Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Pull Up For The J! ❯ Dirty Little Thing ( Chapter 25 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
His name is Max...Max Sheridan...
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 4 | Words: 7.5K | Visits: 269 | Status: Completed
His name is Max...Max Sheridan...
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 4 | Words: 7.5K | Visits: 269 | Status: Completed
Chapter Twenty-Five:
“Dirty Little Thing” Velvet Revolver
Christmas Break came and went...life at Darken continued on as normal–full of high school drama and chaos. After Christmas Break, after Quatre had told Felicia his upsetting news, he discovered the girl had some of her own.
They were walking toward the cafeteria, dressed in casual clothing. Practice had ended over a half hour ago, and had decided to eat together. For once, Felicia wasn’t running off with her friends or gabbing into her cell. And Quatre felt too upset with his news that he didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to spend time with his friends–er, friend. Trowa seemed to be avoiding him, as well. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t seen Trowa yet.
“Hey, what if I told you that I was thinking of dropping out of school?”
Quatre looked at her sharply. The notion wasn’t new–but to hear it from her? “What? Why?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. I just...don’t want to do this anymore...”
“What? The team? School?”
“...I guess everything. I mean, my grades suck–I don’t see myself going to college. And as for my life at home?...Hell, I don’t know. I just don’t think school’s...going to do it for me.”
“Why would you want to drop out of school? That’s just...stupid! I mean, look!”
“Quat–! It’s nothing like that. Just...I don’t feel school’s right for me.”
“Oh, and what are you going to do? Live off uncle’s money?”
“So? You lived off your dad’s...and your uncle’s,” she pointed out.
Quatre scowled at her. She bared her teeth at him in a smile.
“Still,” he said, frowning at her. “That’s a dumb idea. Don’t drop out of school. I mean, what the hell?”
“Oh, Quat,” she murmured on a sigh, shaking her head. “You’re just a pitiful, naive little man...hell. Gotta give ya that.”
“Don’t be calling me that. I hate when people call me that!”
“What? Pitiful? Naive? Little? Man? What?”
“Just...don’t drop out. That’s dumb. You’re a junior...you’ve got one more year to go.”
“Yeah...I suppose...” Felicia sighed, shrugging her shoulders. They began walking again. “Anyway...that’s been buggin’ me for awhile.”
“Is this because Drake and the others are snubbing you?”
“Wha–?! NO! I don’t care if they do. There’s tons more idiots in the world I can talk to,” she muttered.
Quatre knew she was still feeling down about that. Drake continued to ignore her, but Felicia wasn’t the type to show what she was feeling. Especially when it became too deep. But there was one thing Quatre was sure of, and he was very sure that Felicia possessed no such things. She was just...Felicia. No heavy thinking, there.
But to know that she was thinking about dropping out of school worried him. He didn’t know why she would want to...sure, she had bad grades and all, but there was no point in dropping out. What was better out there than in school, preparing for college? It just didn’t make sense...
He started to say something more when she reached across, and flubbed his lips. He reached over and pulled her hair. She then gave a kick to the back of his knee, forcing him to tumble forward. One thing led into another, and the next moment, they were on the ground, rolling about. He finally was able to knock her on her back, and roared with success. Throwing up his arms with a manly roar, he paused as he looked straight up at a boy that stared down at them blankly.
Felicia paused in making her next move, blinking wondrously as the boy stared at them with a confused expression. She then had to pause again–from where she was laying, this boy was mighty fine...
Quatre stared at him in silent pause as well, feeling a little odd as the boy looked from Felicia to him, then back again.
The boy backed away from them, to give them room to rise from the floor. They did so quickly, never taking their eyes off him. The boy was a sight to see----he had both of them staring at him in stunned silence. He was about five foot six, with a sort of delicate poise about him. He had light brown hair that bordered on blond, and which was arranged neatly so that his bangs caressed his eyes. There was a slight wave to it that gave him a sort of unearthly elegance. He had a straight nose, sweetly curling lips, an oval shaped face, and the most prettiest hazel eyes that kept them staring in rapture. Diamond studs winked in each ear. He was an androgynous mixture that made him seem unreal.
The uniform–pressed khakis, button up shirt, blazer and tie–fit in a loose way that showed off his graceful frame. He wasn’t thin and slender–but a ‘just right’ quality that was neither bulky or skinny. One could comfortably say that he was not suffering from any eating disorders or issues with manliness.
He reached up to fiddle with his right earlobe as an indication to his nervousness as he eyed both of them warily.
“I’m sorry...excuse me. I didn’t mean to interrupt your...er...declarations...”
His voice, to them, was something that should be accompanied with violins and Japanese love songs. As it were, they found themselves brushing off mysterious cherry blossom petals from their clothing, and looking in confusion at the bubbles that accompanied them. Felicia muttered a curse as a bubble popped near her face, the soapy mixture irritating her eye. Quatre began coughing as his open mouth took in a stray petal.
“I was lost...I was looking for the cafeteria. I’m new,” he continued sheepishly, clasping his hands together as he looked from one to the other. He was the very picture of nervousness and timid tidiness that had all manga-ka reddened with the effort of drawing the perfect manga character in such a pose.
But it also caused his skin to flush with a captivating color, rendering him utterly beautiful.
Both Quatre and Felicia flushed their own colors at this picture and stammered excuses, talking at the same time and gesturing at each other wildly. The boy gave a confused expression at their words, and both stopped at the very same time. They suddenly managed to point behind them, this action also done in unison.
He apologized again, and walked on toward the cafeteria. Both Quatre and Felicia were staring after him in rapture, unmoving from their spot.
“Ew,” a girl muttered as she passed by. “You’re drooling!”
Slurping in her saliva, Felicia looked at Quatre, who quickly wiped his mouth.
“He was HOT!” she exclaimed.
“Uh...yes. Hot.” Oh, yes–the boy was definitely Missy Elliot “Hot” material.
“OHMYGOD, I was going to DIE!”
“Uh...oh...okay...”
“EEK! He TALKED to me!” she squealed, blushing furiously as she clapped her hands over her cheeks.
Quatre winced.
“I HAVE to know his name! I NEED to know his NAME!” she declared, looking scarily determined.
“Uh...name.”
“He HAS to have a name, right?! Right?! All people need to have NAMES!! He has a name, I just can’t think of it right now! Oh, GOD, he had such perfect nose hairs...do you think he waxes, or cuts? ARGH, he’s so fuckin’ HOT! He was so damn HOT that I, for once, had nothing to SAY! He renders me silent with his androgyny! For him, I wouldn’t mind being lesbo...”
“Um....”
Quatre was not listening to her–he could only stare at this perfect character, of whom garnered the same attention from the other students as he had with him. Various girls staring and walking at the same time either hit tables or other people in mangled wrecks. Guys, even the straight ones, were staring in his direction with either rapture or raptured disgust. Strangely, people were brushing off random cherry blossom petals that mysteriously followed the dude...
“QUAT! You’re not listening to me!”
Wow...the guy was very...beautiful. There wasn’t any other way to describe him. ‘Handsome’ was too manly a word. ‘Pretty’ was too feminine. Beautiful, and all its antonyms, were to be used liberally when applied to the describing of this character. He wasn’t sure if he were staring because he was interested, or because a guy with those looks demanded that he stare. He was very confused, and yet, strangely happy.
“Oh-MY-GOD! I NEED HIM! He makes me feel like a girl!”
That declaration brought the scratch of a record in Quatre’s inner thoughts. He looked at her in disgust. “What?! What’s THAT supposed to mean?”
She sighed, curling her hands up against her cheek, in a picture of demure tidiness. “When we locked eyes, just for that brief instant...I swear, I felt my mammary glands swell and peak...my ovaries bounced in pure rapture...my–”
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”
Felicia burst out laughing, face growing red with the effort. As Quatre stared at her in absolute disbelief, she bent at the waist, whacking at her knee.
“Just kidding, man, geez,” she said on a wheeze, rising. “He’s hot. You have to admit that. I swear, I felt a tingle in my femininity just looking at him. So you know he’s something. Why? Hey, I can hook you up with him! Just give me five dollars!”
After removing a trash can from her head, she ran after him, laughing.
“I’m just kidding again! Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll find out the DL on him, ‘k? Then, when I get his background information–including if he preferred Hulk or Spidy undies back when he was three–I’ll pass the good word on for you. Cuz, really, he’s like...flaming. He’s perfect for you.”
She sighed in dejected misery. Looking at the guy, she gave a distressed frown. A guy that beautiful was not straight. Too bad, really, because she really did have thoughts about him. For a brief second, she had thought that he could have been the guy to help her out of this crush she had with her friend. It was probably saner to have a crush on someone she knew she could have, rather than having one on someone she knew she can’t–one can’t shelter themselves from pain forever...
However, these thoughts were brief.
“Always the good looking ones,” she muttered. “...either gay, made of pencil lines, or Republican.”
Looking back at the guy that had caught both their attentions, Quatre nodded only vaguely to her words, not really listening to her.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Trowa was busy adding more paint to his oil painting of a horse in a pasture–which was very unoriginal and entirely frustrating in the way that it did not match his usual style–when he heard someone enter the art room. He glanced over his shoulder, then returned his attention back to his painting.
“Wow, that’s a nice painting,” Jared said, casually hooking his thumbs in his back pockets as he ventured over, glancing at the canvas. Inwardly, he winced. Trowa did not have his usual style going on there–it was obvious he had lost his touch.
“Don’t feed me that bullshit, Jared. It only makes me angry,” Trowa murmured as he mixed a couple of browns and a yellow.
“Sorry...so...I was wondering, Trowa. Um...you see, there’s that Valentine’s dance that’s coming up...”
“I already told Sylvia I’ll go with her.”
Jared looked dumbstruck, blinking repeatedly behind his glasses. He adjusted them, and adjusted his stance to show his nonchalance. Inside, he was fuming.
“So you’re back with girls...?”
“Not that it’s any of your business...”
“I...I thought you were...hung up on Quatre...”
“He’s made it clear that he’s not getting back together with me, Jared. What the hell do you want, anyway? I don’t feel like talking.”
“I’m sorry. I just...someone asked me to ask you if you were going–”
Trowa made a ‘hmph’ noise, returning to the canvas. As he angrily began blotting the horse’s mane, Jared shifted his stance to look at the open sketchbook. The same picture that Trowa was struggling with was drawn in a different perspective here, but the content was the same. He looked back at the canvas, and sank down on the stool nearby.
“Does it make you mad that Quatre doesn’t want to get with you?” he asked quietly.
Trowa sent him a glare over his shoulder.
“For one thing,” he began, mixing more paints, “it’s none of your business. For another–it’s none of your fucking business. What happens in my personal life stays personal.”
“Like your porno?” Jared retorted, sharply.
Trowa lowered his mixing tray, and looked back at him. With an angry expression, he turned away from his canvas, and Jared felt a little wary as the other boy took a step in his direction. “What was that?”
“N-nothing. I...er...nothing. I’ll just...see you in the room,” Jared said quickly, sliding off the stool and booking it across the studio.
Staring after him, Trowa felt his anger rise tenfold within him. He slammed the mixing tray down on the table beside him, and looked at his canvas. Thoroughly pissed that he was not getting what he wanted depicted on the surface, he picked up a tube of black paint, and squirted it onto the canvas. He then used his hand to smear the colors around, creating an abstract array of colors that reflected what he was currently feeling. Then, he flung the tube across the room, and stared out the windows.
The school campus at night was a far different picture than it was during the day. It was almost...romantic. In a sense. The dark shadows, the soft glow, the perfect opportunities to steal kisses from a loved one while walking to and from various buildings...
Over Christmas Break with his sister, Trowa had come to the realization that Quatre was definitely keeping himself from returning. For one thing, no matter how much Trowa had wished and hoped, the psychotic blond had not called him. Nor made any effort to get into contact with him. Hell, Trowa hadn’t even felt good vibes from the blond. There was an aloofness in the blond that had Trowa depressed, comparing Quatre’s actions toward him as similar as that of an acquaintance to another. But...he had to admit; it didn’t hurt as much.
Catherine had given him the usual Oh, forget about him speech and had gone on about his growing bank account from Une’s profits. With the extra money, he’d gone out and bought himself an entirely new wardrobe–he was going goth once more. The return of his dark clothes had many students speculating–in a purely high school way–that suicide was right around the corner. Which wasn’t. That was just ridiculous. It was just that in these clothes, Trowa felt more of himself. Well, despite the insecurities, doubts, bad skin from repeated drug use–in his goth clothes, he just felt a sort of connection with his past with Quatre that made things a little bearable. He’d felt, that while dressed in plain jeans and shirts, that he’d just become a different person once more.
There was just a sense of comfort and relaxation in this mode of dress that comforted him the way chocolate did with another person. Dressing in depressing clothes...lining his eyes...moping about with his indifferent expression...plus, he just felt better wearing them.
And...well...Sylvia liked it that way.
This blond girl, despite her more annoying tendencies to being right and wise for her age, was slowly taking off the pain he’d felt with Quatre’s absence. He was starting to enjoy her company, preferring it to solitude. She was cheerful in a sense that reminded him of Quatre–but not in the sense that replaced him with her. He couldn’t explain it. She didn’t know that he was starting to get comfortable in her company–he kept himself aloof like he always did.
But there was another plus in her hanging around, and that was the fact that she’d stood up to Felicia Passage, and wasn’t afraid to confront the manly girl. Anyone willing to do that was someone friendly with Trowa. Trowa liked those that didn’t like Felicia Passage. And Sylvia was top-notch in his book. She did what the others couldn’t, and he liked that.
Well...hell...he may as well as try it.
It wasn’t as if he were getting back with Quatre, anyway.
With a suffering sigh, Trowa took the ruined canvas off the easel, and cleaned up his mess.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
“His name’s MAX!”
Quatre’s three pointer hit the back of the backboard.
The game against Josephine Miller was a close one. Leading by thirteen points, with Josephine Miller quickly catching up with their foul shots, Quatre had not expected Felicia’s manly shout during his shot.
“WINNER!!” Ramos screamed from the sidelines. The crowd made noises that either congratulated the shot, or condemned it.
Quatre looked in agitation at Felicia, who was at the other end of the court. She looked to have been conversing with the band members there. He threw his arms up in disapproval. He severely hoped that this game was not going to turn out like the last, with their team striking up an obscene conversation while playing.
“MAX SHERIDAN!” she called, hands around her mouth while eager band players provided more information about the beautiful boy. The lowly band geeks were just ecstatic that someone like Felicia was paying them attention.
“We’re playing BALL here!!!” Paul screamed at her from the court. “I don’t know if you noticed!!”
“Whoa, really? I thought the unemployment office looked a little odd...”
“PASSAGE!!!” Ramos screamed from the sidelines, face turning bright red and clipboard shaking in convulsing hands.
Quatre stared at her in incredulous design, then returned his attention to the game. He was playing, moving in automatic reaction to all that he had to do to get the ball and score, but his thoughts were on other things. For instance, this thing with Triton–after that game, which left them terribly embarrassed, and Christmas Break, he noticed that Triton was trying to avoid him. It had to do with his embarrassment, Quatre supposed. After all, the others had been right about that ‘whiskey dick’ part. Both had been too drunk to get it up. Triton more so than Quatre...so the senior was suffering from damaged pride, and Quatre was suffering from plain embarrassment that he’d given in to the senior’s advances.
Well, he had to thank the beer gods for rendering them unable to go through with the actions. No amount of sexual action that night could convince their anatomies to react in the way they wanted. They had planned to keep the incident shut, and let others think what they would, but their own reactions to the last game’s questions had brought out the truths.
Okay, fine–he and Triton did not have sex. They tried, but nothing worked. That was the truth! No one had to know about it, through! It wasn’t any of their business! And Quatre was too embarrassed by the entire thing–giving in to Triton, for one thing! His pride could be rebuilt, though, knowing that he hadn’t actually achieved any sort of satisfaction from the incident–to really focus on physical actions, anyway. Nope. He didn’t feel horny anymore. Rather, just embarrassed. Impotency, in any form no matter the situation, was just embarrassing. It ranked high up on the list of mortification factors like...well, for girls, tampon leakage in visible places, or, for boys–having small dicks...well, it was just high up on that list.
And now, the entire school knew that he and Triton had hooked up.
Of course, the first natural reaction to that was wondering what Trowa thought–he’d looked around for the former goth–had heard that he’d gone back to black and eyeliner, actually–but Trowa hadn’t made any indication of his presence. Sure, they had the same classes, but...hell. Quatre couldn’t make up any excuses. He avoided Trowa as well just to avoid certain scrutiny from the guy. He felt entirely guilty all over again, for creating all this hoobla about not wanting Triton and giving in–even though they hadn’t.
Well...he really shouldn’t care, actually. It was none of Trowa’s business...
“Who’s Max Sheridan?” Brian asked curiously, ripping Quatre out of his thoughts. He realized with a befuddled expression that they were taking a time-out, and Ramos was ripping Otto a new one for missing a much-needed shot.
Quatre shrugged in reply to Brian’s question. He thought the guy was a homophobe...since that day Triton had revealed their preferences, Brian had stayed far away from the two, and gave in to crowd mocking–i.e., that thing with Michael–occasionally. To hear a question like that come from the boy made Quatre confused.
“He’s this guy from our class,” Duo said with a snort, wiping his nose with his forearm. “Really girly lookin’. All the girls fuckin’ want him.”
“They all want a girly guy?” Brian repeated with a dull tone. He blinked as he wondered how behind in times he actually was. And here, he’d thought every girl went for an athlete...not some girly guy that looked like he borrowed his girlfriends’ makeup...well...actually, he didn’t even know who they were talking about.
“Yeah. Fuck, they’re all stupid! There’s nothing cool about that guy! He’s all...retarded, looking. Kinda, if you put Sandra Bullock in drag, you got Max Sheridan.”
“No, if you put Penelope Cruz in drag, you’ve got Max Sheridan,” Derrick interrupted. “He’s Spanish.”
“He is not!” Mariemaia spoke up. She looked at Brian. “He’s a really nice guy. He moved here from Hawaii. He’s actually Hawaiian.”
“Not uh!” Paul said. “He’s not! He moved here from Hawaii, but he’s not Hawaiian.”
Hiiro scowled at them all, shaking his head as he crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s in from Buffalo, retards. And he looks like Hilary Swank with shorter hair...”
“Ooh,” a few breathed, nodding in agreement.
Winnie started to laugh. “You guys are retarded. All of you. Talking about some guy...hey, how’d you get on this subject, anyway?”
“Dunno...”
“Brian’s lonely,” Quatre replied, stretching his hamstring. Brian gave him a drop dead stare, pure venom shooting from his eyes.
“Brian! You dog!” Colin gushed, punching him. “You a closeted homo, too?!”
“Fuck you!!”
“That’s all right. I’ll pass. I heard you sucked in bed.” Colin then burst out laughing hysterically while a few others snorted at the utterly bad joke.
Quatre sighed, turning away as the ref whistled, signaling for the game to start. Looking up at the school, though, he repeated the new guy’s name in his head, and compared him to Eva Longoria with short hair...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Jared watched with an annoyed glower as both teams ran up and down the court, fighting for possession over a rubber ball. Frankly, he thought basketball was stupid. And Quatre Winner was even stupider. Despite the fact that Trowa no longer felt hurt about the blond, Jared just disliked Quatre because he was used to the notion. He hated the blond. For everything that he was, and for everything that he did. He’d backed off from his scare tactics because he’d noticed security upping their surveillance with Quatre and Jared’s ‘surprises’.
And, really, there wasn’t anything more he could use against the blond, since he wasn’t afraid of death threats or uniform malfunctions. He’d even changed the codes of his room and extra security was placed in his normal places of relaxation, so Jared couldn’t get close to him without being noticed.
And Quatre noticed him, all right. Glares, stares and scrutinizing expressions were always sent Jared’s way whenever the blond noticed him.
So Jared had to think of something else to really get under Winner’s toenails. Not because of Trowa–but just because. But he’d run out of ideas!
Standing in the doorway of the main entrance into the gym, he watched the game for a small while, and then turned his attention to the crowd. Already knowing where Trowa and Sylvia sat, Jared glared up at them for a little while, disliking the way his roommate chose some stupid girl over him. Sylvia wasn’t all that impressive, anyway. Just a blond that based her appearance off of teen girl magazines and spouted Maya Angelou and Plath like she was some...know-it-all.
Well...Jared had to admit that he didn’t know Sylvia at all. Just that she was popular in her own way with her classmates and with the guys. She knew how to flirt with the guys, and she didn’t seem like the type to settle down. But the one she wanted to be with was Trowa, and while Jared knew that Trowa would never return his interest, Jared had to admit that his war wasn’t with Sylvia. He could dislike her all he wanted, but nothing would ever come out of it.
He returned his stare to the court. The cheerleaders and dance team members were lined up behind the basket, doing their thing. He glanced at them, then back as the gym went wild. That Paul guy had just slam dunked the ball, the rim ringing with noise. He rolled his eyes with utter annoyance.
He then returned his attention to Quatre–the blond was rumored to be with that center of theirs, that Triton Bloom. Jared had no thoughts on the senior, only that he was a player and was sort of attractive. But he was too skinny, and Jared didn’t like a guy that had the same color hair as he. He stared at Quatre as the blond moved deftly against the opposite players on the court, dribbling the ball with a continuous motion that seemed so easy in his hands.
Then he looked over at Triton, the tall center moving just as easily to rebound in case the shot missed the basket. Really, he didn’t understand the attraction–why would Triton want the blond? Quatre was just so freakin’ ugly! And completely repugnant! He was much too arrogant, and much too psycho–Jared still had nightmares about Quatre ready to kick his ass that one night–and when he laughed, he had a sort of hitch to it that made Jared think he was choking. Plus, he reminded Jared of a seven year old– he didn’t know why.
Triton and Quatre just did not fit–in any way. He wondered how it could be possible. Squinting his eyes, he shook his head as he tried to imagine them together in that sense. It was just...repugnant.
But this blond had stolen and ripped Trowa’s heart apart, so he had to have some sort of appeal to him. Jared just didn’t know what.
“God, I hate you, Quatre Winner,” he muttered, shaking his head once more.
“What?”
Jared jumped, looking at the girl that looked at him sharply. She was one of the dance team members, dressed in a sparkly white, blue and yellow outfit that showed a sliver of her flat tummy. He immediately grew red, shaking his head repeatedly. She leaned close to peer at him, repeating herself.
“N-nothing. I didn’t say anything,” he muttered sullenly, hurrying out from the gym. She was probably part of the Quatre Winner fanclub, and would tell the psycho what she’d heard him say.
Just as he was about to descend the stairway, though, he felt someone pull on his arm and yank him back. Giving a surprised cry, he looked back at the girl that was looking at him in a madly psychotic way.
“Did you just say you hated Quatre Winner?” she asked, tightening her grip on his arm.
Oh, hell, he may as well as confess. He nodded dumbly, then scowled because she’d forced it out of him. What he didn’t expect was the girl to smile in a very conspiratorial way. She let go his arm, and shook his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, fellow hater. My name’s Middie. I hate him, too. Wanna be friends?”
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Max Sheridan...Max Sheridan...Max Sheridan...
It seemed that no matter who he talked to, or where he was going, Trowa heard that accursed name. It was nearly a month since that kid arrived, and all he heard were praises of this boy.
“The face of an angel!” one student crowed over her English Literature notes.
“So fucking hot,” another said, rolling his eyes skyward.
“He’s so pretty!” another sighed–Trowa wasn’t sure, but he thought that the guy wearing the dress had to be just that.
Frankly, Trowa was getting tired of listening about it. He didn’t know who this guy was. He hadn’t seen him before. But he was also hearing whispers that this Max guy and Quatre were interested in each other. Frankly, he couldn’t see Quatre with someone like Max...well...that was a first reaction thought. He didn’t even know who Max Sheridan was. So...that idea was basically pointless.
It was a week after the Josephine Miller game, and the Valentine’s Dance was coming up in two weeks. He didn’t know why he agreed to go to it with Sylvia–just that, when she asked, he just shrugged and nodded. Dances weren’t his thing, but then again, basketball games weren’t, either. Yet he faithfully tagged along to each and every one.
His goth appearance had returned full force–he was wearing all black once more, and Sylvia traded makeup tips with him, squealing with joy. She thought that it was romantic to share eye pencils–which was dangerously germy, but, hell, it was one safe thrill he could live with. She was even learning to share his weed with him–she didn’t touch the harder stuff. Weed was something she felt she could do safely. Plus, it made her sleepy, anyway. After a puff or two, she was always napping.
He felt a little guilty that he was giving her this easy access. It wasn’t the first time he’d given a non-drug user the chance to join the ‘wild’ side, but he felt guilty about it because he knew she was doing it only to impress him. He yearned for her to say ‘no’ and call him names about it–like Quatre had.
He didn’t want to think about that. He was over him. He was with Sylvia, now. Not with Quatre. Quatre was not going to be his ever again...especially with this Sheridan character. Trowa grit his teeth, curiosity overwhelming him. Sylvia had to stay after class for some study session in her Chemistry class, so he was without company for the present moment.
He suddenly decided he was going to look for this Max Sheridan and see what all the fuss was about.
Almost fifteen minutes later, he ran into his ex, who was on his way to the track. Trowa realized, upon coming to a stop in Quatre’s path, that he felt nothing when he saw him. In that sense, he felt happy. In another, disappointed. Disappointed that he was truly getting along without the blond.
Quatre looked up from his feet, and paused, giving Trowa a once over.
“Wow!” he said, taking in the black pants, chains, skulls, and eyeliner. “You’re a drag queen again!”
“Jealous?”
“Fuck, no. What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Looking for my next victim.”
“I’m sure you are, you freak. Hey, what’s with the change?”
“Hey, what’s with the interest?”
“I’m just asking. Curiosity, you know.”
Trowa frowned, then shook his head in that manner he had that rendered all recipients feeling dumb. But Quatre gave an annoyed expression, crossing his arms over his chest. Trowa unconsciously mimicked the position, giving his ex a once over.
“So...what’s this I hear about you and Triton?” he asked.
Quatre rolled his eyes, flung his arms about, and very nearly took out his knee cap with a kick. Trowa was startled that he still had the reflexes to dodge such harmful blows.
“Fuck that bullshit, Trowa! It’s not true. Whatever it is you’ve heard...”
Trowa snorted at seeing a faint blush on his ex’s cheeks. “Liar.”
“No, I’m not. Seriously.”
“You’re such a liar. I can always tell when you’re lying!”
“Shut up, Trowa! I’m not. Anyway, what’s with all the black? Sylvia not reaching your expectations? Not matching up with Une?”
Trowa scowled at him. “That’s low. What a fucking bitchy thing to say.”
Quatre sighed, shrugging. “Sorry. I’m sorry. That was. That was really out of line. I’m not trying to start anything with you, Trowa. Just...that flew out of my mouth before I could think about it. I’m sorry. I’m–I’m not trying to start anything.”
“You owe me, then.”
“Owe you what?”
“An explanation.”
“To what? I didn’t do it, no matter what those jerks said. I entirely was against the idea! I didn’t want to do it in the first place! I kept telling them ‘no, no, no’, but they didn’t take it for an answer! I DIDN’T DO IT!” Quatre ended in a ferocious shout.
Trowa stared at him in silence. “Do what?”
“Uh...oh. Well...maybe you didn’t hear about that. Never mind. But just for the record, I didn’t do it. Anyway, what was it that I owed you?”
Trowa stared at him, lowering his arms. Then he fiddled with a chain that drooped from one of his belt loops to his back pocket. “Whatever, Quatre. You’re so damn spastic.”
“Well, get to the point. I’ve got somewhere to go...”
“What do you have to do?”
“Uh...well...it’s kind of a secret.” Quatre fiddled with his thumbs and hoped that Trowa didn’t do any Jedi-mind tricks on him. He didn’t want the former–no, not former goth because he was suddenly gothic all over again–he didn’t want Trowa to know that he had been hurrying to the track because he’d heard the Max was there, jogging.
Hey, it was all right to look!
Trowa snorted. “What ‘secret’?”
“Uh...just...a secret...”
“You’re going straight.”
“Wha–?! NO! I mean, no, that’s not it. I mean...hell, I might as well. There really hadn’t been anyone that interesting,” Quatre ended in a mumble, feeling awkward about talking about this sort of thing with Trowa. This was his ex, for Christ’s sake. The same guy he’d lost his virginity to. The same guy that he felt he loved for a year. The guy that made him realize his sexuality. Trowa was to held in a sort of respect that shouldn’t mingle with normality. But then again...they were separate people...
No. No, it would just not be right to discuss such things with his ex. It was just...wrong.
“Does this concern a Max Sheridan?” Trowa asked, raising his eyebrows as he stared Quatre in the face, looking for any giveaway signs that he was right.
He then noticed the suddenly blank expression on the blond’s face as his eyes shifted around him, focusing beyond him. There were sudden whispers about, and he turned to look around. There he was. The ‘angel’ of Sophia Darken.
He knew it had to be Max Sheridan, because everyone was acting so strangely upon seeing him. Now that he thought about it, Trowa realized this guy caused such a reaction from everyone in the halls. He was just so focused on his own thing that he hadn’t actually noticed the guy.
Max was dressed in a light sweater, rip-away track pants and expensive running shoes, and looked as if he were just returning from the track. His sweaty mug made several of the girls swoon, their friends trying frantically to revive them. A couple of guys walked into light poles or trash cans. And despite it all, the guy looked as innocent and pure as snow, completely ignorant of the reactions around him. Frankly, Trowa thought he was just another flamer with...er...nice...earrings.
He had to do a double take just to be sure.
Yes...nice eyes–earrings! Earrings!
“Is that him?” he dully noted, frowning darkly.
He noticed Quatre didn’t answer. He looked, frowning even more when he saw that Quatre was distracted with watching this ‘angel’ walk by, oblivious to all the drools and stares in his direction. The girls were puddles of colored oozes, and the guys, even the straight ones, were staring hungrily. Trowa was curious as to why Missy Elliot’s “Work It” was playing in his head.
Max looked up, and smiled briefly in their direction. A faint blush made his features even more pronounced. This caused an automatic reaction from Quatre, which consisted of a smile and a brief wave. Several other kids standing around Trowa and Quatre made noises that were similar to ‘Hi!’ and made waves of their own. There was a loud crash of sound as someone walked and tipped over a trash can. Max continued onto the dormitory, incredibly delicious ass–er, no, uh, nice pants flaring with each step. Trowa fairly snarled.
Looking at Quatre, batting away a few stray cherry blossom petals and bubbles, he said, “THAT’S the one you’re interested in?”
Swiping his fingers through his hair, dislodging the offending pink colored petals, Quatre frowned at him. “What? Interested in who?”
Trowa gave him a blank stare. “I just asked you if you were interested in someone. And by sheer coincidence, that guy shows up. GODDAMN IT! Where’d did all these petals COME from?!”
“Oh...uh...that guy. Well...he’s cute. But...I think Felicia likes him.”
“He’s a FLAME!” Trowa exclaimed, throwing his arms out. Jealousy burned at him.
“Hmm...I wonder if she knows that...” Quatre muttered to himself thoughtfully.
Trowa sighed, rolling his eyes. A bubble popped against his ear. He rubbed at it briefly.
“Well...I don’t know. It’s just...weird. I mean...who else would you be interested in?”
Quatre blinked at him, frowning. “Not that it’s any of your business. Of course.”
“I–well, no. but...Quat...I thought we were friends, still.”
“Yeah! We are!”
“Well, friends communicate and talk to each other about things, right?”
“Yes...”
“I don’t know...I was just curious. You know? Nothing to be...don’t take offense. It was just... conversation. We don’t ever talk anymore, Quatre...”
Quatre felt immediately guilty, and shrugged. He did miss conversations with his ex...it just felt awkward to be around him. As if he didn’t know what to say or do. “I’m sorry, Trowa. I didn’t mean to snap. You’re right. But I feel uncomfortable discussing things like this with my....with my ex-boyfriend. I mean–it’s just awkward. And weird.”
“You talk about this kind of thing with Felicia...”
“Yeah, but she’s a man. And she’s a friend.”
Trowa barely kept himself from gnashing on his teeth. When he spoke, it was on the verge of a growl. “We’re friends, too!”
“Yeah...well...I guess. Yeah. I am interested in him, but he’s not really...my type.”
Oh, yeah. Get to the good stuff, Trowa thought, narrowing his eyes. With a light smirk, he asked, “Well, what is your type?”
Quatre thought about it, then looked at Trowa with a thoughtful expression. Trowa tried not to think about how that simple look made butterflies flutter about in his mid-section. Quatre still had a way of making him entirely nervous and self-conscious of himself. Then his thoughts and such screeched to a stop. He was just telling himself he was over Quatre!
Quatre himself looked at Trowa, staring up at the even features. Especially Trowa’s eyes. The black eyeliner made the green stand out more. For a second, he was transported back in time, when just the sight of those eyes threw him off balance with their beauty and complexity behind them. And he seriously thought about his ‘type’. So far, the guys he’d been interested in–does Triton count? Or was that just some sort of drunk beer goggles sort of thing?–were tall (not counting Justin, because he was just a couple inches taller, and Jamie–no way)...and...uh, male. Yeah. That was basically it. They were tall and male.
“I...well, not him, that’s for sure,” Quatre finally said. He was lying. Max was interesting, definitely. But he couldn’t tell Trowa that. Damn it, this was the guy that knew every inch of his balls! “But...obviously... my type would have to be tall. I guess. Um...I don’t know. Not femmy. I guess. He’s...femmy. But...in a good way.”
Trowa lifted an eyebrow. “Quat, the guy’s a flame. He has ‘I’m GAY!’ tattooed on his forehead.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed...His hair’s always there.”
“NOT–Quatre, that was a figure of speech,” Trowa stressed, then had to laugh. It felt good to laugh with Quatre around. “You’re so blond.”
He received a shove for his trouble. Shoving Quatre back, he continued with, “And I can’t see you with him, anyway. He can’t take this shit from you the way that I can. He’d probably break if you touched him.”
Quatre frowned at him, then shrugged. “Whatever. But, yeah, I can see what you’re saying. Ah, well. I can just look at him. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“No,” Trowa sighed, shaking his head in agreement. “There isn’t...”
“Dirty Little Thing” Velvet Revolver
Christmas Break came and went...life at Darken continued on as normal–full of high school drama and chaos. After Christmas Break, after Quatre had told Felicia his upsetting news, he discovered the girl had some of her own.
They were walking toward the cafeteria, dressed in casual clothing. Practice had ended over a half hour ago, and had decided to eat together. For once, Felicia wasn’t running off with her friends or gabbing into her cell. And Quatre felt too upset with his news that he didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to spend time with his friends–er, friend. Trowa seemed to be avoiding him, as well. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t seen Trowa yet.
“Hey, what if I told you that I was thinking of dropping out of school?”
Quatre looked at her sharply. The notion wasn’t new–but to hear it from her? “What? Why?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. I just...don’t want to do this anymore...”
“What? The team? School?”
“...I guess everything. I mean, my grades suck–I don’t see myself going to college. And as for my life at home?...Hell, I don’t know. I just don’t think school’s...going to do it for me.”
“Why would you want to drop out of school? That’s just...stupid! I mean, look!”
“Quat–! It’s nothing like that. Just...I don’t feel school’s right for me.”
“Oh, and what are you going to do? Live off uncle’s money?”
“So? You lived off your dad’s...and your uncle’s,” she pointed out.
Quatre scowled at her. She bared her teeth at him in a smile.
“Still,” he said, frowning at her. “That’s a dumb idea. Don’t drop out of school. I mean, what the hell?”
“Oh, Quat,” she murmured on a sigh, shaking her head. “You’re just a pitiful, naive little man...hell. Gotta give ya that.”
“Don’t be calling me that. I hate when people call me that!”
“What? Pitiful? Naive? Little? Man? What?”
“Just...don’t drop out. That’s dumb. You’re a junior...you’ve got one more year to go.”
“Yeah...I suppose...” Felicia sighed, shrugging her shoulders. They began walking again. “Anyway...that’s been buggin’ me for awhile.”
“Is this because Drake and the others are snubbing you?”
“Wha–?! NO! I don’t care if they do. There’s tons more idiots in the world I can talk to,” she muttered.
Quatre knew she was still feeling down about that. Drake continued to ignore her, but Felicia wasn’t the type to show what she was feeling. Especially when it became too deep. But there was one thing Quatre was sure of, and he was very sure that Felicia possessed no such things. She was just...Felicia. No heavy thinking, there.
But to know that she was thinking about dropping out of school worried him. He didn’t know why she would want to...sure, she had bad grades and all, but there was no point in dropping out. What was better out there than in school, preparing for college? It just didn’t make sense...
He started to say something more when she reached across, and flubbed his lips. He reached over and pulled her hair. She then gave a kick to the back of his knee, forcing him to tumble forward. One thing led into another, and the next moment, they were on the ground, rolling about. He finally was able to knock her on her back, and roared with success. Throwing up his arms with a manly roar, he paused as he looked straight up at a boy that stared down at them blankly.
Felicia paused in making her next move, blinking wondrously as the boy stared at them with a confused expression. She then had to pause again–from where she was laying, this boy was mighty fine...
Quatre stared at him in silent pause as well, feeling a little odd as the boy looked from Felicia to him, then back again.
The boy backed away from them, to give them room to rise from the floor. They did so quickly, never taking their eyes off him. The boy was a sight to see----he had both of them staring at him in stunned silence. He was about five foot six, with a sort of delicate poise about him. He had light brown hair that bordered on blond, and which was arranged neatly so that his bangs caressed his eyes. There was a slight wave to it that gave him a sort of unearthly elegance. He had a straight nose, sweetly curling lips, an oval shaped face, and the most prettiest hazel eyes that kept them staring in rapture. Diamond studs winked in each ear. He was an androgynous mixture that made him seem unreal.
The uniform–pressed khakis, button up shirt, blazer and tie–fit in a loose way that showed off his graceful frame. He wasn’t thin and slender–but a ‘just right’ quality that was neither bulky or skinny. One could comfortably say that he was not suffering from any eating disorders or issues with manliness.
He reached up to fiddle with his right earlobe as an indication to his nervousness as he eyed both of them warily.
“I’m sorry...excuse me. I didn’t mean to interrupt your...er...declarations...”
His voice, to them, was something that should be accompanied with violins and Japanese love songs. As it were, they found themselves brushing off mysterious cherry blossom petals from their clothing, and looking in confusion at the bubbles that accompanied them. Felicia muttered a curse as a bubble popped near her face, the soapy mixture irritating her eye. Quatre began coughing as his open mouth took in a stray petal.
“I was lost...I was looking for the cafeteria. I’m new,” he continued sheepishly, clasping his hands together as he looked from one to the other. He was the very picture of nervousness and timid tidiness that had all manga-ka reddened with the effort of drawing the perfect manga character in such a pose.
But it also caused his skin to flush with a captivating color, rendering him utterly beautiful.
Both Quatre and Felicia flushed their own colors at this picture and stammered excuses, talking at the same time and gesturing at each other wildly. The boy gave a confused expression at their words, and both stopped at the very same time. They suddenly managed to point behind them, this action also done in unison.
He apologized again, and walked on toward the cafeteria. Both Quatre and Felicia were staring after him in rapture, unmoving from their spot.
“Ew,” a girl muttered as she passed by. “You’re drooling!”
Slurping in her saliva, Felicia looked at Quatre, who quickly wiped his mouth.
“He was HOT!” she exclaimed.
“Uh...yes. Hot.” Oh, yes–the boy was definitely Missy Elliot “Hot” material.
“OHMYGOD, I was going to DIE!”
“Uh...oh...okay...”
“EEK! He TALKED to me!” she squealed, blushing furiously as she clapped her hands over her cheeks.
Quatre winced.
“I HAVE to know his name! I NEED to know his NAME!” she declared, looking scarily determined.
“Uh...name.”
“He HAS to have a name, right?! Right?! All people need to have NAMES!! He has a name, I just can’t think of it right now! Oh, GOD, he had such perfect nose hairs...do you think he waxes, or cuts? ARGH, he’s so fuckin’ HOT! He was so damn HOT that I, for once, had nothing to SAY! He renders me silent with his androgyny! For him, I wouldn’t mind being lesbo...”
“Um....”
Quatre was not listening to her–he could only stare at this perfect character, of whom garnered the same attention from the other students as he had with him. Various girls staring and walking at the same time either hit tables or other people in mangled wrecks. Guys, even the straight ones, were staring in his direction with either rapture or raptured disgust. Strangely, people were brushing off random cherry blossom petals that mysteriously followed the dude...
“QUAT! You’re not listening to me!”
Wow...the guy was very...beautiful. There wasn’t any other way to describe him. ‘Handsome’ was too manly a word. ‘Pretty’ was too feminine. Beautiful, and all its antonyms, were to be used liberally when applied to the describing of this character. He wasn’t sure if he were staring because he was interested, or because a guy with those looks demanded that he stare. He was very confused, and yet, strangely happy.
“Oh-MY-GOD! I NEED HIM! He makes me feel like a girl!”
That declaration brought the scratch of a record in Quatre’s inner thoughts. He looked at her in disgust. “What?! What’s THAT supposed to mean?”
She sighed, curling her hands up against her cheek, in a picture of demure tidiness. “When we locked eyes, just for that brief instant...I swear, I felt my mammary glands swell and peak...my ovaries bounced in pure rapture...my–”
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”
Felicia burst out laughing, face growing red with the effort. As Quatre stared at her in absolute disbelief, she bent at the waist, whacking at her knee.
“Just kidding, man, geez,” she said on a wheeze, rising. “He’s hot. You have to admit that. I swear, I felt a tingle in my femininity just looking at him. So you know he’s something. Why? Hey, I can hook you up with him! Just give me five dollars!”
After removing a trash can from her head, she ran after him, laughing.
“I’m just kidding again! Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll find out the DL on him, ‘k? Then, when I get his background information–including if he preferred Hulk or Spidy undies back when he was three–I’ll pass the good word on for you. Cuz, really, he’s like...flaming. He’s perfect for you.”
She sighed in dejected misery. Looking at the guy, she gave a distressed frown. A guy that beautiful was not straight. Too bad, really, because she really did have thoughts about him. For a brief second, she had thought that he could have been the guy to help her out of this crush she had with her friend. It was probably saner to have a crush on someone she knew she could have, rather than having one on someone she knew she can’t–one can’t shelter themselves from pain forever...
However, these thoughts were brief.
“Always the good looking ones,” she muttered. “...either gay, made of pencil lines, or Republican.”
Looking back at the guy that had caught both their attentions, Quatre nodded only vaguely to her words, not really listening to her.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Trowa was busy adding more paint to his oil painting of a horse in a pasture–which was very unoriginal and entirely frustrating in the way that it did not match his usual style–when he heard someone enter the art room. He glanced over his shoulder, then returned his attention back to his painting.
“Wow, that’s a nice painting,” Jared said, casually hooking his thumbs in his back pockets as he ventured over, glancing at the canvas. Inwardly, he winced. Trowa did not have his usual style going on there–it was obvious he had lost his touch.
“Don’t feed me that bullshit, Jared. It only makes me angry,” Trowa murmured as he mixed a couple of browns and a yellow.
“Sorry...so...I was wondering, Trowa. Um...you see, there’s that Valentine’s dance that’s coming up...”
“I already told Sylvia I’ll go with her.”
Jared looked dumbstruck, blinking repeatedly behind his glasses. He adjusted them, and adjusted his stance to show his nonchalance. Inside, he was fuming.
“So you’re back with girls...?”
“Not that it’s any of your business...”
“I...I thought you were...hung up on Quatre...”
“He’s made it clear that he’s not getting back together with me, Jared. What the hell do you want, anyway? I don’t feel like talking.”
“I’m sorry. I just...someone asked me to ask you if you were going–”
Trowa made a ‘hmph’ noise, returning to the canvas. As he angrily began blotting the horse’s mane, Jared shifted his stance to look at the open sketchbook. The same picture that Trowa was struggling with was drawn in a different perspective here, but the content was the same. He looked back at the canvas, and sank down on the stool nearby.
“Does it make you mad that Quatre doesn’t want to get with you?” he asked quietly.
Trowa sent him a glare over his shoulder.
“For one thing,” he began, mixing more paints, “it’s none of your business. For another–it’s none of your fucking business. What happens in my personal life stays personal.”
“Like your porno?” Jared retorted, sharply.
Trowa lowered his mixing tray, and looked back at him. With an angry expression, he turned away from his canvas, and Jared felt a little wary as the other boy took a step in his direction. “What was that?”
“N-nothing. I...er...nothing. I’ll just...see you in the room,” Jared said quickly, sliding off the stool and booking it across the studio.
Staring after him, Trowa felt his anger rise tenfold within him. He slammed the mixing tray down on the table beside him, and looked at his canvas. Thoroughly pissed that he was not getting what he wanted depicted on the surface, he picked up a tube of black paint, and squirted it onto the canvas. He then used his hand to smear the colors around, creating an abstract array of colors that reflected what he was currently feeling. Then, he flung the tube across the room, and stared out the windows.
The school campus at night was a far different picture than it was during the day. It was almost...romantic. In a sense. The dark shadows, the soft glow, the perfect opportunities to steal kisses from a loved one while walking to and from various buildings...
Over Christmas Break with his sister, Trowa had come to the realization that Quatre was definitely keeping himself from returning. For one thing, no matter how much Trowa had wished and hoped, the psychotic blond had not called him. Nor made any effort to get into contact with him. Hell, Trowa hadn’t even felt good vibes from the blond. There was an aloofness in the blond that had Trowa depressed, comparing Quatre’s actions toward him as similar as that of an acquaintance to another. But...he had to admit; it didn’t hurt as much.
Catherine had given him the usual Oh, forget about him speech and had gone on about his growing bank account from Une’s profits. With the extra money, he’d gone out and bought himself an entirely new wardrobe–he was going goth once more. The return of his dark clothes had many students speculating–in a purely high school way–that suicide was right around the corner. Which wasn’t. That was just ridiculous. It was just that in these clothes, Trowa felt more of himself. Well, despite the insecurities, doubts, bad skin from repeated drug use–in his goth clothes, he just felt a sort of connection with his past with Quatre that made things a little bearable. He’d felt, that while dressed in plain jeans and shirts, that he’d just become a different person once more.
There was just a sense of comfort and relaxation in this mode of dress that comforted him the way chocolate did with another person. Dressing in depressing clothes...lining his eyes...moping about with his indifferent expression...plus, he just felt better wearing them.
And...well...Sylvia liked it that way.
This blond girl, despite her more annoying tendencies to being right and wise for her age, was slowly taking off the pain he’d felt with Quatre’s absence. He was starting to enjoy her company, preferring it to solitude. She was cheerful in a sense that reminded him of Quatre–but not in the sense that replaced him with her. He couldn’t explain it. She didn’t know that he was starting to get comfortable in her company–he kept himself aloof like he always did.
But there was another plus in her hanging around, and that was the fact that she’d stood up to Felicia Passage, and wasn’t afraid to confront the manly girl. Anyone willing to do that was someone friendly with Trowa. Trowa liked those that didn’t like Felicia Passage. And Sylvia was top-notch in his book. She did what the others couldn’t, and he liked that.
Well...hell...he may as well as try it.
It wasn’t as if he were getting back with Quatre, anyway.
With a suffering sigh, Trowa took the ruined canvas off the easel, and cleaned up his mess.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
“His name’s MAX!”
Quatre’s three pointer hit the back of the backboard.
The game against Josephine Miller was a close one. Leading by thirteen points, with Josephine Miller quickly catching up with their foul shots, Quatre had not expected Felicia’s manly shout during his shot.
“WINNER!!” Ramos screamed from the sidelines. The crowd made noises that either congratulated the shot, or condemned it.
Quatre looked in agitation at Felicia, who was at the other end of the court. She looked to have been conversing with the band members there. He threw his arms up in disapproval. He severely hoped that this game was not going to turn out like the last, with their team striking up an obscene conversation while playing.
“MAX SHERIDAN!” she called, hands around her mouth while eager band players provided more information about the beautiful boy. The lowly band geeks were just ecstatic that someone like Felicia was paying them attention.
“We’re playing BALL here!!!” Paul screamed at her from the court. “I don’t know if you noticed!!”
“Whoa, really? I thought the unemployment office looked a little odd...”
“PASSAGE!!!” Ramos screamed from the sidelines, face turning bright red and clipboard shaking in convulsing hands.
Quatre stared at her in incredulous design, then returned his attention to the game. He was playing, moving in automatic reaction to all that he had to do to get the ball and score, but his thoughts were on other things. For instance, this thing with Triton–after that game, which left them terribly embarrassed, and Christmas Break, he noticed that Triton was trying to avoid him. It had to do with his embarrassment, Quatre supposed. After all, the others had been right about that ‘whiskey dick’ part. Both had been too drunk to get it up. Triton more so than Quatre...so the senior was suffering from damaged pride, and Quatre was suffering from plain embarrassment that he’d given in to the senior’s advances.
Well, he had to thank the beer gods for rendering them unable to go through with the actions. No amount of sexual action that night could convince their anatomies to react in the way they wanted. They had planned to keep the incident shut, and let others think what they would, but their own reactions to the last game’s questions had brought out the truths.
Okay, fine–he and Triton did not have sex. They tried, but nothing worked. That was the truth! No one had to know about it, through! It wasn’t any of their business! And Quatre was too embarrassed by the entire thing–giving in to Triton, for one thing! His pride could be rebuilt, though, knowing that he hadn’t actually achieved any sort of satisfaction from the incident–to really focus on physical actions, anyway. Nope. He didn’t feel horny anymore. Rather, just embarrassed. Impotency, in any form no matter the situation, was just embarrassing. It ranked high up on the list of mortification factors like...well, for girls, tampon leakage in visible places, or, for boys–having small dicks...well, it was just high up on that list.
And now, the entire school knew that he and Triton had hooked up.
Of course, the first natural reaction to that was wondering what Trowa thought–he’d looked around for the former goth–had heard that he’d gone back to black and eyeliner, actually–but Trowa hadn’t made any indication of his presence. Sure, they had the same classes, but...hell. Quatre couldn’t make up any excuses. He avoided Trowa as well just to avoid certain scrutiny from the guy. He felt entirely guilty all over again, for creating all this hoobla about not wanting Triton and giving in–even though they hadn’t.
Well...he really shouldn’t care, actually. It was none of Trowa’s business...
“Who’s Max Sheridan?” Brian asked curiously, ripping Quatre out of his thoughts. He realized with a befuddled expression that they were taking a time-out, and Ramos was ripping Otto a new one for missing a much-needed shot.
Quatre shrugged in reply to Brian’s question. He thought the guy was a homophobe...since that day Triton had revealed their preferences, Brian had stayed far away from the two, and gave in to crowd mocking–i.e., that thing with Michael–occasionally. To hear a question like that come from the boy made Quatre confused.
“He’s this guy from our class,” Duo said with a snort, wiping his nose with his forearm. “Really girly lookin’. All the girls fuckin’ want him.”
“They all want a girly guy?” Brian repeated with a dull tone. He blinked as he wondered how behind in times he actually was. And here, he’d thought every girl went for an athlete...not some girly guy that looked like he borrowed his girlfriends’ makeup...well...actually, he didn’t even know who they were talking about.
“Yeah. Fuck, they’re all stupid! There’s nothing cool about that guy! He’s all...retarded, looking. Kinda, if you put Sandra Bullock in drag, you got Max Sheridan.”
“No, if you put Penelope Cruz in drag, you’ve got Max Sheridan,” Derrick interrupted. “He’s Spanish.”
“He is not!” Mariemaia spoke up. She looked at Brian. “He’s a really nice guy. He moved here from Hawaii. He’s actually Hawaiian.”
“Not uh!” Paul said. “He’s not! He moved here from Hawaii, but he’s not Hawaiian.”
Hiiro scowled at them all, shaking his head as he crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s in from Buffalo, retards. And he looks like Hilary Swank with shorter hair...”
“Ooh,” a few breathed, nodding in agreement.
Winnie started to laugh. “You guys are retarded. All of you. Talking about some guy...hey, how’d you get on this subject, anyway?”
“Dunno...”
“Brian’s lonely,” Quatre replied, stretching his hamstring. Brian gave him a drop dead stare, pure venom shooting from his eyes.
“Brian! You dog!” Colin gushed, punching him. “You a closeted homo, too?!”
“Fuck you!!”
“That’s all right. I’ll pass. I heard you sucked in bed.” Colin then burst out laughing hysterically while a few others snorted at the utterly bad joke.
Quatre sighed, turning away as the ref whistled, signaling for the game to start. Looking up at the school, though, he repeated the new guy’s name in his head, and compared him to Eva Longoria with short hair...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Jared watched with an annoyed glower as both teams ran up and down the court, fighting for possession over a rubber ball. Frankly, he thought basketball was stupid. And Quatre Winner was even stupider. Despite the fact that Trowa no longer felt hurt about the blond, Jared just disliked Quatre because he was used to the notion. He hated the blond. For everything that he was, and for everything that he did. He’d backed off from his scare tactics because he’d noticed security upping their surveillance with Quatre and Jared’s ‘surprises’.
And, really, there wasn’t anything more he could use against the blond, since he wasn’t afraid of death threats or uniform malfunctions. He’d even changed the codes of his room and extra security was placed in his normal places of relaxation, so Jared couldn’t get close to him without being noticed.
And Quatre noticed him, all right. Glares, stares and scrutinizing expressions were always sent Jared’s way whenever the blond noticed him.
So Jared had to think of something else to really get under Winner’s toenails. Not because of Trowa–but just because. But he’d run out of ideas!
Standing in the doorway of the main entrance into the gym, he watched the game for a small while, and then turned his attention to the crowd. Already knowing where Trowa and Sylvia sat, Jared glared up at them for a little while, disliking the way his roommate chose some stupid girl over him. Sylvia wasn’t all that impressive, anyway. Just a blond that based her appearance off of teen girl magazines and spouted Maya Angelou and Plath like she was some...know-it-all.
Well...Jared had to admit that he didn’t know Sylvia at all. Just that she was popular in her own way with her classmates and with the guys. She knew how to flirt with the guys, and she didn’t seem like the type to settle down. But the one she wanted to be with was Trowa, and while Jared knew that Trowa would never return his interest, Jared had to admit that his war wasn’t with Sylvia. He could dislike her all he wanted, but nothing would ever come out of it.
He returned his stare to the court. The cheerleaders and dance team members were lined up behind the basket, doing their thing. He glanced at them, then back as the gym went wild. That Paul guy had just slam dunked the ball, the rim ringing with noise. He rolled his eyes with utter annoyance.
He then returned his attention to Quatre–the blond was rumored to be with that center of theirs, that Triton Bloom. Jared had no thoughts on the senior, only that he was a player and was sort of attractive. But he was too skinny, and Jared didn’t like a guy that had the same color hair as he. He stared at Quatre as the blond moved deftly against the opposite players on the court, dribbling the ball with a continuous motion that seemed so easy in his hands.
Then he looked over at Triton, the tall center moving just as easily to rebound in case the shot missed the basket. Really, he didn’t understand the attraction–why would Triton want the blond? Quatre was just so freakin’ ugly! And completely repugnant! He was much too arrogant, and much too psycho–Jared still had nightmares about Quatre ready to kick his ass that one night–and when he laughed, he had a sort of hitch to it that made Jared think he was choking. Plus, he reminded Jared of a seven year old– he didn’t know why.
Triton and Quatre just did not fit–in any way. He wondered how it could be possible. Squinting his eyes, he shook his head as he tried to imagine them together in that sense. It was just...repugnant.
But this blond had stolen and ripped Trowa’s heart apart, so he had to have some sort of appeal to him. Jared just didn’t know what.
“God, I hate you, Quatre Winner,” he muttered, shaking his head once more.
“What?”
Jared jumped, looking at the girl that looked at him sharply. She was one of the dance team members, dressed in a sparkly white, blue and yellow outfit that showed a sliver of her flat tummy. He immediately grew red, shaking his head repeatedly. She leaned close to peer at him, repeating herself.
“N-nothing. I didn’t say anything,” he muttered sullenly, hurrying out from the gym. She was probably part of the Quatre Winner fanclub, and would tell the psycho what she’d heard him say.
Just as he was about to descend the stairway, though, he felt someone pull on his arm and yank him back. Giving a surprised cry, he looked back at the girl that was looking at him in a madly psychotic way.
“Did you just say you hated Quatre Winner?” she asked, tightening her grip on his arm.
Oh, hell, he may as well as confess. He nodded dumbly, then scowled because she’d forced it out of him. What he didn’t expect was the girl to smile in a very conspiratorial way. She let go his arm, and shook his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, fellow hater. My name’s Middie. I hate him, too. Wanna be friends?”
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Max Sheridan...Max Sheridan...Max Sheridan...
It seemed that no matter who he talked to, or where he was going, Trowa heard that accursed name. It was nearly a month since that kid arrived, and all he heard were praises of this boy.
“The face of an angel!” one student crowed over her English Literature notes.
“So fucking hot,” another said, rolling his eyes skyward.
“He’s so pretty!” another sighed–Trowa wasn’t sure, but he thought that the guy wearing the dress had to be just that.
Frankly, Trowa was getting tired of listening about it. He didn’t know who this guy was. He hadn’t seen him before. But he was also hearing whispers that this Max guy and Quatre were interested in each other. Frankly, he couldn’t see Quatre with someone like Max...well...that was a first reaction thought. He didn’t even know who Max Sheridan was. So...that idea was basically pointless.
It was a week after the Josephine Miller game, and the Valentine’s Dance was coming up in two weeks. He didn’t know why he agreed to go to it with Sylvia–just that, when she asked, he just shrugged and nodded. Dances weren’t his thing, but then again, basketball games weren’t, either. Yet he faithfully tagged along to each and every one.
His goth appearance had returned full force–he was wearing all black once more, and Sylvia traded makeup tips with him, squealing with joy. She thought that it was romantic to share eye pencils–which was dangerously germy, but, hell, it was one safe thrill he could live with. She was even learning to share his weed with him–she didn’t touch the harder stuff. Weed was something she felt she could do safely. Plus, it made her sleepy, anyway. After a puff or two, she was always napping.
He felt a little guilty that he was giving her this easy access. It wasn’t the first time he’d given a non-drug user the chance to join the ‘wild’ side, but he felt guilty about it because he knew she was doing it only to impress him. He yearned for her to say ‘no’ and call him names about it–like Quatre had.
He didn’t want to think about that. He was over him. He was with Sylvia, now. Not with Quatre. Quatre was not going to be his ever again...especially with this Sheridan character. Trowa grit his teeth, curiosity overwhelming him. Sylvia had to stay after class for some study session in her Chemistry class, so he was without company for the present moment.
He suddenly decided he was going to look for this Max Sheridan and see what all the fuss was about.
Almost fifteen minutes later, he ran into his ex, who was on his way to the track. Trowa realized, upon coming to a stop in Quatre’s path, that he felt nothing when he saw him. In that sense, he felt happy. In another, disappointed. Disappointed that he was truly getting along without the blond.
Quatre looked up from his feet, and paused, giving Trowa a once over.
“Wow!” he said, taking in the black pants, chains, skulls, and eyeliner. “You’re a drag queen again!”
“Jealous?”
“Fuck, no. What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Looking for my next victim.”
“I’m sure you are, you freak. Hey, what’s with the change?”
“Hey, what’s with the interest?”
“I’m just asking. Curiosity, you know.”
Trowa frowned, then shook his head in that manner he had that rendered all recipients feeling dumb. But Quatre gave an annoyed expression, crossing his arms over his chest. Trowa unconsciously mimicked the position, giving his ex a once over.
“So...what’s this I hear about you and Triton?” he asked.
Quatre rolled his eyes, flung his arms about, and very nearly took out his knee cap with a kick. Trowa was startled that he still had the reflexes to dodge such harmful blows.
“Fuck that bullshit, Trowa! It’s not true. Whatever it is you’ve heard...”
Trowa snorted at seeing a faint blush on his ex’s cheeks. “Liar.”
“No, I’m not. Seriously.”
“You’re such a liar. I can always tell when you’re lying!”
“Shut up, Trowa! I’m not. Anyway, what’s with all the black? Sylvia not reaching your expectations? Not matching up with Une?”
Trowa scowled at him. “That’s low. What a fucking bitchy thing to say.”
Quatre sighed, shrugging. “Sorry. I’m sorry. That was. That was really out of line. I’m not trying to start anything with you, Trowa. Just...that flew out of my mouth before I could think about it. I’m sorry. I’m–I’m not trying to start anything.”
“You owe me, then.”
“Owe you what?”
“An explanation.”
“To what? I didn’t do it, no matter what those jerks said. I entirely was against the idea! I didn’t want to do it in the first place! I kept telling them ‘no, no, no’, but they didn’t take it for an answer! I DIDN’T DO IT!” Quatre ended in a ferocious shout.
Trowa stared at him in silence. “Do what?”
“Uh...oh. Well...maybe you didn’t hear about that. Never mind. But just for the record, I didn’t do it. Anyway, what was it that I owed you?”
Trowa stared at him, lowering his arms. Then he fiddled with a chain that drooped from one of his belt loops to his back pocket. “Whatever, Quatre. You’re so damn spastic.”
“Well, get to the point. I’ve got somewhere to go...”
“What do you have to do?”
“Uh...well...it’s kind of a secret.” Quatre fiddled with his thumbs and hoped that Trowa didn’t do any Jedi-mind tricks on him. He didn’t want the former–no, not former goth because he was suddenly gothic all over again–he didn’t want Trowa to know that he had been hurrying to the track because he’d heard the Max was there, jogging.
Hey, it was all right to look!
Trowa snorted. “What ‘secret’?”
“Uh...just...a secret...”
“You’re going straight.”
“Wha–?! NO! I mean, no, that’s not it. I mean...hell, I might as well. There really hadn’t been anyone that interesting,” Quatre ended in a mumble, feeling awkward about talking about this sort of thing with Trowa. This was his ex, for Christ’s sake. The same guy he’d lost his virginity to. The same guy that he felt he loved for a year. The guy that made him realize his sexuality. Trowa was to held in a sort of respect that shouldn’t mingle with normality. But then again...they were separate people...
No. No, it would just not be right to discuss such things with his ex. It was just...wrong.
“Does this concern a Max Sheridan?” Trowa asked, raising his eyebrows as he stared Quatre in the face, looking for any giveaway signs that he was right.
He then noticed the suddenly blank expression on the blond’s face as his eyes shifted around him, focusing beyond him. There were sudden whispers about, and he turned to look around. There he was. The ‘angel’ of Sophia Darken.
He knew it had to be Max Sheridan, because everyone was acting so strangely upon seeing him. Now that he thought about it, Trowa realized this guy caused such a reaction from everyone in the halls. He was just so focused on his own thing that he hadn’t actually noticed the guy.
Max was dressed in a light sweater, rip-away track pants and expensive running shoes, and looked as if he were just returning from the track. His sweaty mug made several of the girls swoon, their friends trying frantically to revive them. A couple of guys walked into light poles or trash cans. And despite it all, the guy looked as innocent and pure as snow, completely ignorant of the reactions around him. Frankly, Trowa thought he was just another flamer with...er...nice...earrings.
He had to do a double take just to be sure.
Yes...nice eyes–earrings! Earrings!
“Is that him?” he dully noted, frowning darkly.
He noticed Quatre didn’t answer. He looked, frowning even more when he saw that Quatre was distracted with watching this ‘angel’ walk by, oblivious to all the drools and stares in his direction. The girls were puddles of colored oozes, and the guys, even the straight ones, were staring hungrily. Trowa was curious as to why Missy Elliot’s “Work It” was playing in his head.
Max looked up, and smiled briefly in their direction. A faint blush made his features even more pronounced. This caused an automatic reaction from Quatre, which consisted of a smile and a brief wave. Several other kids standing around Trowa and Quatre made noises that were similar to ‘Hi!’ and made waves of their own. There was a loud crash of sound as someone walked and tipped over a trash can. Max continued onto the dormitory, incredibly delicious ass–er, no, uh, nice pants flaring with each step. Trowa fairly snarled.
Looking at Quatre, batting away a few stray cherry blossom petals and bubbles, he said, “THAT’S the one you’re interested in?”
Swiping his fingers through his hair, dislodging the offending pink colored petals, Quatre frowned at him. “What? Interested in who?”
Trowa gave him a blank stare. “I just asked you if you were interested in someone. And by sheer coincidence, that guy shows up. GODDAMN IT! Where’d did all these petals COME from?!”
“Oh...uh...that guy. Well...he’s cute. But...I think Felicia likes him.”
“He’s a FLAME!” Trowa exclaimed, throwing his arms out. Jealousy burned at him.
“Hmm...I wonder if she knows that...” Quatre muttered to himself thoughtfully.
Trowa sighed, rolling his eyes. A bubble popped against his ear. He rubbed at it briefly.
“Well...I don’t know. It’s just...weird. I mean...who else would you be interested in?”
Quatre blinked at him, frowning. “Not that it’s any of your business. Of course.”
“I–well, no. but...Quat...I thought we were friends, still.”
“Yeah! We are!”
“Well, friends communicate and talk to each other about things, right?”
“Yes...”
“I don’t know...I was just curious. You know? Nothing to be...don’t take offense. It was just... conversation. We don’t ever talk anymore, Quatre...”
Quatre felt immediately guilty, and shrugged. He did miss conversations with his ex...it just felt awkward to be around him. As if he didn’t know what to say or do. “I’m sorry, Trowa. I didn’t mean to snap. You’re right. But I feel uncomfortable discussing things like this with my....with my ex-boyfriend. I mean–it’s just awkward. And weird.”
“You talk about this kind of thing with Felicia...”
“Yeah, but she’s a man. And she’s a friend.”
Trowa barely kept himself from gnashing on his teeth. When he spoke, it was on the verge of a growl. “We’re friends, too!”
“Yeah...well...I guess. Yeah. I am interested in him, but he’s not really...my type.”
Oh, yeah. Get to the good stuff, Trowa thought, narrowing his eyes. With a light smirk, he asked, “Well, what is your type?”
Quatre thought about it, then looked at Trowa with a thoughtful expression. Trowa tried not to think about how that simple look made butterflies flutter about in his mid-section. Quatre still had a way of making him entirely nervous and self-conscious of himself. Then his thoughts and such screeched to a stop. He was just telling himself he was over Quatre!
Quatre himself looked at Trowa, staring up at the even features. Especially Trowa’s eyes. The black eyeliner made the green stand out more. For a second, he was transported back in time, when just the sight of those eyes threw him off balance with their beauty and complexity behind them. And he seriously thought about his ‘type’. So far, the guys he’d been interested in–does Triton count? Or was that just some sort of drunk beer goggles sort of thing?–were tall (not counting Justin, because he was just a couple inches taller, and Jamie–no way)...and...uh, male. Yeah. That was basically it. They were tall and male.
“I...well, not him, that’s for sure,” Quatre finally said. He was lying. Max was interesting, definitely. But he couldn’t tell Trowa that. Damn it, this was the guy that knew every inch of his balls! “But...obviously... my type would have to be tall. I guess. Um...I don’t know. Not femmy. I guess. He’s...femmy. But...in a good way.”
Trowa lifted an eyebrow. “Quat, the guy’s a flame. He has ‘I’m GAY!’ tattooed on his forehead.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed...His hair’s always there.”
“NOT–Quatre, that was a figure of speech,” Trowa stressed, then had to laugh. It felt good to laugh with Quatre around. “You’re so blond.”
He received a shove for his trouble. Shoving Quatre back, he continued with, “And I can’t see you with him, anyway. He can’t take this shit from you the way that I can. He’d probably break if you touched him.”
Quatre frowned at him, then shrugged. “Whatever. But, yeah, I can see what you’re saying. Ah, well. I can just look at him. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“No,” Trowa sighed, shaking his head in agreement. “There isn’t...”