Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Oxfords ❯ Here We Go ( Chapter 1 )

Oxford's

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By:Dentelle_Noir

Warnings: YAOI. CLOSED MINDEDNESS, homophobics, and superficial parent bashing.

Discalimer: Don't own the Gundam boys. If I did, I would probably keep them in a box locked tightly under my bed and only let them out to play once in a while. So be glad I don't because you wouldn't get to see them as much. Because I'm mean. Sorry. I just love my Tro-baby so much… WHAAAAAA!!!

Author's Note: This is a re-post.The original was taken from the sight as was my original author's name when another story of mine was complained against. Use this as a warning. One complaint is all it takes and they kick you off right quick like!

BUT!!!!

It's also been added to in certain area's, some of the scenes taking on a different perspective. If you like dit the first time reading it, you may find you like the second better!

Summary: AU 3x4. Same mindless jocks. Same big-bested cheerleader girlfriend. Trowa Barton knew what was expected of him. And he wanted that too. At least, he thought he did.

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Chapter 1: Here We Go

The black mustang flew down the road as pedestrians and cars jumped out of the way of the roaring machine, or as Trowa mused, the roaring driver. Mr. Michael Barton, newest head of development at the main headquarters of W Corps, flew down the suburban roads of the new town he and his son just moved to, enjoying every minute in his new promotion gift to himself.

His son, on the other hand, was gripping the dashboard, knuckles white, as the car squealed off the pavement into the parking lot of his new school. Yes, he knew his father wanted to make a good first impression for him by driving the Mustang, but he didn't really care. He was always able to find his group where ever they went, and Mayville public high would be no different: There were preppy jocks everywhere.

His aging father, though he'd never tell him that, smiled brightly as his prize son stepped out to make his first appearance.

One shining black leather Oxford shoe, then it's pair. After followed a set of perfectly tight cut, but sinfully innocent dark brown pants encasing the almost too-skinny stomach and hugging his lithe hips. Then, ducking out from the low roof as agile as a dancer, came the tight, long sleeved deep blue turtleneck, encasing his lean but well muscled frame and broad shoulders. Neck down, he was he was good looking. Neck up, he was told he was a god. He didn't believe it though. Deep continually serious green eyes were framed with thick, long, eyelashes all accented with thin, elegant eyebrows. But sadly, as his many girlfriends had told him, only one was to be seen. The other half of his face was hidden by sweeping brown locks, highlighted red, that danced in the wind giving him an air of mystery. He knew would have a permanent fan club following him by the end of the day...again.

"Show 'em your stuff, boy." His father shined his perfectly white teeth out to him before winking, and driving off far to fast for a school zone. Trowa knew what was expected of him, swim team, basketball team, great grades, 'going-somewhere' friends, and of course a trophy cheerleader girlfriend as empty headed and big breasted as every other girl he had ever dated.

The perfect match to the perfect boy. Which was what he wanted too... Probably. Sounded good anyway... Except for the fact he'd really rather be left alone.

But, that was insane, of course. His father would never hear of it anyway... Why dwell on what one can not have, right? On with the day.

His thoughts started to flood him as he made his way into the school, not really caring about the gapping looks he got from a good amount of girls as he walked by.

~~~

Trowa set up his binder for his first day at the new school. At least it was only a day or two into the second semester. He wouldn't miss much.

A knock sounded and into his dark sanctum walked his father, "Have you figured out what you'll wear on your first day of school? Got to look good for the ladies, M'boy. New school means new girl... How about these?" He dug through his son's closet despite the ice daggers his son's eyes threw at his back as he pulled out a pair of pants that clung to his slim form almost indecently, "These always looked good on you. The girls will be a' drooling! Now, for a shirt, how about..." His father reached for the deep red silk shirt in his closet, but Trowa was faster, and pulled out a less provocative, and not to mention, his favorite, deep blue turtleneck, gaining him a resigned almost pout from his father.

Why he always wanted to make him noticed, he wasn't sure. His father was always so superficial. He always pushed him outside the door to play basketball with the other boys when he'd much fathered finish A Tale of Two Cites.

~~~

Now, schedule in hand, he made his way towards his first class, and his first impression. This was going to be just like every other school: jock friends, bimbo girls, wild parties he'd be forced into...

But this time, fate had something else in store for him.

~*~

"And our startling beautiful, braided hero pulled himself from the depths of hell known to mortals as... The locker... And from the deep came... his math book!" Duo Maxwell, class clown and all around grinning fool, narrated as he straightened and tried to elicit some kind of amused look from his stoic boyfriend. A roll of the other boy's eyes told him he had hit the mark. He rung his arm around his boyfriend's neck, holding his lover closer despite the glare of death he was given.

A light snickering was heard from beside the braided clown. Out from the library and towards his friends, new book in hand and usual bright, happy smile adorning his face walked a petite blonde.

He was smiling his cheerful, full face smile, hair baby blonde and falling around his innocent, child-like cherub face like a halo to his angelic air. The boy was dreams, hopes, and inner beauty, displayed outwards for all the world to admire and worship. But anyone who knew him well, knew that he was not as innocent as the world's eye painted such a look.

"Hey Quatre. New book?"

"Old one, actually. 'A Tale of Two Cites'. By Charles Dickens, Duo." Quatre replied lightly, leaning against the lockers beside his long time friends.

"Hey, ya know I gotta like anything who's name is 'Dick'-ens. Get it...I'm gay." He tried on his unamused boyfriend, "Dick'-ens...Come on! You're such a stick-in-the-mud!"

However valiant his effort, he was still ignored, save the usual chastising 'Duo!' from his blushing blonde friend he always got being that crude.

Next to the group came a Chinese boy, shoulder length jet black stands dropping into his face with tight black jeans and a loose white button-up shirt adorning his toned muscled frame. He himself had a long line of females who would give everything to try and 'change him' so they had even a ghost of a chance. But that wasn't about to happen. Wufei Chang would never leave his own boyfriend, Eric, for anything.

He took his usual spot against the locker, a bit further away from the more close knit group, and lifted his thin eyebrow, "Did any of you see the new transfer student? He's quite the looker. Seems to be more of the jock type. Doesn't really look like an idiot though, who'd a thought."

"Oh, yeah...Tell me more." Duo started as they all were back to their feet and gravitated towards class.

~*~

Trowa found a seat about half-way down the class, right against the wall. The only thing he hated was the fact that the desks were grouped in two's. He'd be forced to sit with someone. He knew that the seat beside him was already chosen by someone from the seating plan, "G", it said. Perhaps that was his nickname?

With the ring of the first bell came a flood of people.

Center stage: Trowa Barton in the role of "the new student". Time to dance.

He sat himself atop the desk, reclining casually. It was all about first impressions. His feet dangled off the edge and he watched the people file in. A few nerds took their respective seats at the front of the class, a few shy people near the sides closer to the front, since they wouldn't stand up to the last people to come in. His people.

Soon, they came. First, a short, doppy looking boy with an unusually large chest: Football. Another sporty guy was talking with the first, then came the girls.

They glanced up, the whispers of a new student caught in the ears. Time to dance. Trowa moved, his face tilting just enough to point towards the group. And flick. His eyes opened, pinning the group with emerald lights and drowning them in his wake. He had them hook, line, and sinker.

It was all too easy. All the same steps to a tired old dance. A waltz of lifeless, superficial obligation. And damn it, he had enough.

He knew where they would go. One look over, and they were surrounding his vision. All four of them spoke at once, all of them about the stupidest things, and one relatively quick one, obviously the leader, started to sink into the seat next to him. The stage was set.

"BACK!! BACK FOUL BLONDES!!! BACK TO THE SPORT YARD FROM WHENCE YOU CAME!!!" Came this loud over-dramatic voice from behind, and the girls parted like the red sea.

The girl was fairly short, a little on the heavy set side. She held out a necklace holding an over-done gothic cross to any of the girls in her way as if warding off the foulest of demons. She then made her way through the dead-air the girls created, hissing with the necklace out to the sitting girl, name given as Sylvia. Immediately standing, the girls ran, leaving Trowa to stare in amazement at the new girl.

She could only be described as dark. She had short, to the point of spiky, died black hair, and wore black chipping nail polish on her chewed-back fingernails. Dark black eye shadow and mascara framed and matched her ebony eyes. She wore a long dress, the same blackened crimson as her lips and Trowa caught just of hint of fishnet stockings before they were cut off.

His eyes were fixed to her feet, though: large, heavy looking, scuffed, black, leather work boots, tied only half way up, so the tongue and tops hung limply and flopped as she moved. The laces were caked in dirt and flopped down grazing the floor.

Ungracefully, she pulled out the newly vacated chair, flopped down, and seemed to melt into it comfortable as the day was long. She seemed at ease no matter what she did. Saying what she wanted, doing what she saw fit.

In contrast, Trowa simply slid over the edge of the desk, nimbly as a cat, pulled out the chair, and practically floated into it. His eyes never leaving the girl beside him.

"Name's G. As in 'Golly Gee? I wonder if that's what her name actually starts with?' And you are...?"

"Trowa. Trowa Barton." He answered automatically, still dumbstruck by the girl beside him. She was so strange. She didn't seem to care that everyone seemed to avoid her, or the fact he hadn't seen anyone else who looked even remotely like her at this school.

"Well, Trowa. Didn't your parents ever teach you it's impolite to stare at people?" she retorted rather sharply, as her eyebrow arched at him in annoyance. "What, never saw a goth before? Well, deal with it, or move. If your going to stare like that, I think I'd prefer you to move, though."

Trowa was, well, flabbergasted to say the least. But he caught himself, and found the girl incredibly interesting. He quickly locked his slacked jaw, and straightened his posture again, and still found himself watching her.

"I apologies for my rather rude behavior. Forgive me, G." He then found himself at a lack of what to say, so he started with something rather stupid in his opinion. He wouldn't normally just go out and say what he thought. It just wasn't him, but it seemed to be the right thing to do, "I hope no one is sitting here, because I would like to stay here. The way you cut through the airheads could come in awfully handy for a break in the morning."

G was about to come up with a cruel and unusual retort, her specialty, when what he said sunk in, and she just tilted her head, her eyebrow raised, a 'You're alright...' half smile with a hint of an evil glint gracing her face.

"So, Trowa. What is a guy like you..." she nodded down from his probably Gap sweater to the pressed pants, then to the shining black oxfords, "doing slumming it with a nocturnal goddess like moi?" She flourished, extending her black painted fingers out as if bowing, the long black billowing sleeves slightly receding, draping down to swish in the flourish.

Trowa cocked an eyebrow, and the ghost of a smirk haunted his face for the first time in a while. "Not sure yet. I'll tell you when I figure that out. But you certainly are refreshing."

He'd never had as much fun in English in his entire life. He loved English, of course, he loved writing (although no one save a select few teachers knew that), but G was funny and insightful at the same time. She was smart, and witty. Unusual, but funny.

~*~

Second period science was dull as usual. The minute he walked in he was again surrounded by the cheerleaders and jocks. He couldn't figure it out, he had always felt a detachment to his friends, but this time, he felt almost repulsed. But of course, he was just being stupid, a bad day or something. These were the type of people he always hung with. He, of course, liked them... Right?

"We play basketball at lunch, are you in?" Nick, a bulky football player he had sat beside in science, asked as they made their way through the full lunch halls. He was trying to avoid the blonde brigade whose leader, Sylvia, was targeting him. He wasn't sure why he hated her so much, maybe because he was sure he had dated her, or a carbon copy, at least eight billion times before.

He froze in his musings when one different blonde caught his eye. Walking down the hall towards where he stood was a petite girl, slightly shorter, with cropped hair so blonde it looked like a newborn's with clear ice blue eyes directed towards a warn copy of A Tale of Two Cities. She walked as if she was dancing to her own music, swaying gently, almost gliding closer. He didn't even know her name, but he was instantly taken, his heart speeding at the sight like never before, she seemed to just pull him to her. He could almost feel her breathing up against him although they were parted by at least a hundred people. Then she and her braided companion turned the corner, and Trowa was left to stare at the spot where she turned.

In front of his vision, a boy, about his age with the deepest blue piercing oriental eyes and an unruly mop of chocolate hair, walked through his gaze, starring directly at him. Then he passed through the same corner as the blonde, and smirked as if he knew something Trowa did not; the knowledge bestowed upon him by fate itself.

It took Trowa's escort a few moments of pondering why he was so still all of a sudden before he followed his line of site, and realization hit. "Didn't know that about you, Trowa... Most of your types wear the earring in the right, 'ya know." Nick continued down the hall as Trowa blinked following him.

"What are you talking about? Right ear? That would make me a fag." Trowa retorted sharply.

Nick stopped in his tracks and he noticed a few evil death glares directed his way. "What did you say?"

"An earring in your right ear means your a queer. Why would I wear one?" Trowa repeated, looking slightly affronted at the comment.

"Watch your tongue, asshole." A girl by them snorted before snobbily walking past, her shoulder clipping him as she went.

"An earring means you're homosexual or gay, yes. You were looking at the short haired blonde, right?" Nick asked, and Trowa felt his stomach clench. "That was a guy." Trowa's stomach knotted around itself and he felt his head spin. "He is gay though, so you probably have a chance..." Nick continued as all colour drained from Trowa and his balance started to falter.

"A am NOT a QUEER!!! I didn't know that was GUY!" Trowa sputtered, his brain practically yelling at how wrong and disgusting it was. His mind reeled and his stomach lurched as he turned on his heels and quickly made his way away from Nick's questioning gaze and to the empty boys washroom.

Locking the bathroom stall he sank to his knees, bracing himself as he wretched, purging his stomach in heaves. Oh, he could just see it now, if his father found out that he had been watching...and wanting...

Another wave of nausea racked his body as the bile stung his throat, nothing else left in his empty stomach to purge. He didn't know it was a guy! He thought it was a girl! The guy was a total farie! He was just trying to make unsuspecting STRAIGHT guys like him think he was a girl. Right...

Although, he didn't seem a mean spirited person.... Trowa hadn't even met the person. He didn't know anything about him. He hadn't done anything to him. He would be awfully hypocritical for hating him without even knowing him. He wouldn't be any better than his father or his so-called friends. He couldn't hate him for something he had no control over. He seemed so innocent and beautiful with a smile so- NO!!! It was his tricks again. Being gay is WRONG. He chose to be a fag! Trowa was not a queer because he chose not to be. Trowa did NOT want him! Never.

He gulped air down quickly, trying to tame his raging stomach still heaving over his heavy conscience and pulled himself against the wall. The cool cement against his burning head felt good and the buzzing halogen lights gave his mind something to focus on other than his stormy thoughts.

This was a trick. A test. He would not yield.

He heard light, almost non-existent steps coming into the bathroom. Trowa tried to be as quiet as he could, so as not to be noticed, as the jet black, highly polished boots under straight cut jeans went about his business, and washed his hands.

Trowa's breathing was still shaky and his stomach still twisted. He didn't figure anyone could hear him, so he was surprised when polished boots stopped and faced the stall he was in.