Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Pull Up For The J! ❯ No More Love ( Chapter 10 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
NEVER during the Spurs game!
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 4 | Words: 8.2K | Visits: 229 | Status: Completed
NEVER during the Spurs game!
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 4 | Words: 8.2K | Visits: 229 | Status: Completed
Chapter Ten~
“No More Love” = Shinedown
Felicia drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. Stretching her arms upward, she proceeded to wiggle her fingers in spastic motion, and jumped up and down a few times. After that was completed, she reached back to catch her foot and proceeded to stretch the back of her foot to rest on an area just above her back hip. After repeating this with her other foot, she breathed deeply for three counts, picked up her cell phone, dialed, and began walking, gabbering enthusiastically to whomever she was talking to.
Quatre, who’d stared at her the entire time, closed his eyes and shook his head, incredulous at the amount of time and effort it took for someone to warm-up before talking on a damn cell phone and walking at the same time. He’d finished his stretches and was looking to make two miles today...weather permitted, of course. There had a been a cluster of dangerous electrical storms as of lately, and tonight’s weather was no less calm. The skies were dark with thick, nearly black clouds, and lightning was evident in the south end of the city. The wind had picked up as well, blowing his hair from his face, and added resistance to his running. May as well start, before the storm came this way.
Starting off in a strong stride, he pulled his earphones on, clicking on the slim, thin music player that was a gift to him two Christmases ago, and played a variety of his favorite (if not secretive) country. At the familiar drone of Tim McGraw, he felt instantly at ease and nostalgic. Thinking about home life in Laramie, Wyoming, made him feel a little homesick. He’d gotten over wanting to return home so urgently, thanks to all of the activity he found to occupy himself here, but he still yearned to go home, to at least visit. He missed his newly appointed ‘parents’, Rashid and Lana.
He kept in touch with them weekly, and though they’d comfort him in their own way about his situation with his father (who was in the process of disinheriting him, which felt in no way new because he didn’t think Ramid was a good father and never acted very fatherly anyway), he wanted their physical presence. They were making sure he came home for Christmas, and even invited Trowa, whose company they’d enjoyed last year. He hadn’t told them that they were having troubles, mostly because he didn’t want them to think differently about Trowa and the drug use. He just didn’t want them to worry.
Physical activity helped him a lot with this situation–he went to the gym nightly to play with the others (those two freshmen girls were, for some reason, afraid of him and never played again), and he did this after school let out. Glancing over his shoulder, Felicia was still walking along, laughing at something uproariously, and he shook his head to concentrate on running some more. His ‘partner’ preferred to walk and talk on her cell while he worked his ass off (quite literally–Thank God, his fat ass was finally shaping up once more) running and sprinting.
He’d pretty much got his wind back and could run at a steady pace for over a mile and a half. The last two laps were turning into a problem because that’s when his legs were turning to rubber and his lungs were burning. Hell, at least he was in shape, right? Well, getting there...and he’d lost more poundage since he’d began, over a month and a half ago...his clothes were much looser and he was down to the last notch in his belt, so it looked as if he needed to put his ‘fat’ clothes away and dig out his skinny ones once more.
He’d gotten his haircut, and was a little surprised at how clean and normal he looked once more. Trowa had once commented that he looked like a frat-boy, complete with beer belly and utter grungy appearance. He didn’t think so, but Trowa had looked pretty serious, and he took everything Trowa said about him to heart. He just wanted Trowa to like him again, to look at him the same way he had before. Even through the initial reaction to Trowa’s cheating made him feel uneasy about being touched by the lanky boy, he began craving his touches once more. Trowa was giving them a little more, holding his hand again, kissing him briefly, and even hugged him here and then. Certainly much less than before he’d gone to Spain, but much more since he’d come back from that dreaded whore-place.
He fairly bristled with the thought of that place and sped up his running. Whoever it was that Trowa cheated with may always be on Trowa’s mind, but she wasn’t here with him like Quatre was. So, in that sense, he felt comforted. Just...just not the same as before. He sighed as he ran, turning the corner, moving to pass up a shouting Felicia.
Frowning, annoyed that he was running and she wasn’t, he took his ear pieces out of his ear and shut off his music player. Turning off course, he veered in her direction, and used his shoulder to slam into her. With her, he didn’t have to hold back. She just wasn’t fragile. He treated her the same way he would with another boy.
Crying aloud with pained fury, Felicia recovered her dropped phone and ran after him, threatening to kick his ass. Laughing, he turned to jog backward, facing her. “You’re getting fat, girlie! You’d better start running!”
“I don’t wanna!” she yelled back, but hung up her phone and moved to keep up with him. “I’m in too good of shape to even want to try this kiddie approach.”
He snorted, turning around to catch a comfortable stride. She kept pace easily with him, stowing her phone away in her sweater pocket. “You don’t even do anything,” he muttered.
“I do plenty of things! My uncle has a gym back home, and I do shit there,” she said with a happy chirp, flexing one arm.
He looked at her skeptically, but eyed the obvious toned muscle with much trepidation, as it just added to his suspicions of her being a boy. “But you’re here all the time...”
“No, I ain’t. Usually when you’re all loved up with Mr. Perfection, I’m at my uncle’s, keeping my groove up with my various personal trainers,” Felicia explained, with a very straight face.
Quatre rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You don’t have personal trainers.”
“Yeah, I do. He has me signed up for everything up the ass to keep me out of trouble. Like, ballet, martial arts, boxing, gymnastics...he really isn’t a kid person and keeps me in all that activity to wear me down.”
“Whatever. You liar.”
“Take it as you will!” she sang, grinning. She gave leaps in the middle of her running. “But it’s true! You’re not with me all the time!”
“How long does it take to get to your uncle’s?”
“Forty-five minutes.”
“Why don’t you stay there?”
“I just told you–my uncle’s not a kid person. He’d rather I was sent away rather than sticking around him, givin’ him a headache.”
“Oh...” Quatre trailed off as Felicia kept pace with him, reaching up to pull her hair into a ponytail. Lightning flashed in the distance, lighting up the entire sky. The cracking sound of thunder hit them soon after, and because he grew wary of being in a lightning storm in such a wide open area, he sped up his pace, to complete at least a mile.
“So, anyway, things are fine between you and Trowa again, huh?” Felicia asked, easily matching his strides. He had to look at her–he had longer legs, and was used to running all the time, yet she was keeping up with him with no trouble at all...and talking without trouble, at that.
“Yeah...I guess. Much better than before.”
“Is he still using?”
“Yeah...just less. He feels really guilty about what he did.”
“Fuck, man, what’d he do? Get the bitch pregnant? God, he’s treatin’ this with more drama than usual,” Felicia muttered with a roll of her eyes.
Quatre frowned. “Look, he just feels guilty, all right?”
“I’m not fuckin’ doggin’ him, man. I’m just sayin’, he’s taking this too hard. He probably had feelings for her, fuckin’ bastard,” she then muttered, almost too low for Quatre to hear.
But he heard the gist of it, and frowned hard. He suspected as much, and couldn’t think of anything else to say. Realizing she’d gone and fucked up what good was being shared, Felicia sighed and shook her head.
“So, what do you think of Sylvia?” she asked him.
Quatre blinked at the abrupt change in subject. “I don’t know. Why? You in love with her?”
“For the last FUCKING time, I am NOT a LESBIAN!” Felicia then shrugged. “I don’t know, she seems okay. She doesn’t seem like she’s in it for somethin’ bad...”
“She’s okay.”
“I don’t get along very well with girls, y’know...”
Quatre had to laugh, growing breathless as he did. As soon as he was able to, he began talking. “We’re a lot alike in many ways, aren’t we, Leash? I can’t get along with girls, you can’t get along with girls...”
“But the only thing different about us is that I like guys---Holy shit, you like guys, too! Yay! We’re twins!” Felicia cried in delight, dragging him to a stop by hugging him. “Separated at birth an’ rejoined only by this perverted, overrated academy!”
“GET OFF!”
She laughed, running again as he moved to catch up. “Anyway, we are, Quat. I think that’s why we get along so swell...”
“Or I’m just taking pity on you and letting you hang out with me...”
“Ooh, I should be just so lucky!” she snapped in sarcasm as he cuffed her head. She punched him back, so he had to retaliate by bending slightly, giving her a dead leg. She yelped, stumbled to a stop as he ran ahead, laughing. “Fucker!”
When she caught back up with him, he thought about something. “Hey...you should play basketball this season.”
“Fuck that bullshit, dick-hole. I don’t do team sports. And I don’t do shit that slanders my people! Fuck that bullshit! Don’t ever bring that up again!”
“But–! Last year, you were really good!”
“So!! I don’t fuckin’ care!”
“Where do you play?”
“Huh? Oh, at uncle’s...with my cousins. And sometimes, Drake and I play on the outside courts at night. He’s hella good, too. But he’s a fuckin’ smoker, so he don’t last very long. Natives were practically born with basketballs in our hands,” she said, laughing. Quatre was too busy trying to focus on breathing evenly to even continue the conversation, so she continued, having no problem doing so. He hated that, spearing her with a disgusted look. “So maybe my dad passed it down to me, or somethin’. Drake said that when he was livin’ on a reservation, everyone played it, or those that didn’t play were watchin’. So...I don’t know. Plus it’s just a way to fuck around...”
“Just...try-out...”
“No. No, no, no.”
“Come...play...at...the gym, then...”
“Maybe one day. When I’m around. Tonight I’m heading out to my uncle’s for some stupid dinner with some of his high class friends. I hate society bullshit-functions...all this popularity and bullshit–! Hey! There’s the Trow-ster!”
Quatre looked to see that Trowa was walking over to the track, smoking a cigarette. Frowning, Quatre then focused on the track as Felicia suddenly pulled back, walking once more. He stopped running, looking back at her with a frown. “What’re you doing?”
“Nothin’. Finish up your lap,” she said, digging out her cellphone and redialing a number. She then walked off the track, heading toward the dormitory. “Gowan, before Trowa sees you talkin’ to me and throws a shitfit. Ya know how he is, jealous bastard...”
Quatre sighed, then resumed running, shaking his head. Trowa was jealous and insecure, and no matter how many times Quatre tried explaining his friendship with Felicia, Trowa was just morbidly convinced that they had something more going on. Moving on to finish his mile, he figured that maybe two more laps wouldn’t hurt, and continued to run, pulling his ear pieces back on and letting Tim Mcgraw complain about his own bloody dramatics in drawling form.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Nearly a week later, on a Friday night, Quatre was immersed in a very close game with the usual gaggle of kids when Felicia burst into the gym with much energy, startling all that were watching because she wasn’t one to enter the gym unless she was forced to. Her presence caused much curious attention in her direction from the various spectators that were watching the game.
“QUATRE!” she shouted from the doors, bouncing up and down, still dressed in her uniform. She had very urgent news to let her favorite blond know what was in the future for him, and it was urgent enough for her to interrupt the game.
“Fuck off!”
“No!!! You need to come here and talk to me!”
“Get the fuck out of here!!”
Felicia sighed, hanging her head as she waited for the ball to come down her way. Entirely used to the way that he spoke to her (she was the same way, and such things never bothered her), she ignored his concentration on keeping ahead of Hiiro’s team and waited for him to come close enough for her to talk.
“I need to tell you something very important,” she began quickly as he came down underneath the basket, rebounding the ball. Only, when he tried taking it out to get it to his end of the court, the ball became lost within the crowd of boys, being tossed, grabbed and thrown up at the hapless basket ten feet above. She noticed with some amusement that there wasn’t girls on the court–she’d heard about the frosh that had her nose bloodied during a game with him, and had laughed about it. Frankly, if the girl couldn’t cut it with a prospective teammate, what made her think she was going to last in a real game?
Served the brat right to have her nose bloodied.
“Not NOW!” he shouted in frustration, moving to rebound and receiving an elbow in his face.
“I’m LEAVING tomorrow, and I’m NOT going to be back until the fifteenth, dickhead!” she shouted, waving an arm around. Her leaving school for mysterious periods of time was very common. No one really questioned why because she made it sound so very unimportant.
“Bloody Christ, he’s not even listening...” she then muttered as the two teams headed down to the other end of the court, and she waited impatiently for them to return to this end, tapping her foot. Realizing that she was not going to speak to Quatre any time soon, she grimaced and looked down at her shoes, scuffing the heel against the court to see if they were going to make any black marks. When the finely tailored leather Gucci shoes were going to do no such thing, she made sure the velcro was on tight and rolled up the hems of her pants while people looked at her questioningly.
“GO AWAY!” Quatre then shouted at her as they returned to this end, once again in limbo over who was going to get the ball.
“Hey, William!” she growled, reaching in and pulling the center off balance, nearly pulling him off his feet.
“WHAT?!” he roared in irritation as he looked down at her.
“You on his team?!”
“YES!”
“Take five, NOW!”
Without giving him a chance to answer, she shoved him aside and joined the game. She reached into the gaggle of struggling boys, took the ball, and dribbled effortlessly away from the group to give herself space. Seeing that players had unwillingly switched, confusion racked the group of eight until Quatre gave a small growl of annoyance and signaled for the ball.
Passing it to him, she zipped between Duo and Hiiro as they moved to adjust to this very sudden change. She made the signal that she was open as the teams began moving back down to the other end of the court. Passing it to her, he made it through a crowding Otto and a quick Duo, and gestured for a pass. She instead passed it to Triton, who made a three from his end.
Everyone watched, waited, and listened for any furious shouting from the fanatical blond, but most were still in complete shock that he’d passed to her in the first place. Attention was gathering on the court, where the amazing had just occurred, and murmurs began to move throughout those watching the game.
“Mr. Ogre called me,” she began, moving up when he began signaling for his team to attack while on front court. Then she cleared her throat, figuring that this was for certain ears only. Switching to flawless Arabic, because Trowa had once told her that he was Arab, she repeated her earlier sentence.
Quatre stopped chasing after Hiiro, looking at her twice with his face clearly expressing his shock at her using his language as if it were nothing. Hiiro, seeing that he was in the clear, made a hurried jump shot that put his team up two points ahead. Then Quatre quickly resumed playing, signaling that he was listening. “So?!”
“He–!” She interrupted herself to cut off an inbounds pass to Otto, dribbled it around her back and shot the pass to Quatre, who had signaled for a cut. As Travis landed the cut, Quatre passed it to him and Travis tossed it up to the basket, only to have it caught in mid-air by Hiiro. Felicia slammed into him with her shoulder, retrieving the ball roughly, and passed it out to Quatre. Hiiro looked down at her with fury plain in his Japanese features, but she ignored the glare, popping out from underneath the net to the three point line, signaling that she was open. “–called me, and he wants to talk to you and he’s angry that you haven’t talked to him, and then he’s saying that–!!”
She caught the pass Quatre hurled at her, lunged forward underneath Hiiro’s swinging arms to pass to Triton, and watched the taller center make a jump shot through the crowding hands that pressed him. She quickly covered Duo as Hiiro moved to begin the inbounds pass, keeping up effortlessly with the braided wonder, who looked at her in complete surprise.
She kept him from catching a pass, and followed him throughout the court while Quatre directed the others into getting back to their end of the court, setting up for position. She abandoned Duo then, taking William’s usual position under the net and continued on with her gossip.
“–he’s coming out here on Saturday for Darken’s football game against Sageville, and he’s gonna look for you and he’s mad as hell that you haven’t talked to him since summer–!”
She pushed Winnie aside to catch the pass directed to him, and hurled it down court for Quatre to catch on a fast break. After he made the two pointer, she jogged over to half court, looking entirely pained.
“Are you listening?!” she yelled, stomping her foot in frustration.
“YES!”
“So you better watch out! I can’t cover for you now, asshole! I gotta leave off planet!” she finished in English, looking exasperated as he ran, no, plowed his way through the group of guys underneath the net to rebound the ball.
“FINE!”
“That’s all I have to say!”
“Then get out of here!”
She chuckled, gesturing at the staring William to take over, then hurried off the court, running from the basketball gym. Then a few people heard her screaming furiously that she owed Trowa four thousand bucks for something that was then indistinguishable as the girl left the gym for the dormitory.
It was after she had left when the others just realized that Quatre had no problems playing with her, that he’d played with her just as easily as he would with the other boys, with no common problems that he’d had with the other girls. And frankly, it was scary considering who it had been.
“What was that shit about?” Triton asked Quatre when they were given a break.
“What?”
“That fuckin’ thing with Felicia!”
Quatre blinked, trying to remember what was being said. He hadn’t been concentrating on what she was saying, but it probably wasn’t that important. He shrugged, wiping his face with one of his wrist guards. Triton stared down at him, hands on his slender hips.
“And what the fuck was that about? Does she play?”
“Huh?”
“Dude! Listen to me! Does she play?!”
“Play what?!” Quatre growled in irritation, looking up at Triton with a frown.
Triton sighed, looking pained as he wiped his black hair from his face, the neatly trimmed strands once again pushing forward to the sides of his face. “Whatever, man. Whatever....”
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
When presented with a small envelope, Quatre took it with a questioning expression as Trowa smiled at down at him. It was Saturday night, and he were sitting in the entertainment room on the first level of the dormitory, where various students who didn’t want to watch the football game going on outside, were hanging out. It was raining slightly, but the reception on the current NBA game that was playing (Spurs versus Heat) was coming in clear. Quatre was watching the game, and Trowa had been out and about, not one to watch athletic events, no matter what was going on.
The envelope presented to him had his name in calligraphy, and it was obvious that Trowa had spent a lot of time on it. He opened the envelope quickly, lowering his head to miss the fantastic three point shot one of the San Antonio Spurs had thrown during the last few seconds of the clock. Opening it, he withdrew a creme colored invitation to a RSVP restaurant only, and what looked to be a keycard.
“What’s this?” he asked as Trowa sat next to him on the couch, the remote being snatched and the channel changed.
“I made us reservations for this place in downtown New Park,” Trowa said, lifting an arm to curl around his boyfriend’s neck, drawing him close for a kiss on the forehead. “We’ll go and have a date. A real date.”
“And this?”
Trowa grinned at him as Quatre held up the keycard. “A key to the New Park Hilton....honeymoon suite.”
Quatre blinked, tapping the keycard against his chin. Did Trowa really say...? “Are you serious?”
Trowa nodded, lowering his eyes to fiddle with the collar of Quatre’s t-shirt. “Yes. I am serious. You kept mentioning that we should rent a hotel room...to...catch up on things...”
“Yeah, but...”
“But ‘what’, Quatre?”
Quatre stared at him, lowering the keycard onto his lap, ignoring all the screeching and moaning from a Ed, Edd, and Eddy cartoon that was being played in favor of his game. “You really want to...?”
Trowa smiled, taking the keycard and invitation from him, then curling his fingers through his hand, to hold it. “Yes, I do.”
Quatre really wanted to be happy, but he still felt annoyed that Trowa would rather take him on physical appearance only, and not the way that he’d like. But still, Trowa was trying...and Quatre wanted him happy...He licked his lips nervously, then managed a bright smile. “Wow, that sounds great, Trowa. What kind of restaurant is it?”
“We have to dress up for it...that won’t be a problem, will it?”
“No...”
“We’ll go out and rent some suits. It’s actually a fundraiser that the mayor’s putting on to raise money for inner city kids...I figure we can ignore anything else presented, but I wanted us to go out on an actual date that doesn’t involve fights, greasy food and crowded theaters...It’s two weeks from now.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Then you’re okay with it?”
“Yes. Any time spent with you is great.”
Trowa smiled at him, then kissed him gently. Pulling away, he lifted from the couch, holding up the envelope and its contents. “I’ll keep this in my room. I’m going to go and check out the football game. Do you want to come?”
“You’re going to a football game?” Quatre repeated in incredulous disbelief.
Trowa shrugged, tapping the things he held in one hand against the other. “Yeah...nothing wrong with it, I suppose. I guess I’m just trying to gear up for basketball season...you know?”
Quatre’s lips spread into a wider smile. “You’re going to watch my games this year?!”
“Yeah...if you make the team, that is,” Trowa added, smiling because Quatre was a definite shoe-in for the team.
Quatre just grinned, ecstatic at the thought of Trowa actually watching him play. Last year, Trowa had made only one effort, and that was practically because Middie Une had chased him into the gym, trapping him there. Because Quatre was so used to having loved ones watching him play back in Laramie, the fact that he didn’t have such company here in New Park was pretty difficult to adjust to. Trowa was the only person that he wanted there to watch him play, and Trowa, at the time, did no such things because he was the type to avoid large crowds. But if he was willing to watch him this year...things were surely looking up if Trowa was making this effort!
He shook his head, resettling back in his spot on the long, comfortably worn couch. “No, I’ll stay here and watch the–HEY! Who changed the freakin’ channel?!”
Trowa smiled, turned, and walked out as a couple of students hid the remote from the blond. He recognized the two boys as being part of Quatre’s ‘fanclub’, a small group of admirers that stalked and worshiped the boy’s every move and such with all the simpering effects a worshiper possessed. There was even ‘fanfiction’ circulating his boyfriend’s very existence in grand, noble, and rather pornographic detail that people actually bought. Really, Quatre wasn’t the only one with a fanclub, but it was the only one that was really noticeable because of his popularity with the group. Quatre was sure blind to whoever was in the group, because he never realized that the kids he was currently threatening disembowelment with was gooey-eyed with every move and word.
Trowa walked out from the room eyeing the contents in his hand. The tickets to the fundraiser was sort of expensive–five thousand each, and the suite to the Hilton was about twenty-five hundred less. But he saved money for a reason, and all of it was to spend on his blond counterpart...and on the forbidden. Sighing, aching for a hit, Trowa stuffed the contents in his back pocket and ventured outside, instead. He knew that his addictions were going to bother him for awhile, make him irritable and cranky, but he just had to make do. Marijuana distracted him from wanting a hit of meth or Gin-Gin, but usually it wasn’t enough. The intense cravings, there after established contact with the drugs for the period since he’d arrived in the States, were strong enough to call it a battle of wills.
Practically as strong as cigarette cravings, the need for a hit was strong enough to make him weak enough to cave in if he was offered a hit, and he moved to distract himself with the game as he walked over. There were various students milling about, dressed in rain coats and hats, and he was wandering around without a hat, his hair becoming soaked.
Walking toward the game, he saw Drake talking to a rather angered student that didn’t look as if he were from here, and Trowa walked over to see what was going on. But before he could venture further, the student turned and stomped off. Frowning, Trowa wondered what was up that guy’s butt as he reached Drake.
Drake’s eyes widened considerably, but returned to normal size when Trowa looked at him. “What’s up, dude?” he asked, but his voice croaked at one point. Eyes shifting to see if Justin wasn’t going to return anytime soon to pester him about Quatre, Drake looked up at Trowa and quickly offered up a blunt. “Wanna smoke with me?”
“Yeah, sure. Who was that?”
“Uh...just some dude...looking for someone.”
“He looked pissed.”
“Yeah, he was. What are you doing here?”
“Nothing. Figured I come out and look around.”
“Yeah? Well, let’s go behind the bleachers...how you doin’ so far? Are you still cranked?”
“What? No. No, I’m...cutting down on that. Don’t–don’t offer that, all right? Bud’s fine, just not...”
“Understandable, dude. It’s good that you’re cuttin’ down. Takes a man to overcome such things,” Drake rambled as he led the way to a peaceable spot to smoke. He lit the rolled joint, starting it, then passed it over to Trowa. Holding the smoke in his lungs, and talking in a choked tone as he held the smoke in, Drake said, “So, is Quat gonna try-out for b-ball this year?”
Trowa tried not to choke on the inhaled smoke as he held the blunt. He nodded, holding the smoke in his lungs as Drake exhaled and took the joint back. He spoke in the same choked manner. “Yeah, you know it. I think the same team members are going to try out.”
“Hilde ain’t.”
“Who’s that?”
“Girl with short hair...I think she’s a dyke. She played last year.”
“Why isn’t she?”
“Dude...she fuckin’ hates your boy.”
Trowa rolled his eyes, taking the joint. “I don’t think there’s a girl here that likes him.”
“Leash, does.”
“She’s not a girl, Drake. She’s a man.”
“Oh, right. Ennit, huh?”
“Anyway, it doesn’t look like any girls will be trying out this year, anyway. They all hate him.”
Drake shrugged. “Girls shouldn’t be on the team, anyway. They don’t belong on the court.”
“Some are pretty good.”
“Yeah, but not from here.”
Trowa shrugged, taking another hit. After exhaling, he held the joint at Drake. “I’m going in. You coming?”
“Nah, I just came from there. I’m heading back to the dorm, catch up on some sleep. Plus, I’m hungry.”
“Okay, then. See you.”
Drake walked off with a wave, putting out the half smoked joint and putting it away in one of his various pockets. Trowa walked toward the game, hearing the cheers of the fans of Darken as a touchdown was made. He had no idea what was going on, but he figured he’d learn once he got in there and watched for a little while.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Justin wasn’t going to be deterred by Drake’s words. He was fueled with annoyed anger that Quatre had dropped him so unexpectedly, and since he was here at Darken, he was going to find the creep and have it out. He knew it had to have been his...er, manly endowments that had scared the creep off, but Justin wasn’t about to leave it at that. They were going to have words, by God, and this was going to be straightened out. Because no matter how big of a jerk Quatre was or how much Justin didn’t want to see this thing going on in a direction he wasn’t yet ready to have with another guy, Justin was still attracted to the boy. He had more fun with him than he had with anyone else, and he wasn’t ready to give this up without the proper explanation. No one dropped him without no good reason and expected him to deal with it without question. No one did.
So, he drifted away from the football game and headed toward the main school building, looking for any familiar faces. He was dressed in plain jeans, a sweater-shirt and a baseball cap, and he was fueled with nervous energy. Quatre had to be avoiding him for another reason, and he needed to know why. It couldn’t just be the fact that he had an enormous dick–that couldn’t be the only reason. So, he needed to find out why. Drake had simply said that he didn’t know where Quatre was, but he wasn’t at the dormitory, and Felicia had explained over the phone that she wasn’t going to be around for a few weeks, so she was no where around to question. Everyone else he just didn’t know, so it looked as if he would have to search him out on his own. Having no idea whether or not he would be invited into the dormitory to search around, he headed toward the concession stand that was held within the cafeteria.
Walking in, he appreciated the rather large area, which was filled with comfortable tables and even more comfortable chairs. There wasn’t any plain table-benches and small spaces, and one could wander comfortably about without bumping into anyone. He sneered at all the rich, privileged kids and searched for that familiar shock of white-blond hair. Seeing none, he turned to walk right out of the cafeteria, moving out when a couple of boys were moving in, giggling.
“He’s so cute!” One of them, a slender, feminine boy with disgustingly long lashes giggled. Justin had to stare–they were so femmy that it was incredibly ghastly. Except...they were rather good looking. Every one of these rich kids were so good-looking that it was disgusting.
“I love him so much!” the other said, revealing perfect white teeth. “Quatre will always have my heart!”
“And whatever else, huh?”
“Hey.”
Both...boys(?)...looked at him as he interrupted, cheering at the mention of the name. “Yes?”
“Where is he? Quatre?” Justin asked, trying not to stare too obviously at the two femmy boys that were obviously freshmen.
“In the dormitory, watching the Spurs game. Are you...from here?”
“No.”
“Just let Lowell know you’re a visitor and that you’re looking to talk to Quatre Winner. That’s all. Lowell’s cool that way. He’ll let you in without a pass.”
“Thanks, er, man,” Justin said, turning and heading toward the dormitory. Studying the five story building and its ornately beautiful plainness, Justin figured that Drake had lied to him for a reason. Why, he didn’t know. But he’d rather find out personally than learning from either gossip or whatever.
He walked into the dormitory lobby, looking around in awe at the high ceiling, the dark marble floor, the tall jungle-type plants that sat in various pots throughout the area, the quietness of the place... the walls were obviously sound-proof, because he couldn’t hear the various activity that was occurring outside at the football field nearby. He had to give the rich kids props, though–their pad was absolutely awesome. The security guard looked at him with a questioning expression, so Justin walked over, looking uncertain.
“I’m looking for Quatre Winner?”
The black man nodded and waved him off, returning his attention to his book.
“Er...do you know where he is?”
“Go straight up the hall to your left, and keep going until you hit the entertainment area. You won’t miss him,” Lowell replied, eyes focused on his love novel.
Justin nodded and turned to do just that. The hallway was very large, with at least three different open doorways that led to various areas. He heard faint noises of a game of another genre happening just down the hall, so he ambled in that direction, reaching up to adjust his baseball hat over his dark hair.
One room was obviously a study area, set with large tables and various bookcases filled with reference books along the four walls. Another room was set up with similar things, but with computer stations. The last room was very open, containing both a television set and a holoset, but both were set at opposite ends. There were expensive lounge couches, La-Z-boy chairs, various stool chairs, ping-pong tables, foosball tables and air hockey tables set about in various areas. There were a few small tables set up here and there, all of them set up in a very feng shui comfort.
There were various students sitting about, most either involved with something of their own design or leaning over portable games or books, and there was a familiar mop of white blond hair just barely visible in the wide couch near the television set at his right. Scowling, Justin made his way over there, glancing at the set to see that his fling was watching a Spurs and Heat game.
“NO! No! Bad ref! BAD ref!” Quatre was shouting, hurling a throw pillow at the television set. “Traitor! That wasn’t a foul!”
“Hey, asshole.”
“GAH!”
Quatre stared at him in complete and utter horror, shifting up from the couch as Justin faced him, rather angrily, blocking his view of the massive television set.
“Oh my god, what are you doing here?” Quatre choked on his words, looking around to see who was about.
Justin narrowed his eyes, hands on his hips as he stared down at Quatre.
“What do you mean by that?! What the fuck’s going on, Quatre? Why have you been avoiding me?” he demanded as Quatre rose quickly from the couch, eyes darting about.
“Uh, uh...uh...I don’t know.”
“I’ve been calling you, like, constantly! What the hell, man? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
“Let’s–let’s go outside, all right?”
“No! I don’t want to go outside. I was just out there,” Justin said, indicating his wet sweater and hat. Quatre was very nervously fiddling with his fingers, cracking his knuckles and such, and his eyes kept straying over his shoulder, looking for something beyond him.
Justin studied him, a little surprised by the weight loss. It was obvious that Quatre had lost the weight he’d packed on over the summer, and while he considered the boy to be attractive in any shape or form, he had to admit that he didn’t like the loss of softness on the lean frame. It was obvious he was preparing for basketball season, once again returning to the shape and form of the hardened player he’d first met on court. And his hair was cut, too, the bangs hanging in his eyes, the tousled locks just as soft and fluffy as they had been under his fingers that one morning. Seeing him again evoked feelings of uncomfortable cheer, but he was still annoyed that he had been avoiding him.
“Er...all right...um...what are you doing here?”
“I came to watch the game,” Justin answered crossly, crossing his arms. “I called Felicia to let her know that I was coming, and she said she was going to talk to you.”
“Oh...yeah...she did...”
Justin frowned. “And?”
“Er...um...what do you want?”
“Dude...what the fuck, man? What’s your deal? Why have you been avoiding me?”
“Erm...uh...sorry?”
“‘Sorry̵ 7; does nothing for me, motherfucker. First you hang out with me all throughout summer, then as soon as school started, you haven’t even bothered answering your phone or anything. What the fuck?”
Quatre nervously eyed the two boys that were returning from the cafeteria, armed with munchies as they fully intended on sticking around in the same area he was in. If they knew that Justin was his fling...Trowa would find out–Trowa was here! Trowa, if Quatre didn’t think and act fast, was going to find him with Justin, and...oh! Things were going so well! He needed to get Justin out of here, and NOW before Trowa decided that football wasn’t his thing and came back to visit with him.
He looked at the boys, who were talking amongst each other, resuming their seats at the nearby overstuffed chair that they’d sat in comfortably, to resume watching the game.
Then he looked at Justin, who was frowning at him in a very suspicious manner, looking impossibly intimidating all at the same time. Smiling weakly, Quatre tried to think of a good excuse on why he wasn’t returning Justin’s calls.
“I...just kind of figured...you know, it was a summer thing...that...I don’t know. Nothing about anything permanent or anything came up, so I figured it was just...fleeting,” he said lamely, wishing that he’d recalled or even paid attention to what Felicia had tried to warn him about that one night.
Justin dropped his arms, looking irritated. “So you just stopped talking to me because of that? You know, you’re a real fucking jerk, Quatre. I said it before, but I really mean it. What kind of lame-ass excuse are you trying to pull off?”
“It’s not an excuse! I mean, well...”
Justin stared at him, the looked at the two newcomers that were watching with great interest at the current scene before them. Recognizing the boys as those from the cafeteria, Justin looked back at Quatre, who looked incredibly pained. Realizing that he was stumbling onto something that resembled a tremendous lie of sorts, Justin stared hard at him.
“You have a boyfriend, don’t you?” he said evenly, feeling hurt and angry at the same time, mounting irritation growing from within. “That’s why you fuckin’ stopped talking to me.”
“Wait–! I can explain, all right?”
“You have a boyfriend, didn’t you?! You lied to me!”
“Okay, okay, yeah, I did lie! All right?! But he wasn’t here–!”
“And that gave you the choice to fuckin’ go on behind his back?! Motherfucker! I told you I didn’t do that cheating thing! You fucking dick!”
“I’m sorry, all right?! Besides, it’s not as if we did anything, right?” Quatre pointed out, focusing his attention on Justin rather than the garnering attention that was being drawn upon them from the bystanders throughout the area. “We were just hanging out!”
“Yeah, but–!”
“But what?! You said so yourself, you didn’t want anything to happen! You told me this! In fact, your exact words were you didn’t want a relationship or anything. You just wanted to hang out. Be friends. And that’s what we were, right?!”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t that way in the end!”
“What was in the end, Justin?!”
“You know what was in the end!”
Quatre’s face turned bright red at that, and he stole glances around him as Justin yelled at him. He seriously hoped Trowa wasn’t making his way back–how cliche! Chewing his lip furiously, aware that he’d have to do some major talking to keep Trowa off his back about Justin (because he knew everyone was going to talk, and since the infamous Justin from Sageville was here confronting him, Trowa was bound to find out!), Quatre turned his attention back to Justin.
“Look...you didn’t want a relationship, or anything. So we hung out. That’s all we were. We were just friends. I don’t see why you’re trying to make such a big deal out of it,” he said slowly, gesturing with his hands.
“I told you that if things changed, my feelings were going to change...”
“But things didn’t! All we did was hang out, Justin! Whatever else you thought was going to happen wasn’t! You already made that decision!”
“Why are you being such a fucking prick?! What the fuck?! And if you have a fucking boyfriend, where is he?!”
“I don’t know...”
Justin stared at him, frowning, teeth clenched. Crossing his arms, he glanced around himself, at the two boys that were watching with somewhat fearful glances up at him. Deciding then and there that he couldn’t handle this guilt, that he was part of the problem, Justin turned to Quatre. “Where is he? I want to talk to him.”
Quatre’s eyes nearly widened to the size of dinner plates. “What for?!”
“I want to apologize to him.”
“NO!”
Justin stared back at him in incredulous design. “What? Dude, don’t you realize how fucked up this is?! I don’t want to bring that guy down because I didn’t know you had a fucking boyfriend! I want to apologize to him!”
“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him!”
“You...didn’t tell him about me?”
“NO! Why would I?!”
Justin stared at him, incredibly sick with this situation. And Quatre treating it as a mere fling, something that should be kept secret at all costs...it made him sick to his stomach. Shaking his head, he turned and started toward the door, but paused, looking back. “You make me fucking sick, you fucking loser. I hope it comes back to you and you get fucked over even worse than he has been.”
Then he walked off, furious.
Quatre stared after his retreating form, wanting to shout out that he’d already been fucked over, but somehow, he knew that it wasn’t the appropriate thing to say. Incredibly embarrassed and scared that Trowa was going to pop in and discover this situation, Quatre was stuck in a state of highly wired nerves, of which had him lifting a hand and chewing on his nails furiously. He felt bad for having deceived and treated Justin in this way, but felt even worse that he done such on Trowa. Whichever, he didn’t have such feelings for Justin as he did for Trowa, but still...feelings were hurt and words were exchanged, and he felt horribly evil.
Gritting his teeth, he left the entertainment area, leaving behind hurried whispers and his precious Spurs, and hurried up to his room. Justin had left the building, but he’d certainly left behind a great big scene. Hoping against hope that Trowa would never find out that this incident had occurred, Quatre sought out the safety of his room and hid for the rest of the night within.
“No More Love” = Shinedown
Felicia drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. Stretching her arms upward, she proceeded to wiggle her fingers in spastic motion, and jumped up and down a few times. After that was completed, she reached back to catch her foot and proceeded to stretch the back of her foot to rest on an area just above her back hip. After repeating this with her other foot, she breathed deeply for three counts, picked up her cell phone, dialed, and began walking, gabbering enthusiastically to whomever she was talking to.
Quatre, who’d stared at her the entire time, closed his eyes and shook his head, incredulous at the amount of time and effort it took for someone to warm-up before talking on a damn cell phone and walking at the same time. He’d finished his stretches and was looking to make two miles today...weather permitted, of course. There had a been a cluster of dangerous electrical storms as of lately, and tonight’s weather was no less calm. The skies were dark with thick, nearly black clouds, and lightning was evident in the south end of the city. The wind had picked up as well, blowing his hair from his face, and added resistance to his running. May as well start, before the storm came this way.
Starting off in a strong stride, he pulled his earphones on, clicking on the slim, thin music player that was a gift to him two Christmases ago, and played a variety of his favorite (if not secretive) country. At the familiar drone of Tim McGraw, he felt instantly at ease and nostalgic. Thinking about home life in Laramie, Wyoming, made him feel a little homesick. He’d gotten over wanting to return home so urgently, thanks to all of the activity he found to occupy himself here, but he still yearned to go home, to at least visit. He missed his newly appointed ‘parents’, Rashid and Lana.
He kept in touch with them weekly, and though they’d comfort him in their own way about his situation with his father (who was in the process of disinheriting him, which felt in no way new because he didn’t think Ramid was a good father and never acted very fatherly anyway), he wanted their physical presence. They were making sure he came home for Christmas, and even invited Trowa, whose company they’d enjoyed last year. He hadn’t told them that they were having troubles, mostly because he didn’t want them to think differently about Trowa and the drug use. He just didn’t want them to worry.
Physical activity helped him a lot with this situation–he went to the gym nightly to play with the others (those two freshmen girls were, for some reason, afraid of him and never played again), and he did this after school let out. Glancing over his shoulder, Felicia was still walking along, laughing at something uproariously, and he shook his head to concentrate on running some more. His ‘partner’ preferred to walk and talk on her cell while he worked his ass off (quite literally–Thank God, his fat ass was finally shaping up once more) running and sprinting.
He’d pretty much got his wind back and could run at a steady pace for over a mile and a half. The last two laps were turning into a problem because that’s when his legs were turning to rubber and his lungs were burning. Hell, at least he was in shape, right? Well, getting there...and he’d lost more poundage since he’d began, over a month and a half ago...his clothes were much looser and he was down to the last notch in his belt, so it looked as if he needed to put his ‘fat’ clothes away and dig out his skinny ones once more.
He’d gotten his haircut, and was a little surprised at how clean and normal he looked once more. Trowa had once commented that he looked like a frat-boy, complete with beer belly and utter grungy appearance. He didn’t think so, but Trowa had looked pretty serious, and he took everything Trowa said about him to heart. He just wanted Trowa to like him again, to look at him the same way he had before. Even through the initial reaction to Trowa’s cheating made him feel uneasy about being touched by the lanky boy, he began craving his touches once more. Trowa was giving them a little more, holding his hand again, kissing him briefly, and even hugged him here and then. Certainly much less than before he’d gone to Spain, but much more since he’d come back from that dreaded whore-place.
He fairly bristled with the thought of that place and sped up his running. Whoever it was that Trowa cheated with may always be on Trowa’s mind, but she wasn’t here with him like Quatre was. So, in that sense, he felt comforted. Just...just not the same as before. He sighed as he ran, turning the corner, moving to pass up a shouting Felicia.
Frowning, annoyed that he was running and she wasn’t, he took his ear pieces out of his ear and shut off his music player. Turning off course, he veered in her direction, and used his shoulder to slam into her. With her, he didn’t have to hold back. She just wasn’t fragile. He treated her the same way he would with another boy.
Crying aloud with pained fury, Felicia recovered her dropped phone and ran after him, threatening to kick his ass. Laughing, he turned to jog backward, facing her. “You’re getting fat, girlie! You’d better start running!”
“I don’t wanna!” she yelled back, but hung up her phone and moved to keep up with him. “I’m in too good of shape to even want to try this kiddie approach.”
He snorted, turning around to catch a comfortable stride. She kept pace easily with him, stowing her phone away in her sweater pocket. “You don’t even do anything,” he muttered.
“I do plenty of things! My uncle has a gym back home, and I do shit there,” she said with a happy chirp, flexing one arm.
He looked at her skeptically, but eyed the obvious toned muscle with much trepidation, as it just added to his suspicions of her being a boy. “But you’re here all the time...”
“No, I ain’t. Usually when you’re all loved up with Mr. Perfection, I’m at my uncle’s, keeping my groove up with my various personal trainers,” Felicia explained, with a very straight face.
Quatre rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You don’t have personal trainers.”
“Yeah, I do. He has me signed up for everything up the ass to keep me out of trouble. Like, ballet, martial arts, boxing, gymnastics...he really isn’t a kid person and keeps me in all that activity to wear me down.”
“Whatever. You liar.”
“Take it as you will!” she sang, grinning. She gave leaps in the middle of her running. “But it’s true! You’re not with me all the time!”
“How long does it take to get to your uncle’s?”
“Forty-five minutes.”
“Why don’t you stay there?”
“I just told you–my uncle’s not a kid person. He’d rather I was sent away rather than sticking around him, givin’ him a headache.”
“Oh...” Quatre trailed off as Felicia kept pace with him, reaching up to pull her hair into a ponytail. Lightning flashed in the distance, lighting up the entire sky. The cracking sound of thunder hit them soon after, and because he grew wary of being in a lightning storm in such a wide open area, he sped up his pace, to complete at least a mile.
“So, anyway, things are fine between you and Trowa again, huh?” Felicia asked, easily matching his strides. He had to look at her–he had longer legs, and was used to running all the time, yet she was keeping up with him with no trouble at all...and talking without trouble, at that.
“Yeah...I guess. Much better than before.”
“Is he still using?”
“Yeah...just less. He feels really guilty about what he did.”
“Fuck, man, what’d he do? Get the bitch pregnant? God, he’s treatin’ this with more drama than usual,” Felicia muttered with a roll of her eyes.
Quatre frowned. “Look, he just feels guilty, all right?”
“I’m not fuckin’ doggin’ him, man. I’m just sayin’, he’s taking this too hard. He probably had feelings for her, fuckin’ bastard,” she then muttered, almost too low for Quatre to hear.
But he heard the gist of it, and frowned hard. He suspected as much, and couldn’t think of anything else to say. Realizing she’d gone and fucked up what good was being shared, Felicia sighed and shook her head.
“So, what do you think of Sylvia?” she asked him.
Quatre blinked at the abrupt change in subject. “I don’t know. Why? You in love with her?”
“For the last FUCKING time, I am NOT a LESBIAN!” Felicia then shrugged. “I don’t know, she seems okay. She doesn’t seem like she’s in it for somethin’ bad...”
“She’s okay.”
“I don’t get along very well with girls, y’know...”
Quatre had to laugh, growing breathless as he did. As soon as he was able to, he began talking. “We’re a lot alike in many ways, aren’t we, Leash? I can’t get along with girls, you can’t get along with girls...”
“But the only thing different about us is that I like guys---Holy shit, you like guys, too! Yay! We’re twins!” Felicia cried in delight, dragging him to a stop by hugging him. “Separated at birth an’ rejoined only by this perverted, overrated academy!”
“GET OFF!”
She laughed, running again as he moved to catch up. “Anyway, we are, Quat. I think that’s why we get along so swell...”
“Or I’m just taking pity on you and letting you hang out with me...”
“Ooh, I should be just so lucky!” she snapped in sarcasm as he cuffed her head. She punched him back, so he had to retaliate by bending slightly, giving her a dead leg. She yelped, stumbled to a stop as he ran ahead, laughing. “Fucker!”
When she caught back up with him, he thought about something. “Hey...you should play basketball this season.”
“Fuck that bullshit, dick-hole. I don’t do team sports. And I don’t do shit that slanders my people! Fuck that bullshit! Don’t ever bring that up again!”
“But–! Last year, you were really good!”
“So!! I don’t fuckin’ care!”
“Where do you play?”
“Huh? Oh, at uncle’s...with my cousins. And sometimes, Drake and I play on the outside courts at night. He’s hella good, too. But he’s a fuckin’ smoker, so he don’t last very long. Natives were practically born with basketballs in our hands,” she said, laughing. Quatre was too busy trying to focus on breathing evenly to even continue the conversation, so she continued, having no problem doing so. He hated that, spearing her with a disgusted look. “So maybe my dad passed it down to me, or somethin’. Drake said that when he was livin’ on a reservation, everyone played it, or those that didn’t play were watchin’. So...I don’t know. Plus it’s just a way to fuck around...”
“Just...try-out...”
“No. No, no, no.”
“Come...play...at...the gym, then...”
“Maybe one day. When I’m around. Tonight I’m heading out to my uncle’s for some stupid dinner with some of his high class friends. I hate society bullshit-functions...all this popularity and bullshit–! Hey! There’s the Trow-ster!”
Quatre looked to see that Trowa was walking over to the track, smoking a cigarette. Frowning, Quatre then focused on the track as Felicia suddenly pulled back, walking once more. He stopped running, looking back at her with a frown. “What’re you doing?”
“Nothin’. Finish up your lap,” she said, digging out her cellphone and redialing a number. She then walked off the track, heading toward the dormitory. “Gowan, before Trowa sees you talkin’ to me and throws a shitfit. Ya know how he is, jealous bastard...”
Quatre sighed, then resumed running, shaking his head. Trowa was jealous and insecure, and no matter how many times Quatre tried explaining his friendship with Felicia, Trowa was just morbidly convinced that they had something more going on. Moving on to finish his mile, he figured that maybe two more laps wouldn’t hurt, and continued to run, pulling his ear pieces back on and letting Tim Mcgraw complain about his own bloody dramatics in drawling form.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Nearly a week later, on a Friday night, Quatre was immersed in a very close game with the usual gaggle of kids when Felicia burst into the gym with much energy, startling all that were watching because she wasn’t one to enter the gym unless she was forced to. Her presence caused much curious attention in her direction from the various spectators that were watching the game.
“QUATRE!” she shouted from the doors, bouncing up and down, still dressed in her uniform. She had very urgent news to let her favorite blond know what was in the future for him, and it was urgent enough for her to interrupt the game.
“Fuck off!”
“No!!! You need to come here and talk to me!”
“Get the fuck out of here!!”
Felicia sighed, hanging her head as she waited for the ball to come down her way. Entirely used to the way that he spoke to her (she was the same way, and such things never bothered her), she ignored his concentration on keeping ahead of Hiiro’s team and waited for him to come close enough for her to talk.
“I need to tell you something very important,” she began quickly as he came down underneath the basket, rebounding the ball. Only, when he tried taking it out to get it to his end of the court, the ball became lost within the crowd of boys, being tossed, grabbed and thrown up at the hapless basket ten feet above. She noticed with some amusement that there wasn’t girls on the court–she’d heard about the frosh that had her nose bloodied during a game with him, and had laughed about it. Frankly, if the girl couldn’t cut it with a prospective teammate, what made her think she was going to last in a real game?
Served the brat right to have her nose bloodied.
“Not NOW!” he shouted in frustration, moving to rebound and receiving an elbow in his face.
“I’m LEAVING tomorrow, and I’m NOT going to be back until the fifteenth, dickhead!” she shouted, waving an arm around. Her leaving school for mysterious periods of time was very common. No one really questioned why because she made it sound so very unimportant.
“Bloody Christ, he’s not even listening...” she then muttered as the two teams headed down to the other end of the court, and she waited impatiently for them to return to this end, tapping her foot. Realizing that she was not going to speak to Quatre any time soon, she grimaced and looked down at her shoes, scuffing the heel against the court to see if they were going to make any black marks. When the finely tailored leather Gucci shoes were going to do no such thing, she made sure the velcro was on tight and rolled up the hems of her pants while people looked at her questioningly.
“GO AWAY!” Quatre then shouted at her as they returned to this end, once again in limbo over who was going to get the ball.
“Hey, William!” she growled, reaching in and pulling the center off balance, nearly pulling him off his feet.
“WHAT?!” he roared in irritation as he looked down at her.
“You on his team?!”
“YES!”
“Take five, NOW!”
Without giving him a chance to answer, she shoved him aside and joined the game. She reached into the gaggle of struggling boys, took the ball, and dribbled effortlessly away from the group to give herself space. Seeing that players had unwillingly switched, confusion racked the group of eight until Quatre gave a small growl of annoyance and signaled for the ball.
Passing it to him, she zipped between Duo and Hiiro as they moved to adjust to this very sudden change. She made the signal that she was open as the teams began moving back down to the other end of the court. Passing it to her, he made it through a crowding Otto and a quick Duo, and gestured for a pass. She instead passed it to Triton, who made a three from his end.
Everyone watched, waited, and listened for any furious shouting from the fanatical blond, but most were still in complete shock that he’d passed to her in the first place. Attention was gathering on the court, where the amazing had just occurred, and murmurs began to move throughout those watching the game.
“Mr. Ogre called me,” she began, moving up when he began signaling for his team to attack while on front court. Then she cleared her throat, figuring that this was for certain ears only. Switching to flawless Arabic, because Trowa had once told her that he was Arab, she repeated her earlier sentence.
Quatre stopped chasing after Hiiro, looking at her twice with his face clearly expressing his shock at her using his language as if it were nothing. Hiiro, seeing that he was in the clear, made a hurried jump shot that put his team up two points ahead. Then Quatre quickly resumed playing, signaling that he was listening. “So?!”
“He–!” She interrupted herself to cut off an inbounds pass to Otto, dribbled it around her back and shot the pass to Quatre, who had signaled for a cut. As Travis landed the cut, Quatre passed it to him and Travis tossed it up to the basket, only to have it caught in mid-air by Hiiro. Felicia slammed into him with her shoulder, retrieving the ball roughly, and passed it out to Quatre. Hiiro looked down at her with fury plain in his Japanese features, but she ignored the glare, popping out from underneath the net to the three point line, signaling that she was open. “–called me, and he wants to talk to you and he’s angry that you haven’t talked to him, and then he’s saying that–!!”
She caught the pass Quatre hurled at her, lunged forward underneath Hiiro’s swinging arms to pass to Triton, and watched the taller center make a jump shot through the crowding hands that pressed him. She quickly covered Duo as Hiiro moved to begin the inbounds pass, keeping up effortlessly with the braided wonder, who looked at her in complete surprise.
She kept him from catching a pass, and followed him throughout the court while Quatre directed the others into getting back to their end of the court, setting up for position. She abandoned Duo then, taking William’s usual position under the net and continued on with her gossip.
“–he’s coming out here on Saturday for Darken’s football game against Sageville, and he’s gonna look for you and he’s mad as hell that you haven’t talked to him since summer–!”
She pushed Winnie aside to catch the pass directed to him, and hurled it down court for Quatre to catch on a fast break. After he made the two pointer, she jogged over to half court, looking entirely pained.
“Are you listening?!” she yelled, stomping her foot in frustration.
“YES!”
“So you better watch out! I can’t cover for you now, asshole! I gotta leave off planet!” she finished in English, looking exasperated as he ran, no, plowed his way through the group of guys underneath the net to rebound the ball.
“FINE!”
“That’s all I have to say!”
“Then get out of here!”
She chuckled, gesturing at the staring William to take over, then hurried off the court, running from the basketball gym. Then a few people heard her screaming furiously that she owed Trowa four thousand bucks for something that was then indistinguishable as the girl left the gym for the dormitory.
It was after she had left when the others just realized that Quatre had no problems playing with her, that he’d played with her just as easily as he would with the other boys, with no common problems that he’d had with the other girls. And frankly, it was scary considering who it had been.
“What was that shit about?” Triton asked Quatre when they were given a break.
“What?”
“That fuckin’ thing with Felicia!”
Quatre blinked, trying to remember what was being said. He hadn’t been concentrating on what she was saying, but it probably wasn’t that important. He shrugged, wiping his face with one of his wrist guards. Triton stared down at him, hands on his slender hips.
“And what the fuck was that about? Does she play?”
“Huh?”
“Dude! Listen to me! Does she play?!”
“Play what?!” Quatre growled in irritation, looking up at Triton with a frown.
Triton sighed, looking pained as he wiped his black hair from his face, the neatly trimmed strands once again pushing forward to the sides of his face. “Whatever, man. Whatever....”
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
When presented with a small envelope, Quatre took it with a questioning expression as Trowa smiled at down at him. It was Saturday night, and he were sitting in the entertainment room on the first level of the dormitory, where various students who didn’t want to watch the football game going on outside, were hanging out. It was raining slightly, but the reception on the current NBA game that was playing (Spurs versus Heat) was coming in clear. Quatre was watching the game, and Trowa had been out and about, not one to watch athletic events, no matter what was going on.
The envelope presented to him had his name in calligraphy, and it was obvious that Trowa had spent a lot of time on it. He opened the envelope quickly, lowering his head to miss the fantastic three point shot one of the San Antonio Spurs had thrown during the last few seconds of the clock. Opening it, he withdrew a creme colored invitation to a RSVP restaurant only, and what looked to be a keycard.
“What’s this?” he asked as Trowa sat next to him on the couch, the remote being snatched and the channel changed.
“I made us reservations for this place in downtown New Park,” Trowa said, lifting an arm to curl around his boyfriend’s neck, drawing him close for a kiss on the forehead. “We’ll go and have a date. A real date.”
“And this?”
Trowa grinned at him as Quatre held up the keycard. “A key to the New Park Hilton....honeymoon suite.”
Quatre blinked, tapping the keycard against his chin. Did Trowa really say...? “Are you serious?”
Trowa nodded, lowering his eyes to fiddle with the collar of Quatre’s t-shirt. “Yes. I am serious. You kept mentioning that we should rent a hotel room...to...catch up on things...”
“Yeah, but...”
“But ‘what’, Quatre?”
Quatre stared at him, lowering the keycard onto his lap, ignoring all the screeching and moaning from a Ed, Edd, and Eddy cartoon that was being played in favor of his game. “You really want to...?”
Trowa smiled, taking the keycard and invitation from him, then curling his fingers through his hand, to hold it. “Yes, I do.”
Quatre really wanted to be happy, but he still felt annoyed that Trowa would rather take him on physical appearance only, and not the way that he’d like. But still, Trowa was trying...and Quatre wanted him happy...He licked his lips nervously, then managed a bright smile. “Wow, that sounds great, Trowa. What kind of restaurant is it?”
“We have to dress up for it...that won’t be a problem, will it?”
“No...”
“We’ll go out and rent some suits. It’s actually a fundraiser that the mayor’s putting on to raise money for inner city kids...I figure we can ignore anything else presented, but I wanted us to go out on an actual date that doesn’t involve fights, greasy food and crowded theaters...It’s two weeks from now.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Then you’re okay with it?”
“Yes. Any time spent with you is great.”
Trowa smiled at him, then kissed him gently. Pulling away, he lifted from the couch, holding up the envelope and its contents. “I’ll keep this in my room. I’m going to go and check out the football game. Do you want to come?”
“You’re going to a football game?” Quatre repeated in incredulous disbelief.
Trowa shrugged, tapping the things he held in one hand against the other. “Yeah...nothing wrong with it, I suppose. I guess I’m just trying to gear up for basketball season...you know?”
Quatre’s lips spread into a wider smile. “You’re going to watch my games this year?!”
“Yeah...if you make the team, that is,” Trowa added, smiling because Quatre was a definite shoe-in for the team.
Quatre just grinned, ecstatic at the thought of Trowa actually watching him play. Last year, Trowa had made only one effort, and that was practically because Middie Une had chased him into the gym, trapping him there. Because Quatre was so used to having loved ones watching him play back in Laramie, the fact that he didn’t have such company here in New Park was pretty difficult to adjust to. Trowa was the only person that he wanted there to watch him play, and Trowa, at the time, did no such things because he was the type to avoid large crowds. But if he was willing to watch him this year...things were surely looking up if Trowa was making this effort!
He shook his head, resettling back in his spot on the long, comfortably worn couch. “No, I’ll stay here and watch the–HEY! Who changed the freakin’ channel?!”
Trowa smiled, turned, and walked out as a couple of students hid the remote from the blond. He recognized the two boys as being part of Quatre’s ‘fanclub’, a small group of admirers that stalked and worshiped the boy’s every move and such with all the simpering effects a worshiper possessed. There was even ‘fanfiction’ circulating his boyfriend’s very existence in grand, noble, and rather pornographic detail that people actually bought. Really, Quatre wasn’t the only one with a fanclub, but it was the only one that was really noticeable because of his popularity with the group. Quatre was sure blind to whoever was in the group, because he never realized that the kids he was currently threatening disembowelment with was gooey-eyed with every move and word.
Trowa walked out from the room eyeing the contents in his hand. The tickets to the fundraiser was sort of expensive–five thousand each, and the suite to the Hilton was about twenty-five hundred less. But he saved money for a reason, and all of it was to spend on his blond counterpart...and on the forbidden. Sighing, aching for a hit, Trowa stuffed the contents in his back pocket and ventured outside, instead. He knew that his addictions were going to bother him for awhile, make him irritable and cranky, but he just had to make do. Marijuana distracted him from wanting a hit of meth or Gin-Gin, but usually it wasn’t enough. The intense cravings, there after established contact with the drugs for the period since he’d arrived in the States, were strong enough to call it a battle of wills.
Practically as strong as cigarette cravings, the need for a hit was strong enough to make him weak enough to cave in if he was offered a hit, and he moved to distract himself with the game as he walked over. There were various students milling about, dressed in rain coats and hats, and he was wandering around without a hat, his hair becoming soaked.
Walking toward the game, he saw Drake talking to a rather angered student that didn’t look as if he were from here, and Trowa walked over to see what was going on. But before he could venture further, the student turned and stomped off. Frowning, Trowa wondered what was up that guy’s butt as he reached Drake.
Drake’s eyes widened considerably, but returned to normal size when Trowa looked at him. “What’s up, dude?” he asked, but his voice croaked at one point. Eyes shifting to see if Justin wasn’t going to return anytime soon to pester him about Quatre, Drake looked up at Trowa and quickly offered up a blunt. “Wanna smoke with me?”
“Yeah, sure. Who was that?”
“Uh...just some dude...looking for someone.”
“He looked pissed.”
“Yeah, he was. What are you doing here?”
“Nothing. Figured I come out and look around.”
“Yeah? Well, let’s go behind the bleachers...how you doin’ so far? Are you still cranked?”
“What? No. No, I’m...cutting down on that. Don’t–don’t offer that, all right? Bud’s fine, just not...”
“Understandable, dude. It’s good that you’re cuttin’ down. Takes a man to overcome such things,” Drake rambled as he led the way to a peaceable spot to smoke. He lit the rolled joint, starting it, then passed it over to Trowa. Holding the smoke in his lungs, and talking in a choked tone as he held the smoke in, Drake said, “So, is Quat gonna try-out for b-ball this year?”
Trowa tried not to choke on the inhaled smoke as he held the blunt. He nodded, holding the smoke in his lungs as Drake exhaled and took the joint back. He spoke in the same choked manner. “Yeah, you know it. I think the same team members are going to try out.”
“Hilde ain’t.”
“Who’s that?”
“Girl with short hair...I think she’s a dyke. She played last year.”
“Why isn’t she?”
“Dude...she fuckin’ hates your boy.”
Trowa rolled his eyes, taking the joint. “I don’t think there’s a girl here that likes him.”
“Leash, does.”
“She’s not a girl, Drake. She’s a man.”
“Oh, right. Ennit, huh?”
“Anyway, it doesn’t look like any girls will be trying out this year, anyway. They all hate him.”
Drake shrugged. “Girls shouldn’t be on the team, anyway. They don’t belong on the court.”
“Some are pretty good.”
“Yeah, but not from here.”
Trowa shrugged, taking another hit. After exhaling, he held the joint at Drake. “I’m going in. You coming?”
“Nah, I just came from there. I’m heading back to the dorm, catch up on some sleep. Plus, I’m hungry.”
“Okay, then. See you.”
Drake walked off with a wave, putting out the half smoked joint and putting it away in one of his various pockets. Trowa walked toward the game, hearing the cheers of the fans of Darken as a touchdown was made. He had no idea what was going on, but he figured he’d learn once he got in there and watched for a little while.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Justin wasn’t going to be deterred by Drake’s words. He was fueled with annoyed anger that Quatre had dropped him so unexpectedly, and since he was here at Darken, he was going to find the creep and have it out. He knew it had to have been his...er, manly endowments that had scared the creep off, but Justin wasn’t about to leave it at that. They were going to have words, by God, and this was going to be straightened out. Because no matter how big of a jerk Quatre was or how much Justin didn’t want to see this thing going on in a direction he wasn’t yet ready to have with another guy, Justin was still attracted to the boy. He had more fun with him than he had with anyone else, and he wasn’t ready to give this up without the proper explanation. No one dropped him without no good reason and expected him to deal with it without question. No one did.
So, he drifted away from the football game and headed toward the main school building, looking for any familiar faces. He was dressed in plain jeans, a sweater-shirt and a baseball cap, and he was fueled with nervous energy. Quatre had to be avoiding him for another reason, and he needed to know why. It couldn’t just be the fact that he had an enormous dick–that couldn’t be the only reason. So, he needed to find out why. Drake had simply said that he didn’t know where Quatre was, but he wasn’t at the dormitory, and Felicia had explained over the phone that she wasn’t going to be around for a few weeks, so she was no where around to question. Everyone else he just didn’t know, so it looked as if he would have to search him out on his own. Having no idea whether or not he would be invited into the dormitory to search around, he headed toward the concession stand that was held within the cafeteria.
Walking in, he appreciated the rather large area, which was filled with comfortable tables and even more comfortable chairs. There wasn’t any plain table-benches and small spaces, and one could wander comfortably about without bumping into anyone. He sneered at all the rich, privileged kids and searched for that familiar shock of white-blond hair. Seeing none, he turned to walk right out of the cafeteria, moving out when a couple of boys were moving in, giggling.
“He’s so cute!” One of them, a slender, feminine boy with disgustingly long lashes giggled. Justin had to stare–they were so femmy that it was incredibly ghastly. Except...they were rather good looking. Every one of these rich kids were so good-looking that it was disgusting.
“I love him so much!” the other said, revealing perfect white teeth. “Quatre will always have my heart!”
“And whatever else, huh?”
“Hey.”
Both...boys(?)...looked at him as he interrupted, cheering at the mention of the name. “Yes?”
“Where is he? Quatre?” Justin asked, trying not to stare too obviously at the two femmy boys that were obviously freshmen.
“In the dormitory, watching the Spurs game. Are you...from here?”
“No.”
“Just let Lowell know you’re a visitor and that you’re looking to talk to Quatre Winner. That’s all. Lowell’s cool that way. He’ll let you in without a pass.”
“Thanks, er, man,” Justin said, turning and heading toward the dormitory. Studying the five story building and its ornately beautiful plainness, Justin figured that Drake had lied to him for a reason. Why, he didn’t know. But he’d rather find out personally than learning from either gossip or whatever.
He walked into the dormitory lobby, looking around in awe at the high ceiling, the dark marble floor, the tall jungle-type plants that sat in various pots throughout the area, the quietness of the place... the walls were obviously sound-proof, because he couldn’t hear the various activity that was occurring outside at the football field nearby. He had to give the rich kids props, though–their pad was absolutely awesome. The security guard looked at him with a questioning expression, so Justin walked over, looking uncertain.
“I’m looking for Quatre Winner?”
The black man nodded and waved him off, returning his attention to his book.
“Er...do you know where he is?”
“Go straight up the hall to your left, and keep going until you hit the entertainment area. You won’t miss him,” Lowell replied, eyes focused on his love novel.
Justin nodded and turned to do just that. The hallway was very large, with at least three different open doorways that led to various areas. He heard faint noises of a game of another genre happening just down the hall, so he ambled in that direction, reaching up to adjust his baseball hat over his dark hair.
One room was obviously a study area, set with large tables and various bookcases filled with reference books along the four walls. Another room was set up with similar things, but with computer stations. The last room was very open, containing both a television set and a holoset, but both were set at opposite ends. There were expensive lounge couches, La-Z-boy chairs, various stool chairs, ping-pong tables, foosball tables and air hockey tables set about in various areas. There were a few small tables set up here and there, all of them set up in a very feng shui comfort.
There were various students sitting about, most either involved with something of their own design or leaning over portable games or books, and there was a familiar mop of white blond hair just barely visible in the wide couch near the television set at his right. Scowling, Justin made his way over there, glancing at the set to see that his fling was watching a Spurs and Heat game.
“NO! No! Bad ref! BAD ref!” Quatre was shouting, hurling a throw pillow at the television set. “Traitor! That wasn’t a foul!”
“Hey, asshole.”
“GAH!”
Quatre stared at him in complete and utter horror, shifting up from the couch as Justin faced him, rather angrily, blocking his view of the massive television set.
“Oh my god, what are you doing here?” Quatre choked on his words, looking around to see who was about.
Justin narrowed his eyes, hands on his hips as he stared down at Quatre.
“What do you mean by that?! What the fuck’s going on, Quatre? Why have you been avoiding me?” he demanded as Quatre rose quickly from the couch, eyes darting about.
“Uh, uh...uh...I don’t know.”
“I’ve been calling you, like, constantly! What the hell, man? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
“Let’s–let’s go outside, all right?”
“No! I don’t want to go outside. I was just out there,” Justin said, indicating his wet sweater and hat. Quatre was very nervously fiddling with his fingers, cracking his knuckles and such, and his eyes kept straying over his shoulder, looking for something beyond him.
Justin studied him, a little surprised by the weight loss. It was obvious that Quatre had lost the weight he’d packed on over the summer, and while he considered the boy to be attractive in any shape or form, he had to admit that he didn’t like the loss of softness on the lean frame. It was obvious he was preparing for basketball season, once again returning to the shape and form of the hardened player he’d first met on court. And his hair was cut, too, the bangs hanging in his eyes, the tousled locks just as soft and fluffy as they had been under his fingers that one morning. Seeing him again evoked feelings of uncomfortable cheer, but he was still annoyed that he had been avoiding him.
“Er...all right...um...what are you doing here?”
“I came to watch the game,” Justin answered crossly, crossing his arms. “I called Felicia to let her know that I was coming, and she said she was going to talk to you.”
“Oh...yeah...she did...”
Justin frowned. “And?”
“Er...um...what do you want?”
“Dude...what the fuck, man? What’s your deal? Why have you been avoiding me?”
“Erm...uh...sorry?”
“‘Sorry̵ 7; does nothing for me, motherfucker. First you hang out with me all throughout summer, then as soon as school started, you haven’t even bothered answering your phone or anything. What the fuck?”
Quatre nervously eyed the two boys that were returning from the cafeteria, armed with munchies as they fully intended on sticking around in the same area he was in. If they knew that Justin was his fling...Trowa would find out–Trowa was here! Trowa, if Quatre didn’t think and act fast, was going to find him with Justin, and...oh! Things were going so well! He needed to get Justin out of here, and NOW before Trowa decided that football wasn’t his thing and came back to visit with him.
He looked at the boys, who were talking amongst each other, resuming their seats at the nearby overstuffed chair that they’d sat in comfortably, to resume watching the game.
Then he looked at Justin, who was frowning at him in a very suspicious manner, looking impossibly intimidating all at the same time. Smiling weakly, Quatre tried to think of a good excuse on why he wasn’t returning Justin’s calls.
“I...just kind of figured...you know, it was a summer thing...that...I don’t know. Nothing about anything permanent or anything came up, so I figured it was just...fleeting,” he said lamely, wishing that he’d recalled or even paid attention to what Felicia had tried to warn him about that one night.
Justin dropped his arms, looking irritated. “So you just stopped talking to me because of that? You know, you’re a real fucking jerk, Quatre. I said it before, but I really mean it. What kind of lame-ass excuse are you trying to pull off?”
“It’s not an excuse! I mean, well...”
Justin stared at him, the looked at the two newcomers that were watching with great interest at the current scene before them. Recognizing the boys as those from the cafeteria, Justin looked back at Quatre, who looked incredibly pained. Realizing that he was stumbling onto something that resembled a tremendous lie of sorts, Justin stared hard at him.
“You have a boyfriend, don’t you?” he said evenly, feeling hurt and angry at the same time, mounting irritation growing from within. “That’s why you fuckin’ stopped talking to me.”
“Wait–! I can explain, all right?”
“You have a boyfriend, didn’t you?! You lied to me!”
“Okay, okay, yeah, I did lie! All right?! But he wasn’t here–!”
“And that gave you the choice to fuckin’ go on behind his back?! Motherfucker! I told you I didn’t do that cheating thing! You fucking dick!”
“I’m sorry, all right?! Besides, it’s not as if we did anything, right?” Quatre pointed out, focusing his attention on Justin rather than the garnering attention that was being drawn upon them from the bystanders throughout the area. “We were just hanging out!”
“Yeah, but–!”
“But what?! You said so yourself, you didn’t want anything to happen! You told me this! In fact, your exact words were you didn’t want a relationship or anything. You just wanted to hang out. Be friends. And that’s what we were, right?!”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t that way in the end!”
“What was in the end, Justin?!”
“You know what was in the end!”
Quatre’s face turned bright red at that, and he stole glances around him as Justin yelled at him. He seriously hoped Trowa wasn’t making his way back–how cliche! Chewing his lip furiously, aware that he’d have to do some major talking to keep Trowa off his back about Justin (because he knew everyone was going to talk, and since the infamous Justin from Sageville was here confronting him, Trowa was bound to find out!), Quatre turned his attention back to Justin.
“Look...you didn’t want a relationship, or anything. So we hung out. That’s all we were. We were just friends. I don’t see why you’re trying to make such a big deal out of it,” he said slowly, gesturing with his hands.
“I told you that if things changed, my feelings were going to change...”
“But things didn’t! All we did was hang out, Justin! Whatever else you thought was going to happen wasn’t! You already made that decision!”
“Why are you being such a fucking prick?! What the fuck?! And if you have a fucking boyfriend, where is he?!”
“I don’t know...”
Justin stared at him, frowning, teeth clenched. Crossing his arms, he glanced around himself, at the two boys that were watching with somewhat fearful glances up at him. Deciding then and there that he couldn’t handle this guilt, that he was part of the problem, Justin turned to Quatre. “Where is he? I want to talk to him.”
Quatre’s eyes nearly widened to the size of dinner plates. “What for?!”
“I want to apologize to him.”
“NO!”
Justin stared back at him in incredulous design. “What? Dude, don’t you realize how fucked up this is?! I don’t want to bring that guy down because I didn’t know you had a fucking boyfriend! I want to apologize to him!”
“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him!”
“You...didn’t tell him about me?”
“NO! Why would I?!”
Justin stared at him, incredibly sick with this situation. And Quatre treating it as a mere fling, something that should be kept secret at all costs...it made him sick to his stomach. Shaking his head, he turned and started toward the door, but paused, looking back. “You make me fucking sick, you fucking loser. I hope it comes back to you and you get fucked over even worse than he has been.”
Then he walked off, furious.
Quatre stared after his retreating form, wanting to shout out that he’d already been fucked over, but somehow, he knew that it wasn’t the appropriate thing to say. Incredibly embarrassed and scared that Trowa was going to pop in and discover this situation, Quatre was stuck in a state of highly wired nerves, of which had him lifting a hand and chewing on his nails furiously. He felt bad for having deceived and treated Justin in this way, but felt even worse that he done such on Trowa. Whichever, he didn’t have such feelings for Justin as he did for Trowa, but still...feelings were hurt and words were exchanged, and he felt horribly evil.
Gritting his teeth, he left the entertainment area, leaving behind hurried whispers and his precious Spurs, and hurried up to his room. Justin had left the building, but he’d certainly left behind a great big scene. Hoping against hope that Trowa would never find out that this incident had occurred, Quatre sought out the safety of his room and hid for the rest of the night within.