Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Post Up...And One! ❯ What Are You Waiting For? ( Chapter 2 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Quatre's arrival means happiness for some...insecurity for others.
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama / Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.26.2005 | Pages: 6 | Words: 8.4K | Visits: 299 | Status: Completed
Quatre's arrival means happiness for some...insecurity for others.
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama / Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.26.2005 | Pages: 6 | Words: 8.4K | Visits: 299 | Status: Completed
Chapter Two:
“What Are You Waiting For?” Gwen Stefani
The Hughman Gallery was located on the corner of Eighth and Baily, and was close enough to the coastline that ridged New Park. The Gallery was settled in a neighborhood made popular by bohemian culture and free-basing personalities. This section of New Park, the West Side, was considered a neutral ground when considered in terms of activity. The neighborhoods were laid-back and casual, the stores low key and consisting mainly of Mom and Pop quality, and the entire atmosphere oozed a lack of conviction and finality.
Trowa Barton really liked it here. The small three bedroom brownstone that he and Sylvia rented out for seven-fifty a month was very comfortable, well taken care of, and quite comforting. They had compatible decorating tastes, and never argued on what things should look like. Trowa was set to take a few night classes at the nearby Art Academy Institute. Sylvia was set to take classes at the inner-city Fashion Academy, and both of them worked during the day. Trowa worked at the Gallery; Sylvia at the Arlington Mall, in the Forever 21. They made enough to support themselves comfortably; Trowa’s continued money from the scandalous porn tape was still coming in to top off their security.
Life had been good for them both, considering that they were starting out on their own. High school was turning into nothing but a memory, and they were both looking forward to continuing their lives with more stiffer obstacles and walls.
Trowa had kept in contact with Quatre as much as he possibly could. Since the blond had been gone, Trowa could count the number of fingers in which he called his ex just to see how he was doing. He knew that Quatre was supposed to come back to the city today–he just didn’t know what time. Quatre had told him that he was going to meet with his employer and get himself settled in various things before he was going to meet with his friends, but Trowa wasn’t going to worry about it. He knew he’d see Quatre when the time came. He couldn’t exactly run out like an excited dog the moment the blond set down at Aprexal.
Sylvia had been a little moody lately–she’d known that Quatre was returning as well, and was feeling a little intruded upon. Trowa didn’t know why–it wasn’t as if things were going to be the same as they were when Quatre was at Darken. They’d both gotten over things, and could comfortably say that neither had feelings for the other.
Trowa had no reason to return to the blond, and he knew Quatre didn’t want to return to them. This was a big step in their young lives–they had to establish themselves in the adult world right now, not focus on petty high school relationships. Trowa had kept in contact with some of his friends from Darken, but everyone had gone in separate directions since they graduated from Sophia Darken Academy.
That summer, when he entered a popular rehabilitation program, he’d learned who were truly friends and who were truly toxic personalities. It didn’t matter in the end–in the end, when he’d graduated the first three steps of the program, enabling him to continue on to a sober and clean lifestyle, he’d noticed that those that supported him with drugs couldn’t look him in the face.
It was still an arduous journey–he wanted to be clean, but there were a few temptations in between that made it a little difficult to overcome the urge. But with Sylvia’s continued help, and with his own determination, he was happy to say that he hadn’t touched anything in over a year. He was proud of himself, and he knew Sylvia was proud of him as well.
Life was turning good for him.
He had a job, a good home, a loving girlfriend...and his ex was back in town.
How he could not go and see Quatre now that he was here?
This was the question that he was trying to ask himself in the Hughman Gallery. A customer was talking his ear off about the latest Jackman piece, and Trowa was thinking about his ex. He wondered if Quatre had gone through any changes...was he taller? Was he still skinny? Did he still have those hard to resist, overly large blue/green eyes? Or was he more mature in appearance? How about personality?
“...Uh...right...personality...” the customer was saying, giving him an odd look.
Trowa realized he’d spoken out loud, and gestured at the painting. “Right. Personality. It reflects Jackman’s personality. Can’t you see it in the...eh...balloons and...clowns...?”
The customer snickered, looking once more at the piece, which was nothing more than a fabricated poster for an imaginary circus performance.
“Hmm...how about this piece? Ah, Crystal...her lotus pieces still make me wonder if they are of the same woman, or a different woman...hmm....I need a closer look at this one.”
Trowa rolled his eyes, lowering his holographic clipboard and adjusting his glasses. They were simple square shaped design, in place only because he thought it gave him a level of maturity that a customer may take seriously. The rest of his clothing was classic Gucci, as the gallery’s owner didn’t think too fondly of black, chains and skulls. Yes, he still retained his gothic looks...
He glanced quickly at his watch, noting that it was nearly closing time for the gallery. He looked up quickly when the doors signaled an incoming customer, and saw that it was Sylvia. He ducked his head so that it didn’t look like he noticed her arrival, and murmured an off reply to the customer’s theory on the current piece in front of him.
Sylvia had gone through some changes since they graduated high school–she’d left her golden blond hair long, but had some highlights inserted here and there, so her hair looked thicker than it actually was. She had taken to colored contacts, and had four different colors in which she could use during the week. Today’s current color was violet, and the color matched the low-cut of her shirt and her multi-color camo pants. Forever 21's fashion was obvious on the girl, who had gained some weight during her senior year of high school. She had started taking birth control pills, and the resulting weight gain was her constant complaint. She had a heavier chest, curvier hips, an obvious belly, and a slight double chin. Despite the weight gain, she was still pretty, and she, at times, looked confident of herself. Trowa wasn’t turned off by the weight gain, but he couldn’t help but constantly question himself about it. He’d gotten so turned-off when Quatre had gained weight, and hadn’t been able to touch or view him in the same manner as he had before it. So why was Sylvia different? He felt guilty about it, and tried not to think about it.
The customer decided on the Crystal piece, and Trowa began his usual how and why the piece was made, blah, blah, blah. By the time he closed the sale, it was closing time.
Sylvia was waiting near the employee’s entrance when he closed and locked the doors. She smiled cautiously at him, trying to judge his mood. “Rough day?”
“No. Just...boring.”
“Was Carl around? Or did he take another day off?”
“He’s still at the Burning Man Festival in Nevada...”
“Ne-VAH-da,” she corrected testily, a former Reno resident. “Not Ne-VUH-da.”
“Whatever. He’s still in NeVAHda. Why do you people get so testy about that?”
“We just do. Native Nevadan pride. So...are you ready for dinner? I thought we could eat out, tonight.”
“Meaning you didn’t do groceries, yet...”
She shrugged sheepishly. “I was afraid that if I went alone, I’d be grabbing a lot of unnecessary things...”
“That’s why I made a list, love.”
“Yeah, but...” She shrugged as he covered various paintings with protective covers, took out the money for today’s sales, and walked into the employee room.
Counting out the money, and filling out respective bank notes for tomorrow morning’s trip to the bank, Trowa glanced at Sylvia curiously, hearing a low sigh from the girl.
“What?”
“What?”
“Why are you doing that?”
“Just...no reason, I suppose....”
He snorted, carefully adding and subtracting numbers from the total. Carl Singer, the owner of Hughman Galleries, had made it a point that he was to subtract a slight number from the total everyday, for... ‘personal’ reasons. Trowa had made it his point to understand that it was going directly to a maintenance and repair section of the gallery’s funds, and not for some tax evasion situation. After that situation was dealt with, he locked the funds into the safe, and set the security code. He and
Sylvia exited the building from the back door, and Trowa made sure the door was locked firmly behind him as Sylvia waited.
“You’re upset, aren’t you?” Trowa asked, lifting an eyebrow as he removed his glasses, itching to crawl out of his suit and into something comfortable.
“About what, Trowa?” Sylvia asked, turning her back to him as they made their way to the car they purchased over a half year ago. It was a reliable Taurus, and despite Trowa’s grumbles that it looked like a family car, he had to admit that it was quite sturdy and comfortable when making long trips in and out the city.
“I don’t know...but you have a mood going on,” Trowa said, waiting for her to unlock the doors. They climbed in, and she started the vehicle, air-conditioning blasting them with its airy goodness. The coastline was nearby, but the moisture in the air made things so muggy. He tugged off his suit jacket, and tossed it behind him.
“I don’t have a ‘mood’...well, okay. I had some stupid customers today, and they bit on my every last nerve,” Sylvia confessed, inputting their destination on the touch screen. As the computer mapped out the intended route, asking for approval, she made the confirmation and pulled on her seatbelt as the car began to drive on its own. “And...I’m...a little...I don’t know. Bothered. By things.”
“Like...?”
“Well...I know it’s...I know he’s back here, and I’m just...kind of wondering what you’re going to do,” Sylvia ended in a mumble as the car obeyed all traffic signs and pulled out onto a ramp leading onto a freeway.
Trowa stared out at the foggy coastline, feeling a little annoyed by the statement. Sylvia was just revealing her thoughts and feelings on the situation, and it had valid cause–but didn’t she realize that he had put his past behind him? That he and Quatre were nothing but a memory? How long did it take for people to realize that whatever happened in high school stayed there?
“I say you just don’t worry about it,” he muttered. “It’s not like high school at all.”
“I know, I know, it’s just–I’m a little insecure right now, Trowa,” Sylvia confessed, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I mean, I know you love me. I know that you’re faithful and loyal to me, and yeah, I still have problems with you checking out the cute guys and girls, but it’s like–this is your ex. The one you were so...in love with. And I’m just...I don’t know. I shouldn’t worry about things, I shouldn’t–! But... but I do. And I am. I’m sorry. Let’s change the subject.”
Trowa shrugged, calmly brushing his hair from his face. It was a little shorter than it was in high school–trimmed so that the ends were now brushing against his nose, barely long enough to tuck behind his ear. But it showed off the maturer features of his face, and he didn’t mind hiding behind it when he felt the need to. It was in a darker shade of color, almost a dark brown. He’d dyed it black his senior year, and the color had faded, resulting in this shade. Monthly maintenance kept it healthy and shiny, and he had some pride in it.
He slipped off pinching leather shoes, and leaned his seat back, exhaling heavily at the ceiling.
He wondered if Quatre had arrived yet.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Felicia sighed in tired exaltation as she swept into the apartment she shared with Max Sheridan, her boyfriend from high school. It smelled familiarly of jasmine and lavender from a lit candle in the living room–to dispel her best friend’s constant cigarette smoke, and her own filthy habit when she stood out in the balcony. It was bright and sunny, nicely air-conditioned. The apartment was truly pretty and simple when one walked in–from the front door led a small hall that emerged out into a living room, which led into an office off to the side. To the right of the living room was the kitchen and dining room, both easily accessed from an arched doorway, and to the left of it all was a small set of steps that led into the hall leading to a guest bedroom, bathroom, and their main bedroom. She had liked it on sight, and Max had liked the simplicity, yet expanded area of the apartment. They had fallen in love with the floor to ceiling windows and the balcony that helped overlook the valley leading into Marysville. It was also furnished with basic materials, and a simple color array that was cheery and upbeat.
She leaned against the door, listening. Hearing the familiar murmur of voices in the kitchen, she winced, gritting her teeth as she recognized the mother of all evils, Janice Sheridan. Once upon a time, she really would have liked the woman, but then that all ended when Janice turned out to be a woman bent on making her life miserable, no matter the cost on her son.
She looked down at her very casual attire, and wondered if she could sneak into the bedroom to change. But the badly mannered woman’s husband heard her enter, and stepped out from the living room. Bob Sheridan would have been nice–but he was influenced by his wife’s ideals and unwelcome thoughts. He was average sized at five ten and one forty, but had a sweeping of dark blond hair that looked wholly untouched atop his head. His wire rim glasses were perched over a long nose, and his lips were set in a firm frown. His white complexion was easily influenced by the sun, and he was currently sunburnt across his nose and cheeks. It was obvious where Max got his lighter colored features–the man possessed them all.
“You’re more than an hour late,” he stated in a flat tone. “We already ate.”
“Hm,” was all Felicia said, wincing. She’d called Max earlier to let him know she was stuck in traffic, but his curt tone and the shrill exclamation from his mother in the background had let her know what to expect when she returned.
“Promptness isn’t something you’re capable of, isn’t it?” Bob asked, lifting an eyebrow as she began walked up the hall toward the living room. “Do you even try?”
Felicia took a deep breath and brushed past him, hearing the telltale clicks of Janice’s heels coming her way. Licking her lips with preparation, Felicia entered the small hall that led in various directions, and watched Janice approach her.
She was a striking, handsome woman–‘handsome’ because Janice’s personality allowed no other options. She was black, with beautifully arranged features, her hair colored a rich golden blond and her perfect taste in fitting clothing dominating her thin-boned frame. It was also apparent where Max received his features from–he had her eyes, eyebrows, and every other physical expression, except that he was shades lighter than her, and slightly darker than his father. Felicia was able to see why so many people asked if Max were adopted–in some ways, he didn’t resemble them at all, but through a mixture of features, he possessed their expressions.
Janice’s thick, pouty lips, currently berry colored and glossy, were arranged with a frown as her dark eyes swept over Felicia’s attire.
“Well, you look the part of a hussy,” she exclaimed, hand on her hip. “And this friend of yours...? He’s a male?”
“Mother, stop,” Max said on a sigh, moving past her. His weary expression let Felicia know just how long Janice had been on him about her. He greeted Felicia with his customary kiss on the cheek, and a stiff hug that gave Felicia another clue that he was irritated with her. “I’m glad you’re here and you’re all right...”
“Why do you coddle her?” Janice asked, her stern voice betelling her annoyance of the gestures. “She’s a grown girl! She knew what she was doing! I hope this ‘friend’ of yours had a trip to the emergency room, Miss Thang, because this sort of behavior is unacceptable! When I arrange a dinner, I expect your company to grace us, and not with some excuse when you miss it!”
“Mother–!”
“Yes, it was an emergency,” Felicia grumbled, pulling away from the comfort of Max’s arms. She faced Janice. “And I’m really sorry I didn’t make it. Traffic was horrible.”
“It takes exactly twenty minutes throughout the entire city from any of the hospitals. What sort of emergency was it?”
Felicia sighed, and walked away, Janice looking after her with an appalled expression.
She looked back at Max, and Felicia made a face as she walked into the kitchen, hearing the woman angrily detail all that she hated about her rude behavior. Max tried to calm her, but it was apparent that tonight was a losing battle. Hating that she put him into such a position, but wasn’t feeling in control of herself to keep from giving the woman a piece of her mind (and possibly losing her loving boyfriend forever in the process), Felicia glumly regarded the dishes that needed to be washed.
They had been together since that Valentine’s Day dance, and she had loved every minute of it. There hadn’t been a guy that made her feel this way before, nor someone that treated her as one would a girl. There were so many people out there that were convinced she was a boy in disguise (only Max and her ex knew for sure) that no one really treated her as such. Max was the only one that did so, and she found herself completely enjoying the attention. Their high school dating had turned into a serious relationship, and they’d moved in together after their senior year at Darken. She’d gotten a job with her uncle, and he’d gotten a weekend job with a local radio station, working as a deejay. The pay was horrible, but his mother supported him, and Felicia was more than willing to front the bills if need be.
She really liked Max–in fact, she could comfortably say she was in love with the guy. He was fun, romantic, sensitive yet stern–and tremendously attractive. He still had people falling over themselves whenever he was out in public, and he’d even caused several car pile-ups through the last two years. He had grown a few more inches, filled out some in the shoulders and chest area, but compared to some of their classmates she saw sometimes, he was still a little boyish. He still had baby fat clinging to his cheeks and he had that innocent factor going on in his overall appearance.
But she really liked him, and found his personality and soul were just as attractive as that face of his. After all, the guy waited over eight months to try and coax her into bed–he was a keeper for sure, she was told. But she didn’t need to be told–she already knew.
Unfortunately, the accompanying parental units were less than par with her–Janice and Bob hated her, and they were constantly looking for excuses for Max to break up with her. Janice had once told her it was because she wasn’t black or white, and she kept up with Felicia’s activities in the weekly gossip rags that were tabloids, constantly accusing her of being irresponsible and manipulative. Already, she was accused of changing Max from a ‘sweet, sensitive boy’ into a drugged-out bisexual that wanted no future for himself. Which was ridiculous–the drugged out bit and the part about the future. As far as the public was concerned, Max’s bisexual tendencies were ‘unconfirmed’. Janice was just being bitchy.
The strain was obvious in their relationship whenever the two were involved.
She heard the abrupt leave of Max’s parents, and guiltily began washing the dishes. She didn’t really feel like eating, anyway–she’d shared an order of nachos with Quatre earlier, and was still full. When she heard Max enter the kitchen, she turned to face him, noting the cross expression on his face.
Over the last two years, he’d grown his hair a little longer on top, leaving it long enough to tuck behind his ears, and shortly cropped at the back of his neck. He gravitated toward darker colors for his clothing choices, and wore mostly logo t-shirts and baggy jeans. He also wore a pair of diamond earrings that she’d bought him for his birthday, as well as a simple platinum band on his ring finger to indicate that he was taken.
She had thought the gesture was very sweet, but couldn’t afix herself to do the same when he’d gotten her a plain diamond band for Christmas. She wore it on her middle finger.
She winced once more, pausing the flow of water.
“I’m really sorry,” she apologized.
“Felicia...you know my parents aren’t really...keen on you, and–it’s like, you’re just adding to their mounting reasons to why they dislike you,” he began, his frustration evident in his rising tone.
“Max, I know, and I’m really sorry, it’s just–!”
“You know this dinner was planned, but you went out anyway!” Max exclaimed, swiping his hands through his hair. “If you knew you were going to be out this late, why didn’t you just–not go?”
“I didn’t know I was going to be there that long!” Felicia argued, turning away from the sink. “I guess I just lost track of time when I was helpin’ Quat out with his furniture...”
“He’s back for sure, huh?” Max asked, his tone suddenly going quiet. He stared at her in silence, then turned to start putting the leftovers away. Felicia suddenly didn’t like the suggestion that was left lingering in his words, and scowled.
“Why that tone?” she asked cautiously.
“What tone?”
“You had a tone...”
“I didn’t have a tone. I was just asking.”
“No, you had a tone.”
“What tone are you talking about?”
“You’re not jealous, are you?”
Max gave her a disgusted expression, putting down the tinfoil that he was using to wrap the salad with. “Why would I be jealous of him?”
“Because...he’s my best friend–er, high school best friend,” Felicia ventured cautiously, narrowing her eyes. “And now that he’s back...but it ain’t like we’re back in high school, or anythin’...so...really, there’s nothin’ to get all j about...”
“I’m not getting jealous about anything,” Max muttered, setting the bowl down too sharply, so that metal cracked loudly against the counter. Felicia raised her eyebrows with a skeptical lift. “But, it’s like–you ran out to see him the moment he came back, despite knowing we had something planned for tonight. You see what I’m getting at? If this is a continuing situation, then of course I’m going to be pissed at things, Felicia.”
“Well...you shouldn’t,” she grumbled. She played with a wet spoon. “I made this mistake, and I know how much it offends your mother and father, but I’m really sorry.”
“You had a tone.”
“I didn’t have a tone!”
“When you said ‘your mother and father’, you had a tone!”
“Will you stop with the ‘tone’ things? GOD! I’m sorry! All right? How many times do I have to apologize to you before you get it?” she exclaimed, throwing the spoon up into the air.
With a disgusted expression, Max dropped the salad bowl back on the counter, and walked out from the kitchen. Realizing that he was utterly angry at her, Felicia scowled at his retreating back, the spoon bouncing off her skull. With a long sigh, she turned to the sink and rummaged through her bag for her cellphone. She sped-dialed a number, putting the phone to her ear and holding it in place with her shoulder as she started to do the dishes.
“What? I could hear you fighting all the way over here,” came a cranky female voice on the other end.
“Hey...he had a tone, right?”
“All the way, baby...he definitely had a tone...”
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
The next day, Quatre was standing where he needed to be, dressed in a dark blue shirt with a dark red tie. He felt a little stiff in the formal wear, nervously reaching up to fiddle with his tie. Dost said he was supposed to meet him here, but the alien was no where around. Quatre wasn’t sure what to expect today, because indication on Dost’s part warned him that this wasn’t going to be an ordinary job. Swallowing nervously, he glanced around the quiet offices. The hall was overly large, with comfortably shaped offices, and the security guards looked armed for World War IV. The approaching afternoon was bright, hot, and there were thunderclouds in the horizon. Staring out the tinted floor to ceiling windows, Quatre found a little bit of peace in the cityscape, and heard approaching footsteps behind him.
He turned, seeing his boss, his bodyguard, and several men in suits walking his way. He gulped, feeling horribly underdressed as he observed the crisp suits and the smooth expressions. The men in suits gave him curled lips and disgusted stares, and he couldn’t help but shrink in self-conscious design at their expressions.
Dost, with his ever-present sunglasses, grinned at him. “Ah! Bright and early! Excellent! I raise your pay two cents. Now...come along. You’ll learn as you go. Gentlemen! Coffee? Donuts? A hooker?”
“Dost, this isn’t the time for such idiocy,” one of the men snarled. “I’m here to conduct business, not have a taste of your entertainment sales!”
“Oh, please, Johnson...let’s not get so angry so early on. Causes problems in the lower intestine. This room’s open...” Dost led the old men into the meeting room, and Trek flicked on the lights.
There was a long, rectangular table with a total of fourteen leather chairs set along the length. At the very back of the room was a blank screen, and all the blinds were shut before the tinted windows.
As the men grumbled and complained, Dost pulled Quatre to the side, hissing, “In-And-Out Burger...seven regular hamburgers, one with onion, one without, one without pickles, one with extra pickles, one with extra ketchup, one without lettuce, one without buns. Got that? Where’s your notepad and pen?”
“Uh, er, well–”
With a disgusted expression, Dost tugged out a holographic pad and pen, and jammed those into Quatre’s hands. With his chicken scrawl, Quatre hastily wrote down what he remembered as Dost glanced back at the grumbling old fogeys sitting around the table. “One orange soda, one root beer, four Cokes, and one Sprite... make that three without ice, two with extra ice, and for one Coke, add extra syrup. Got it?”
“Er...yeah...”
“Five large fries, one order of onion rings, one order of cheesefries...got it?”
“Yes.”
“Read it all back to me.”
Quatre did as he asked, stumbling over the hamburgers, but Dost whacked him across the back with a cheery grin.
“Excellent, m’boy! Cash is with Trek. Take Fifth Avenue and Longston, not Bronson, because there’s construction on Bronson. Oh, and make sure you avoid the pedestrian bridge on Fifth, so take Seventh, instead. Don’t order from the In-And-Out on Seventh! Order from the one on Third! Got it? I want all this back to me within thirty minutes, so you better run! Don’t take a car, because there’s no parking, and the drive-thru takes longer than it should.”
“Y-yes–!”
“And don’t forget–pick me up some chocolate from the dollar store on Fourth and Bradley. The Choco-Rocos...and make sure they don’t melt! I hate melted chocolate!”
“R-Right! Sir! Right away!”
Dost squealed with joy, and turned away from him, demanding attention as he rapped on the table with a fist. As the old men turned their fury onto him, Trek handed Quatre a roll of money, and leaned forward with a growl.
“MAKE it enough,” he said before shoving Quatre out the room and slamming the doors shut.
Quatre stumbled, caught his footing, and looked at the roll of money. Two bucks. The guy gave him two bucks for a sure thirty to forty dollar meal? The hell–? He looked at his watch, saw a minute flick by. With a panicked whimper, he turned and ran off, wondering if he had enough to cover the meal from his own pocket.
Thirty-five minutes later, panting, sunburnt and incredibly pained from dealing with In-And-Out customers and cranky pedestrian traffic, Quatre stumbled through the doorway with his arms loaded of foodstuffs. The men in the meeting looked up curiously, and then regarded him with a furious expression as the meeting was interrupted. Dost hollered from the front, leaping about in joy as he dropped his pointer stick and abandoned his speech on making more money from the figures projected on the screen.
Trek helped Quatre unload the food and handed it out. The blond quickly retrieved the chocolate he’d bought from between the drinks within the carrier, and set that aside. He did not see one of the conniving old men reach out, snag the chocolate, and tuck it away in his breast pocket.
The men were served, Trek reimbursed him with a calculating smirk, and Dost, eager for chocolate, bounced impatiently for the sugar. Quatre looked around in puzzled confusion, searching amidst the mess of cartons and bags, seeing no sign of the chocolate balls. He knew he’d bought it–he patted his pockets, looked on the floor, and looked frantically through the trash on the table.
Dost gave him an exasperated look, shoulders slumping. “You forgot, didn’t you?”
“NO! No, I didn’t! I mean, here’s the receipt!”
“I don’t care about the receipt! I wanted my chocolate! Bad assistant! Bad bad bad! Just for this, I want you to go up to Seventh and Rockwell, and find me tomorrow night’s ensemble. It has to be classy, neat and most of all–I WANT CHOCO ROCOS when you come back! Make it in an hour, and I’ll forgive you...”
“You want me to pick out an outfit for you? What kind of occasion is it?”
“Trek, give him my schedule.” Dost leaned on the table, and ignored the annoyed grumbles from those chowing down on cardboard fries around the table. Trek handed over a simple matchbook style PDA that Quatre felt more than intimidated by. He didn’t know how to work it. He’d figure it out later. “Now, the woman I’m taking is a little picky about certain things, and she wants me to wear a certain color. Of course, I don’t DO any other color but black, so make sure it’s a classy black...not ordinary, not plain, but classy. Think Colin Farrell instead of George Clooney. Got it?”
“Colin...got it.”
“No ties, no bowties, not fucking cuffs. Something simple and yet classy. No jackets, no wingtips, something that flexes well with women’s undergarments...”
“Er...lace?”
“W A HA! I like you, kid, but seriously–I don’t wear women’s underwear...”
“That we know of,” Trek muttered. Dost glared at the Chinese.
“Oh, and I want–and take this down, kid, you’re not even listening–I want to wear a gray shirt. And the buttons HAVE to be pearl. Got it?”
“Pearl buttons...I got it.”
“EXCELLENT! See ya in an hour! And don’t FORGET MY CHOCO ROCOS!”
Quatre nodded hastily, then looked confused. “Erm, how do I pay for it?”
“For GOD’S SAKE, kid!! Go see Nancy on the fifth floor, and she’ll issue you a credit card. ONE HOUR!”
Quatre nodded again and hurried off, panicking at the time limit.
An hour and twenty minutes later, he hurried into the meeting room, utterly exhausted. Dost gave him an evil scowl, pointing at his watch. Trying to catch his breath, Quatre took out the bag of Choco Rocos, and presented them to the maniacal alien. Dost took them gruffly, and opened the bag.
“Pearl?”
“Yes. But it cost extra.”
“My size?”
“...er...ah, yes. I got the measurements from the tailor, there.”
“Rats. I wanted to yell at you for something. Hmm...ah, yes. My natives are getting antsy. Go down to the fourth floor and buy five canned Cokes and two Sprites. Make sure to reserve a table for ten at Bertha Miranda’s down on Twenty-Fifth and Silver...make it clear that there is to be NO candles or salsa cups on the table!”
“A-all right...”
And thus, Quatre’s day was set, performing a series of ridiculous errands and Godawful time limits that pushed him to panic. By the time eleven o’clock rolled around, he just wanted to flop over where he stood, not wanting to take another step. Realizing that this was the sort of thing he was going to be doing for the rest of his scholarship, he wanted to cry.
Dost appeared from a random room in the hall, startling him. The alien was simply too cartoonish and unbelievably quick. “You asleep? Feel like overtime? You get paid mooorrreee!”
Quatre sighed, wanting nothing more than to go home and fall onto his new queen sized bed that hadn’t yet been loaded onto the brand new wooden bedframe.
But...it was overtime, and it was more pay...he shrugged and followed after the alien, who was talking excitedly about a Tekkan Tag Tournament that he planned on having while he waited for the offices in New York City to open at four a.m. tomorrow morning.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre was exhausted from the past three days of working this mad schedule with an alien that never seemed to sleep, but he was looking forward to meeting his friends at the local Pizza Plus that Friday. It was open all night, and it was in nearby Roseville, so by the time he shuffled through the door, he was ready to call it a day. His feet were dragging, and he’d lost his tie somewhere in the taxi. Dost was going to ruin his young life by running him ragged, he was sure of it.
He spotted Felicia waving at him frantically from the back, and made his way over, uncaring of his appearance. There were many other late night eaters in surrounding tables and booths, and nary of them looked up from their food as he walked by. He felt ugly and unappreciated, wanting a little attention from an appreciative admirer.
Maybe he’d take up on Dost’s offer for a free service at a nearby brothel....BAH. He wouldn’t lower himself to that level!
“Hi,” he practically drooled as he took a seat at the bench across from his female friend. The aroma of pizza, buffalo wings, and steak style fries had saliva forming over his tongue as he glanced down at the order eagerly. “FOOD!”
“I was wondering if you were goin’ ta show, or flake out!” Felicia laughed, tossing him a plate.
“Hi, Quatre,” Max said from his end, smiling brightly at him from behind his cup. Quatre tried not to stare, but the boy was just so lovely–!
There was a girl sitting next to Felicia, and Quatre glanced at her curiously.
She was around five foot eight, and had brilliant, fire-engine red hair that was cut just at her shoulders, in a one length style that was both plain and limp. She was also very skinny–her arms were thin and oddly muscled, her torso long and thin, her legs crossed and rather bony. But she had a pretty face–her eyes were large and blue, with the sort of hooded expression that a man found appealing in a seductress sort of way, and she had pouting, cupid’s bow lips that were currently cradling a smoking cigarette. Her skin was pale and smooth, and the colors of her halter top over jeans complimented her coloring. She was their age, but her eyes seemed oddly aged, making it seem as if she were older.
Felicia smacked her shoulder, the girl coughing out her cigarette with a surprised expression. “Don’t mind this hag, Quat. She’s free-loading off my riches, and currently tryin’ to steal my man. This is Yoshida Smith. She ain’t Asian, in case you’re wondering. One hundred percent pure honky.”
Yoshida gave Quatre an annoyed expression, retrieving her cigarette from the floor. Her voice was soft and smooth, tinged with crankiness and a cold. “My parents were hippies, and picked that name for some stupid, drunken reason. And I’m not a hag. And Max is fag.”
“Hey,” Max complained from his end, digging out some ranch with his fries.
Quatre wondered, with some uncertainty, if she was homophobic. She shook her head suddenly.
“No, I’m not,” she said with a frown, giving him a once over. “I’m just saying. I’m not attracted to homosexuals.”
Quatre blinked. It was almost as if she were reading his mind...
“It’s not ‘reading’. I’m hearing it, so basically, I’m listening to what you’re thinking.”
This time, Quatre stared at her in stunned silence. Felicia reached over to whack her again.
“Stop reading people’s minds! Quat, ignore her. She’s just bein’ pesty. She hasn’t had her daily double dose of heroin quite yet, so she’s quite lucid for once.”
“Bitch. You owe me.”
“I owe you my bloody tampon, ho-bag. Stop reading his mind. You’re scaring him.”
“‘Ho-bag’? Might I remind you who the bigger ho is in this group?”
Max shifted from his seat to sit beside Quatre, shaking his head. The two girls were bickering suddenly over that subject as he said, “She’s a little unusual, but you get used to it. I’ve learned not to take her seriously. She can actually be quite nice.”
“Oh...well...uh, wow. It’s good to see you again,” Quatre said, glancing at him, trying not to stare too hard. Was it possible for the guy to have gotten more beautiful than before? Or was it just that he hadn’t seen Max in awhile?
Max grinned at him, nodding. He then reached over and gave Quatre an unabashed welcome hug, something that wreaked havoc with Quatre’s hormones. He wanted to cry.
“Same here. So, how have you been? Felicia told me you have a job as a p.a.? That must be so chaotic...”
“Yeah,” Quatre sighed, reaching for some pizza. Filling his plate of pizza and buffalo wings, he recounted what he had to do for his boss today. Max was laughing by the time he finished. “I couldn’t believe this guy was for real. But he was.”
“But you get paid forty-five dollars an hour.”
“Yeah...it’s really ridiculous. I mean, I don’t mind, it’s just...wow. You know? Ten hours a day for five days a week? Wow. But then again, my schedule changes when classes start.”
“Have you settled in all right? Gotten used to things?”
“Yeah, I–a little. I need to get my driver’s license, so...”
“That’s easy. The computer does everything for you, basically. All you need to know is the basics of driving, and you’re administered a physical exam, and a written one. I was able to get mine within three hours. The written exam is the main thing you have to worry about, but if you got that down, then you have the physical exam down.”
“Where do I do this at?”
Max gave him instructions to the nearest Department of Motor Vehicles, then gave Quatre a close look. “You look really tired. And not from work-related instances...what’s wrong? Adjusting well?”
“Well, yeah...I mean, there’s no problem, it’s just...” Quatre rolled his eyes and stuffed his mouth full of pizza to shut himself up. Max grinned at him, rubbing his back in a way that made Quatre wonder if the guy was hitting on him.
“So? Tell me about your job!” Felicia asked, turning away from her friend. She frowned, made a face, and picked up a fry, hitting Max in the forehead with it. “Stop hitting on him! He’s tired! He can’t get it up when he’s tired! Wait until he’s all rested up!”
“Felicia!”
Quatre choked on his pizza, and the girl cackled, leaning on the table with both arms. “I called Trowa earlier. You know how HARD it is to get a hold of that guy? I think he’s been tryin’ ta avoid me, but I got ‘im. I know ya’ll wanna see each other, so I invited him out. Jigga should be comin’ by, too! Yay! A big ole reunion!”
“You’re going to let your boyfriend hit on your friend?” Yoshida asked, causing two sets of faces to redden.
“Hey, let’s get this straight. They’re both guys. They’re both hot. They got hormones going, why should I interfere?”
“You’re fucked up...”
“Trowa? Here?” Quatre asked, wondering if the guy was going to show up.
“Yeah! He’s been wanting to see you, you know. I can tell. He actually spoke more than three words to me over the phone, and he didn’t cuss at me once!” Felicia declared, grinning. “So, it’s love. Again.”
“He’s still with Sylvia, huh? I talked to him, like, five times since I was gone.” Quatre suddenly jumped and looked at Max, who looked at him innocently.
“Yeah...he ain’t too keen to be on the phone, plus, it was like, Sylvia was documentin’ every minute on the other line. Probably wanted ta wring my neck, ya know? So...I said we’re gonna be here, and he said he’d try, but...we’ll see.” Felicia slurped at her Pepsi, smacking her lips in appreciation.
“It’s almost twelve thirty,” Yoshida observed, glancing at her wrist watch. She rose from the bench, brushing off her pants. “I’m heading out. And, yes, I’m aware I need twenty more pounds on my frame, Maxie, but now’s not the time to lecture me.”
“...I didn’t say anything.”
Yoshida waved at them, and walked off, dropping her ashes in someone’s empty drink cup on the way out. Felicia chuckled, throwing another fry at Max. “Liar. You want it. Admit it. You want my friend’s ass.”
“You made a girl friend?” Quatre asked with a skeptical raise of his eyebrows as Max tossed a sticky piece of chicken in her direction.
“Yeah.”
“How’d that happen?”
“Let’s just say we met as co-workers and it worked from there. Quit tryin’ to change the subject.”
“What subject?”
“Felicia, he needs a driver’s license,” Max said, picking at some pepperoni from an abandoned slice of pizza.
“Ooh...you wanna book? I got one at home, I think.”
“Yeah...it’s not that hard, is it? I mean, to get one?”
“Nah. Just follow point A to point B, and ya’ll got it goin’ on. It ain’t that hard.”
“Why is it that all cars are computerized, but I recall yours being used as a regular stick-shift?” Quatre wondered out loud, dipping a buffalo wing into some ranch.
Felicia cringed, and waved at him to shut up. Max frowned in her direction.
“What? What’d I say?”
“I thought you got rid of that car,” Max growled, looking pointedly at her.
“I did! He’s just talkin’ about the time...many moons ago...when I had it. Nothin’. YAY! Jigga!” Felicia shouted in jubilation, the subject abruptly switched. “Quat, make sure to ask him about Jay. Not Jamie, not Quatre, but Jay. Yee-haw!”
Quatre turned, looking at Justin Sharp as the guy walked over, looking entirely like he’d just woken up. Wearing a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt, he hadn’t even bothered to remove his house shoes as he whacked Quatre across the back in a companionable greeting.
“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” he grumbled, pouring himself some Pepsi. “When did you come in?”
“You missed me!” Quatre cried happily, hugging him. Justin’s arm was jostled by the action, and he spilled Pepsi all over the table. Quatre turned the hug into a headlock, and administered a noogie. “I missed you too, man!”
“Get OFF! I have to work tomorrow–er, today, and I’m heading up to Oregon tomorrow, so I won’t be able to see you for very long,” Justin said, elbowing him and wiping up his mess. “So, you better be fuckin’ appreciative that I sobered my ass up and came out here.”
“Tell him about Jay! Jay!”
Justin reddened, and glared at Felicia over his cup. “I don’t know what you’re talking about...”
Hours later, after many beers, laughter, and another order of pizza, Quatre could comfortably say that he was very happy he made it in. Even if he didn’t see Trowa by the time they finally left, he felt really good about being back here with his friends. He was looking forward to seeing the others, though, and was determined to do so no matter his crazy work schedule.
But he just couldn’t wait to see Trowa again.
“What Are You Waiting For?” Gwen Stefani
The Hughman Gallery was located on the corner of Eighth and Baily, and was close enough to the coastline that ridged New Park. The Gallery was settled in a neighborhood made popular by bohemian culture and free-basing personalities. This section of New Park, the West Side, was considered a neutral ground when considered in terms of activity. The neighborhoods were laid-back and casual, the stores low key and consisting mainly of Mom and Pop quality, and the entire atmosphere oozed a lack of conviction and finality.
Trowa Barton really liked it here. The small three bedroom brownstone that he and Sylvia rented out for seven-fifty a month was very comfortable, well taken care of, and quite comforting. They had compatible decorating tastes, and never argued on what things should look like. Trowa was set to take a few night classes at the nearby Art Academy Institute. Sylvia was set to take classes at the inner-city Fashion Academy, and both of them worked during the day. Trowa worked at the Gallery; Sylvia at the Arlington Mall, in the Forever 21. They made enough to support themselves comfortably; Trowa’s continued money from the scandalous porn tape was still coming in to top off their security.
Life had been good for them both, considering that they were starting out on their own. High school was turning into nothing but a memory, and they were both looking forward to continuing their lives with more stiffer obstacles and walls.
Trowa had kept in contact with Quatre as much as he possibly could. Since the blond had been gone, Trowa could count the number of fingers in which he called his ex just to see how he was doing. He knew that Quatre was supposed to come back to the city today–he just didn’t know what time. Quatre had told him that he was going to meet with his employer and get himself settled in various things before he was going to meet with his friends, but Trowa wasn’t going to worry about it. He knew he’d see Quatre when the time came. He couldn’t exactly run out like an excited dog the moment the blond set down at Aprexal.
Sylvia had been a little moody lately–she’d known that Quatre was returning as well, and was feeling a little intruded upon. Trowa didn’t know why–it wasn’t as if things were going to be the same as they were when Quatre was at Darken. They’d both gotten over things, and could comfortably say that neither had feelings for the other.
Trowa had no reason to return to the blond, and he knew Quatre didn’t want to return to them. This was a big step in their young lives–they had to establish themselves in the adult world right now, not focus on petty high school relationships. Trowa had kept in contact with some of his friends from Darken, but everyone had gone in separate directions since they graduated from Sophia Darken Academy.
That summer, when he entered a popular rehabilitation program, he’d learned who were truly friends and who were truly toxic personalities. It didn’t matter in the end–in the end, when he’d graduated the first three steps of the program, enabling him to continue on to a sober and clean lifestyle, he’d noticed that those that supported him with drugs couldn’t look him in the face.
It was still an arduous journey–he wanted to be clean, but there were a few temptations in between that made it a little difficult to overcome the urge. But with Sylvia’s continued help, and with his own determination, he was happy to say that he hadn’t touched anything in over a year. He was proud of himself, and he knew Sylvia was proud of him as well.
Life was turning good for him.
He had a job, a good home, a loving girlfriend...and his ex was back in town.
How he could not go and see Quatre now that he was here?
This was the question that he was trying to ask himself in the Hughman Gallery. A customer was talking his ear off about the latest Jackman piece, and Trowa was thinking about his ex. He wondered if Quatre had gone through any changes...was he taller? Was he still skinny? Did he still have those hard to resist, overly large blue/green eyes? Or was he more mature in appearance? How about personality?
“...Uh...right...personality...” the customer was saying, giving him an odd look.
Trowa realized he’d spoken out loud, and gestured at the painting. “Right. Personality. It reflects Jackman’s personality. Can’t you see it in the...eh...balloons and...clowns...?”
The customer snickered, looking once more at the piece, which was nothing more than a fabricated poster for an imaginary circus performance.
“Hmm...how about this piece? Ah, Crystal...her lotus pieces still make me wonder if they are of the same woman, or a different woman...hmm....I need a closer look at this one.”
Trowa rolled his eyes, lowering his holographic clipboard and adjusting his glasses. They were simple square shaped design, in place only because he thought it gave him a level of maturity that a customer may take seriously. The rest of his clothing was classic Gucci, as the gallery’s owner didn’t think too fondly of black, chains and skulls. Yes, he still retained his gothic looks...
He glanced quickly at his watch, noting that it was nearly closing time for the gallery. He looked up quickly when the doors signaled an incoming customer, and saw that it was Sylvia. He ducked his head so that it didn’t look like he noticed her arrival, and murmured an off reply to the customer’s theory on the current piece in front of him.
Sylvia had gone through some changes since they graduated high school–she’d left her golden blond hair long, but had some highlights inserted here and there, so her hair looked thicker than it actually was. She had taken to colored contacts, and had four different colors in which she could use during the week. Today’s current color was violet, and the color matched the low-cut of her shirt and her multi-color camo pants. Forever 21's fashion was obvious on the girl, who had gained some weight during her senior year of high school. She had started taking birth control pills, and the resulting weight gain was her constant complaint. She had a heavier chest, curvier hips, an obvious belly, and a slight double chin. Despite the weight gain, she was still pretty, and she, at times, looked confident of herself. Trowa wasn’t turned off by the weight gain, but he couldn’t help but constantly question himself about it. He’d gotten so turned-off when Quatre had gained weight, and hadn’t been able to touch or view him in the same manner as he had before it. So why was Sylvia different? He felt guilty about it, and tried not to think about it.
The customer decided on the Crystal piece, and Trowa began his usual how and why the piece was made, blah, blah, blah. By the time he closed the sale, it was closing time.
Sylvia was waiting near the employee’s entrance when he closed and locked the doors. She smiled cautiously at him, trying to judge his mood. “Rough day?”
“No. Just...boring.”
“Was Carl around? Or did he take another day off?”
“He’s still at the Burning Man Festival in Nevada...”
“Ne-VAH-da,” she corrected testily, a former Reno resident. “Not Ne-VUH-da.”
“Whatever. He’s still in NeVAHda. Why do you people get so testy about that?”
“We just do. Native Nevadan pride. So...are you ready for dinner? I thought we could eat out, tonight.”
“Meaning you didn’t do groceries, yet...”
She shrugged sheepishly. “I was afraid that if I went alone, I’d be grabbing a lot of unnecessary things...”
“That’s why I made a list, love.”
“Yeah, but...” She shrugged as he covered various paintings with protective covers, took out the money for today’s sales, and walked into the employee room.
Counting out the money, and filling out respective bank notes for tomorrow morning’s trip to the bank, Trowa glanced at Sylvia curiously, hearing a low sigh from the girl.
“What?”
“What?”
“Why are you doing that?”
“Just...no reason, I suppose....”
He snorted, carefully adding and subtracting numbers from the total. Carl Singer, the owner of Hughman Galleries, had made it a point that he was to subtract a slight number from the total everyday, for... ‘personal’ reasons. Trowa had made it his point to understand that it was going directly to a maintenance and repair section of the gallery’s funds, and not for some tax evasion situation. After that situation was dealt with, he locked the funds into the safe, and set the security code. He and
Sylvia exited the building from the back door, and Trowa made sure the door was locked firmly behind him as Sylvia waited.
“You’re upset, aren’t you?” Trowa asked, lifting an eyebrow as he removed his glasses, itching to crawl out of his suit and into something comfortable.
“About what, Trowa?” Sylvia asked, turning her back to him as they made their way to the car they purchased over a half year ago. It was a reliable Taurus, and despite Trowa’s grumbles that it looked like a family car, he had to admit that it was quite sturdy and comfortable when making long trips in and out the city.
“I don’t know...but you have a mood going on,” Trowa said, waiting for her to unlock the doors. They climbed in, and she started the vehicle, air-conditioning blasting them with its airy goodness. The coastline was nearby, but the moisture in the air made things so muggy. He tugged off his suit jacket, and tossed it behind him.
“I don’t have a ‘mood’...well, okay. I had some stupid customers today, and they bit on my every last nerve,” Sylvia confessed, inputting their destination on the touch screen. As the computer mapped out the intended route, asking for approval, she made the confirmation and pulled on her seatbelt as the car began to drive on its own. “And...I’m...a little...I don’t know. Bothered. By things.”
“Like...?”
“Well...I know it’s...I know he’s back here, and I’m just...kind of wondering what you’re going to do,” Sylvia ended in a mumble as the car obeyed all traffic signs and pulled out onto a ramp leading onto a freeway.
Trowa stared out at the foggy coastline, feeling a little annoyed by the statement. Sylvia was just revealing her thoughts and feelings on the situation, and it had valid cause–but didn’t she realize that he had put his past behind him? That he and Quatre were nothing but a memory? How long did it take for people to realize that whatever happened in high school stayed there?
“I say you just don’t worry about it,” he muttered. “It’s not like high school at all.”
“I know, I know, it’s just–I’m a little insecure right now, Trowa,” Sylvia confessed, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I mean, I know you love me. I know that you’re faithful and loyal to me, and yeah, I still have problems with you checking out the cute guys and girls, but it’s like–this is your ex. The one you were so...in love with. And I’m just...I don’t know. I shouldn’t worry about things, I shouldn’t–! But... but I do. And I am. I’m sorry. Let’s change the subject.”
Trowa shrugged, calmly brushing his hair from his face. It was a little shorter than it was in high school–trimmed so that the ends were now brushing against his nose, barely long enough to tuck behind his ear. But it showed off the maturer features of his face, and he didn’t mind hiding behind it when he felt the need to. It was in a darker shade of color, almost a dark brown. He’d dyed it black his senior year, and the color had faded, resulting in this shade. Monthly maintenance kept it healthy and shiny, and he had some pride in it.
He slipped off pinching leather shoes, and leaned his seat back, exhaling heavily at the ceiling.
He wondered if Quatre had arrived yet.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Felicia sighed in tired exaltation as she swept into the apartment she shared with Max Sheridan, her boyfriend from high school. It smelled familiarly of jasmine and lavender from a lit candle in the living room–to dispel her best friend’s constant cigarette smoke, and her own filthy habit when she stood out in the balcony. It was bright and sunny, nicely air-conditioned. The apartment was truly pretty and simple when one walked in–from the front door led a small hall that emerged out into a living room, which led into an office off to the side. To the right of the living room was the kitchen and dining room, both easily accessed from an arched doorway, and to the left of it all was a small set of steps that led into the hall leading to a guest bedroom, bathroom, and their main bedroom. She had liked it on sight, and Max had liked the simplicity, yet expanded area of the apartment. They had fallen in love with the floor to ceiling windows and the balcony that helped overlook the valley leading into Marysville. It was also furnished with basic materials, and a simple color array that was cheery and upbeat.
She leaned against the door, listening. Hearing the familiar murmur of voices in the kitchen, she winced, gritting her teeth as she recognized the mother of all evils, Janice Sheridan. Once upon a time, she really would have liked the woman, but then that all ended when Janice turned out to be a woman bent on making her life miserable, no matter the cost on her son.
She looked down at her very casual attire, and wondered if she could sneak into the bedroom to change. But the badly mannered woman’s husband heard her enter, and stepped out from the living room. Bob Sheridan would have been nice–but he was influenced by his wife’s ideals and unwelcome thoughts. He was average sized at five ten and one forty, but had a sweeping of dark blond hair that looked wholly untouched atop his head. His wire rim glasses were perched over a long nose, and his lips were set in a firm frown. His white complexion was easily influenced by the sun, and he was currently sunburnt across his nose and cheeks. It was obvious where Max got his lighter colored features–the man possessed them all.
“You’re more than an hour late,” he stated in a flat tone. “We already ate.”
“Hm,” was all Felicia said, wincing. She’d called Max earlier to let him know she was stuck in traffic, but his curt tone and the shrill exclamation from his mother in the background had let her know what to expect when she returned.
“Promptness isn’t something you’re capable of, isn’t it?” Bob asked, lifting an eyebrow as she began walked up the hall toward the living room. “Do you even try?”
Felicia took a deep breath and brushed past him, hearing the telltale clicks of Janice’s heels coming her way. Licking her lips with preparation, Felicia entered the small hall that led in various directions, and watched Janice approach her.
She was a striking, handsome woman–‘handsome’ because Janice’s personality allowed no other options. She was black, with beautifully arranged features, her hair colored a rich golden blond and her perfect taste in fitting clothing dominating her thin-boned frame. It was also apparent where Max received his features from–he had her eyes, eyebrows, and every other physical expression, except that he was shades lighter than her, and slightly darker than his father. Felicia was able to see why so many people asked if Max were adopted–in some ways, he didn’t resemble them at all, but through a mixture of features, he possessed their expressions.
Janice’s thick, pouty lips, currently berry colored and glossy, were arranged with a frown as her dark eyes swept over Felicia’s attire.
“Well, you look the part of a hussy,” she exclaimed, hand on her hip. “And this friend of yours...? He’s a male?”
“Mother, stop,” Max said on a sigh, moving past her. His weary expression let Felicia know just how long Janice had been on him about her. He greeted Felicia with his customary kiss on the cheek, and a stiff hug that gave Felicia another clue that he was irritated with her. “I’m glad you’re here and you’re all right...”
“Why do you coddle her?” Janice asked, her stern voice betelling her annoyance of the gestures. “She’s a grown girl! She knew what she was doing! I hope this ‘friend’ of yours had a trip to the emergency room, Miss Thang, because this sort of behavior is unacceptable! When I arrange a dinner, I expect your company to grace us, and not with some excuse when you miss it!”
“Mother–!”
“Yes, it was an emergency,” Felicia grumbled, pulling away from the comfort of Max’s arms. She faced Janice. “And I’m really sorry I didn’t make it. Traffic was horrible.”
“It takes exactly twenty minutes throughout the entire city from any of the hospitals. What sort of emergency was it?”
Felicia sighed, and walked away, Janice looking after her with an appalled expression.
She looked back at Max, and Felicia made a face as she walked into the kitchen, hearing the woman angrily detail all that she hated about her rude behavior. Max tried to calm her, but it was apparent that tonight was a losing battle. Hating that she put him into such a position, but wasn’t feeling in control of herself to keep from giving the woman a piece of her mind (and possibly losing her loving boyfriend forever in the process), Felicia glumly regarded the dishes that needed to be washed.
They had been together since that Valentine’s Day dance, and she had loved every minute of it. There hadn’t been a guy that made her feel this way before, nor someone that treated her as one would a girl. There were so many people out there that were convinced she was a boy in disguise (only Max and her ex knew for sure) that no one really treated her as such. Max was the only one that did so, and she found herself completely enjoying the attention. Their high school dating had turned into a serious relationship, and they’d moved in together after their senior year at Darken. She’d gotten a job with her uncle, and he’d gotten a weekend job with a local radio station, working as a deejay. The pay was horrible, but his mother supported him, and Felicia was more than willing to front the bills if need be.
She really liked Max–in fact, she could comfortably say she was in love with the guy. He was fun, romantic, sensitive yet stern–and tremendously attractive. He still had people falling over themselves whenever he was out in public, and he’d even caused several car pile-ups through the last two years. He had grown a few more inches, filled out some in the shoulders and chest area, but compared to some of their classmates she saw sometimes, he was still a little boyish. He still had baby fat clinging to his cheeks and he had that innocent factor going on in his overall appearance.
But she really liked him, and found his personality and soul were just as attractive as that face of his. After all, the guy waited over eight months to try and coax her into bed–he was a keeper for sure, she was told. But she didn’t need to be told–she already knew.
Unfortunately, the accompanying parental units were less than par with her–Janice and Bob hated her, and they were constantly looking for excuses for Max to break up with her. Janice had once told her it was because she wasn’t black or white, and she kept up with Felicia’s activities in the weekly gossip rags that were tabloids, constantly accusing her of being irresponsible and manipulative. Already, she was accused of changing Max from a ‘sweet, sensitive boy’ into a drugged-out bisexual that wanted no future for himself. Which was ridiculous–the drugged out bit and the part about the future. As far as the public was concerned, Max’s bisexual tendencies were ‘unconfirmed’. Janice was just being bitchy.
The strain was obvious in their relationship whenever the two were involved.
She heard the abrupt leave of Max’s parents, and guiltily began washing the dishes. She didn’t really feel like eating, anyway–she’d shared an order of nachos with Quatre earlier, and was still full. When she heard Max enter the kitchen, she turned to face him, noting the cross expression on his face.
Over the last two years, he’d grown his hair a little longer on top, leaving it long enough to tuck behind his ears, and shortly cropped at the back of his neck. He gravitated toward darker colors for his clothing choices, and wore mostly logo t-shirts and baggy jeans. He also wore a pair of diamond earrings that she’d bought him for his birthday, as well as a simple platinum band on his ring finger to indicate that he was taken.
She had thought the gesture was very sweet, but couldn’t afix herself to do the same when he’d gotten her a plain diamond band for Christmas. She wore it on her middle finger.
She winced once more, pausing the flow of water.
“I’m really sorry,” she apologized.
“Felicia...you know my parents aren’t really...keen on you, and–it’s like, you’re just adding to their mounting reasons to why they dislike you,” he began, his frustration evident in his rising tone.
“Max, I know, and I’m really sorry, it’s just–!”
“You know this dinner was planned, but you went out anyway!” Max exclaimed, swiping his hands through his hair. “If you knew you were going to be out this late, why didn’t you just–not go?”
“I didn’t know I was going to be there that long!” Felicia argued, turning away from the sink. “I guess I just lost track of time when I was helpin’ Quat out with his furniture...”
“He’s back for sure, huh?” Max asked, his tone suddenly going quiet. He stared at her in silence, then turned to start putting the leftovers away. Felicia suddenly didn’t like the suggestion that was left lingering in his words, and scowled.
“Why that tone?” she asked cautiously.
“What tone?”
“You had a tone...”
“I didn’t have a tone. I was just asking.”
“No, you had a tone.”
“What tone are you talking about?”
“You’re not jealous, are you?”
Max gave her a disgusted expression, putting down the tinfoil that he was using to wrap the salad with. “Why would I be jealous of him?”
“Because...he’s my best friend–er, high school best friend,” Felicia ventured cautiously, narrowing her eyes. “And now that he’s back...but it ain’t like we’re back in high school, or anythin’...so...really, there’s nothin’ to get all j about...”
“I’m not getting jealous about anything,” Max muttered, setting the bowl down too sharply, so that metal cracked loudly against the counter. Felicia raised her eyebrows with a skeptical lift. “But, it’s like–you ran out to see him the moment he came back, despite knowing we had something planned for tonight. You see what I’m getting at? If this is a continuing situation, then of course I’m going to be pissed at things, Felicia.”
“Well...you shouldn’t,” she grumbled. She played with a wet spoon. “I made this mistake, and I know how much it offends your mother and father, but I’m really sorry.”
“You had a tone.”
“I didn’t have a tone!”
“When you said ‘your mother and father’, you had a tone!”
“Will you stop with the ‘tone’ things? GOD! I’m sorry! All right? How many times do I have to apologize to you before you get it?” she exclaimed, throwing the spoon up into the air.
With a disgusted expression, Max dropped the salad bowl back on the counter, and walked out from the kitchen. Realizing that he was utterly angry at her, Felicia scowled at his retreating back, the spoon bouncing off her skull. With a long sigh, she turned to the sink and rummaged through her bag for her cellphone. She sped-dialed a number, putting the phone to her ear and holding it in place with her shoulder as she started to do the dishes.
“What? I could hear you fighting all the way over here,” came a cranky female voice on the other end.
“Hey...he had a tone, right?”
“All the way, baby...he definitely had a tone...”
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
The next day, Quatre was standing where he needed to be, dressed in a dark blue shirt with a dark red tie. He felt a little stiff in the formal wear, nervously reaching up to fiddle with his tie. Dost said he was supposed to meet him here, but the alien was no where around. Quatre wasn’t sure what to expect today, because indication on Dost’s part warned him that this wasn’t going to be an ordinary job. Swallowing nervously, he glanced around the quiet offices. The hall was overly large, with comfortably shaped offices, and the security guards looked armed for World War IV. The approaching afternoon was bright, hot, and there were thunderclouds in the horizon. Staring out the tinted floor to ceiling windows, Quatre found a little bit of peace in the cityscape, and heard approaching footsteps behind him.
He turned, seeing his boss, his bodyguard, and several men in suits walking his way. He gulped, feeling horribly underdressed as he observed the crisp suits and the smooth expressions. The men in suits gave him curled lips and disgusted stares, and he couldn’t help but shrink in self-conscious design at their expressions.
Dost, with his ever-present sunglasses, grinned at him. “Ah! Bright and early! Excellent! I raise your pay two cents. Now...come along. You’ll learn as you go. Gentlemen! Coffee? Donuts? A hooker?”
“Dost, this isn’t the time for such idiocy,” one of the men snarled. “I’m here to conduct business, not have a taste of your entertainment sales!”
“Oh, please, Johnson...let’s not get so angry so early on. Causes problems in the lower intestine. This room’s open...” Dost led the old men into the meeting room, and Trek flicked on the lights.
There was a long, rectangular table with a total of fourteen leather chairs set along the length. At the very back of the room was a blank screen, and all the blinds were shut before the tinted windows.
As the men grumbled and complained, Dost pulled Quatre to the side, hissing, “In-And-Out Burger...seven regular hamburgers, one with onion, one without, one without pickles, one with extra pickles, one with extra ketchup, one without lettuce, one without buns. Got that? Where’s your notepad and pen?”
“Uh, er, well–”
With a disgusted expression, Dost tugged out a holographic pad and pen, and jammed those into Quatre’s hands. With his chicken scrawl, Quatre hastily wrote down what he remembered as Dost glanced back at the grumbling old fogeys sitting around the table. “One orange soda, one root beer, four Cokes, and one Sprite... make that three without ice, two with extra ice, and for one Coke, add extra syrup. Got it?”
“Er...yeah...”
“Five large fries, one order of onion rings, one order of cheesefries...got it?”
“Yes.”
“Read it all back to me.”
Quatre did as he asked, stumbling over the hamburgers, but Dost whacked him across the back with a cheery grin.
“Excellent, m’boy! Cash is with Trek. Take Fifth Avenue and Longston, not Bronson, because there’s construction on Bronson. Oh, and make sure you avoid the pedestrian bridge on Fifth, so take Seventh, instead. Don’t order from the In-And-Out on Seventh! Order from the one on Third! Got it? I want all this back to me within thirty minutes, so you better run! Don’t take a car, because there’s no parking, and the drive-thru takes longer than it should.”
“Y-yes–!”
“And don’t forget–pick me up some chocolate from the dollar store on Fourth and Bradley. The Choco-Rocos...and make sure they don’t melt! I hate melted chocolate!”
“R-Right! Sir! Right away!”
Dost squealed with joy, and turned away from him, demanding attention as he rapped on the table with a fist. As the old men turned their fury onto him, Trek handed Quatre a roll of money, and leaned forward with a growl.
“MAKE it enough,” he said before shoving Quatre out the room and slamming the doors shut.
Quatre stumbled, caught his footing, and looked at the roll of money. Two bucks. The guy gave him two bucks for a sure thirty to forty dollar meal? The hell–? He looked at his watch, saw a minute flick by. With a panicked whimper, he turned and ran off, wondering if he had enough to cover the meal from his own pocket.
Thirty-five minutes later, panting, sunburnt and incredibly pained from dealing with In-And-Out customers and cranky pedestrian traffic, Quatre stumbled through the doorway with his arms loaded of foodstuffs. The men in the meeting looked up curiously, and then regarded him with a furious expression as the meeting was interrupted. Dost hollered from the front, leaping about in joy as he dropped his pointer stick and abandoned his speech on making more money from the figures projected on the screen.
Trek helped Quatre unload the food and handed it out. The blond quickly retrieved the chocolate he’d bought from between the drinks within the carrier, and set that aside. He did not see one of the conniving old men reach out, snag the chocolate, and tuck it away in his breast pocket.
The men were served, Trek reimbursed him with a calculating smirk, and Dost, eager for chocolate, bounced impatiently for the sugar. Quatre looked around in puzzled confusion, searching amidst the mess of cartons and bags, seeing no sign of the chocolate balls. He knew he’d bought it–he patted his pockets, looked on the floor, and looked frantically through the trash on the table.
Dost gave him an exasperated look, shoulders slumping. “You forgot, didn’t you?”
“NO! No, I didn’t! I mean, here’s the receipt!”
“I don’t care about the receipt! I wanted my chocolate! Bad assistant! Bad bad bad! Just for this, I want you to go up to Seventh and Rockwell, and find me tomorrow night’s ensemble. It has to be classy, neat and most of all–I WANT CHOCO ROCOS when you come back! Make it in an hour, and I’ll forgive you...”
“You want me to pick out an outfit for you? What kind of occasion is it?”
“Trek, give him my schedule.” Dost leaned on the table, and ignored the annoyed grumbles from those chowing down on cardboard fries around the table. Trek handed over a simple matchbook style PDA that Quatre felt more than intimidated by. He didn’t know how to work it. He’d figure it out later. “Now, the woman I’m taking is a little picky about certain things, and she wants me to wear a certain color. Of course, I don’t DO any other color but black, so make sure it’s a classy black...not ordinary, not plain, but classy. Think Colin Farrell instead of George Clooney. Got it?”
“Colin...got it.”
“No ties, no bowties, not fucking cuffs. Something simple and yet classy. No jackets, no wingtips, something that flexes well with women’s undergarments...”
“Er...lace?”
“W A HA! I like you, kid, but seriously–I don’t wear women’s underwear...”
“That we know of,” Trek muttered. Dost glared at the Chinese.
“Oh, and I want–and take this down, kid, you’re not even listening–I want to wear a gray shirt. And the buttons HAVE to be pearl. Got it?”
“Pearl buttons...I got it.”
“EXCELLENT! See ya in an hour! And don’t FORGET MY CHOCO ROCOS!”
Quatre nodded hastily, then looked confused. “Erm, how do I pay for it?”
“For GOD’S SAKE, kid!! Go see Nancy on the fifth floor, and she’ll issue you a credit card. ONE HOUR!”
Quatre nodded again and hurried off, panicking at the time limit.
An hour and twenty minutes later, he hurried into the meeting room, utterly exhausted. Dost gave him an evil scowl, pointing at his watch. Trying to catch his breath, Quatre took out the bag of Choco Rocos, and presented them to the maniacal alien. Dost took them gruffly, and opened the bag.
“Pearl?”
“Yes. But it cost extra.”
“My size?”
“...er...ah, yes. I got the measurements from the tailor, there.”
“Rats. I wanted to yell at you for something. Hmm...ah, yes. My natives are getting antsy. Go down to the fourth floor and buy five canned Cokes and two Sprites. Make sure to reserve a table for ten at Bertha Miranda’s down on Twenty-Fifth and Silver...make it clear that there is to be NO candles or salsa cups on the table!”
“A-all right...”
And thus, Quatre’s day was set, performing a series of ridiculous errands and Godawful time limits that pushed him to panic. By the time eleven o’clock rolled around, he just wanted to flop over where he stood, not wanting to take another step. Realizing that this was the sort of thing he was going to be doing for the rest of his scholarship, he wanted to cry.
Dost appeared from a random room in the hall, startling him. The alien was simply too cartoonish and unbelievably quick. “You asleep? Feel like overtime? You get paid mooorrreee!”
Quatre sighed, wanting nothing more than to go home and fall onto his new queen sized bed that hadn’t yet been loaded onto the brand new wooden bedframe.
But...it was overtime, and it was more pay...he shrugged and followed after the alien, who was talking excitedly about a Tekkan Tag Tournament that he planned on having while he waited for the offices in New York City to open at four a.m. tomorrow morning.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre was exhausted from the past three days of working this mad schedule with an alien that never seemed to sleep, but he was looking forward to meeting his friends at the local Pizza Plus that Friday. It was open all night, and it was in nearby Roseville, so by the time he shuffled through the door, he was ready to call it a day. His feet were dragging, and he’d lost his tie somewhere in the taxi. Dost was going to ruin his young life by running him ragged, he was sure of it.
He spotted Felicia waving at him frantically from the back, and made his way over, uncaring of his appearance. There were many other late night eaters in surrounding tables and booths, and nary of them looked up from their food as he walked by. He felt ugly and unappreciated, wanting a little attention from an appreciative admirer.
Maybe he’d take up on Dost’s offer for a free service at a nearby brothel....BAH. He wouldn’t lower himself to that level!
“Hi,” he practically drooled as he took a seat at the bench across from his female friend. The aroma of pizza, buffalo wings, and steak style fries had saliva forming over his tongue as he glanced down at the order eagerly. “FOOD!”
“I was wondering if you were goin’ ta show, or flake out!” Felicia laughed, tossing him a plate.
“Hi, Quatre,” Max said from his end, smiling brightly at him from behind his cup. Quatre tried not to stare, but the boy was just so lovely–!
There was a girl sitting next to Felicia, and Quatre glanced at her curiously.
She was around five foot eight, and had brilliant, fire-engine red hair that was cut just at her shoulders, in a one length style that was both plain and limp. She was also very skinny–her arms were thin and oddly muscled, her torso long and thin, her legs crossed and rather bony. But she had a pretty face–her eyes were large and blue, with the sort of hooded expression that a man found appealing in a seductress sort of way, and she had pouting, cupid’s bow lips that were currently cradling a smoking cigarette. Her skin was pale and smooth, and the colors of her halter top over jeans complimented her coloring. She was their age, but her eyes seemed oddly aged, making it seem as if she were older.
Felicia smacked her shoulder, the girl coughing out her cigarette with a surprised expression. “Don’t mind this hag, Quat. She’s free-loading off my riches, and currently tryin’ to steal my man. This is Yoshida Smith. She ain’t Asian, in case you’re wondering. One hundred percent pure honky.”
Yoshida gave Quatre an annoyed expression, retrieving her cigarette from the floor. Her voice was soft and smooth, tinged with crankiness and a cold. “My parents were hippies, and picked that name for some stupid, drunken reason. And I’m not a hag. And Max is fag.”
“Hey,” Max complained from his end, digging out some ranch with his fries.
Quatre wondered, with some uncertainty, if she was homophobic. She shook her head suddenly.
“No, I’m not,” she said with a frown, giving him a once over. “I’m just saying. I’m not attracted to homosexuals.”
Quatre blinked. It was almost as if she were reading his mind...
“It’s not ‘reading’. I’m hearing it, so basically, I’m listening to what you’re thinking.”
This time, Quatre stared at her in stunned silence. Felicia reached over to whack her again.
“Stop reading people’s minds! Quat, ignore her. She’s just bein’ pesty. She hasn’t had her daily double dose of heroin quite yet, so she’s quite lucid for once.”
“Bitch. You owe me.”
“I owe you my bloody tampon, ho-bag. Stop reading his mind. You’re scaring him.”
“‘Ho-bag’? Might I remind you who the bigger ho is in this group?”
Max shifted from his seat to sit beside Quatre, shaking his head. The two girls were bickering suddenly over that subject as he said, “She’s a little unusual, but you get used to it. I’ve learned not to take her seriously. She can actually be quite nice.”
“Oh...well...uh, wow. It’s good to see you again,” Quatre said, glancing at him, trying not to stare too hard. Was it possible for the guy to have gotten more beautiful than before? Or was it just that he hadn’t seen Max in awhile?
Max grinned at him, nodding. He then reached over and gave Quatre an unabashed welcome hug, something that wreaked havoc with Quatre’s hormones. He wanted to cry.
“Same here. So, how have you been? Felicia told me you have a job as a p.a.? That must be so chaotic...”
“Yeah,” Quatre sighed, reaching for some pizza. Filling his plate of pizza and buffalo wings, he recounted what he had to do for his boss today. Max was laughing by the time he finished. “I couldn’t believe this guy was for real. But he was.”
“But you get paid forty-five dollars an hour.”
“Yeah...it’s really ridiculous. I mean, I don’t mind, it’s just...wow. You know? Ten hours a day for five days a week? Wow. But then again, my schedule changes when classes start.”
“Have you settled in all right? Gotten used to things?”
“Yeah, I–a little. I need to get my driver’s license, so...”
“That’s easy. The computer does everything for you, basically. All you need to know is the basics of driving, and you’re administered a physical exam, and a written one. I was able to get mine within three hours. The written exam is the main thing you have to worry about, but if you got that down, then you have the physical exam down.”
“Where do I do this at?”
Max gave him instructions to the nearest Department of Motor Vehicles, then gave Quatre a close look. “You look really tired. And not from work-related instances...what’s wrong? Adjusting well?”
“Well, yeah...I mean, there’s no problem, it’s just...” Quatre rolled his eyes and stuffed his mouth full of pizza to shut himself up. Max grinned at him, rubbing his back in a way that made Quatre wonder if the guy was hitting on him.
“So? Tell me about your job!” Felicia asked, turning away from her friend. She frowned, made a face, and picked up a fry, hitting Max in the forehead with it. “Stop hitting on him! He’s tired! He can’t get it up when he’s tired! Wait until he’s all rested up!”
“Felicia!”
Quatre choked on his pizza, and the girl cackled, leaning on the table with both arms. “I called Trowa earlier. You know how HARD it is to get a hold of that guy? I think he’s been tryin’ ta avoid me, but I got ‘im. I know ya’ll wanna see each other, so I invited him out. Jigga should be comin’ by, too! Yay! A big ole reunion!”
“You’re going to let your boyfriend hit on your friend?” Yoshida asked, causing two sets of faces to redden.
“Hey, let’s get this straight. They’re both guys. They’re both hot. They got hormones going, why should I interfere?”
“You’re fucked up...”
“Trowa? Here?” Quatre asked, wondering if the guy was going to show up.
“Yeah! He’s been wanting to see you, you know. I can tell. He actually spoke more than three words to me over the phone, and he didn’t cuss at me once!” Felicia declared, grinning. “So, it’s love. Again.”
“He’s still with Sylvia, huh? I talked to him, like, five times since I was gone.” Quatre suddenly jumped and looked at Max, who looked at him innocently.
“Yeah...he ain’t too keen to be on the phone, plus, it was like, Sylvia was documentin’ every minute on the other line. Probably wanted ta wring my neck, ya know? So...I said we’re gonna be here, and he said he’d try, but...we’ll see.” Felicia slurped at her Pepsi, smacking her lips in appreciation.
“It’s almost twelve thirty,” Yoshida observed, glancing at her wrist watch. She rose from the bench, brushing off her pants. “I’m heading out. And, yes, I’m aware I need twenty more pounds on my frame, Maxie, but now’s not the time to lecture me.”
“...I didn’t say anything.”
Yoshida waved at them, and walked off, dropping her ashes in someone’s empty drink cup on the way out. Felicia chuckled, throwing another fry at Max. “Liar. You want it. Admit it. You want my friend’s ass.”
“You made a girl friend?” Quatre asked with a skeptical raise of his eyebrows as Max tossed a sticky piece of chicken in her direction.
“Yeah.”
“How’d that happen?”
“Let’s just say we met as co-workers and it worked from there. Quit tryin’ to change the subject.”
“What subject?”
“Felicia, he needs a driver’s license,” Max said, picking at some pepperoni from an abandoned slice of pizza.
“Ooh...you wanna book? I got one at home, I think.”
“Yeah...it’s not that hard, is it? I mean, to get one?”
“Nah. Just follow point A to point B, and ya’ll got it goin’ on. It ain’t that hard.”
“Why is it that all cars are computerized, but I recall yours being used as a regular stick-shift?” Quatre wondered out loud, dipping a buffalo wing into some ranch.
Felicia cringed, and waved at him to shut up. Max frowned in her direction.
“What? What’d I say?”
“I thought you got rid of that car,” Max growled, looking pointedly at her.
“I did! He’s just talkin’ about the time...many moons ago...when I had it. Nothin’. YAY! Jigga!” Felicia shouted in jubilation, the subject abruptly switched. “Quat, make sure to ask him about Jay. Not Jamie, not Quatre, but Jay. Yee-haw!”
Quatre turned, looking at Justin Sharp as the guy walked over, looking entirely like he’d just woken up. Wearing a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt, he hadn’t even bothered to remove his house shoes as he whacked Quatre across the back in a companionable greeting.
“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” he grumbled, pouring himself some Pepsi. “When did you come in?”
“You missed me!” Quatre cried happily, hugging him. Justin’s arm was jostled by the action, and he spilled Pepsi all over the table. Quatre turned the hug into a headlock, and administered a noogie. “I missed you too, man!”
“Get OFF! I have to work tomorrow–er, today, and I’m heading up to Oregon tomorrow, so I won’t be able to see you for very long,” Justin said, elbowing him and wiping up his mess. “So, you better be fuckin’ appreciative that I sobered my ass up and came out here.”
“Tell him about Jay! Jay!”
Justin reddened, and glared at Felicia over his cup. “I don’t know what you’re talking about...”
Hours later, after many beers, laughter, and another order of pizza, Quatre could comfortably say that he was very happy he made it in. Even if he didn’t see Trowa by the time they finally left, he felt really good about being back here with his friends. He was looking forward to seeing the others, though, and was determined to do so no matter his crazy work schedule.
But he just couldn’t wait to see Trowa again.