck."

"Drake..."

"NO, Leash. Stop bugging me about it."

Felicia sighed, seeing that she wasn't getting anywhere with him. "Fine. Whatever, then. Hey, Quat! Get back here!"

"No!"

"Get your ass back here and talk to me!"

"No! Leave me alone!"

"C'mon..."

"NO! All right?! NO!"

Felicia sighed and leaned back in her chair once more. "I think I'm hungry, but then again, I could be mistaking those pangs for cancer..."

Drake shook his head and sighed. Class was taking much too long to be possibly normal....

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

Trowa frowned at the desk in front of him, listening to Drake ramble on and on about the class subject, which was a debate over third-term abortions. Groups were assigned by computer stations, and each group had to argue amongst each other and agree on a choice, then stand and relate it to the rest of the class. The class was heavily involved in the matter, and while Bellows had very good reasons why it should be banned, Trowa was coming up with ways to argue against that negative and bring out the positive. He was Pro-Choice, baby...

"So, anyway, why you wanting to kill a kid, man? I mean, seriously, what did he or she do to you? They didn't have the choice to be there in the first place, so it's like the woman's playin' God, you know? It's fuckin' unfair that a kid should be killed cuz of her fuck up," Drake was saying, and Trowa lazily counted the number of times Drake uttered the 'F' word. "Shit...I just think that it's fucked up that someone would have that kind of authority over someone that didn't have a choice in the first place. Fuckin' fucked up bull shit...fuck the Pro-Choice bullshit. It should be Pro-LIFE. Kids are fuckin' innocent and little. Who wants ta kill kids?! All women are claiming to be all lovin' and bullshit like that, but, fuck, they're the ones preachin' and then killin' by having these abortions...I mean, I could understand why in certain cases, but, shit...This is when the kid's all formed, man!"

"I think they should allow it because in some cases, the woman either is totally unaware that she was pregnant in the first place, and what if she really had no choice until then? I mean, what if she was raped or something, or in the company of her sexual abuser?" Trowa asked, staring up at the ceiling. "Or she knew she wasn't going to be able to have and handle the child, and she inadvertently sells it to sexual abusers because she can't support them? And that's abusers that hide behind the names of foster and adoption families, of religious persons that hide sick obsessions, and people with generally good backgrounds that never mention the fact that they don't care for the child, but for the money that comes with him or her? What's better: keeping the poor kid alive to suffer through sick shit such as rape and abuse, or killing them and sparing them that trauma in the first place? I think that's mercy and understanding right there. Because, really. Think about it, Drake-they may be half formed, but their reactions in the womb are merely bodily reactions. When they draw their first breath outside the womb, then they are humans."

"Fuck that-!"

"No, seriously. You got to speak for over half an hour. Listen to me, now."

"Man, that's just bullshit!"

"No, listen. Seriously. Have you seen those photos of child abuse cases?"

"Dude, that's totally not in the subject of discussion!"

"It's the future, Drake," Trowa pointed out. "From birth, they eventually progress into human beings."

"That totally doesn't make any sense."

"Drake, what's better for you? Being mercifully given the chance to escape all that horror their future holds, or going through it and ending up fucked in the end, anyway?"

"Whatever. That so totally does not count-!"

"I think I agree with Drake's version."

Both boys looked away from each other, at Quatre, who was picking at his nails. He'd been quiet because while the subject was rather controversial and interesting, and he loved arguing, he didn't want to interact with Trowa as much as he could. He was still pissed, and the goth was still ignoring him. But he felt he had to add his own opinion to the matter just because the subject was strong enough to pull him from his thoughts. "By the time they're in the last trimester, they're living, breathing human beings. It doesn't matter that they breathe liquid rather than air. They still think and feel. Even as an egg they are still a human."

Trowa gritted his teeth. "Even though, being born to a world like this one would suck because the mothers contemplating it are in no good situations in the first place! They could be drug users, prostitutes, or whatever. And then they bring their kid up in that environment, and lo and behold, another stupid human being is born!"

"Kids can't help that bullshit, man!" Drake exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat. "They can't help it! It's their surroundings and their parents that fuck them over. Killing them before they had a chance to actually decide for themselves is fuckin' wrong!"

"While that is a very good point, the thing you have to think about, Drake, is that some women don't have that choice. What if someone happens to it in her womb, and the doctors know he or she isn't going to survive, and have to terminate the pregnancy, lest something happens to the mother as well?" Trowa asked, shifting to another perspective. "The mother should have the choice because she's the one carrying the baby. Her body's doing the work! She should have the choice to decide what to do!"

"But that's bullshit, man! The kid's human! He or she thinks just as we do!"

"Not really. Their brains aren't as developed as ours, and can't have that coherent thought process..."

"Babies are humans, too, Trowa," Quatre muttered. "They deserve the right to live, not because the mother has the choice of being God over them."

"But if the mother is the one nurturing and growing that human being, shouldn't she have the choice over what her body does?" Trowa retorted. "That's her body. And while her baby is part of her, she should have a choice over that baby."

"That's fuckin' bullshit, man! Kids should be allowed to have their own choice!"

"Yeah, they should, but not when they're that young, because they can't even think of that sort of thing!"

"Bullshit! Pro-Life!"

"Pro-Choice."

"Life!"

"Choice!"

"What do you think about this situation, Hautta?" Quatre asked, looking at the quiet Asian that had listened to both situations. Actually, he was trying to finish his latest anger report in order to report it to his parole officer, and he'd hoped that no one was paying attention to him. He glanced at the waiting faces, frowning. Setting his pen down, he sighed heavily, waving at them. He didn't want to get involved.

"No, we heard everyone's opinion about it 'cept you," Drake snarled. "Now, what's your view?"

Hautta glared at him, trying to intimidate the smoker into dropping the subject, but Drake stared defiantly back, the other two waiting as well. Finally, he shook his head. "I...agree with Trowa."

"YES!"

"Not uh!" Drake and Quatre shouted. "C'mon! Even you, of all people, should know what death does to people!"

Hautta shrugged and picked up his pen. "Whatever. People that have these abortions should not have children in the first place. Keep them from having more stupid people. Humans are stupid, no matter what size or age."

Drake stared at him, the other two glancing at each other. Drake waved him off. "Let's not include him. He's not exactly the right choice for this matter, anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hautta growled, looking away from his report once more.

"Let's face it, dude. You took lives. Without regard or thought. Even now, I bet you wouldn't have any compassion to those that experience this sort of thing..."

Hautta shrugged again. "I grew up in space. My mother sold me to a brothel owner that specialized in child whores. I worked as one since I was five. I was raped, beaten and abused in so many ways that I cannot imagine ever having 'feelings' the way that you all do. I have to take medication and report to daily counseling sessions just to feel 'normal'. If I were given a choice, I would have chosen to not be born. Therefore, I believe in Pro-Choice."

The three boys stared at him in silence at the casual speaking of a horrible life, then at each other, each unsure of how to address such a thing. Finally, Drake nodded his head as he stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "Okay. Good back-up story to Trowa's approach. But, still...not everyone has that life..."

"Yeah, true, but given that one, why would you want those kids born into that sort of life when the mother has decided that she can't provide the way that she possibly could?" Trowa continued. "And then when she realizes this, her choice in the matter is taken away and the kid grows up fucked up. No offense or anything to you, Hautta."

"Eh..."

"So, I think that it should be considered for that ban to lift from the third-term abortion right..."

"Geez. But, still..." Drake continued to argue his point while Trowa listened, and throughout the entire conversation, which was taking much longer than the teacher thought to include when he gave the assignment to the class, Quatre thought about it. As he thought about it, he occasionally glanced at Trowa, who was steadily working himself up into a quiet rage as he argued with Drake over his choice. It wasn't that Quatre agreed with Trowa-he fully disagreed. He was Pro-Life. The subject was a strong one, and it was something that two people with opposing views shouldn't deal with lightly. It was just a big a subject as one that involved a couple's views on relationship terms. Commitment? Or open? And while he half listened to their debate, which was growing rather heated, he thought about their relationship.

He really liked Trowa-he liked everything about the goth, everything that made the goth so unique. But the thing was, with this relationship, they were two entirely different people. What did they agree on? He couldn't think of a single subject that he and Trowa were equally opinionated on, despite the obvious good sex. But while sex was a main factor in a long term relationship, it didn't pay the bills nor did it make them exactly committed. Not that they had bills, but it was just an expression of convenience. What they needed was a common ground. And for the moment, Quatre couldn't think of a single thing that they were equally matched on.

It was just, simply, chemistry. They had chemistry that was undeniable and strong. Trowa wasn't exactly an athlete, and Quatre was crazy about basketball. Trowa was into black fingernail polish, and Quatre loved sports jerseys. Trowa liked metal-he liked country. Trowa was Pro-Choice-Quatre was Pro-Life. Trowa was Anti-War-Quatre was with it. They didn't have anything similar in between! What kept them together, then? What was that invisible thread that kept them together? Sure, they liked each other, but why?

Well, that question was easy. Trowa was comforting, he was an easy listener, and he was somewhat compassionate. Quatre loved the way the goth could be so flexible with some subject matters, but then so unrelenting in others. He saw beauty in things that no one else could, and he could be a pretty optimistic person when he wanted to be. He didn't get mad very easily-rather, he was open-minded about things until someone pushed him too far and he had to react. Trowa was the type to think about things rather than impulsively leaping into them. That's what Quatre liked about Trowa-those qualities were the ones that kept Quatre happy.

Meanwhile, Quatre looked over himself and saw a hot-headed, mean tempered, bad attitude prick that refused to listen to others and loved to stomp on people. Those weren't exactly good qualities in anything. He felt bad that he was a prick, and the thought was truly a downer. Because while he felt good about himself, what he was really feeling was cocky arrogance because he knew how to dribble a ball and he felt he had to defend himself whenever people questioned him.

Now, Middie...and this was another downer. Middie was like Trowa. Trowa was like Middie. Well, Quatre didn't really know her. But he knew enough from those that did that she was like Trowa. She would agree with him on Pro-Choice, she would be protesting unfair War, she would like metal because Trowa did. She was flexible and easy-going...Quatre was set in his ways and hated to change because it was such work. With a heavy heart, Quatre realized that, perhaps, despite their good times, he and Trowa just weren't good for each other. But he really liked him! That's the thing! But if they had nothing in common, then what was the point?!

Should he dwell on this high school romance? Should he continue on with something that wasn't even compatible? Should he just give up and let Middie have him? After all, Trowa expressed an obvious interest in her by kissing her and ignoring him. But he really liked Trowa Barton!

"But I'm just not flexible!" he groaned. Then he realized he'd spoken out loud, and he lifted his head to see three faces that were looking at him in bewilderment. The fact that he'd spoken out loud and with such a switch in topic stunned the other three into silence. He felt his face turn pink with embarrassment, and he muttered a hasty apology, covering his face with his hands.

"Ookay. Whatever," Drake muttered, shaking his head before returning to his debate.

Quatre tuned them out, leaning on a desk and sighing into his arms as he rested them upon the desktop. Since his train of thought was interrupted, he began thinking about the game on Friday. Josephine Miller was regarded as a joke-they weren't good, they had a coach that had been suspended from their team for nearly four years in a row, and were made up of a bunch of misfits that barely bothered with practice. As per the assistant coaches. Quatre had to see and play them for himself in order to really believe that. After all, he didn't base on casual judgement alone.

Which, he realized, was rather ironic because while he based other teams on such a measure, how come he couldn't use it on Trowa and this situation? The thought was truly an eye-opener. The bell rang then, the teacher shouting that they would continue this on Friday. Everyone began gathering their things, and Quatre hastily turned to let Trowa know he wanted to talk to him, but the goth was continuing his argument with Drake, and they were both walking out the door.

With a frustrated sigh, Quatre slumped his shoulders, pausing in getting up to leave. Oh, well. It wasn't as if this school was so totally huge. He'd find the goth, and speak to him, no matter if Middie was there or not. He just had to talk to him, and he was determined to do so despite the odds against him. He would fix this situation even if he had to resort to drastic measures to do so.

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

Trowa felt immensely better as he passed the newly rolled blunt to Drake, who was busily blowing into his hands to warm them. The sky was clouded over as usual, and a northeast wind was blowing, causing meteorologists to fret over possible snow. Exhaling the smoke he'd held in his lungs, Trowa felt his mind blur slightly from the good batch of weed. Perspectives changed upon absorption and suddenly, the stress in his life wasn't as bad as they were before. Slightly happy that things were now gently blurred by the drug's effects, he stared at his hands and listened to Drake comment on the stupid weather as he puffed away on the joint. They were sitting in the bleachers outside the football field, where no one would pay any attention to them.

Drake had just sold him a five hundred dollar bag of weed, and while Trowa was a little annoyed at the price, he was satisfied with the product, so he guessed he was quite all right with it. Sitting in silence, he had time to reflect on his thoughts and on their previous debate. They'd finally stopped fighting over their choices in last period and settled on a draw that their partners would have to sort through for the completed project on Friday.

Thinking about Quatre, Trowa wondered what the blond was doing, and sighed heavily at the thought that he was probably with Felicia. He still felt angry about her-and what was that about 'Earl'? He recalled the white guy in overalls and Timberlands at the party a month or so back, the one that had persisted in trying to set Quatre up with some guy he knew. He frowned at this, wondering why the subject was brought up from out of no where.

"Who's Earl?" he asked Drake, just to verify that this was the same Earl.

Drake shrugged. "Don't fuckin' know. Felicia knows him."

"Oh."

Well, that explained it. Sometimes, the two Natives had no idea who the other knew or what contacts they had. But they sure knew a lot of people, so one had to just ask one or the other to get what information they needed to know.

"Oh. Better watch your boy."

'My boy'? Trowa thought with an annoyed roll of his eyes. He could just feel them swelling as weedsmokers' eyes usually did after a puff. Swelling eyelids and growing red from the effects. He took the blunt that Drake passed to him, and inhaled strongly as he stared off into the distance. Could he consider Quatre 'his boy'? In a way, it sounded so...wrong. It brought to mind sex slaves and harem boys...but then again, that could just be the weed talking.

Wait a minute...what did Drake say?

"Why?" he asked after he exhaled and took another puff before passing it back.

"Leash is crushing on him."

Trowa made an expression of disbelief, his buzz nearly disappearing at the casual announcement.

"WHAT?! He's fucking GAY."

Drake snorted and shrugged as he took a puff. "Sayin' he was 'hot'. I don't know. Kinda wasn't listening to her."

"But-! He's GAY."

"She don't fuckin' care. I don't think she's serious about it. I think she just likes him because he'll never like her back. That thing with Hautta has her all buggin'. Y'know?"

Trowa stared at the thin-boned Seminole in disbelief, then looked away. Staring off into the distance, his muggy mind registered the fact that he'd thought the two had something together, but to actually hear it from her sidekick...well, that meant some serious business. That meant war. War because she was supposed to be his friend. She wasn't supposed to like his boyfriend. He clenched his back teeth and tried to calm himself down. What was he getting so mad about, anyway? He saw the way they were acting. But then again, he'd suspected as such, so...

"Why?" he asked after awhile.

Drake shrugged, lifting his eyebrow, the one with the ring. "Fuck if I know. Ain't like he's going to go after her, right? 'Sides, what is she gonna do?"

"She hangs all over him..."

"She does that to everyone! She did it to you. I'm just sayin', she's crushing on him. Even then, it's not even that serious. She just thinks he's cute."

"And you're telling me this, why?"

"I don't fuckin' know. You're all hooked up with that cheerleader..."

"I'm not. She just hangs around me."

"Well? What the fuck are you freakin' about? Shit. Hey, gotta go. Need anything else?"

"No. I'll let you know."

"Hey, let me know when Derrick comes back around? I want some fuckin' Saya. Haven't had any for awhile...."

"Yeah. Sure," Trowa muttered as Drake descended the bleachers, tugging on his backpack and walking off. He'd left Trowa with the rest of the blunt, so Trowa took the time to think about things and finish it before anyone else came out this way and wanted some.

As he was sitting there, he saw Quatre's familiar white blond hair among those near the dormitory building, and he glared in that direction. Seeing that Felicia had her motives in 'friendship' changed with his boyfriend pissed him off. Not that she could do anything, but Quatre was not refusing her advances-! But then again...when she fixed herself up and acted like the girl she was supposed to be...

He sighed heavily, carefully stubbing out the lit end of the blunt and making sure it was completely out before he stuffed it into his blazer pocket. He descended the stairs and moved in the direction he'd seen Quatre in. The joint had left him feeling a little nauseated and dizzy, but that was to be expected since the last time he'd had weed was at that last party. When he realized that Quatre was gone, presumably moving toward his room to change for after school activities, Trowa kept his head down to keep anyone from noticing his red-eyed state and hoped he didn't smell too obvious.

He made his way into the dormitory building and hurried up the five levels to Quatre's room. There, he knocked on the door, glancing around himself to make sure that he was in the clear. The voices of the various residents carried throughout the building, and he found himself growing very annoyed when his knock wasn't being answered in an agreeable manner. He wanted to talk to Quatre, and his brief meeting with weed had made him bold.

Quatre opened his door, then froze upon seeing him there. Trowa leaned against the doorframe, and waited for him to invite him in. The blond was dressed in his practice clothing, and looked ready to run out the door toward the gym, so Trowa was just in time. Quatre stared at him for a few seconds, then made a face, leaning forward to sniff him.

"Are you on something?" he asked as Trowa took that as invitation enough and walked into his room. Quatre stared after him, frowning as he looked up and down the hall before shutting the door.

"We need to talk, Quat," Trowa said, shifting his knapsack off his shoulder and dropping it to the floor. Damn his eyes. They wouldn't open all the way to be normal, and Quatre was staring at him as if he were some sort of leper.

"Er...yes," the blond agreed, nodding slowly. Maybe it was good that Trowa approached him first. "Yes, I think that we should. I have a few things I would like to say to you...I mean...I wanted to talk to you all day, and---"

"Let's get things out in the open, first. Are you cheating on me?"

"What?!" Quatre cried in disbelief, staring at Trowa and trying to judge if he were serious. But the reddened eyes, that of which were familiar with weed users, stared down at him accusation and he couldn't help but feel rightfully annoyed. "With who?!"

"You know who."

"No, I don't! How could I be cheating on you?! You're the one kissing someone else! Someone you claim to dislike because of their association with a group you hate!"

"Give it up, Quat. Seriously, have you been fucking around on me?"

"NO! Trowa! That's absolutely ridiculous! How in the hell could I be cheating on you if I had been with you all this time?!" Quatre shouted, staring up at him in disbelief. "MY GOD! You're the one kissing on Middie right in front of me! And you can't deny it, because a lot of people other than myself saw you!"

Trowa stared at him, realizing he had a valid point. He looked away, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "True, true. I did."

"You did?! And you have the nerve to accuse me of cheating on you!!"

"I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't cheated on me!"

"I DID NOT CHEAT ON YOU, TROWA!" Quatre screamed at him.

"Will you stop yelling at me?!" Trowa hissed. "I'm right here in front of you! I can hear you quite fine!"

"Well, you're acting so fucking stupid, I don't know how to get it in any other way! God, you smell like a marijuana field!"

"Sorry if we all can't be goody-goody like you..."

"What's that supposed to mean? I've never considered myself a goody-goody...Trowa, did you just come up here to fight with me? Because this doesn't sound very problem solving-like," Quatre said, glaring at him as he kept his distance. He had practice soon, and he would not fuck up his chances of being on the team by being with someone who reeked of marijuana. He covered his nose with the collar of his shirt, hoping that he did not get a contact high from this.

Trowa took a deep breath, then exhaled harshly, realizing that he wasn't making any sense. Damn, Drake had some good stuff. His eyes felt entirely heavy, and he had trouble trying to focus on his point, here. Quatre stared at him, covering his nose with both his hand and his shirt, still smelling the stuff on him. It was quite disappointing that Trowa, who was unable to speak to him before, had to use drugs in order to talk to him now. Disappointing and pitiful. And he really didn't make any sense-how and who would Quatre be using to cheat on Trowa with?! The idea was absolutely ridiculous! He couldn't even imagine himself being with anybody else, and here Trowa has the audacity to accuse him of cheating when he was practically exploring Middie's throat with his tongue!

Well, maybe it hadn't been that bad of a kiss, but still-!

He took deep breath of his own, and lowered his shirt collar. Seeing that if they stood here and accused each other all day of who was cheating on who, nothing would be solved, he'd take the first step. As much as he was insanely curious as to who he was cheating with on Trowa, he figured he'd find out soon. He had to take this first step.

"I want to apologize, first off, for being a dick," he muttered, shifting his eyes to look at the bed, then looking back at Trowa. "I really fucked things up...people keep telling me that I'm being a shit head and all that, that I...that I don't take care of you in the same way you do to me. Well, all right, so I have been...rather selfish and stupid. But I don't-well, that thing with Middie...I deserved that...really..."

Trowa stared down at him, unable to believe what the blond was saying. Was he actually apologizing?! Should he bring in witnesses?!

"Well..." Quatre turned pink, fiddling with his hair, finding himself unable to look at Trowa as the goth stared down at him. "I just figure...well, I deserve it. I mean, I haven't been really nice to you and everything, so I figure-""

"You don't deserve it, Quatre!" Trowa snapped, finally able to speak. "What I did was...was entirely wrong! I...I can't even apologize enough for what I did. You don't deserve it. And so, even if you totally treat me like shit, you don't deserve that sort of behavior! I...can't even justify with anything other than the fact that I was... well, I was jealous. And I thought you were...that you were cheating on me. This happened before, Quat. I can't help but feel paranoid..."

Quatre looked up sharply, frowning. Well, he knew Trowa was insecure...he'd fought with him once over such things. But he wondered why he was jealous again when he hadn't even been doing anything with anybody in such a relative sense! "What? Jealous? Why?"

Trowa shrugged, turning a shade of embarrassment himself. "I don't know. I just...I saw you and Felicia playing basketball. I started thinking about Ralph and his woman, and just...I don't know. Things led to another, and it was just that...I don't know. Felicia was supposed to be my-well, our friend, and she just...she just flirts with you like it's no big thing, and just...I don't know. I was just jealous."

Quatre stared at him for several silent seconds, then threw his head back to laugh hysterically at what he thought was a very funny confession. Imagine! Him with Felicia! Ha! The thought was purely hysterical because he wasn't in the least interested in being with a girl. Sure, he'd entertain thoughts about it, but he would never follow through. It was just entertainment. Trowa frowned as he laughed, bending at the waist and holding his middle. With a sullen expression, he turned and sat down on the bed with an annoyed huff, but the blond didn't really care-he continued laughing until tears ran down his cheeks. A little more than irritated, Trowa rested his elbows on his knees and clapped his hands over his ears.

"I know, I KNOW, all right?!" he snapped over Quatre's laughter.

The blond managed to compose himself enough to rise up, wiping his eyes and looking at Trowa with barely contained snickers. Then, totally surprising the goth, Quatre leaned over and kissed him, gently pressing his lips against his in a very chaste kiss. Trowa smiled faintly as Quatre then hugged him tightly, murmuring his apologies for his mistakes. It seemed that he had been forgiven once more.

"I'm really sorry I was a bastard, Trowa," Quatre said, kissing his earlobe, then nuzzling his neck. He inhaled the smell of the goth, the smell of his skin and cologne, the smell of both cigarettes and weed. "I really missed having you around...I hated not being able to talk to you because I was mad...I still am, but I figure, you know, eye for an eye."

"So, you did cheat on me?"

"NO, and I won't. I just meant that because I was acting like a prat to you and not giving you, you know, special consideration and all that. Just...you know. Like that. Trowa, really, as long as things are fine and I try on working on my stupid attitude that everyone's so fucking worked up about, it's all good between us. I don't want us to break up..."

"Why?"

"'Why', what?"

"Why don't you want us to break up?" Trowa asked, shifting his head to look at him. Quatre stared back at him in some confusion, withdrawing away from him as he set his hands on his lap.

"I-do you...do you want to break up?" Quatre asked, feeling somewhat hollow as he asked.

"NO! I just...Quat...I need to tell you something," Trowa said, taking a deep breath. "I've been wanting to tell you forever, but...every time I tried..."

"What? What is it?" Quatre asked, feeling a slow creep of involuntary fear snaking into his spine as he realized that Trowa was going to reveal something entirely heavy. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear it, nor like it, so he prepared himself for the worst as Trowa exhaled slowly, then turned to face him, hands on his shoulders, green eyes boring into his.

"Quatre...I...I really l-"

There was a heavy banging on the door that made Trowa throw up his arms in frustration while Quatre looked in confusion from him to the door, rising from the bed to answer it. Whatever Trowa had to say was just going to wait, he supposed. Then, he glanced at the clock, cringing upon seeing that it was practice time, and it was probably one of his teammates. He grabbed his shoes and a basketball.

"Crap! I'm late for practice!" he exclaimed as Trowa sighed heavily, slouching his shoulders. "Keep that thought, Trowa. I want to talk to you afterwards, all right?"

"Fine. Whatever," Trowa muttered as Quatre opened the door, Tony standing there, demanding that he hurry the fuck up and get going because they were starting without him. Quatre shut the door behind him, Trowa left alone in his room. Because he was feeling rather down because his confession was once again interrupted, Trowa kicked off his shoes and laid in Quatre's bed, inhaling the comforting smell of his beloved.

Well...at least they were taking again...that was an improvement. Wasn't it?