Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Pull Up For The J! ❯ Let;s Get It Started ( Chapter 14 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Can't a guy date another guy he has no feelings for without having his ex stalking him?
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.8K | Visits: 230 | Status: Completed
Can't a guy date another guy he has no feelings for without having his ex stalking him?
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.8K | Visits: 230 | Status: Completed
Chapter Fourteen~
“Let’s Get (Retarded) It Started” = Black Eyed Peas
Sylvia sighed heavily as she sat down besides Felicia that Friday night, at the gym. Glancing around, she realized that Trowa was no where in sight, and Quatre was playing like shit tonight. It was evident in the way he handled the ball–it kept flying from his hands during his traditional over the back passes, and kept bouncing it off his shoe whenever he dribbled. His frustration mounted considerably as he had to pause his fast level of playing to get a grip on himself.
Sylvia looked at Felicia, who was frowning down at the boy, terribly uncomfortable with her position within the gym. In fact, the only time the girl was ever inside was during a pep rally, or having to leave a message with the boy.
She nudged her. “This is new,” she said.
Felicia speared her with a Look. “What?”
“Usually you aren’t on school campus after school...and you’re never here,” Sylvia pointed out, looking out at the court. Even Triton had noticed his crush’s attitude and hadn’t been bothering him with his usual flirtations. “What’s going on?”
“Quat’s depressed. His boyfriend sucks,” Felicia said, shrugging. “He’s lettin’ it get to him, man.”
Sylvia sighed, nodding in agreement. The gym seemed to echo with a particularly violent curse from Quatre when he lost the ball during a fast break that should have been cake for him.
“Yeah...Where has Trowa been, anyway?”
“Bein’ a pussy...just...bein’ stupid,” Felicia muttered, shaking her head as she drew her knees up, resting her elbows on them. She watched her friend crankily walk down the court after the others, his frustration evident. “Man...I hate when he’s all depressed. I just get depressed, too.”
“Why?” Sylvia asked with some amusement, looking at her. “You never care about others.”
Felicia scowled, but had to realize that it was true. “Just...dude, I set them up. I mean, when Quatre first came here, I became friends with him. I thought he’d turn into a prick like all the other dudes that come along, but he wasn’t. He’s cool. And I introduced him to Barton because Barton liked him first off, too. So, then...I just feel responsible for things goin’ the way they are...”
Sylvia frowned, then blinked as she looked at the girl. Her long, dark hair was down, the magenta stripe at her left temple visible as she fiddled with it. Her profile was strained, a little tired as she watched the goings-on down on the court. Her face was made-up with gentle colors, her lashes fanning out thickly, her lips pulled into a thoughtful pout, her perfume smelling so clean and fresh...She’d changed out of her uniform to wear a pair of cargo jeans with a simple tee, her feet encased in chunky Pumas...she was casual, yet carried with her a flattering presence of grace that seemed unnatural with her tomboy antics.
She’s so pretty, Sylvia thought, then jerked at the direction of her thoughts as she realized who she was talking about. Her face turning a little red, Sylvia looked at the court, taking a deep breath. I can’t believe I thought that about her...I’m not a lesbian, or anything...But there are some moments when she’s just really pretty...
“But it isn’t your fault,” Sylvia heard herself saying. “You weren’t responsible for what Trowa did in Spain...”
“Kinda. I mean, I gave him and his sis the tickets to get over there,” Felicia muttered, straightening. “And then, with this Justin thing, I just kept pressuring him to get with the guy cuz it was all obvious that’s what he needed...I don’t think people should stay together so long when they’re so young...I mean, I made that mistake, and it just landed me in a load of pain, man. I mean, I can’t even look at Hautta without wanting to cry, or to look at Perfect and want to rip her throat out through her fuckin’ pinkie...I loved him so much, and when he dumped me for her...I just...fell to pieces, man.”
Sylvia stared at her, wide-eyed, afraid to move lest she ruin the illusion. Felicia was actually confessing her feelings on a situation that she’d never heard of! She knew Felicia had been with someone, she just didn’t know who and when and what! And here the other girl was, confessing all without any prompting...perhaps this situation with Quatre was really getting to her...
“I don’t want that to happen to Quat,” Felicia said, gesturing at the blond. “I really like him.”
“I know. It’s really obvious,” Sylvia said. “You guys are really close friends...”
Felicia looked at her, piercing her with a stare. “No. I really like him.”
Sylvia smiled at her with some uncertainty, then realization hit her between the eyes. She was much too paralyzed to even react. Felicia sighed, shoulders slumping.
“I have for a long time. He can’t hurt me because he’s gay. He sees me as a friend. I had this really bad crush on him for such a long time, and I thought that if...somehow...if I just feel for him the way that I do, then things would be all right with me. I wouldn’t have to be hurt about what Hautta did to me...I could just...like and like and like and not have to worry about anyone else hurting me the way that he had...the rumors are true, Sylvia, but no one would ever believe them. Don’t tell anyone, all right?”
Dumbly, Sylvia nodded her head.
Felicia sighed again. “I’ve broken down, man. Confessed my dirty secret. This shit’s getting to me. I need to find a man that’ll actually like me back, but there’s no chance of that here. Everyone thinks I’m mucho manly and ultra lesbo. I ain’t. I just...need someone that can match me and put me in my place...”
“And...er...Quatre can?”
“He’s just fun to hang out with. I like him cuz he’s cool like that. He’s, like, the first guy that didn’t turn me away, you know? And he accepts who I am...er...somewhat, though he’s convinced that I’m actually a guy. I dunno. I just...I just really like him. Not...not only physical, cuz he’s hot, you have to admit, and I really don’t like blonds and white guys, but...but on everything else. And I don’t have to confess to him. And I’ve accepted that he’ll never like me back, and that’s cool! I’m not lookin’ to push for anything...I’m happy bein’ where I am. Y’know? Crush from afar kinda thing.”
“I...I understand.”
“I’ll do anything to make him happy, Syl. Anything. But this thing with Trowa...I don’t know. Somehow, I know things will turn out fuckin’ stupid, and he’ll just end up hurt because that fucker’s stupid...I don’t know. I just want to make him happy...”
Sylvia clutched the bleachers and felt her stomach quiver. Really, this was so uncharacteristic of Felicia that she didn’t know what to say. It was the first time the girl had actually confessed to something of such measure, and had feelings of that extent! She didn’t know what to do or say in this situation...but she knew that the girl must be harboring it problematically if she was confessing all to someone she didn’t even know for very long.
Sylvia looked at the girl, who was sighing once more, palm holding up chin, and vowed that she would keep that secret, and its accompanying effects, with her to the grave....
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre sneezed repeatedly, then frowned as the ball sailed past him. “Damn it,” he muttered, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Someone keeps talking about me...”
“You aren’t ready for try-outs, are you?” Triton asked, walking over to him as everyone ran to the other end of the court.
Quatre sighed. “I’m just having an off-day...”
“Spurs lose?”
“NO! It’s just...I don’t know. I’m letting things get to me, and it’s fucking up my game...”
“Yeah. Dude, just dump the prick.”
Quatre frowned. That was a very familiar phase. Felicia had been telling him to do so for a long time, now. And, as every day passed and Trowa refused to come to school because of that damn video (which he damn well deserved for cheating on him!), he found himself entertaining the notion. Because while things weren’t looking so well for them both at the moment, it didn’t look as if they would ever again. Trowa was just too caught up in that video’s effects, and it was really bugging them. Quatre didn’t care–personally, the consequences match the actions...But he had to wonder if this was his backlash against the things he’d done with Justin.
Thinking about that guy now, he walked off court, signaling for a sub. Mariemaia ran in eagerly, and for once, Quatre didn’t care. He walked over to where Felicia and Sylvia were sitting and sat down between them.
“Dude...you so sucked out there,” Felicia muttered, tossing him his slippers.
“Yeah...where’s my phone?”
“Tro got a new phone?” she asked, plucking it out from her cargo pocket.
“Nah. I’m just...seeing if he called,” Quatre muttered, checking his messages. There weren’t any. He frowned, staring dejectedly at the screen, then looking at the court.
This thing with Trowa was really pressing on him...he wanted his Trowa back. The one that called him stupid petnames and liked it when he was hit. He wanted the Trowa that kissed him between classes, and was so aggressive with him when in pursuit. But it seemed, that once Trowa and he got serious, Trowa dropped his pursuit and had just...seemed...comfortable. He didn’t really go out of his way to make endearing gestures as he did while courting him, and things were now so fucked up, that Quatre wondered if they’d ever be the same again.
He missed Trowa. Badly.
He looked at his phone, and appreciated the shoulder massage he got from one of the girls as she sat directly behind him, massaging them outside his barely sweaty tee. Rifling through his phone book, he paused at Justin’s entry, and recalled that night when Justin faced him in the lobby of the dormitory.
Really...he missed the guy, too. It had been fun hanging out with him. Hanging out with Justin had been a lot of fun. They did things that were different from what he and Trowa did. But he had to wonder if Justin would even talk to him, especially after what was exchanged.
Justin, despite his tendencies to be a little rough, had some morals instilled in him. He’d been pissed that Quatre had used him for some pity-party while Trowa was away in Spain...but guys can forgive and forget, right?
“Don’t do it,” Felicia muttered, having seen the hesitant decision and the entry in his phone. “I heard he’s fuckin’ pissed at you for not tellin’ him about Trowa...”
“Why? You talk to him?” Quatre asked, surprised as he looked back at her.
“Occasionally. I keep a lot of people on my phone. I talk to one at random when I’m bored. In fact, I called him yesterday. And he’s pissed at you.”
Quatre slumped, and whimpered for more of that massage. But he stared at the number, and wondered...
“I just wanna see what he’s doing,” he muttered. “Things suck so bad over here...Trowa doesn’t even want to come back to school, anymore. It’s like I don’t even matter to him.”
“So you’ll crawl your sorry ass to someone that will?”
“No, I’m just saying...well...I don’t know. At least...I don’t know. I need more friends...”
“You mean, more boy-toys?”
“NO! I mean...well...”
Felicia peered around at him, grinning. “If you want, I can set you up with someone outside of Darken...?”
Quatre hesitated, thinking about it. Seriously thought about it. His relationship with Trowa was rather dead... the boy would rather be doped up and moping about the sex video than actually working on getting over it with him...it didn’t help matters much when Trowa would rather drop out and not bother with working on anything else...
Why was it that when things got tough, men ran away from the problem rather than dealing with it? It was a sort of interesting question to think about, he realized, lowering his phone as he leaned into the massage that felt welcome and enjoyable.
“Fine. Just...no one stupid...like Derrick...”
“REALLY?!” Felicia squealed, bobbing in excitement. “I know a few!! They’ll be more than happy to meet with you!”
“Do I know them?”
“Er...probably...not. Seeing as...I...er...just let me handle it, okay?”
“Basketball starts next week, Felicia. I don’t want a long term thing...”
“Oh, don’t worry, my cool gay friend! I’ll find the solution to all of your problems!” Felicia roared, leaping from her seat and dashing for the doors to start immediately on her new project.
Sylvia giggled and slid over to Quatre, nudging him with her knee. “You’re going to trust her with your new guy?” she asked in disbelief, blinking repeatedly.
“Well...she gave me Trowa,” Quatre said with some uncertainty. He crossed his arms over his stomach, and looked dejectedly at the court, watching the others play. “And...I trust her to make the right decision...I suppose. It’s just...I don’t think Trowa and I should be together anymore...I mean...it’s like...he doesn’t want to be with me anymore. And...you were right, Sylvia. A person who won’t accept you for who you are isn’t good to be with...I was thinking about that for some time...He didn’t even want to touch me when he came back from Spain...I have a problem with that. I had to lose over twenty-five pounds just to make him like me again. And it couldn’t be that stupid problem with fucking Lady Une...he really didn’t like me. That hurts. I think...this would be a better decision, anyway...”
Sylvia looked at him with a frown, licking her lips. She then looked away, watching with a slight blush as Triton flexed his muscles and preened like a peacock after a three point shot he’d just made. The other girls throughout the gym were happily squealing and enjoying the entertainment as the others booed him on the court. She then nodded, thinking about Quatre’s words.
“Well, do you think you can break up with him?” she then asked, looking back at the blond.
Quatre shrugged. “He’s not here. He doesn’t even want to be here, anymore. And when we talk, he’s high. I’ve never liked drugs, Sylvia. Either he drops all that shit and turn back into the way he was, or I just...move on.”
“But...you loved him,” Sylvia said slowly, a sad frown caressing his features.
Quatre lowered his phone, staring forlornly over the court. “I did. There’s no question about it. But a relationship is give and take, Sylvia. He doesn’t even want to...I did love Trowa. And I still do. But he’s... not...being there. You know?”
She knew. She nodded. “Yeah...I...I hope you have good luck in the future, Quatre.”
“...Thanks....”
#20#20#20#20#20#20# 20
The situation was depressing him, and to keep himself from dwelling on it, Quatre found himself in the gym a lot often. He left his cell phone in his room, and shot countless shot after shot by himself, concentrating on his focus. Try-outs were on Monday...he was in shape, and he felt pretty confident when he had the ball in hand, it was just...this thing with Trowa was weighing on him heavily, and he knew he had to do something about it, and soon.
He eyed the backboard, choosing to shoot outside this Sunday afternoon, because it was sunny and warm, and there really wasn’t that many students about. Felicia had taken off for the weekend, Trowa was still MIA, and he was giving his relationship woes serious thought.
He could break up with Trowa, but then again...he did love him. He didn’t want to let go of him, but from the way things were going, how were they ever going to be good again?
Trowa was taking this video thing much too seriously, refusing to show his face and choosing to hide behind drugs to confront it. Quatre was tired of it. All of it. He wanted Trowa to confront the damn situation and try and fix it, with him. He wanted his Trowa Barton back! He wanted to go back into time, keep Trowa from heading over to Spain (even if that meant holding up the damn airport with a staple gun, or something), and keep their fairy tale romance the way that it should be–uneventful, beautiful, and loving.
But since this summer, things had changed so drastically that he just felt exhausted by everything! He couldn’t keep fighting for Trowa’s love if Trowa didn’t want it...and Quatre really didn’t want to compete with the MJ and the meth, and fucking Lady Une.
Felicia’s words about Trowa comparing him to the woman had him seriously on edge, and his sexual situation took a dive for the worst. It had been a concern, at first, that Trowa would not want him in that manner. That night at the Hilton had been absolutely phenomenal, and he wished for a repeat, but it didn’t look as if it would happen any time soon.
And basketball...well, that was coming up Monday, and he just knew he would not be concentrating on him and Trowa once the team started up. Basketball was his second limb, his second breath. It was natural for a ball to reside in his hand...he couldn’t go into a game, focused on something Trowa had done (or not have done) and fuck things up because his mind wasn’t on the game. He wasn’t like that. When he was focused on the game, he was focused on the game. Trowa would demand his attention, get angry when he wouldn’t give it because of the game...it was a complicated situation, and Quatre didn’t need the aggravation.
He just wanted it to go away...
And he seriously had to wonder what made him give Felicia the go-ahead to set him up with someone else. He wasn’t even sure how to break it to Trowa that he was going to break up with him.
Call Catherine’s work place and leave a message?
“Oh, hey, Cathy,” he’d say once she came onto the line and before she could launch into some tirade of hers, about how he wasn’t satisfying her little brother, he’d ask,“Can you let Trowa know I’m done with him? That’s a good girl...thanks!”
Nah. It just wouldn’t work.
Well, it didn’t look like Trowa was coming back, pretty soon. He hadn’t seen the former goth since that one day, and it wasn’t as if Trowa had forgotten his phone number...Quatre had his cell on him all the damn time...Trowa wasn’t helpless. How hard was it to pick up a payphone and dial his number?
The more Quatre thought about Trowa’s situation, the angrier he became. How dare Trowa act this way? Why couldn’t he just accept what he’d done and the consequences later, and just...fix them with Quatre? Quatre was more than willing to stand by Trowa’s side, if the former goth would let him, but Trowa was refusing to even come to school. So there wasn’t a point in that fact. It was moot.
He sighed, wiping his forehead as his ball bounced away. This situation with Trowa and that damn video was so complicated...it was just so tired....
He started to walk over to his ball when someone picked it up for him. He looked up at Triton, who was dressed in a casual tee and cargo shorts, his long, muscular legs in need of a tan. The lanky student was undeniably attractive, he had to admit. It was just that...he was so creepy...
Triton held his ball between his hands, and peered at him. “You done?” he asked, noting Quatre’s flushed appearance. “You want to get something to drink with me?”
“I’ve got water,” Quatre said, pointing at the bench where he’d left his things. He held up his hands, signaling for the ball.
Triton didn’t give it up, surveying the outside court with some disdain. He then dribbled with his left, studying his crush, who frowned that his ball wasn’t coming his way any time soon.
“I heard Trowa dropped out of school,” he said, conversationally.
Quatre scowled. He’d heard the same rumor. Someone had said that Trowa had talked to Drake about dropping out, and he’d really like to know the truth from the guy himself, seeing as he was his boyfriend.
Triton watched the expressions flitter across his face as he dribbled lightly. “You didn’t know, huh?”
“I’m not going to fuck around with you, Triton. He hasn’t even talked to me since...last week. I guess. I can’t remember which day...”
“You guys gonna break up?”
Quatre shrugged. “It doesn’t look good.”
Triton grinned, but quickly wiped it off his face as he shot the ball at the basket, making a customary three. He was really good at hitting those. “That’s too bad.”
Quatre snorted at the tone, shaking his head. “Whatever. You know you’re all happy about that sort of shit, Triton. You can’t fuck around with me like that.”
“I’ll admit it, then,” Triton said, retrieving the ball. “I’m happy. You guys were having problems, anyway.”
“Like I didn’t know that before...”
“What are you all sore about, anyway?” Triton asked, frowning at him. “I mean, it was a long relationship and all, but...really...it was over since he left you here this summer.”
“I KNOW. All right?! I know. It’s just...I had feelings for him.”
“Yeah,” Triton snorted, rolling his eyes as he shot the ball again. “Right.”
Quatre frowned at him as he rebounded, taking the ball into his possession without giving Triton his change for the taken shot. He eyed the backboard and shot from the free throw line, moving in his customary training exercises in preparation for the season. “I did. You can’t tell me that I didn’t, or I did. You don’t know.”
Triton held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m not trying to start anything with you, pal. I’m just saying... I mean, there’s a lot of people that have been waiting in line for you guys to break up so that they may have a chance with you...”
Quatre raised an eyebrow as he paused in shooting. “Oh? I really haven’t noticed. You can’t be one of those people?”
Triton was much too proud to pretend that he wasn’t, giving the blond a proud smirk.
Quatre snorted, and made the shot. “Whatever. You’re just in it for some stupid hook-up, anyway.”
“What’s wrong with laying my options plain on the table?” Triton asked, blinking. “I’m letting you know straight out, no games, what I’d like and what would be cool between the both of us. You know I’ve been crushing on you for forever...”
“You won’t let me forget, and how can you live with yourself, being so blatant?” Quatre asked, rebounding his own shot, and staring at the other student with some consternation.
Triton shrugged again. “I’m just letting you know, straight out. No games. I hate playing games like that. I’m not the type to be all sneaky and conniving.”
Quatre stared at him, fiddling with his ball as he prepared to shoot again. He eyed the hoop and tried to forget that he was feeling rather lonely. There’s nothing worse than settling for what’s there, he thought to himself as he shot. He hoped that Felicia found better options for him to choose from when she came back from wherever she’d been.
“Besides, it’s not like I’m...going to ruin you, or anything. Just...I don’t know. Maybe I can change your mind about certain things,” Triton added, grinning devilishly. “I’m sure that between us, we can teach each other a few tricks here and there...”
Quatre stared at him, a little disturbed by the guy’s boldness. But then again...Triton had looked at him the same way while he was a little...chubby. And Felicia had mentioned a few times that if he were a chocolate bar and Triton all the girls in one loaded on PMS, well...there really wasn’t anything that could turn Triton away from him, short of a kick to the balls. In a way...it was flattering. But not enough that he’d lose all his morals and values and get with the guy to satisfy some kick of his.
He shook his head and shot the ball. “Whatever, man.”
Triton chuckled, waved, and walked off, heading toward the dorm. Quatre hesitated in rebounding his ball, staring after him with some consternation as he contemplated Triton’s words, and intentions. Really, a one night stand wasn’t something he’d be after, or something he’d throw around lightly. He wasn’t the type to do that. But then again, it was eerily similar to something he’d done with Justin...but that was different! He’d been scared off from doing anything else after meeting Mr. Ogre!
Which reminded him...
He retrieved his ball, and began making his way back to the dormitory, dribbling all the way. He really wanted to talk to Justin. There was just something nagging at him to do so.
Once he reached his room, he tossed his ball randomly over his shoulder and reached for his cell, noting that there wasn’t any messages in his call box, and he sighed heavily, dropping onto his bed, figuring that he and Trowa were seriously over with. Trowa hadn’t made any efforts to reach him, and Quatre had no idea where he was. He doubt Catherine would talk to him in the first place.
Kicking off his shoes, he found Justin’s number, and hesitated before activating the call. Putting the phone to his ear, he stared up at the ceiling and listened to the rings, waiting with some nervousness for Justin to answer.
After six rings, he sighed, moving to hang up when he heard the other guy answer. He brought the phone back to his ear, and hesitated again, stomach shifting uncomfortably as he realized what he’d done. Swallowing hard, he gave a cheery greeting.
“What the hell, man?” Justin asked, clearly irritated on his end. “What do you want?”
Quatre sighed. The guy was still mad at him. “I just...I just wanted to talk for awhile, Justin.”
“Why? Your boyfriend let you loose for awhile?”
“Er...I just...I just really want to apologize for...for that,” he stammered, chewing at his nails. “I mean, I didn’t give things to you straight, and you shouldn’t have gotten that from me...”
“It’s fucked up. I don’t want to do that shit again. I don’t want that kind of thing happening to me,” Justin said, obviously miffed. “Look. I’m working. I would appreciate it if you didn’t call me again.”
Quatre frowned, and hung up without answering. He tossed his phone aside and stared up at the ceiling. Well, he deserved that one. Justin was obviously a law-abiding citizen and would never deign to stoop so low with someone like him...
With an awkward sigh, Quatre rolled off his bed and walked over to his desk to do some homework, to distract himself from annoying thoughts. Tomorrow was try-outs, and he wasn’t nervous or apprehensive at all. Last year he had been, simply because he’d been the new student in a brand new world, so to speak, and he’d been nervous as hell. But this year, there wasn’t any need to be–he was a complete shoe-in. Even if Ramos did have trouble with him, Randy had to admit that Quatre was one of their best players. He wouldn’t say his only best player, because Ramos wasn’t one to play favorites. He played his team fair and expected them to be fair. He chose only those that he was sure to use for the season, and played them all equally.
Nearly two hours later, he’d finished with his homework and was looking to go back outside to shoot a few on the outside court when his phone rang again. He paused, debating on answering it, then gave in to temptation and picked the phone off his bed, answering without looking at the window.
“Yeah?”
“Look...I’m sorry if I was rude,” Justin said, without bothering to greet him. The traffic noises in the background told Quatre he was probably walking around near his apartment. “But I’m still pissed at you. At everything. I was just wondering what it was that made you call. Your boyfriend dump you?”
“Actually, just about,” Quatre muttered, kicking at the carpet. “I haven’t seen him in days, and...well, things weren’t going very well for us, either. It was kind of funny of you to mention that you hoped he’d do the same thing to me as I did to him...”
“Why?”
“I dunno, because he actually did cheat on me. For real. With...some woman.”
“And you’re crying around about it to me, because? What, you think you can crawl back over to me, looking for pity and sympathy? I told you before, Quatre Winner, that I wasn’t about to do that cheating bullshit. I don’t do that shit.”
“Well, I know, just–!”
“Well, what the fuck are you calling me, for?! I kinda got the idea why you decided to leave–wherever he went, he came back, right? I was just some fucking toy on the side, right?”
“Well, it’s not like that–!”
“And you think I’m going to do this shit again?!”
“No, Justin, you have to–!”
“Well, hell, I’m near Marysville, anyway. Want me to come pick you up?”
Quatre’s eyebrows rose, and he looked rather amused at the sudden shift in tone and obvious forgiveness from the other boy.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Trowa looked up from his cigarette, sullenly stabbing it out in the full ash tray that sat at his table. Across from him sat Catherine, who was sucking down her margaritas as if they were going to cease existing by tomorrow. The Mexican restaurant was lightly populated today, and they had discussed many options involving Lady Une’s demise over the video.
Unfortunately for Catherine, Trowa shot down every one. He was just tired of the entire subject, and wanted to wallow in his misery about it alone and sullenly. He didn’t want Catherine to throw up pointless lawsuits over it, because it would only draw attention to the video and have more of a following than it did now. He didn’t want that attention–it was bad enough the situation was as it was.
He’d come down from his high, and, after much thinking about Drake’s words, had decided to face it all. It had taken nearly a week of thinking, but he’d come down to facing the music rather than closing himself off. As of much, he missed Quatre, and he felt stupid for doing this to him, giving him no other explanation except that he hated what was going on.
He felt bad that he hadn’t called the other boy, but there wasn’t a way to fix it now, unless he go up to the other and apologize, and face head-on the situation that awaited him. Which is what he planned to do, after he finished moping about it.
Catherine was rather annoyed that he was letting Lady Une do this to him, and kept trying to talk to her little brother about pulling a lawsuit.
“I just don’t see your point in this, Trowa,” she began again, curling her fingers into fists. “I hate that she used you in that way! She deliberately misled you and I want to fucking kick her Goddamn ass for doing so!”
“Well, I know, Catherine, but there really isn’t a point,” Trowa said, reaching over to curl his fingers around his Sprite cup. The liquid had long since absorbed within the cubes of ice that clinked about within the container, and he sipped at it with a disdainful expression, and signaled to a nearby waiter to refill it. “What’s done is done. I just have to face up to it, now.”
“Trowa! I can’t believe you’re giving up so Goddamned easily!” Catherine exclaimed, but she hit the table with the pad of her hand and pouted, regarding her margarita with a sullen stare. “I don’t want my baby brother’s reputation torn to shreds because of this evil stunt of hers...”
“I received a lot of job offers, if you can believe it.”
“TROWA!”
“What, Catherine Jeez, I didn’t say I was going to accept. But apparently, my performance in that bullshit video got a lot of people’s attentions,” Trowa muttered, regarding his full plate with a glare. “It’s not like I had an actual reputation, anyway. Most people say that I’m too quiet and weird...You and Quat are the only ones I really talk to.”
“I fucking hate him. If he hadn’t–!”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Trowa snapped at her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He regarded his plate once more with a glare. “It was mine. I chose to fuck around on him. I chose to fuck around with her, knowing that I what I was doing was wrong. It’s my fault. I accept full blame for my own actions. Quatre did nothing but love me.”
“And what does that little prick have to say about this situation, Trowa? Is he pissed at you?”
“Yeah...a little. He just really surprised me when I told him. He just laughed it off, but I could tell he was angry. I mean, the fact that I cheated on him made him angry, and...that’s just the whole purpose of it, I guess. Cheating on him. I got what I deserved.”
Catherine fiddled with her silverware, frowning. “Whatever. I think he’s just covering up his own tracks.”
Trowa rolled his eyes. “Get off it, Cathy. He hasn’t cheated on me. People talk about him all the time, but I learned to discern what’s the truth and what isn’t. He can’t lie to me.”
“I think he did. I mean...I may not know him very well, but I don’t think he’d stand around and let you fuck him over this way. I think he went out behind your back and pulled some shit on his own and is glad that you’re wallowing in yours so that he can get away with it.”
Trowa stared at the table, crossing his arms over it and leaning forward. “Well...if he did...I suppose that’s all my fault, too. I mean...I was so fucking mean to him...”
“Trowa, don’t even start that bullshit! He was always fucking you around!” Catherine exclaimed, pointing at him as she signaled for another drink. “He gave you that scar, for Chrissake’s!”
“But I deserved it. I really like him, Catherine. He’s just...I just love him. A lot. He makes me feel good. I just feel so bad and undeserving of him, and can’t bear to face him at this point and time...Every time I touch him, I feel so sick for doing so, because I had touched Amelie in that sense...I had sex with him once. Once, Catherine, when we were doing it all the time. He’s a physical person, and I completely denied him all that opportunity...”
Catherine waved that pity story away, slurping at her margarita as Trowa’s Sprite was refilled. “Whatever. You told me he looked like some fat cow.”
“He did gain some weight, but he lost it. And I know he’s upset with me about that. He won’t say anything about it, but I can tell. He’s really skinny again, and basketball’s starting up, and I kind of worry about that. So much physical activity, and he isn’t eating...”
“If a person’s fat, they’re fat, Trowa,” Catherine snapped, hating when her brother stuck up for the other guy. “You can’t force yourself to like him when you know you don’t! So what if he had to make a little sacrifice to make you happy?! That’s what couples do! They sacrifice things to make each other happy! And losing weight isn’t a big fucking deal, Trowa. Personally, he should...He’s got a big ass.”
Trowa snorted. “Why do you hate him so much? You don’t even know him.”
“He’s a misogynic little pig and I hated him for hurting you,” Catherine sniffed, licking some salt from the rim of her cup and ultra-aware that several men were gaping in obvious desire in her direction. “I’ll always stick up for you, and always be on your side, Trowa...”
“Well, I want you on his side, too.”
Trowa sighed as he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms up above his head and looking out over the restaurant. It was small, secluded, and painfully expensive. It was also intimate, with candlelight everywhere, the waiters quick and efficient, and the location was enough to have any of their more expensive locale giddy with the need for privacy. They served good food, but it wasn’t exactly Mexican cuisine–more like Taco Bell renditions that were painfully insulting.
He liked the enchiladas, though, and had only eaten half. His stomach was really cramping up, due to the withdrawal of drugs and the downing of his high. He hated this moment, when the drugs were forced to leave. He touched his stomach with some tender hands, figuring that it would all be worth it in the end.
He rose from his chair and walked over to the bathroom. It was small, with a single stall and urinal, and there was one guy in there, washing his hands. Trowa performed a double-take because he was sure he’d seen the guy before. He walked into the stall and shut the door, digging out his cigarette and lighter. Putting the seat of the toilet down, he chose to smoke there, instead of in front of his sister because he wanted to think to himself.
Plus he wanted to wait until the guy left, because he wasn’t going to take a shit when he knew someone could hear him.
He heard the restroom door open, and figured upon the other guy leaving when an annoyed voice demanded, “God, what the fuck are you doing?! How long does it take for you to wash your fucking hands?!”
Quatre?!
“Shut the fuck up, dickhole. I don’t want no goddamned germs when I go to eat,” the other boy said in reply, his voice deep and actually pleasant. It fit his larger frame.
“Then quit fuckin’ around with sleazy whores and stop playing with yourself.”
“Fuck you, asshole. What the fuck are you doing in here, anyway?”
“I was bored! Sitting at that stupid table all by myself...then you took away my fucking phone.”
“Hey, you want to talk?”
“Er...about what?”
“Fuck you! I took your phone away because it kept ringing and you wouldn’t turn it off! What’s so fucking important?! You got some chick with your kid in some hospital?!”
“Har, har, fucking dick...hey! Let’s do something fun!”
“...God, when you say shit like that, I get really worried. Don’t you have try-outs, tomorrow?’
“Yeah, but, since it isn’t ‘tomorrow’, and it’s now ‘today’, I don’t see why I can’t have fun!”
A heavy sigh, the obvious sound of towels being dispensed, and the sound of hands drying within the dry paper. “Fine. Fine. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. You’re paying. I’m broke. Figure something out.”
A sound of flesh upon flesh, then obvious scuffling. Trowa was grinding his teeth as his eyes flashed with fury, his stomach in serious knots as he heard someone being slammed against the wall, followed by Quatre’s maniacal laughter. The two left the bathroom, and Trowa was left there to rage silently within the single stall. He was about to throw a curse on the blond’s head when he realized that this was an opportunity to stake things out, and get the actual word himself, rather than relying on stupid rumors.
He quickly ran out from the stall, and slammed his way out from the bathroom. Forgetting about Catherine, he scanned the restaurant, and hurried outside, seeing the two boys walking down the sidewalk, punching and kicking at each other, hurling curses and the such at each other the entire way. Trowa kept his head down and followed, his fists clenched angrily at his sides as he regarded the very familiar and somewhat obscene affection the pair of them displayed toward each other.
He now recognized the guy–it had been the one yelling at Drake during that football game with Sageville, over two weeks ago! Those broad shoulders, that muscular statue, that fucked up hair...and since the kid had been at Darken while Sageville was playing, he had to assumed that that guy was the Justin that kids had been talking about, the one Quatre was ‘cheating’ on him with.
He stared at the guy, who wasn’t that much taller than Quatre, who was obviously very fit and athletic, handsome in his own way, and severely rough, language and physical display. Quatre was very comfortable in goading him into some sort of stand-offish play, something that looked entirely different from the way he interacted with Trowa or the others at Darken.
He was completely different with this guy–his manners, his speech, his way of ‘having fun’...this was a whole new side of Quatre that Trowa hadn’t seen, and he wondered if this was the blond that had made so many friends back at Laramie, being the bully that picked on suspected gay kids at his old high school. He’d mentioned before that he was a prick back then, and had admitted that he was wrong in his behavior, but Trowa had been unable to imagine Quatre as such a guy, despite the somewhat familiar actions he took since Trowa had known him.
Really, it was quite infuriating when he saw the truth before his very eyes. They were walking down the sidewalk, heading toward a mall district that was popular with the younger generation, and Trowa had to wonder what the fuck was going on.
Quatre’s actions toward the other guy were friendly, if one wanted to say that. There wasn’t any display of affection, or any indication of romantic interaction, and at that, Trowa had to calm himself down.
There wasn’t any display.
Quatre wasn’t kissing him, or hugging him, or holding his hand, or even whispering sweet endearments to the other’s ear...He was merely roughhousing with a guy that acted as similarly as him, and Trowa felt his rage slip away.
This was nothing! Nothing but a pair of friends hanging out, since he’d gone MIA without explanation. He was just a little annoyed, now, that Quatre hadn’t ever mentioned this guy to him during their time together. Surely he would remember Quatre’s little friends, especially the ones Trowa had never seen before...
So why didn’t Quatre mention this guy, and why hadn’t Trowa seen his name in his phone?
Everyone snooped in their respective partner’s things, every once and a while...and Trowa would admit, once asked, that he’d snooped in Quatre’s things on a regular basis, looking for clues of any infidelity. He’d seen unknown names in Quatre’s phonebook on his BlackBerry, and had, by some course of action unrelated to snooping, questioned those names. Quatre had answered every one of them, and Trowa found faces to names as time went on.
BUT he didn’t recall this guy ever being in Quatre’s description, or his story telling, so Trowa was intensely curious if this was actually THE Justin from Sageville...and if that was so, why was Quatre hanging out with him?
Well, he had to admit, since he was stalking them still, he was glad Quatre had friends outside of Darken. The blond didn’t get along very well with anyone, so it was a mite comfort to know that he’d made a friend elsewhere...but it just BOTHERED Trowa that Quatre never mentioned THIS friend...
The two were walking into the entrance of an arcade, and Trowa had to hurry to keep up. He’d perfected his stalking tendencies ages ago, when he’d performed the same actions while courting Quatre. Hiding here and there, watching everything the boy did...he was practically on Quatre’s butt from morning to night, and Quatre never caught him.
So Trowa was sort of a professional when it came to such stealthy operations. He knew he wouldn’t get caught.
And besides, it wasn’t as if this were bad–he just wanted to see what his blond lovecake was up to without actually getting involved quite yet.
He walked into the arcade, and spotted them near the change machine, the dark haired boy exchanging dollars for tokens. Quatre turned quickly all of a sudden, and Trowa had to duck fast and move just as quickly to be sure he didn’t get caught. He hurried around a couple of arcade sets, bypassing a group of kids that stared at him weirdly, and set himself in a position where he could see that Quatre was pointing at a Mortal Kombat game and the guy was disagreeing.
After a brief scuffle, they found themselves at a SoulCaliber station and were kicking each other’s asses on screen. Trowa found that such actions were completely innocent–they were just friends. They really didn’t give any indications of romance between them...he didn’t know why he was freaking out.
But even as his mind told them this, that little voice of his Bad self whispered about why Quatre wouldn’t tell him about this guy...And his Good self was letting him know that the obvious was, well, obvious. They were just friends!
“But why hide and sneak around to watch them?” his Bad self wondered aloud, and Trowa had a vivid imagination–he could just see his Bad self standing on his left shoulder, wearing leather and spandex, Buddy Holly glasses and slicked back hair. His Bad self shook his head and kicked at his earlobes. “He’s fuckin’ around with ya! Right in front of ya! Yer outta the pitcher, and he’s got that guy to fill in after ya!”
His Good self was dressed in white athletic clothes–Shady jersey, white corduroy pants, white K-Swisses, and wearing a white backwards New Park Baseball cap.
“Thee can see for theeself,” he said, arms up in the air as he rapped in Eminem style rhymes. “‘Tis innocent! His first friend out of Darken Academy and man don’t thee feel like a lout?”
“Can it, you Shady wannabe!” his Bad self roared. He tugged at the fall of hair over Trowa’s face. “LOOK at that insolence! He’s CHEATIN’ on ya! Blatantly! Fuckin’ whore-slut! Soon’s as ya gotcher back turned, he’s got his bitch in the kertains, waitin’ for ya to move on out!”
“Thee insecurity drove him to keep tis friendship secret!” his Good self rapped.
Trowa felt tired. Sometimes, his imagination and his Good and Bad were much too warped, even for him.
The guy, Justin, must have won the match because he howled with victory and Quatre socked him one in the gut. The two slammed each other over to the next station and prepared to team up on a bad cop shoot-em-up that was popular with the ‘tweenie’s.
Trowa followed at a safe distance, scowling when Quatre laughed about something, turning his face up to the other’s. Justin just looked at him, raising an eyebrow, and for a moment, Trowa was sure that Justin was going to try and kiss him. His Bad and Good selves stiffened with expectation, Trowa’s heart caught in his throat, until Quatre said something that made Justin shove the blond halfway across the room, laughing.
“See?” his Good self cooed, throwing gang signs. “Innocent! Just friends! Word to your mother!”
Trowa hurriedly waved the area above his shoulders, causing the two to disappear with despairing groans. He continued to watch as the two played, got bored, and decided to leave the arcade. When they left, Trowa wasn’t very far behind, trailing after them in the night.
“Let’s Get (Retarded) It Started” = Black Eyed Peas
Sylvia sighed heavily as she sat down besides Felicia that Friday night, at the gym. Glancing around, she realized that Trowa was no where in sight, and Quatre was playing like shit tonight. It was evident in the way he handled the ball–it kept flying from his hands during his traditional over the back passes, and kept bouncing it off his shoe whenever he dribbled. His frustration mounted considerably as he had to pause his fast level of playing to get a grip on himself.
Sylvia looked at Felicia, who was frowning down at the boy, terribly uncomfortable with her position within the gym. In fact, the only time the girl was ever inside was during a pep rally, or having to leave a message with the boy.
She nudged her. “This is new,” she said.
Felicia speared her with a Look. “What?”
“Usually you aren’t on school campus after school...and you’re never here,” Sylvia pointed out, looking out at the court. Even Triton had noticed his crush’s attitude and hadn’t been bothering him with his usual flirtations. “What’s going on?”
“Quat’s depressed. His boyfriend sucks,” Felicia said, shrugging. “He’s lettin’ it get to him, man.”
Sylvia sighed, nodding in agreement. The gym seemed to echo with a particularly violent curse from Quatre when he lost the ball during a fast break that should have been cake for him.
“Yeah...Where has Trowa been, anyway?”
“Bein’ a pussy...just...bein’ stupid,” Felicia muttered, shaking her head as she drew her knees up, resting her elbows on them. She watched her friend crankily walk down the court after the others, his frustration evident. “Man...I hate when he’s all depressed. I just get depressed, too.”
“Why?” Sylvia asked with some amusement, looking at her. “You never care about others.”
Felicia scowled, but had to realize that it was true. “Just...dude, I set them up. I mean, when Quatre first came here, I became friends with him. I thought he’d turn into a prick like all the other dudes that come along, but he wasn’t. He’s cool. And I introduced him to Barton because Barton liked him first off, too. So, then...I just feel responsible for things goin’ the way they are...”
Sylvia frowned, then blinked as she looked at the girl. Her long, dark hair was down, the magenta stripe at her left temple visible as she fiddled with it. Her profile was strained, a little tired as she watched the goings-on down on the court. Her face was made-up with gentle colors, her lashes fanning out thickly, her lips pulled into a thoughtful pout, her perfume smelling so clean and fresh...She’d changed out of her uniform to wear a pair of cargo jeans with a simple tee, her feet encased in chunky Pumas...she was casual, yet carried with her a flattering presence of grace that seemed unnatural with her tomboy antics.
She’s so pretty, Sylvia thought, then jerked at the direction of her thoughts as she realized who she was talking about. Her face turning a little red, Sylvia looked at the court, taking a deep breath. I can’t believe I thought that about her...I’m not a lesbian, or anything...But there are some moments when she’s just really pretty...
“But it isn’t your fault,” Sylvia heard herself saying. “You weren’t responsible for what Trowa did in Spain...”
“Kinda. I mean, I gave him and his sis the tickets to get over there,” Felicia muttered, straightening. “And then, with this Justin thing, I just kept pressuring him to get with the guy cuz it was all obvious that’s what he needed...I don’t think people should stay together so long when they’re so young...I mean, I made that mistake, and it just landed me in a load of pain, man. I mean, I can’t even look at Hautta without wanting to cry, or to look at Perfect and want to rip her throat out through her fuckin’ pinkie...I loved him so much, and when he dumped me for her...I just...fell to pieces, man.”
Sylvia stared at her, wide-eyed, afraid to move lest she ruin the illusion. Felicia was actually confessing her feelings on a situation that she’d never heard of! She knew Felicia had been with someone, she just didn’t know who and when and what! And here the other girl was, confessing all without any prompting...perhaps this situation with Quatre was really getting to her...
“I don’t want that to happen to Quat,” Felicia said, gesturing at the blond. “I really like him.”
“I know. It’s really obvious,” Sylvia said. “You guys are really close friends...”
Felicia looked at her, piercing her with a stare. “No. I really like him.”
Sylvia smiled at her with some uncertainty, then realization hit her between the eyes. She was much too paralyzed to even react. Felicia sighed, shoulders slumping.
“I have for a long time. He can’t hurt me because he’s gay. He sees me as a friend. I had this really bad crush on him for such a long time, and I thought that if...somehow...if I just feel for him the way that I do, then things would be all right with me. I wouldn’t have to be hurt about what Hautta did to me...I could just...like and like and like and not have to worry about anyone else hurting me the way that he had...the rumors are true, Sylvia, but no one would ever believe them. Don’t tell anyone, all right?”
Dumbly, Sylvia nodded her head.
Felicia sighed again. “I’ve broken down, man. Confessed my dirty secret. This shit’s getting to me. I need to find a man that’ll actually like me back, but there’s no chance of that here. Everyone thinks I’m mucho manly and ultra lesbo. I ain’t. I just...need someone that can match me and put me in my place...”
“And...er...Quatre can?”
“He’s just fun to hang out with. I like him cuz he’s cool like that. He’s, like, the first guy that didn’t turn me away, you know? And he accepts who I am...er...somewhat, though he’s convinced that I’m actually a guy. I dunno. I just...I just really like him. Not...not only physical, cuz he’s hot, you have to admit, and I really don’t like blonds and white guys, but...but on everything else. And I don’t have to confess to him. And I’ve accepted that he’ll never like me back, and that’s cool! I’m not lookin’ to push for anything...I’m happy bein’ where I am. Y’know? Crush from afar kinda thing.”
“I...I understand.”
“I’ll do anything to make him happy, Syl. Anything. But this thing with Trowa...I don’t know. Somehow, I know things will turn out fuckin’ stupid, and he’ll just end up hurt because that fucker’s stupid...I don’t know. I just want to make him happy...”
Sylvia clutched the bleachers and felt her stomach quiver. Really, this was so uncharacteristic of Felicia that she didn’t know what to say. It was the first time the girl had actually confessed to something of such measure, and had feelings of that extent! She didn’t know what to do or say in this situation...but she knew that the girl must be harboring it problematically if she was confessing all to someone she didn’t even know for very long.
Sylvia looked at the girl, who was sighing once more, palm holding up chin, and vowed that she would keep that secret, and its accompanying effects, with her to the grave....
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre sneezed repeatedly, then frowned as the ball sailed past him. “Damn it,” he muttered, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Someone keeps talking about me...”
“You aren’t ready for try-outs, are you?” Triton asked, walking over to him as everyone ran to the other end of the court.
Quatre sighed. “I’m just having an off-day...”
“Spurs lose?”
“NO! It’s just...I don’t know. I’m letting things get to me, and it’s fucking up my game...”
“Yeah. Dude, just dump the prick.”
Quatre frowned. That was a very familiar phase. Felicia had been telling him to do so for a long time, now. And, as every day passed and Trowa refused to come to school because of that damn video (which he damn well deserved for cheating on him!), he found himself entertaining the notion. Because while things weren’t looking so well for them both at the moment, it didn’t look as if they would ever again. Trowa was just too caught up in that video’s effects, and it was really bugging them. Quatre didn’t care–personally, the consequences match the actions...But he had to wonder if this was his backlash against the things he’d done with Justin.
Thinking about that guy now, he walked off court, signaling for a sub. Mariemaia ran in eagerly, and for once, Quatre didn’t care. He walked over to where Felicia and Sylvia were sitting and sat down between them.
“Dude...you so sucked out there,” Felicia muttered, tossing him his slippers.
“Yeah...where’s my phone?”
“Tro got a new phone?” she asked, plucking it out from her cargo pocket.
“Nah. I’m just...seeing if he called,” Quatre muttered, checking his messages. There weren’t any. He frowned, staring dejectedly at the screen, then looking at the court.
This thing with Trowa was really pressing on him...he wanted his Trowa back. The one that called him stupid petnames and liked it when he was hit. He wanted the Trowa that kissed him between classes, and was so aggressive with him when in pursuit. But it seemed, that once Trowa and he got serious, Trowa dropped his pursuit and had just...seemed...comfortable. He didn’t really go out of his way to make endearing gestures as he did while courting him, and things were now so fucked up, that Quatre wondered if they’d ever be the same again.
He missed Trowa. Badly.
He looked at his phone, and appreciated the shoulder massage he got from one of the girls as she sat directly behind him, massaging them outside his barely sweaty tee. Rifling through his phone book, he paused at Justin’s entry, and recalled that night when Justin faced him in the lobby of the dormitory.
Really...he missed the guy, too. It had been fun hanging out with him. Hanging out with Justin had been a lot of fun. They did things that were different from what he and Trowa did. But he had to wonder if Justin would even talk to him, especially after what was exchanged.
Justin, despite his tendencies to be a little rough, had some morals instilled in him. He’d been pissed that Quatre had used him for some pity-party while Trowa was away in Spain...but guys can forgive and forget, right?
“Don’t do it,” Felicia muttered, having seen the hesitant decision and the entry in his phone. “I heard he’s fuckin’ pissed at you for not tellin’ him about Trowa...”
“Why? You talk to him?” Quatre asked, surprised as he looked back at her.
“Occasionally. I keep a lot of people on my phone. I talk to one at random when I’m bored. In fact, I called him yesterday. And he’s pissed at you.”
Quatre slumped, and whimpered for more of that massage. But he stared at the number, and wondered...
“I just wanna see what he’s doing,” he muttered. “Things suck so bad over here...Trowa doesn’t even want to come back to school, anymore. It’s like I don’t even matter to him.”
“So you’ll crawl your sorry ass to someone that will?”
“No, I’m just saying...well...I don’t know. At least...I don’t know. I need more friends...”
“You mean, more boy-toys?”
“NO! I mean...well...”
Felicia peered around at him, grinning. “If you want, I can set you up with someone outside of Darken...?”
Quatre hesitated, thinking about it. Seriously thought about it. His relationship with Trowa was rather dead... the boy would rather be doped up and moping about the sex video than actually working on getting over it with him...it didn’t help matters much when Trowa would rather drop out and not bother with working on anything else...
Why was it that when things got tough, men ran away from the problem rather than dealing with it? It was a sort of interesting question to think about, he realized, lowering his phone as he leaned into the massage that felt welcome and enjoyable.
“Fine. Just...no one stupid...like Derrick...”
“REALLY?!” Felicia squealed, bobbing in excitement. “I know a few!! They’ll be more than happy to meet with you!”
“Do I know them?”
“Er...probably...not. Seeing as...I...er...just let me handle it, okay?”
“Basketball starts next week, Felicia. I don’t want a long term thing...”
“Oh, don’t worry, my cool gay friend! I’ll find the solution to all of your problems!” Felicia roared, leaping from her seat and dashing for the doors to start immediately on her new project.
Sylvia giggled and slid over to Quatre, nudging him with her knee. “You’re going to trust her with your new guy?” she asked in disbelief, blinking repeatedly.
“Well...she gave me Trowa,” Quatre said with some uncertainty. He crossed his arms over his stomach, and looked dejectedly at the court, watching the others play. “And...I trust her to make the right decision...I suppose. It’s just...I don’t think Trowa and I should be together anymore...I mean...it’s like...he doesn’t want to be with me anymore. And...you were right, Sylvia. A person who won’t accept you for who you are isn’t good to be with...I was thinking about that for some time...He didn’t even want to touch me when he came back from Spain...I have a problem with that. I had to lose over twenty-five pounds just to make him like me again. And it couldn’t be that stupid problem with fucking Lady Une...he really didn’t like me. That hurts. I think...this would be a better decision, anyway...”
Sylvia looked at him with a frown, licking her lips. She then looked away, watching with a slight blush as Triton flexed his muscles and preened like a peacock after a three point shot he’d just made. The other girls throughout the gym were happily squealing and enjoying the entertainment as the others booed him on the court. She then nodded, thinking about Quatre’s words.
“Well, do you think you can break up with him?” she then asked, looking back at the blond.
Quatre shrugged. “He’s not here. He doesn’t even want to be here, anymore. And when we talk, he’s high. I’ve never liked drugs, Sylvia. Either he drops all that shit and turn back into the way he was, or I just...move on.”
“But...you loved him,” Sylvia said slowly, a sad frown caressing his features.
Quatre lowered his phone, staring forlornly over the court. “I did. There’s no question about it. But a relationship is give and take, Sylvia. He doesn’t even want to...I did love Trowa. And I still do. But he’s... not...being there. You know?”
She knew. She nodded. “Yeah...I...I hope you have good luck in the future, Quatre.”
“...Thanks....”
#20#20#20#20#20#20# 20
The situation was depressing him, and to keep himself from dwelling on it, Quatre found himself in the gym a lot often. He left his cell phone in his room, and shot countless shot after shot by himself, concentrating on his focus. Try-outs were on Monday...he was in shape, and he felt pretty confident when he had the ball in hand, it was just...this thing with Trowa was weighing on him heavily, and he knew he had to do something about it, and soon.
He eyed the backboard, choosing to shoot outside this Sunday afternoon, because it was sunny and warm, and there really wasn’t that many students about. Felicia had taken off for the weekend, Trowa was still MIA, and he was giving his relationship woes serious thought.
He could break up with Trowa, but then again...he did love him. He didn’t want to let go of him, but from the way things were going, how were they ever going to be good again?
Trowa was taking this video thing much too seriously, refusing to show his face and choosing to hide behind drugs to confront it. Quatre was tired of it. All of it. He wanted Trowa to confront the damn situation and try and fix it, with him. He wanted his Trowa Barton back! He wanted to go back into time, keep Trowa from heading over to Spain (even if that meant holding up the damn airport with a staple gun, or something), and keep their fairy tale romance the way that it should be–uneventful, beautiful, and loving.
But since this summer, things had changed so drastically that he just felt exhausted by everything! He couldn’t keep fighting for Trowa’s love if Trowa didn’t want it...and Quatre really didn’t want to compete with the MJ and the meth, and fucking Lady Une.
Felicia’s words about Trowa comparing him to the woman had him seriously on edge, and his sexual situation took a dive for the worst. It had been a concern, at first, that Trowa would not want him in that manner. That night at the Hilton had been absolutely phenomenal, and he wished for a repeat, but it didn’t look as if it would happen any time soon.
And basketball...well, that was coming up Monday, and he just knew he would not be concentrating on him and Trowa once the team started up. Basketball was his second limb, his second breath. It was natural for a ball to reside in his hand...he couldn’t go into a game, focused on something Trowa had done (or not have done) and fuck things up because his mind wasn’t on the game. He wasn’t like that. When he was focused on the game, he was focused on the game. Trowa would demand his attention, get angry when he wouldn’t give it because of the game...it was a complicated situation, and Quatre didn’t need the aggravation.
He just wanted it to go away...
And he seriously had to wonder what made him give Felicia the go-ahead to set him up with someone else. He wasn’t even sure how to break it to Trowa that he was going to break up with him.
Call Catherine’s work place and leave a message?
“Oh, hey, Cathy,” he’d say once she came onto the line and before she could launch into some tirade of hers, about how he wasn’t satisfying her little brother, he’d ask,“Can you let Trowa know I’m done with him? That’s a good girl...thanks!”
Nah. It just wouldn’t work.
Well, it didn’t look like Trowa was coming back, pretty soon. He hadn’t seen the former goth since that one day, and it wasn’t as if Trowa had forgotten his phone number...Quatre had his cell on him all the damn time...Trowa wasn’t helpless. How hard was it to pick up a payphone and dial his number?
The more Quatre thought about Trowa’s situation, the angrier he became. How dare Trowa act this way? Why couldn’t he just accept what he’d done and the consequences later, and just...fix them with Quatre? Quatre was more than willing to stand by Trowa’s side, if the former goth would let him, but Trowa was refusing to even come to school. So there wasn’t a point in that fact. It was moot.
He sighed, wiping his forehead as his ball bounced away. This situation with Trowa and that damn video was so complicated...it was just so tired....
He started to walk over to his ball when someone picked it up for him. He looked up at Triton, who was dressed in a casual tee and cargo shorts, his long, muscular legs in need of a tan. The lanky student was undeniably attractive, he had to admit. It was just that...he was so creepy...
Triton held his ball between his hands, and peered at him. “You done?” he asked, noting Quatre’s flushed appearance. “You want to get something to drink with me?”
“I’ve got water,” Quatre said, pointing at the bench where he’d left his things. He held up his hands, signaling for the ball.
Triton didn’t give it up, surveying the outside court with some disdain. He then dribbled with his left, studying his crush, who frowned that his ball wasn’t coming his way any time soon.
“I heard Trowa dropped out of school,” he said, conversationally.
Quatre scowled. He’d heard the same rumor. Someone had said that Trowa had talked to Drake about dropping out, and he’d really like to know the truth from the guy himself, seeing as he was his boyfriend.
Triton watched the expressions flitter across his face as he dribbled lightly. “You didn’t know, huh?”
“I’m not going to fuck around with you, Triton. He hasn’t even talked to me since...last week. I guess. I can’t remember which day...”
“You guys gonna break up?”
Quatre shrugged. “It doesn’t look good.”
Triton grinned, but quickly wiped it off his face as he shot the ball at the basket, making a customary three. He was really good at hitting those. “That’s too bad.”
Quatre snorted at the tone, shaking his head. “Whatever. You know you’re all happy about that sort of shit, Triton. You can’t fuck around with me like that.”
“I’ll admit it, then,” Triton said, retrieving the ball. “I’m happy. You guys were having problems, anyway.”
“Like I didn’t know that before...”
“What are you all sore about, anyway?” Triton asked, frowning at him. “I mean, it was a long relationship and all, but...really...it was over since he left you here this summer.”
“I KNOW. All right?! I know. It’s just...I had feelings for him.”
“Yeah,” Triton snorted, rolling his eyes as he shot the ball again. “Right.”
Quatre frowned at him as he rebounded, taking the ball into his possession without giving Triton his change for the taken shot. He eyed the backboard and shot from the free throw line, moving in his customary training exercises in preparation for the season. “I did. You can’t tell me that I didn’t, or I did. You don’t know.”
Triton held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m not trying to start anything with you, pal. I’m just saying... I mean, there’s a lot of people that have been waiting in line for you guys to break up so that they may have a chance with you...”
Quatre raised an eyebrow as he paused in shooting. “Oh? I really haven’t noticed. You can’t be one of those people?”
Triton was much too proud to pretend that he wasn’t, giving the blond a proud smirk.
Quatre snorted, and made the shot. “Whatever. You’re just in it for some stupid hook-up, anyway.”
“What’s wrong with laying my options plain on the table?” Triton asked, blinking. “I’m letting you know straight out, no games, what I’d like and what would be cool between the both of us. You know I’ve been crushing on you for forever...”
“You won’t let me forget, and how can you live with yourself, being so blatant?” Quatre asked, rebounding his own shot, and staring at the other student with some consternation.
Triton shrugged again. “I’m just letting you know, straight out. No games. I hate playing games like that. I’m not the type to be all sneaky and conniving.”
Quatre stared at him, fiddling with his ball as he prepared to shoot again. He eyed the hoop and tried to forget that he was feeling rather lonely. There’s nothing worse than settling for what’s there, he thought to himself as he shot. He hoped that Felicia found better options for him to choose from when she came back from wherever she’d been.
“Besides, it’s not like I’m...going to ruin you, or anything. Just...I don’t know. Maybe I can change your mind about certain things,” Triton added, grinning devilishly. “I’m sure that between us, we can teach each other a few tricks here and there...”
Quatre stared at him, a little disturbed by the guy’s boldness. But then again...Triton had looked at him the same way while he was a little...chubby. And Felicia had mentioned a few times that if he were a chocolate bar and Triton all the girls in one loaded on PMS, well...there really wasn’t anything that could turn Triton away from him, short of a kick to the balls. In a way...it was flattering. But not enough that he’d lose all his morals and values and get with the guy to satisfy some kick of his.
He shook his head and shot the ball. “Whatever, man.”
Triton chuckled, waved, and walked off, heading toward the dorm. Quatre hesitated in rebounding his ball, staring after him with some consternation as he contemplated Triton’s words, and intentions. Really, a one night stand wasn’t something he’d be after, or something he’d throw around lightly. He wasn’t the type to do that. But then again, it was eerily similar to something he’d done with Justin...but that was different! He’d been scared off from doing anything else after meeting Mr. Ogre!
Which reminded him...
He retrieved his ball, and began making his way back to the dormitory, dribbling all the way. He really wanted to talk to Justin. There was just something nagging at him to do so.
Once he reached his room, he tossed his ball randomly over his shoulder and reached for his cell, noting that there wasn’t any messages in his call box, and he sighed heavily, dropping onto his bed, figuring that he and Trowa were seriously over with. Trowa hadn’t made any efforts to reach him, and Quatre had no idea where he was. He doubt Catherine would talk to him in the first place.
Kicking off his shoes, he found Justin’s number, and hesitated before activating the call. Putting the phone to his ear, he stared up at the ceiling and listened to the rings, waiting with some nervousness for Justin to answer.
After six rings, he sighed, moving to hang up when he heard the other guy answer. He brought the phone back to his ear, and hesitated again, stomach shifting uncomfortably as he realized what he’d done. Swallowing hard, he gave a cheery greeting.
“What the hell, man?” Justin asked, clearly irritated on his end. “What do you want?”
Quatre sighed. The guy was still mad at him. “I just...I just wanted to talk for awhile, Justin.”
“Why? Your boyfriend let you loose for awhile?”
“Er...I just...I just really want to apologize for...for that,” he stammered, chewing at his nails. “I mean, I didn’t give things to you straight, and you shouldn’t have gotten that from me...”
“It’s fucked up. I don’t want to do that shit again. I don’t want that kind of thing happening to me,” Justin said, obviously miffed. “Look. I’m working. I would appreciate it if you didn’t call me again.”
Quatre frowned, and hung up without answering. He tossed his phone aside and stared up at the ceiling. Well, he deserved that one. Justin was obviously a law-abiding citizen and would never deign to stoop so low with someone like him...
With an awkward sigh, Quatre rolled off his bed and walked over to his desk to do some homework, to distract himself from annoying thoughts. Tomorrow was try-outs, and he wasn’t nervous or apprehensive at all. Last year he had been, simply because he’d been the new student in a brand new world, so to speak, and he’d been nervous as hell. But this year, there wasn’t any need to be–he was a complete shoe-in. Even if Ramos did have trouble with him, Randy had to admit that Quatre was one of their best players. He wouldn’t say his only best player, because Ramos wasn’t one to play favorites. He played his team fair and expected them to be fair. He chose only those that he was sure to use for the season, and played them all equally.
Nearly two hours later, he’d finished with his homework and was looking to go back outside to shoot a few on the outside court when his phone rang again. He paused, debating on answering it, then gave in to temptation and picked the phone off his bed, answering without looking at the window.
“Yeah?”
“Look...I’m sorry if I was rude,” Justin said, without bothering to greet him. The traffic noises in the background told Quatre he was probably walking around near his apartment. “But I’m still pissed at you. At everything. I was just wondering what it was that made you call. Your boyfriend dump you?”
“Actually, just about,” Quatre muttered, kicking at the carpet. “I haven’t seen him in days, and...well, things weren’t going very well for us, either. It was kind of funny of you to mention that you hoped he’d do the same thing to me as I did to him...”
“Why?”
“I dunno, because he actually did cheat on me. For real. With...some woman.”
“And you’re crying around about it to me, because? What, you think you can crawl back over to me, looking for pity and sympathy? I told you before, Quatre Winner, that I wasn’t about to do that cheating bullshit. I don’t do that shit.”
“Well, I know, just–!”
“Well, what the fuck are you calling me, for?! I kinda got the idea why you decided to leave–wherever he went, he came back, right? I was just some fucking toy on the side, right?”
“Well, it’s not like that–!”
“And you think I’m going to do this shit again?!”
“No, Justin, you have to–!”
“Well, hell, I’m near Marysville, anyway. Want me to come pick you up?”
Quatre’s eyebrows rose, and he looked rather amused at the sudden shift in tone and obvious forgiveness from the other boy.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Trowa looked up from his cigarette, sullenly stabbing it out in the full ash tray that sat at his table. Across from him sat Catherine, who was sucking down her margaritas as if they were going to cease existing by tomorrow. The Mexican restaurant was lightly populated today, and they had discussed many options involving Lady Une’s demise over the video.
Unfortunately for Catherine, Trowa shot down every one. He was just tired of the entire subject, and wanted to wallow in his misery about it alone and sullenly. He didn’t want Catherine to throw up pointless lawsuits over it, because it would only draw attention to the video and have more of a following than it did now. He didn’t want that attention–it was bad enough the situation was as it was.
He’d come down from his high, and, after much thinking about Drake’s words, had decided to face it all. It had taken nearly a week of thinking, but he’d come down to facing the music rather than closing himself off. As of much, he missed Quatre, and he felt stupid for doing this to him, giving him no other explanation except that he hated what was going on.
He felt bad that he hadn’t called the other boy, but there wasn’t a way to fix it now, unless he go up to the other and apologize, and face head-on the situation that awaited him. Which is what he planned to do, after he finished moping about it.
Catherine was rather annoyed that he was letting Lady Une do this to him, and kept trying to talk to her little brother about pulling a lawsuit.
“I just don’t see your point in this, Trowa,” she began again, curling her fingers into fists. “I hate that she used you in that way! She deliberately misled you and I want to fucking kick her Goddamn ass for doing so!”
“Well, I know, Catherine, but there really isn’t a point,” Trowa said, reaching over to curl his fingers around his Sprite cup. The liquid had long since absorbed within the cubes of ice that clinked about within the container, and he sipped at it with a disdainful expression, and signaled to a nearby waiter to refill it. “What’s done is done. I just have to face up to it, now.”
“Trowa! I can’t believe you’re giving up so Goddamned easily!” Catherine exclaimed, but she hit the table with the pad of her hand and pouted, regarding her margarita with a sullen stare. “I don’t want my baby brother’s reputation torn to shreds because of this evil stunt of hers...”
“I received a lot of job offers, if you can believe it.”
“TROWA!”
“What, Catherine Jeez, I didn’t say I was going to accept. But apparently, my performance in that bullshit video got a lot of people’s attentions,” Trowa muttered, regarding his full plate with a glare. “It’s not like I had an actual reputation, anyway. Most people say that I’m too quiet and weird...You and Quat are the only ones I really talk to.”
“I fucking hate him. If he hadn’t–!”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Trowa snapped at her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He regarded his plate once more with a glare. “It was mine. I chose to fuck around on him. I chose to fuck around with her, knowing that I what I was doing was wrong. It’s my fault. I accept full blame for my own actions. Quatre did nothing but love me.”
“And what does that little prick have to say about this situation, Trowa? Is he pissed at you?”
“Yeah...a little. He just really surprised me when I told him. He just laughed it off, but I could tell he was angry. I mean, the fact that I cheated on him made him angry, and...that’s just the whole purpose of it, I guess. Cheating on him. I got what I deserved.”
Catherine fiddled with her silverware, frowning. “Whatever. I think he’s just covering up his own tracks.”
Trowa rolled his eyes. “Get off it, Cathy. He hasn’t cheated on me. People talk about him all the time, but I learned to discern what’s the truth and what isn’t. He can’t lie to me.”
“I think he did. I mean...I may not know him very well, but I don’t think he’d stand around and let you fuck him over this way. I think he went out behind your back and pulled some shit on his own and is glad that you’re wallowing in yours so that he can get away with it.”
Trowa stared at the table, crossing his arms over it and leaning forward. “Well...if he did...I suppose that’s all my fault, too. I mean...I was so fucking mean to him...”
“Trowa, don’t even start that bullshit! He was always fucking you around!” Catherine exclaimed, pointing at him as she signaled for another drink. “He gave you that scar, for Chrissake’s!”
“But I deserved it. I really like him, Catherine. He’s just...I just love him. A lot. He makes me feel good. I just feel so bad and undeserving of him, and can’t bear to face him at this point and time...Every time I touch him, I feel so sick for doing so, because I had touched Amelie in that sense...I had sex with him once. Once, Catherine, when we were doing it all the time. He’s a physical person, and I completely denied him all that opportunity...”
Catherine waved that pity story away, slurping at her margarita as Trowa’s Sprite was refilled. “Whatever. You told me he looked like some fat cow.”
“He did gain some weight, but he lost it. And I know he’s upset with me about that. He won’t say anything about it, but I can tell. He’s really skinny again, and basketball’s starting up, and I kind of worry about that. So much physical activity, and he isn’t eating...”
“If a person’s fat, they’re fat, Trowa,” Catherine snapped, hating when her brother stuck up for the other guy. “You can’t force yourself to like him when you know you don’t! So what if he had to make a little sacrifice to make you happy?! That’s what couples do! They sacrifice things to make each other happy! And losing weight isn’t a big fucking deal, Trowa. Personally, he should...He’s got a big ass.”
Trowa snorted. “Why do you hate him so much? You don’t even know him.”
“He’s a misogynic little pig and I hated him for hurting you,” Catherine sniffed, licking some salt from the rim of her cup and ultra-aware that several men were gaping in obvious desire in her direction. “I’ll always stick up for you, and always be on your side, Trowa...”
“Well, I want you on his side, too.”
Trowa sighed as he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms up above his head and looking out over the restaurant. It was small, secluded, and painfully expensive. It was also intimate, with candlelight everywhere, the waiters quick and efficient, and the location was enough to have any of their more expensive locale giddy with the need for privacy. They served good food, but it wasn’t exactly Mexican cuisine–more like Taco Bell renditions that were painfully insulting.
He liked the enchiladas, though, and had only eaten half. His stomach was really cramping up, due to the withdrawal of drugs and the downing of his high. He hated this moment, when the drugs were forced to leave. He touched his stomach with some tender hands, figuring that it would all be worth it in the end.
He rose from his chair and walked over to the bathroom. It was small, with a single stall and urinal, and there was one guy in there, washing his hands. Trowa performed a double-take because he was sure he’d seen the guy before. He walked into the stall and shut the door, digging out his cigarette and lighter. Putting the seat of the toilet down, he chose to smoke there, instead of in front of his sister because he wanted to think to himself.
Plus he wanted to wait until the guy left, because he wasn’t going to take a shit when he knew someone could hear him.
He heard the restroom door open, and figured upon the other guy leaving when an annoyed voice demanded, “God, what the fuck are you doing?! How long does it take for you to wash your fucking hands?!”
Quatre?!
“Shut the fuck up, dickhole. I don’t want no goddamned germs when I go to eat,” the other boy said in reply, his voice deep and actually pleasant. It fit his larger frame.
“Then quit fuckin’ around with sleazy whores and stop playing with yourself.”
“Fuck you, asshole. What the fuck are you doing in here, anyway?”
“I was bored! Sitting at that stupid table all by myself...then you took away my fucking phone.”
“Hey, you want to talk?”
“Er...about what?”
“Fuck you! I took your phone away because it kept ringing and you wouldn’t turn it off! What’s so fucking important?! You got some chick with your kid in some hospital?!”
“Har, har, fucking dick...hey! Let’s do something fun!”
“...God, when you say shit like that, I get really worried. Don’t you have try-outs, tomorrow?’
“Yeah, but, since it isn’t ‘tomorrow’, and it’s now ‘today’, I don’t see why I can’t have fun!”
A heavy sigh, the obvious sound of towels being dispensed, and the sound of hands drying within the dry paper. “Fine. Fine. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. You’re paying. I’m broke. Figure something out.”
A sound of flesh upon flesh, then obvious scuffling. Trowa was grinding his teeth as his eyes flashed with fury, his stomach in serious knots as he heard someone being slammed against the wall, followed by Quatre’s maniacal laughter. The two left the bathroom, and Trowa was left there to rage silently within the single stall. He was about to throw a curse on the blond’s head when he realized that this was an opportunity to stake things out, and get the actual word himself, rather than relying on stupid rumors.
He quickly ran out from the stall, and slammed his way out from the bathroom. Forgetting about Catherine, he scanned the restaurant, and hurried outside, seeing the two boys walking down the sidewalk, punching and kicking at each other, hurling curses and the such at each other the entire way. Trowa kept his head down and followed, his fists clenched angrily at his sides as he regarded the very familiar and somewhat obscene affection the pair of them displayed toward each other.
He now recognized the guy–it had been the one yelling at Drake during that football game with Sageville, over two weeks ago! Those broad shoulders, that muscular statue, that fucked up hair...and since the kid had been at Darken while Sageville was playing, he had to assumed that that guy was the Justin that kids had been talking about, the one Quatre was ‘cheating’ on him with.
He stared at the guy, who wasn’t that much taller than Quatre, who was obviously very fit and athletic, handsome in his own way, and severely rough, language and physical display. Quatre was very comfortable in goading him into some sort of stand-offish play, something that looked entirely different from the way he interacted with Trowa or the others at Darken.
He was completely different with this guy–his manners, his speech, his way of ‘having fun’...this was a whole new side of Quatre that Trowa hadn’t seen, and he wondered if this was the blond that had made so many friends back at Laramie, being the bully that picked on suspected gay kids at his old high school. He’d mentioned before that he was a prick back then, and had admitted that he was wrong in his behavior, but Trowa had been unable to imagine Quatre as such a guy, despite the somewhat familiar actions he took since Trowa had known him.
Really, it was quite infuriating when he saw the truth before his very eyes. They were walking down the sidewalk, heading toward a mall district that was popular with the younger generation, and Trowa had to wonder what the fuck was going on.
Quatre’s actions toward the other guy were friendly, if one wanted to say that. There wasn’t any display of affection, or any indication of romantic interaction, and at that, Trowa had to calm himself down.
There wasn’t any display.
Quatre wasn’t kissing him, or hugging him, or holding his hand, or even whispering sweet endearments to the other’s ear...He was merely roughhousing with a guy that acted as similarly as him, and Trowa felt his rage slip away.
This was nothing! Nothing but a pair of friends hanging out, since he’d gone MIA without explanation. He was just a little annoyed, now, that Quatre hadn’t ever mentioned this guy to him during their time together. Surely he would remember Quatre’s little friends, especially the ones Trowa had never seen before...
So why didn’t Quatre mention this guy, and why hadn’t Trowa seen his name in his phone?
Everyone snooped in their respective partner’s things, every once and a while...and Trowa would admit, once asked, that he’d snooped in Quatre’s things on a regular basis, looking for clues of any infidelity. He’d seen unknown names in Quatre’s phonebook on his BlackBerry, and had, by some course of action unrelated to snooping, questioned those names. Quatre had answered every one of them, and Trowa found faces to names as time went on.
BUT he didn’t recall this guy ever being in Quatre’s description, or his story telling, so Trowa was intensely curious if this was actually THE Justin from Sageville...and if that was so, why was Quatre hanging out with him?
Well, he had to admit, since he was stalking them still, he was glad Quatre had friends outside of Darken. The blond didn’t get along very well with anyone, so it was a mite comfort to know that he’d made a friend elsewhere...but it just BOTHERED Trowa that Quatre never mentioned THIS friend...
The two were walking into the entrance of an arcade, and Trowa had to hurry to keep up. He’d perfected his stalking tendencies ages ago, when he’d performed the same actions while courting Quatre. Hiding here and there, watching everything the boy did...he was practically on Quatre’s butt from morning to night, and Quatre never caught him.
So Trowa was sort of a professional when it came to such stealthy operations. He knew he wouldn’t get caught.
And besides, it wasn’t as if this were bad–he just wanted to see what his blond lovecake was up to without actually getting involved quite yet.
He walked into the arcade, and spotted them near the change machine, the dark haired boy exchanging dollars for tokens. Quatre turned quickly all of a sudden, and Trowa had to duck fast and move just as quickly to be sure he didn’t get caught. He hurried around a couple of arcade sets, bypassing a group of kids that stared at him weirdly, and set himself in a position where he could see that Quatre was pointing at a Mortal Kombat game and the guy was disagreeing.
After a brief scuffle, they found themselves at a SoulCaliber station and were kicking each other’s asses on screen. Trowa found that such actions were completely innocent–they were just friends. They really didn’t give any indications of romance between them...he didn’t know why he was freaking out.
But even as his mind told them this, that little voice of his Bad self whispered about why Quatre wouldn’t tell him about this guy...And his Good self was letting him know that the obvious was, well, obvious. They were just friends!
“But why hide and sneak around to watch them?” his Bad self wondered aloud, and Trowa had a vivid imagination–he could just see his Bad self standing on his left shoulder, wearing leather and spandex, Buddy Holly glasses and slicked back hair. His Bad self shook his head and kicked at his earlobes. “He’s fuckin’ around with ya! Right in front of ya! Yer outta the pitcher, and he’s got that guy to fill in after ya!”
His Good self was dressed in white athletic clothes–Shady jersey, white corduroy pants, white K-Swisses, and wearing a white backwards New Park Baseball cap.
“Thee can see for theeself,” he said, arms up in the air as he rapped in Eminem style rhymes. “‘Tis innocent! His first friend out of Darken Academy and man don’t thee feel like a lout?”
“Can it, you Shady wannabe!” his Bad self roared. He tugged at the fall of hair over Trowa’s face. “LOOK at that insolence! He’s CHEATIN’ on ya! Blatantly! Fuckin’ whore-slut! Soon’s as ya gotcher back turned, he’s got his bitch in the kertains, waitin’ for ya to move on out!”
“Thee insecurity drove him to keep tis friendship secret!” his Good self rapped.
Trowa felt tired. Sometimes, his imagination and his Good and Bad were much too warped, even for him.
The guy, Justin, must have won the match because he howled with victory and Quatre socked him one in the gut. The two slammed each other over to the next station and prepared to team up on a bad cop shoot-em-up that was popular with the ‘tweenie’s.
Trowa followed at a safe distance, scowling when Quatre laughed about something, turning his face up to the other’s. Justin just looked at him, raising an eyebrow, and for a moment, Trowa was sure that Justin was going to try and kiss him. His Bad and Good selves stiffened with expectation, Trowa’s heart caught in his throat, until Quatre said something that made Justin shove the blond halfway across the room, laughing.
“See?” his Good self cooed, throwing gang signs. “Innocent! Just friends! Word to your mother!”
Trowa hurriedly waved the area above his shoulders, causing the two to disappear with despairing groans. He continued to watch as the two played, got bored, and decided to leave the arcade. When they left, Trowa wasn’t very far behind, trailing after them in the night.