Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Isolation ❯ Chapter 3
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: KentraShinataku02 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.17.2003 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 358 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.17.2003 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 358 | Status: Completed
Title: Isolation
Author: Kentra Shinataku
Pairings: 2+4
Warnings: angst, anorexia, mild OOC, Quatre POV
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Quatre deals with anorexia, but will he realize that Duo is there to help all along?
**********
Isolation: Part Three
What the hell is going on? Does he know what he's doing? Does he know his arms are wrapped around a boy who should disgust him? As much as it hurts me to do this, I pull away, letting him see the eyes of the boy he just kissed. I wanted it, but I had to know that he was sure, that he wanted this to be _me_, not somebody else.
"Duo..." I whisper in a shaky voice, not pulling from the loose grasp his fingertips ghost on my back, "is this really what you want?"
He blinks as if confused, but doesn't look hurt. He's always been good at hiding the pain, though, so I can't be certain.
"If I didn't want it, would I have done it?" His eyes are searching mine, and instead of a laughing tone, he is very serious.
"But I'm..." I'm aware that my eyes are wide. I think he expected me to back down. He's surprised when my hands settle on the crevices of his hips. Something seems to relax in the both of us at once and I lift my face nearer to his. We're close in height, with me less than an inch shorter than him, but in this moment he seems to grow over me and I forget all else. The raging voices inside me are quieted for the first time in months with the lips that brush across mine, luring me into their tender embrace to feel what I've been longing for. I don't question him this time; he knows who I am and I know he wants this, all I do is feel, taking him all in. He doesn't push me too far, doesn't break the delicate friction singing between us, our lips pressing, our fingers trickling like water over one another's bodies. It's one of those moments where you're lost, numb-- but a good numb-- time stops but the world around you is still moving, spinning. And although it seems to last forever, it ends in a heartbeat.
He searches my face, now parted from his, and as if what is happening now is the most normal and familiar thing, he wraps tightly around me, his face against my shoulder.
"I'm worried about you," he breathes.
"You don't have to be."
I loosen my fingers from the grip they were digging into his skin. I hadn't even realized how tightly I was clinging to him, not wanting the light at the end of the tunnel to disappear as soon as it had come. He peers at me, as if I am now the one who has inched taller, and the light radiating from his eyes fills me completely, drinking me in. Something inside him flickers and I can practically see that his mind has found a problem.
"I've got to help Wufei with the dishes," he says cautiously, "but I'll come straight back up as soon as I'm done, okay?"
I really don't want to let him out of my sight, don't want to wake up from this dream world I've got myself blindly lodged in, but he unfurls himself from my clenched arms and heads towards the doorway. Letting a hand trail across the wood of the door frame, he pauses on the way out, looking back to me.
"Wait in my room, I think I need to tell you some things."
I answer with only a nod and a warm smile, watching intently the grace he emanates so carelessly while he leaves to return to the kitchen. It finally registers to me after a few moments of gawking after him that I'm supposed to be waiting in his room. Closing my eyes through our adjoined bathroom passage, I grope blindly for the handle to his doorway. I refuse to face the mocking of the mirrors in a moment like this. Once I hear the reassuring click behind me, I blink the world back into focus, adjusting to the lighter hues in the bedroom that Duo is camping out in. For a moment, I have to remember why I came in here, but it doesn't take me long.
I might as well sit down, though his bed is neatly made and I doubt he'd appreciate the mess I may make of it. Well, I'll remake it for him.
I've never spent more than a minute or two in his room before, and that was only to borrow a CD. I've never actually been invited inside, though technically I own this house, or my name does anyways. I don't let that idea rule me though; just because I "own" it doesn't mean it's mine to plunder.
The room looks like it is intended for a young girl, a child really. The walls are a light cream color, trimmed in baby pink and the two windows and bed are dressed in a faint, aged yellow lace. There is a dresser facing the bed, also with a cloth of the same lace draping it, and a three piece mirror in a brass frame. The only sign of a masculine persona occupying the room is the dirty black duffel bag peeking from under the bed and a pair of muddy black tennis shoes thrown haphazardly in the opened closet.
I know why he chose this room, though. There were two bedrooms left when he and Wufei returned from their mission. He left the more masculine bedroom to Wufei so that he would be happier. They have a beautiful friendship beneath the petty, short lived arguments they frequently engage in. On another day, I would envy it, but minutes ago, it was _me_ in Duo's arms, being able to cling to someone for the very first time. The perfect body of his fit perfectly against mine, making _me_ feel perfect. I don't understand how being with someone as beautiful as him can make someone as repulsive as me feel good about myself. It's such a foreign feeling.
There are various possessions lying idle on the stand next to Duo's bed. The nightstand itself is a pale off white, like the other furniture and doors, with cracked brass handles to match the mirror frame. Another lace cover is splayed over it, displaying items that Duo could throw into his duffel bag in a hurry. It surprises me that they are laid out, though, because these are some of his prized treasures.
There is a black plastic hair brush, which is cheap and easily replaceable, but as a Gundam pilot, he wouldn't have much time to run to a convenience store. Without a brush for his hair, he'd have a tangled mess until he had a chance to find another, meaning that his hair brush was of great value to him.
Also, there is his CD case and walkman. Like it is to me, music is of great importance to him, though I prefer classical over his louder, more soul numbing kind. I pick up the case and leaf through the booklet, passing the familiar names; Chevelle, Hoobastank, Evanescence, 3Doors Down, Nickelback. Those are his favorites, but there is an entire variety lying farther back. Eminem, Dream, Avril Lavigne, and even soundtracks from old movies like Chicago, Moulin Rouge, and Lord of the Rings. Duo has the widest musical taste I've ever seen.
I set the case back down and reach out to touch a little figure that is propped atop a black hat. It is a little stuffed bat, sewn of mismatching scraps of quilting material, a round blue button for the left eye, and a triangular, yellow one for the right. A smile is embroidered in red thread, but was pulled loose at some point, causing three loops and a trailing centimeter of thread on the right side. All colors of stains mark it, showing me what it's been through.
I pick it up, cradling it in my palm as if it's sewn of crystal and not dirty scraps. I know Duo wouldn't have a stuffed toy for no reason; to him it probably _is_ crystal. I can't help but wonder what emotional attachment this holds over him.
The black hat that it was posed on top of makes me wonder the same thing. He wears it every once in a while, usually on missions, but it's old and worn, thin nearly to holes in some areas, and definitely carries the stains of time. The other thing I've noticed, from the times I've seen it on him, is that it's too big for him. It must have belonged to someone else before him. I lay the bat beside me on the bed and delicately finger the oversized hat, turning it over in my hands. I look for a name inscription, any remnant of history, but find nothing. It's really none of my business, I know, but I can't control my curiosity.
Glancing over at the treasure covered nightstand, I see something that had been guarded by both the bat and the hat, a small, pocket-sized, leather book. It was bound with real leather, though scratched and scuffed, another aged possession. He really doesn't own anything new, I realize with a pang of guilt. I know that he lived on the streets and that with our current occupation we aren't able to keep much, but so many of these places we stay are big and expensive. And owned in my name. He's lived eating from garbage cans while I was asleep with two quilts and a matress. How can he stand to stay here knowing that I was raised this way while he had nothing? If I were him, there would be a bit of animosity between us.
My attention strays back to the leather book, and I give it a closer inspection. Stamped across the bottom in gold calligraphy letters is written 'Diary'. Etched in with a sharp tool says 'Duo's' in front of it. The added name is clearly written in a child's hand, I can tell just by looking. I don't dare touch it, it holds _his_ memories. I hear footsteps moving on the stairwell and hurriedly replace the hat, and then the stuffed bat over the diary before Duo sees that I've been intruding in his things.
**********
Author: Kentra Shinataku
Pairings: 2+4
Warnings: angst, anorexia, mild OOC, Quatre POV
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Quatre deals with anorexia, but will he realize that Duo is there to help all along?
**********
Isolation: Part Three
What the hell is going on? Does he know what he's doing? Does he know his arms are wrapped around a boy who should disgust him? As much as it hurts me to do this, I pull away, letting him see the eyes of the boy he just kissed. I wanted it, but I had to know that he was sure, that he wanted this to be _me_, not somebody else.
"Duo..." I whisper in a shaky voice, not pulling from the loose grasp his fingertips ghost on my back, "is this really what you want?"
He blinks as if confused, but doesn't look hurt. He's always been good at hiding the pain, though, so I can't be certain.
"If I didn't want it, would I have done it?" His eyes are searching mine, and instead of a laughing tone, he is very serious.
"But I'm..." I'm aware that my eyes are wide. I think he expected me to back down. He's surprised when my hands settle on the crevices of his hips. Something seems to relax in the both of us at once and I lift my face nearer to his. We're close in height, with me less than an inch shorter than him, but in this moment he seems to grow over me and I forget all else. The raging voices inside me are quieted for the first time in months with the lips that brush across mine, luring me into their tender embrace to feel what I've been longing for. I don't question him this time; he knows who I am and I know he wants this, all I do is feel, taking him all in. He doesn't push me too far, doesn't break the delicate friction singing between us, our lips pressing, our fingers trickling like water over one another's bodies. It's one of those moments where you're lost, numb-- but a good numb-- time stops but the world around you is still moving, spinning. And although it seems to last forever, it ends in a heartbeat.
He searches my face, now parted from his, and as if what is happening now is the most normal and familiar thing, he wraps tightly around me, his face against my shoulder.
"I'm worried about you," he breathes.
"You don't have to be."
I loosen my fingers from the grip they were digging into his skin. I hadn't even realized how tightly I was clinging to him, not wanting the light at the end of the tunnel to disappear as soon as it had come. He peers at me, as if I am now the one who has inched taller, and the light radiating from his eyes fills me completely, drinking me in. Something inside him flickers and I can practically see that his mind has found a problem.
"I've got to help Wufei with the dishes," he says cautiously, "but I'll come straight back up as soon as I'm done, okay?"
I really don't want to let him out of my sight, don't want to wake up from this dream world I've got myself blindly lodged in, but he unfurls himself from my clenched arms and heads towards the doorway. Letting a hand trail across the wood of the door frame, he pauses on the way out, looking back to me.
"Wait in my room, I think I need to tell you some things."
I answer with only a nod and a warm smile, watching intently the grace he emanates so carelessly while he leaves to return to the kitchen. It finally registers to me after a few moments of gawking after him that I'm supposed to be waiting in his room. Closing my eyes through our adjoined bathroom passage, I grope blindly for the handle to his doorway. I refuse to face the mocking of the mirrors in a moment like this. Once I hear the reassuring click behind me, I blink the world back into focus, adjusting to the lighter hues in the bedroom that Duo is camping out in. For a moment, I have to remember why I came in here, but it doesn't take me long.
I might as well sit down, though his bed is neatly made and I doubt he'd appreciate the mess I may make of it. Well, I'll remake it for him.
I've never spent more than a minute or two in his room before, and that was only to borrow a CD. I've never actually been invited inside, though technically I own this house, or my name does anyways. I don't let that idea rule me though; just because I "own" it doesn't mean it's mine to plunder.
The room looks like it is intended for a young girl, a child really. The walls are a light cream color, trimmed in baby pink and the two windows and bed are dressed in a faint, aged yellow lace. There is a dresser facing the bed, also with a cloth of the same lace draping it, and a three piece mirror in a brass frame. The only sign of a masculine persona occupying the room is the dirty black duffel bag peeking from under the bed and a pair of muddy black tennis shoes thrown haphazardly in the opened closet.
I know why he chose this room, though. There were two bedrooms left when he and Wufei returned from their mission. He left the more masculine bedroom to Wufei so that he would be happier. They have a beautiful friendship beneath the petty, short lived arguments they frequently engage in. On another day, I would envy it, but minutes ago, it was _me_ in Duo's arms, being able to cling to someone for the very first time. The perfect body of his fit perfectly against mine, making _me_ feel perfect. I don't understand how being with someone as beautiful as him can make someone as repulsive as me feel good about myself. It's such a foreign feeling.
There are various possessions lying idle on the stand next to Duo's bed. The nightstand itself is a pale off white, like the other furniture and doors, with cracked brass handles to match the mirror frame. Another lace cover is splayed over it, displaying items that Duo could throw into his duffel bag in a hurry. It surprises me that they are laid out, though, because these are some of his prized treasures.
There is a black plastic hair brush, which is cheap and easily replaceable, but as a Gundam pilot, he wouldn't have much time to run to a convenience store. Without a brush for his hair, he'd have a tangled mess until he had a chance to find another, meaning that his hair brush was of great value to him.
Also, there is his CD case and walkman. Like it is to me, music is of great importance to him, though I prefer classical over his louder, more soul numbing kind. I pick up the case and leaf through the booklet, passing the familiar names; Chevelle, Hoobastank, Evanescence, 3Doors Down, Nickelback. Those are his favorites, but there is an entire variety lying farther back. Eminem, Dream, Avril Lavigne, and even soundtracks from old movies like Chicago, Moulin Rouge, and Lord of the Rings. Duo has the widest musical taste I've ever seen.
I set the case back down and reach out to touch a little figure that is propped atop a black hat. It is a little stuffed bat, sewn of mismatching scraps of quilting material, a round blue button for the left eye, and a triangular, yellow one for the right. A smile is embroidered in red thread, but was pulled loose at some point, causing three loops and a trailing centimeter of thread on the right side. All colors of stains mark it, showing me what it's been through.
I pick it up, cradling it in my palm as if it's sewn of crystal and not dirty scraps. I know Duo wouldn't have a stuffed toy for no reason; to him it probably _is_ crystal. I can't help but wonder what emotional attachment this holds over him.
The black hat that it was posed on top of makes me wonder the same thing. He wears it every once in a while, usually on missions, but it's old and worn, thin nearly to holes in some areas, and definitely carries the stains of time. The other thing I've noticed, from the times I've seen it on him, is that it's too big for him. It must have belonged to someone else before him. I lay the bat beside me on the bed and delicately finger the oversized hat, turning it over in my hands. I look for a name inscription, any remnant of history, but find nothing. It's really none of my business, I know, but I can't control my curiosity.
Glancing over at the treasure covered nightstand, I see something that had been guarded by both the bat and the hat, a small, pocket-sized, leather book. It was bound with real leather, though scratched and scuffed, another aged possession. He really doesn't own anything new, I realize with a pang of guilt. I know that he lived on the streets and that with our current occupation we aren't able to keep much, but so many of these places we stay are big and expensive. And owned in my name. He's lived eating from garbage cans while I was asleep with two quilts and a matress. How can he stand to stay here knowing that I was raised this way while he had nothing? If I were him, there would be a bit of animosity between us.
My attention strays back to the leather book, and I give it a closer inspection. Stamped across the bottom in gold calligraphy letters is written 'Diary'. Etched in with a sharp tool says 'Duo's' in front of it. The added name is clearly written in a child's hand, I can tell just by looking. I don't dare touch it, it holds _his_ memories. I hear footsteps moving on the stairwell and hurriedly replace the hat, and then the stuffed bat over the diary before Duo sees that I've been intruding in his things.
**********