Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Pull Up For The J! ❯ Breaking The Habit ( Chapter 34 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Dost is someone to watch out for; is Felicia REALLY a girl?; what's this business between Hiiro and Duo??
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.5K | Visits: 223 | Status: Completed
Dost is someone to watch out for; is Felicia REALLY a girl?; what's this business between Hiiro and Duo??
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.5K | Visits: 223 | Status: Completed
Chapter Thirty-Four:
“Breaking the Habit” Linkin Park
Completely happy and satisfied with the game, Quatre left the locker room, smirking. Ah, to see the score (which was still emblazoned on the scoreboard, with the gym still as packed as it was) was something similar to the utterly sated, satisfied feeling he often got with mad, passionate sex...it was utterly gratifying. He stopped in place to stare up at the scoreboard, grinning. While many of his teammates were heading out early to get ready for the dance (being held in the foodcourt of the main building), he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He had thought for sure that he and Felicia were going to go out and do something fun, but, curiously, he couldn’t find the girl. Mariemaia said that she’d slipped out without even changing from her uniform. Quatre wasn’t going to worry about that–sometimes the girl was unreliable.
So, sighing and a little sadly that he couldn’t share this moment of pure satisfaction with someone that thought it interesting, he made his way out from the gym, shuffling his steps. Amid the congratulations given to him from the fans and from respective Stanton followers, he heard his name called sharply.
He had just stepped foot onto the first floor, and it wasn’t anybody that he knew–he turned, scanning the crowded area curiously until he saw a man standing near a crowded table nearby. The man signaled at him to come over, and with a hesitant expression, Quatre gripped his game bag and walked over.
He was over six feet tall–broad in the shoulders, tan, and dressed in what looked to be expensive finery. His slacks were loosely fitted, his collar shirt tucked in with a casual air–his wrist was adorned with a flashy watch that looked to have come from Tiffany’s main collection.
Utterly curious, sure that he’d seen the man before, Quatre took in the rasta-style hair that was bound with a thick hairtie, the sharply raised and arching eyebrows, the slightly hooked nose, the full lips that were pulling back with a friendly smile. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of sleek Ray-Bans, shouting out to the world, “I’m either a pervert or incredibly high!”
“That was a great game you played,” he said, his voice a mixture of frat-boy drunkenness and Southern charm. He held out his hand, and Quatre took it cautiously, unsure of what this was leading to. Reluctantly, but because the hand seemed so demanding, he took it and was treated to a firm grip.
“Just awesome. So, I read in these funny little things,” he held up the customary pamphlet that was issued at every game. It listed every player’s statistics and other fun facts about the school, “that you’re from Laramie, Wyoming. Mind if I ask where in the hell that’s at? Is that even in the United States?”
“Yeah...” Quatre said slowly, raising his eyebrow at the man.
“Funny...I’d never noticed a ‘Wyoming’...anyway, how long have you been playing ball, man? It was like you were born with one in your hand...”
“For a pretty long time,” Quatre answered, wondering if he should flag down someone for help, or just turn and run. The guy was somewhat...creepy.
“I saw you playing down in Grand Junction, before that whole incident with the overdose...you don’t look like the type to do that kind of bullshit, kid. What the hell? I’d wholly consider issuing a statement via Darken school board, because some people are talking about it. Now,” the man shifted against the table, setting the pamphlet aside, but not before Quatre saw a rather interesting detail. He saw the markings of a pen that had worked over Felicia’s photo, with multiple exclamation points demanding that she die. It was quite disturbing. The man was in his early thirties, late twenties...he wondered what the beef was for that.
“I’m curious...what are your plans for college? You’re a junior, but I’d like to know where you’re headed.”
“Uh...” This man was a stranger, asking for his plans for the future? Should he run now? “Well...I originally planned to apply for North Carolina...but...I don’t know. I’m undecided.”
“Let me know. I would like to assist you in every manner possible,” the man continued, looking thoughtful. “Let me explain–I sponsor scholarships–full scholarships to those that I find worthy of them. Be it four years, be it med school–whatever. Artists, academics, techs, athletics–whatever. I usually scout out every high school in the area for these kids, and pick out at least two from every one. If you’re curious and want to know if I’m legitimate, check out my webpage...”
A man was suddenly there, handing Quatre a holographic card. The blond was startled–the man seemingly appeared from out of no where, dressed all in black. As Quatre took the card, the man merged back into the crowd, and he stared at the clear display: Dost, President. Gemini, Incorporated. Below that was an office number and Internet links. Quatre raised his eyebrows, blinking. He looked at the guy again, who looked suddenly delighted as he looked off to the side.
A Chinese male, just barely out of his teens, was coming over, holding two sodas and looking entirely disgusted with the scene. He was dressed in black, had a sullen expression on a full face, and had long hair that was tied back rather messily. He wasn’t the standard muscle-man–in fact, he seriously could be considered pudgy. But it was obvious, that when he moved, he was more capable of speed and power than one considered on the first glance. Just the size of his arms had Quatre blinking in impressed curiosity.
When the Chinese saw Dost talking to Quatre, the sodas went flying.
“What the FUCK?” he roared, both of them jumping in surprise.
“Aw...I was going to drink that,” Dost complained as he watched his soda fly.
The Chinese had the man’s collar in both hands, and was growling, “You had BETTER not be doing what I THINK you’re doing, you fucking crazy ass prick!”
Dost whimpered, and the Chinese whirled on Quatre, startling the boy. He had to take a few steps back at the fury on the guy’s face.
“What did he say to you? And if you talk to the press about it–!” he started furiously, Quatre shrinking with each word. He suddenly disappeared as Dost shoved him away.
“Don’t pay him any mind,” Dost chuckled, flushing with embarrassment. He had his hands on his cheeks, as if he were some embarrassed manga character. Just the fluid actions of his comical movements and mannerisms were enough to make Quatre’s head spin. This character was simply too unreal!
“He’s overdue for some punishment. Now...I am willing to assist you, Mr. Winner. Concerning the needs of your future, I believe that a scholarship could quite possibly get you to where you want to be...”
“Uh...a scholarship...?” Quatre repeated, blinking as the Chinese recovered, and stared at him pointedly. “Wow...to...anywhere?”
“Yes! Anywhere and everywhere! For anything! Two years? Four? Six? Ten? I can sponsor you...All expenses paid...apartment–because I don’t DO dorm rooms; vehicle; job; classes–the whole ten yards. Education is way mucho important, and I intend to go all out for it! All I ask in return is that you consider a two year internship within my corporation...of course, you’ll have to decide on your own. No real pressure! Just know that if you want to go–I’m the guy you want to talk to.”
Quatre wrinkled his forehead, trying to absorb this information. He looked back at the card, then back at the man.
“Who are you?” he then asked, trying to fit this man’s face with a name.
“My name’s Dost...no last name. I’m alien,” Dost said with a gesture at his chest, grinning. “I own practically all of the South Side, and have many, many riches concerning business matters throughout the entire universe...I’m a powerful guy, Mr. Winner, and money is of no particular concern to me when I would love to help educate the masses of this planet! I’m sure more than a few colleges would love to acquire you through their athletics programs...how are your grades?”
Quatre winced. “Let’s just say I’m passing...”
“No matter. How about it?”
“I...would like to think about it.”
“Great!” Dost said, clapping his hands together, practically bouncing in place. “I just love helping out Earth’s gifted youngsters...”
The Chinese muttered something that caused Dost to whack him. The man turned back to Quatre, smiling rather cheesily.
“Ignore him. He’s deprived of sexual gratification due to his ugliness...he’s my bodyguard, in case you’re wondering. He’s jealous of the attention I receive from other people...”
Quatre cringed as the Chinese took Dost out with an elbow drop. The self-proclaimed money-maker crumbled to the floor while the Chinese cracked his knuckles, growling. He looked at Quatre, who took a few more steps back to escape.
Rising back to his feet with an uncanny chirpiness reserved for anime characters, Dost wiped off his clothes and grinned at Quatre. “If you have any questions, comments, or any such concerns, please–contact me by the number listed on the back. I’ll personally answer any of your questions. I would really like to see you in college, Mr. Winner. College is the final frontier for a gifted person such as yourself, and I would really like you to go far in the world.”
“Perverted old freak,” the Chinese muttered, shaking his head and looking visibly embarrassed.
Quatre glanced at him, then at Dost, who looked at the man with a frown. Shaking his head, he looked at Quatre and shrugged.
“It was nice knowing you,” he then concluded, holding out his hand. When Quatre took it, the man pulled him forward, whispering, “And, no, this isn’t a perverted proposal–if you must know, I prefer Asians. Round eyes don’t do it for me.”
Quatre stared at him, unable to think of what to say as Dost let go of him, and laughed heartily. Moving to escape, he nodded furiously, tucking the card away in his bag. Dost waved, saying something to the Chinese, who gave him a purely disgusted expression.
That was odd, he thought, shaking his head. I swear to God, that name sounds so familiar...and why’s he so creepy?
Just as he was walking out, through, he heard his name once more. He turned to look over his shoulder, and barely had time to give a cringe as Michael slammed into him.
“HI!” he shouted. “Guess what? I watched you!”
“You...er...did?” Quatre asked, feeling a little awkward as the kid hung off his leg. He gave an embarrassed glance around as various classmates stared curiously in his direction. “Where’s your dad?”
“I dunno. I escaped. Where are we going?”
“‘We’? Who said anything about me and you going anywhere?”
“I don’t wanna go home, yet! I wanna stay with you! Can we go to your room?”
“Oh my GOD! I’ve corrupted you!” Quatre cried in horror, hands to his head.
“Do you have games? I’m not tired. I wanna go to the store...do you guys have a store here? Mommy says that she wanted to go here, but everyone’s so mean, she said. I don’t think they’re mean–Drake, he’s my dad’s friend, and he says that people are just dumb. I think I can handle dumb people...daddy says that mommy’s dumb, and she’s not even that good at things, and...”
Quatre closed his eyes and tried to filter out the constant chatter of the boy as he let go of his leg and began digging into his game bag, looking for something to drink. Finding his half-finished Gatorade bottle, Michael took that out, struggled to open it, and began drinking without asking. Quatre rolled his eyes, and deliberately tipped the bottle so that the little boy choked and sputtered at the wash of liquid.
Michael laughed, then began drinking again, keeping an eye out for the older boy. Quatre looked away, watching as his fellow classmates and fans began moving out from the crowded gym, heading out into the raining outside of the night. He looked down at Michael as the boy handed him his bottle, and began talking again, digging through his bag.
“I should have figured he’d find you,” Jake grumbled, shaking his head. His teammates were moving out from the area, heading outside into the rain. He was dressed casually, looking annoyed and fully disgruntled with things. He looked at Quatre with a snotty frown. “Well? Got anything to say?”
“About what? That you guys deserved the ass-whipping I dished out?” Quatre asked, folding his arms behind his head and reveling in the feeling he got.
Jake scowled at him, then pulled Michael away from Quatre’s bag. “Your grandparents are looking for you, you little freakazoid. Let’s go find them before they have this school’s cops crawl all over my ass...”
“I thought you had him on Fridays?” Quatre then asked curiously as Michael began to protest immediately, clinging onto Quatre’s bag. The blond was pulled along as Jake tried prying Michael’s hands from the strap, and Michael yanked at the bag in order to try and dislodge his father’s grip on him. At the tug of war, Quatre was jerked around.
“I...I did. But...because I had a game tonight, and I was desperate–I had to call them. In agreement for them watching him, they–it’s complicated, all right? Let’s go, Michael. I’m not in the mood,” Jake then ordered, pulling Michael away from Quatre’s bag. The boy immediately flopped, dead weight, onto the floor and refused to budge. “Let’s go!”
“NO!” Michael bellowed from the floor. He changed position so that he was now kicking at his father’s game bag, a stubborn expression on his face. Every time Jake reached down to try and grab him, he received a velcro Big Bird shoe on the arm.
Quatre tried to repress a snicker, but failed.
“This is not funny, Michael!” Jake finally growled in exasperation. “Get up!”
“He looks like me when people try to make me do things I don’t want to,” Quatre observed as one small foot kicked continually at Jake’s scruffed Nikes.
“Well, you act his age, so I’m not surprised...Get up!”
“MAKE ME!”
“God...just one night...I wish you would do what I say,” Jake finally sighed, shoulders drooping.
“Spank him.”
“I don’t spank my kid!” Jake exclaimed, giving Quatre a horrified expression.
“I was just kidding...but that usually worked on me.”
“MICHAEL. Get UP. Quatre, I don’t want to hear your kinky love stories!”
“Ha! Ha! Ha---! Hey! You called me by my first name!!”
“NO! NO! NO! I don’t wanna go with them! I wanna stay here with him!”
“Hey, Trip! Let’s go!” one of the Stanton players called from the other door. Quatre noticed the pitying expressions that were shot in their direction as they filed out.
He looked back at Michael, who began kicking again in earnest as Jake tried grabbing him. He snorted.
“Where are his grandparents, anyway? Why aren’t they coming to get him?” he asked, crouching, and picking Michael up by one leg. He pulled the boy completely off the floor, the boy shrieking with laughter at the unexpected attack.
“They’re too busy talking with some senator and his wife back in the gym,” Jake muttered, pulling Michael into his arms, and ducking the rabid kicks once more. “Besides, I just wanted to say goodbye to him.”
Quatre eyed them uneasily, frowning as Michael began screaming a storm, wanting to stay. He reached out, punching Jake’s arm. “Well, hey–call me. I’m going to be by myself all night. Everyone’s going to the dance, and Felicia ditched me.”
“‘Dance’? God...those things sucked...Fine.”
“Well...good game,” Quatre then trailed off as Jake hauled the boy over his shoulder, Mike screaming a storm and kicking wildly as they disappeared within the crowd.
With a frown, Quatre turned and walked out, shrugging. Tonight was just one of those weird nights...he scrunched his brow, thinking of Dost, and his proposal. Really, scholarships were going to be all that he needed in order to go to college, as his uncle and aunt couldn’t pay for it all...and he was going to work. There was no doubt about it.
His talent with basketball was enough to qualify him for a athletic scholarship, and there wasn’t any doubt in his mind about that! He’d make it to college, but he seriously had to wonder–should he discount going to Tarheel territory? It wasn’t as if he had completely focused on his future, but maybe tonight would give him some insight into it...he could spend the night in his room–alone–and think about things–alone–and figure out what he was going to do later on in his future.
He frowned, looking back at the crowded gym. No Trowa...no Felicia...no anybody. He felt more than lonely at that moment–it wasn’t as if everyone had abandoned him, or that they cast him aside. It was just...one of those moments in time in which he finally had time to himself. He should use it intelligently, for once, and think about things. Really think about things.
He turned and continued his way toward the dormitory, shoulders drooping.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Felicia stared at herself in the mirror as her hair was manipulated forcefully with a curling iron. She winced as her head was tugged to one side.
“I’m so happy!” her cousin crowed, wiping fake tears from his eyes as he continued to curl her hair. The dapperish male was standing behind her, expensive Armani sleeves rolled up his elbows and bright blond hair in a state of disarray. All of his piercings, from eyebrow studs to silver that ringed the shell of his ears, seemed to sparkle with his mood as he worked on making Felicia into a ‘woman’.
She had to admit that the guy, despite his rather rough image, had a way of transforming her into something entirely unexpected. Which was why she asked him to do her hair and makeup rather than paying some overpriced artist to do the job. He was usually the one that made her up whenever her uncle decided to show her off to society during an occasional outing. He always did a fantastic job, and she relied on him tonight to work his magic.
“My little baby’s growing into a woman! FINALLY!”
“Shaddup,” she muttered, scowling at his reflection. “You say this shit every time you make me over.”
“Are you sure that’s going to stay up?” her other cousin asked, not liking the idea that she was wearing such a fitting and closely cropped dress. He held out another dress, one that was still on its hangar and with a price tag dangling from the neckline. This particular cousin was the overprotective sort, and he usually insisted that she wear things befitting a Victorian dame. The only reason why he tagged along was because she had needed his maturity and patience for sticking with her decision on going to the dance. So far...he was totally ruining the moment for her with his insistence on wearing something else.
Of course, the only reason why she allowed these two into her room was that Dallas was a bisexual alien–but he had the best ideas for such events and dresses, and he was usually stopped in his advances with threats of cutting his ‘Fairly Odd Parents’ from the airwaves. Vegas was a racist/prejudiced alien that completely found humans unappealing, which rendered her as appealing as cowshit to the guy.
And, they were both her bodyguards whenever she was out in public. When they weren’t with her, they were working for her uncle. Of course, they did not know she tended to sneak out from the school during her party binges...
“This one’s much more fitting–”
“For a fuckin’ nun!” Dallas exclaimed, releasing the curl of hair and batting at his cousin with the iron. “NO! She’s wearing this dress, and you’re gonna fuckin’ like it!”
“I just don’t think she should be going out in that!” Vegas exclaimed, kicking him.
Felicia had to scowl again. For a pair of twenty-six year olds, they behaved the same way Michael Trip did when he was throwing a fit. She dropped her chin into her palm, muttering as Dallas continued to curl her hair, and Vegas shifted through four other dress options for one that he approved of.
“After all, her breasts are about to fall out of that thing!” he complained.
“Eek! You said ‘breast’!” Dallas squealed.
Felicia looked down at her chest, one hand moving up to consider the flimsy material with a concerned expression. She wasn’t worried–she knew all the tricks of the trade, and this dress hadn’t failed her before.“I wore this one to that conference out on Io–it held up. I’m using the double-sided tape...Besides, I ain’t exactly channelin’ Jenna...”
“You wore that?” Vegas cried, throwing her dresses about in his distress.
“You were soooo hot! You had your hair up, huh? And you wore the pearls...where’s the diamonds?”
“I’m not wearing the diamonds...I wanted the onyx...”
“Honey, onyx isn’t going to go well with that color...wear the diamonds...”
“I don’t wanna be all sparkly!”
“I think you should wear the pink one,” Vegas grumbled from behind them, holding up a fluttery pink dress from the Versace Spring Lines. No expenses were spared when Merrick decided his niece needed a new wardrobe.
The two bodyguards standing near the door shifted uncomfortably, both of them dressed in light colors and looking terribly out of place as one held a case full of jewelry and the other held a case full of shoes.
“I didn’t WANT the pink dress!!”
“Vegas, she’s wearing this dress, and Goddamn it, hand me the hair spray!”
“Who is this guy, anyway?” Vegas asked, abandoning the dress and handing over the hairspray.
“Just...a guy. Some guy. That’s all.”
“Are you scared? This is your first school dance!” Dallas sprayed a mist over her curls, and continued to work the curler throughout the thick, dark strands. “I’m sooo excited! Oh, and I packed some condoms in your purse–”
Vegas whapped him with the palm of his hand, and pulled on her hair to get her attention. “Felicia, you’d better not be having sex at your age! Teen pregnancies are on the rise in this city, and with you being who you are, you certainly don’t need that sort of bullshit at your age! You can’t even take care of yourself! Sex is too much responsibility–!”
“Shut up, you windbag! Felicia, ignore him–he’s still pissed that I hired a male stripper for his birthday party...even though that was six months ago!”
“I can’t BELIEVE you DID THAT TO ME!”
She sighed, hanging her head. Whatever possessed her to ask her cousins to help? Oh...yeah...it was because she’d never gone to a school dance, and she’d panicked–!
“Vegas, I started having sex when I turned twelve. She’s old enough to make her own decisions–make sure you watch the way he dances,” Dallas then whispered, nodding firmly. “Guys that dance great are always awesome in bed...”
Felicia snickered, nodding.
Vegas sighed, shaking his head. “Well...what shoes are you wearing?”
“She’s wearing the Manolos...the black ones...”
“You wore those the last three times you went out! You were featured in Teen People for being a repeat offender in those shoes!” Vegas scolded, then had the grace to look utterly disgusted with himself for saying that.
“So? They’re awesome, an’ I like them. They fit good on my ankles, an’ they don’t pinch my toes...”
“With that dress...?”
“Vegas, you don’t know shit, so you can’t say shit!” Dallas roared, Felicia wincing as the curler was worked madly through the rest of her hair. “Those shoes will fit this dress!”
“...You need a shrug. You need a bra. You need CLOTHES!”
“I’m surprised you even know what that thing is...”
“I’d prefer you weren’t wearing that–how about this one? This one’s...er...cute...” Vegas held up a dark green Carolina Herrera, and Felicia shook her head.
“If I’m dressin’ up, I’m dressin’ up,” she declared, turning in her seat. “And I’m wearing THIS dress! GODDAMN IT!”
“Don’t you ‘Goddamn’ me, you little–!”
“Hair spray!”
Vegas took a deep breath as he handed the hair spray over, and looked at the dress once more. “Won’t you get cold in that thing?”
“I’m not planning on wearing it all night...”
Dallas roared with laughter as Vegas’ face turned scandalized. Felicia chuckled, shaking her head. “I plan on wearing my pj’s when I come back here...”
“Sometimes...I just want to...”
“Lick my toes?”
“...That leaves me with a dirty taste in the back of my throat...”
“Bring me the diamonds!” Dallas commanded, finished with her hair.
He continued to work his magic as the man holding the jewelry case walked over, presenting it formally. Vegas looked grumpy as Dallas eyed the contents within, and began naming off what he wanted. Felicia rolled her eyes and slouched her shoulders, sighing. She wondered if Quatre was mad at her for ditching him–but she didn’t want to confess what her real plans were for tonight. He’d make fun of her, and she definitely didn’t want that aggravation. Then she wondered what Max was going to wear tonight, and felt her face heat.
He was so fiercely attractive that she had trouble thinking whenever he looked at her. Just the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand...his odd laugh, and she was putty where she stood. It didn’t help matters much when he continually flirted and played with her. He had a way of manipulating her words and moods so that he ended up making her laugh and chuckle. He made her feel good, and she was trying not to think of her ex, but it never failed–often, she wondered if this was going to turn out different, if Max was going to fail her as he did.
She sighed again and felt her heart thunder nervously against her rib cage, turning to look at her reflection in the mirror. She had to admit–when Dallas worked to please, he certainly worked his worth. She had to smirk, eyes narrowing with anticipation. Max had seen her photo here and there in the tabloids, but what were holographic pictures compared to the real thing?
“Dallas...?”
“Yes, m’love?”
“Did I ever give you head like I promised?”
“Not this week...”
“...Seriously. Is that all you guys think of?” Vegas muttered, a dark expression clouding his features as he glared at the both of them.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Sylvia frowned as she stared at her gown. She had it fitted over the past week, and while the silky Ralph Lauren was enough to cause heads to turn, she was certain there was something lacking in her outfit. She wanted to look her best–it was her first school dance, and while this was just a formal dance, nothing compared to prom, she just wanted to let the other females in the school know that she was capable of fitting herself to their ranks. She was sure everyone that was attending the school function was going to be decked out in their finest, regardless of the occasion. It was a night to set hearts afire and for heads to turn, and for whispers to carry on behind raised hands. She wanted to look her complete best and be part of that gossip.
Licking her lips, she reached up to fuss with her blond hair, which was piled atop of her head in a flurry of curls and strands. She thought she looked like one of those models from Vogue, with an outlandish hairstyle to compliment a pretty dress. A single diamond pin pulled a random section of hair from her face, and glittered with every movement she made. The gown, which was a deep plume color, was flimsy material that fit tightly against her shoulders, fit against her bust line, and disappeared into a corset that had taken her roommate minutes to master. But it complimented her figure, having a waist for the first time in her life, and she was pleased with the hourglass effect–no matter that she couldn’t rightly breathe. The rest of the material fell into a relaxed shower of added silk and lace from her stomach down. It was quite Victorian, but she wanted an outfit that would best compliment Trowa’s.
Thinking of the goth’s outfit, she fussed with the arm straps and the single diamond and pearl choker, hoping that she didn’t look too outlandish. It wasn’t her usual style, and she’d taken out all her earrings, inserting a simple diamond stud in place of the usual one she wore in her nose. She had to admit, with all the work and dieting she’d gone through for this night had paid off. She stared at the full length mirror her roommate had at the foot of her bed, and swept the train of her dress to the side. Her shoes were a little tight, but they fit, and they complimented her dress very well. The strappy Pradas were not ordinarily the kind she would pick out, but...she had to admit, it went with the dress.
She took a calm breath, realizing that in order to fit the damn thing, she couldn’t eat or drink...or even breathe deep. She fluttered her lashes, testing the attached mink fur that she’d carefully glued on earlier. With the added flush of her cheeks and berry stained lips, she had to admit, she looked pretty damn good. She smiled at her reflection, and spritzed on some perfume. With a nervous gesture, she checked the clock, and realized Trowa should be picking her up at any moment. She fiddled with her dress, then straightened the material she’d bunched.
At the knock at her door, she took a deep breath and gathered the train so that she was better able to maneuver through the small room. She opened the door, smiling nervously as she looked up at Trowa. He was wearing all black (as usual), but they’d coordinated their outfits together so that they both looked almost similar. He had a high collar black stretch shirt that fitted tightly to his upper body, and was tucked into a waist-cinch that was wrapped outside his pinstripe pants, of which fit tightly to him as well, showcasing his long legs and rather nice ass. He had his hair slicked back, revealing both eyes for once,
and wore no makeup. He looked incredibly–well, Sylvia flushed brilliantly, and tried to stammer a compliment, but she kept thinking that he was going to lean forward and try to suck her blood.
The resulting looks they both had gave her images of Lestat and lycanthropes...though she believed in no such things.
“You look...very...awesome,” she finally said, blushing as she realized that wasn’t what she wanted to say. She wanted to say phenomenal, or gorgeous, or handsome–not a simple expression that she used everyday for simple things. Something that would really cause him to either blush or feel self-conscious in the way that he truly did feel...phenomenal, gorgeous or handsome.
Trowa shrugged, not really feeling like talking at the moment. He felt like he was heading off to a funeral. But Sylvia did look lovely in her dress and funky hair, and she managed to present herself in a way that was truly appealing. She didn’t have the figure of a model–she really just looked...human. Her face was flushed with color, her wide blue eyes lined simply so that her color stood out. She looked like a wide-eyed cherub.
He wanted to draw her. He forgot about Quatre and the business from before as he took in her outfit with an artist’s perusal.
He then held up a corsage, a simple calla lily surrounded by baby’s breath and greens. She held her arm out, and he fitted it to her wrist–she realized, upon closer inspection, that the wristband was actually a diamond and white gold bracelet. Her eyes went wide as she looked up at him curiously, feeling light-headed at the gift.
He shrugged again. “A gift...for you...For being...understanding. I know I put you through hell, and...well... I know this doesn’t–”
“No, no...it’s beautiful,” she gasped, touching the bracelet that was fitted with a temporary holder for the calla lily and greens. “Oh my gosh, it’s beautiful! You didn’t have to–! But thank you so much! Trowa...”
She reached out, clasping a hand within hers. Looking up at him with a pleading expression, she went on to say, “I just want you to know that yes, it is hard, but...but I’m willing to do all this to...to keep you happy. To...I know it’s wrong, and it’s like I’m throwing myself at your feet and forcing myself to do things, but–I just want...you to understand that I’ll stand by your side. You...you are just an outstanding and amazing person, and I–”
“Sylvia, you don’t have to say anything. I mean...I just want you to know that I’m thankful for you for putting up with this shit...It’s pretty...cruel to string you along behind me when I’m running after Quatre, and...and we don’t have to talk about that. We can just go, and...do whatever people do at dances...”
“Dance?”
“No. I don’t dance.”
Sylvia laughed, shifting her grip from his hand to his arm, hugging it to her face. “Oh, Trowa...really. I understand. Let’s not talk about those kinds of things, and just enjoy ourselves! If you want, we can just show up for an hour, and leave to do other things...You know? The officials did extend curfew by an hour just so kids can go out for a little while afterward...”
Trowa shrugged again, and the two began walking for the stairway, to make their way to the dance. As they did so, he wondered what Quatre was doing, and if the boy was, by some miracle, going to be there...
“Trowa...?” Sylvia paused in the middle of the stair hall, and looked up at Trowa. Holding her train, and still looking entirely cherubic–Trowa was forced to forget about Quatre, and focused on her. “I...I just want to know...what’s going to happen?”
“With what?” he asked curiously, not getting the question.
“With...with us,” she started, lowering her train to the floor. “I...I heard Quatre’s leaving for his hometown...and he isn’t expected to return. I...I was just wondering...what was going to happen to us?”
Trowa stared at her, not really understanding what the question was about. He still felt so down that Quatre was leaving for home after this semester, and he didn’t want to think about it. But it was inevitable–without the funds, he could not continue attending Darken.
He honestly didn’t know. He knew that if he tried getting back with Quatre now, they’d only have to separate once more when he moved. And who knew what happened then...? It was obvious long-distance didn’t work with them–three months apart, and their entire relationship went down the drain. So, in the meantime...what happened? Did they continue to be friends? Would and should they try something short...?
He looked at Sylvia again, looking at the wide blue eyes, the way they pleaded with him to consider something different from what he was thinking. She had that odd way about her, about interpreting everything that he thought. In a way, he got along well with her because they were both so individual and different by nature. And in another, he was attracted to her...but he wondered if that was only because she resembled Quatre by blue eyes and light hair, and, in a way, reminded him of the boy.
He didn’t want to hurt her by being this way, but then again, he still had feelings for Quatre...it was a complicated issue, and it made his head hurt. The only way to solve the issue was to talk to Quatre about it. Thinking of the boy now, he hoped that he’d see him there. Even if he were with someone else.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he replied to her question.
Sylvia had seen nothing of his thoughts displayed on her face, but from the way his eyes constantly shifted from her and all around them–it was apparent that he was undecided on this issue. He still had things to discuss with his ex. Quite frankly, this was a very irritating and tiresome issue. It was a record that kept repeating itself no matter how many times it was fixed. It needed to be thrown away–for good.
But she swallowed her annoyance, and reached out for his hand. If he was willing to torture himself to be with her, then she couldn’t complain too much. After all...she didn’t understand what they had. She never would because she was not them. She was an entirely different matter.
She focused ahead as she picked up her train, and concentrated on being able to walk in her shoes. Tonight, she was going to have fun, and she was determined to do so...even if she wasn’t always on Trowa’s mind.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Heero waited impatiently with his date, a girl named Haylie. She was busy blabbering on about how good her friend’s dress looked and was currently applying lipstick to already stained lips. They were sitting at a table that had been fitted with a pretty, decorative cloth, candles and small glass bowls with goldfish in them. Other tables were designed in similar manner, and he felt sure that the goldfish were looking at him in pity.
He rolled his eyes, severely uncomfortable with the setting, and for the fact that this girl was already driving him up the wall. An hour into the dance, and he just wanted to go.
But he was waiting for Duo to arrive, and the guy was notorious for being late. He and his date were supposed to have met them half an hour ago, but were a no-show. With a boppity LL Cool J hit currently playing, the dance floor crowded with people that were dressed to the nines and all of them moving to the beat, Hiiro wanted to crawl under the table, make his way subtly to the door, and escape into the night. He hated these things–coming to them with Relena had been more than comforting, because at least they knew what to talk about, and she didn’t jabber his ear off the way Haylie did. He didn’t know why he said ‘yes’ to her asking him–maybe it was just because he wanted to be with Duo, and had sacrificed himself to the girl just to see him.
He was getting anxious, but the only indication of this was a constant balling of his right fist as Haylie peered at herself in her compact mirror, snapping her gum. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, wanting out. If Duo wasn’t coming within the next two hours...
“Hey! Sorry we’re late! Kinda had dress problems...”
Hiiro snapped his head around, to see Duo and his date, Lacy, standing there to the side. Lacy was wearing something white and dress-like while Duo...well...that boy was looking mighty fine tonight. Hiiro felt his mouth drop open slightly as he took in the broad shoulders that were hidden beneath a stiff dark gray button up shirt tucked within a black cummerbund, and loose fitting dress slacks. His hair was immaculately groomed from his face, bangs swept to the side, and Hiiro noticed that pure white Adidas shoes had taken over the customary place of stiff wingtips.
While the outfit was casual, yet formal at the same time, the way it accentuated his coloring and his athletic frame was enough to make Hiiro drool slightly. He’d never really looked at Duo this way before, and now that he was...how could he have ever missed how attractive he really was? He was seeing him the way the girls did, and for the first time(actually, he couldn’t remember the count of how many times), he could see how long, dark brown lashes accentuated violet eyes; how the long, skinny nose drew attention to firm, curving lips of a wide, friendly mouth; how the sharp angles and drops of his face, having lost the baby fat within the past few months, accentuated a heart-shaped face befitting that of a Roman god.
He had to remember that they weren’t outed yet. He cleared his throat, shrugging for the lack of anything to say. Duo brought with him a scent of cologne that wasn’t displeasing or uncomfortably strong, and that same easy grace with which he usually handled things. His date laughed and shouted at Haylie, both of them exclaiming fakely over their dresses. While the two hurried off to join their friends standing nearby, Duo turned to him, shrugging.
“You look good,” he told Hiiro, grinning in that easy way he had.
Hiiro glanced down at the standard black and white tux he wore, having never really put any effort into anything original. He’d forgotten the cummerbund and forgone the shoes in favor of leather Oxfords, and had skipped the tie in favor of a bowtie. He’d combed his hair into something that looked stiff and different from his customary mess, and felt uncomfortable with the overall presentation. But as Duo looked over him once more, he felt himself heat with unexpected embarrassment in that he didn’t try hard enough to look as enticing as the other did.
“Thanks. You, too.”
“Were you guys here long? She was worry over whether or not she had a ‘bulge’ in front,” Duo muttered with an annoyed roll of his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.
Hiiro snorted, scratching at his ear. “About an hour. I was being driven crazy by the constant lipstick coloring, and the fact that she knew who was wearing what and how I was supposed to care.”
“Chicks are crazy, huh? I mean...they think of the weirdest things...do the oddest things...and expect us to notice every bit of it,” Duo grumbled, taking a seat next to him. The food court was decorated with the theme of roses and glowing stars, and resembled a rose garden at midnight.
The dance floor was alight with multiple colors and flashes of light, and the music was loud enough in that he had to lean close to Hiiro to be heard. Which was all right–the Japanese smelled good enough to inhale deeply of, and his obvious discomfort with the scene made Duo eager enough to suggest that they leave together–to just ditch their dates and go somewhere else. But he was too scared to make the suggestion–he didn’t want to offend the other. But then again...
Hiiro nodded in response to his earlier observation, picking at a cufflink. He surveyed the mass of students that were reveling in the scene, and winced at the 50-Cent beat that was playing. He looked at Duo, and nudged his foot with his shoe.
“Do you really want to stay here?” he asked.
Duo turned to him, lifting an eyebrow.
“Why?” he asked cautiously.
“Let’s go. Let’s just...go. They won’t notice.”
“...Yuy....they’ll hunt us down and castrate us in our sleep...” Duo said, aghast and thrilled that Hiiro was suggesting this to him. He stared at Hiiro with wide eyes, wanting to believe that this was actually happening.
“...Do you really want to stay here?”
“...Do you?”
“I’m asking you.”
“I made a promise...”
“...So you want to stay here...?”
“...No...do you...?”
“I asked you...”
They both stared at each other, secretly memorizing each other’s features. Then both cracked grins, and left their seats, glancing over their shoulders at their dates. They left the dance with chuckles and elation, not caring that the rain was pouring down on them.
Duo looked over at Hiiro, and ran a hand through the stiff brown locks. “Wash that stuff out, man. You look crazy with it.”
“Those shoes don’t go with that outfit.”
“I didn’t like that I had to wear something uncomfortable with this. I’m uncomfortable enough as it is. Hiiro, wait...”
Hiiro brushed his rain soaked hair from his face, sure that his tux was being stained with the stuff that had kept it under control. He looked at Duo, who was looking at him with a worried expression. Curiously, Hiiro gestured at him to speak, and watched as the other looked around them. The rain was falling hard enough to make it nearly impossible to see anything, and the thunder that was crashing seemed to shake their very bones. But Duo closed the distance between them, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Hiiro stiffened in reaction to the sudden move, feeling utterly shocked when the boy kissed him.
It was as if things were ignited all at once–this simple kiss, given in the rain, with both of them dressed as they were and doing something that they had never conceived of? It brought out the intensity of feelings, and Hiiro returned the kiss, reaching up to hold onto Duo’s elbows. Their lips melded and tasted, exploring each other’s with slight hesitation and tenderness. Hiiro lost himself in the kiss, feeling as if his entire world was rearranged and fitted back together again with this seemingly simple gesture. The feel of his friend’s lips against his was something he’d never forget, and didn’t want to go without.
It made his heart hammer madly, and for his breath to quicken as he moved in closer, his hands shifting to draw Duo closer to him. Their bodies touched and relaxed against the other’s, and the kiss intensified. Tongues touched and explored, the rain continuously reminding them that it was still there. Hiiro could feel Duo’s heart pounding fiercely, just as fiercely as his, and felt relief in that he wasn’t the only one that felt this way. He wrapped his arms around the other boy’s waist, his hands spreading to touch as much as possible, and felt the other tighten his grip around his shoulders.
When they finally broke away, thunder booming overhead, Hiiro realized that he did not regret or feel odd about it at all. It felt totally natural; very new; very beautiful. He didn’t feel shamed at all. In fact, he felt the opposite. He touched Duo’s face, the other boy brushing his hair from his forehead, his fingers trailing over his cheek, to reach back and gently clasp his neck.
Duo shifted his eyes to Hiiro’s, searching for anything that may cause him to regret his impulsive decision, but found none. In fact, he saw acceptance and wonderful feeling, and he grew very happy with this response. He chuckled, then started laughing. Everything was just too much, but it fit–! It fit! After a few moments, Hiiro laughed along with him, and they separated, heading back to the dorm building...holding hands.
“Breaking the Habit” Linkin Park
Completely happy and satisfied with the game, Quatre left the locker room, smirking. Ah, to see the score (which was still emblazoned on the scoreboard, with the gym still as packed as it was) was something similar to the utterly sated, satisfied feeling he often got with mad, passionate sex...it was utterly gratifying. He stopped in place to stare up at the scoreboard, grinning. While many of his teammates were heading out early to get ready for the dance (being held in the foodcourt of the main building), he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He had thought for sure that he and Felicia were going to go out and do something fun, but, curiously, he couldn’t find the girl. Mariemaia said that she’d slipped out without even changing from her uniform. Quatre wasn’t going to worry about that–sometimes the girl was unreliable.
So, sighing and a little sadly that he couldn’t share this moment of pure satisfaction with someone that thought it interesting, he made his way out from the gym, shuffling his steps. Amid the congratulations given to him from the fans and from respective Stanton followers, he heard his name called sharply.
He had just stepped foot onto the first floor, and it wasn’t anybody that he knew–he turned, scanning the crowded area curiously until he saw a man standing near a crowded table nearby. The man signaled at him to come over, and with a hesitant expression, Quatre gripped his game bag and walked over.
He was over six feet tall–broad in the shoulders, tan, and dressed in what looked to be expensive finery. His slacks were loosely fitted, his collar shirt tucked in with a casual air–his wrist was adorned with a flashy watch that looked to have come from Tiffany’s main collection.
Utterly curious, sure that he’d seen the man before, Quatre took in the rasta-style hair that was bound with a thick hairtie, the sharply raised and arching eyebrows, the slightly hooked nose, the full lips that were pulling back with a friendly smile. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of sleek Ray-Bans, shouting out to the world, “I’m either a pervert or incredibly high!”
“That was a great game you played,” he said, his voice a mixture of frat-boy drunkenness and Southern charm. He held out his hand, and Quatre took it cautiously, unsure of what this was leading to. Reluctantly, but because the hand seemed so demanding, he took it and was treated to a firm grip.
“Just awesome. So, I read in these funny little things,” he held up the customary pamphlet that was issued at every game. It listed every player’s statistics and other fun facts about the school, “that you’re from Laramie, Wyoming. Mind if I ask where in the hell that’s at? Is that even in the United States?”
“Yeah...” Quatre said slowly, raising his eyebrow at the man.
“Funny...I’d never noticed a ‘Wyoming’...anyway, how long have you been playing ball, man? It was like you were born with one in your hand...”
“For a pretty long time,” Quatre answered, wondering if he should flag down someone for help, or just turn and run. The guy was somewhat...creepy.
“I saw you playing down in Grand Junction, before that whole incident with the overdose...you don’t look like the type to do that kind of bullshit, kid. What the hell? I’d wholly consider issuing a statement via Darken school board, because some people are talking about it. Now,” the man shifted against the table, setting the pamphlet aside, but not before Quatre saw a rather interesting detail. He saw the markings of a pen that had worked over Felicia’s photo, with multiple exclamation points demanding that she die. It was quite disturbing. The man was in his early thirties, late twenties...he wondered what the beef was for that.
“I’m curious...what are your plans for college? You’re a junior, but I’d like to know where you’re headed.”
“Uh...” This man was a stranger, asking for his plans for the future? Should he run now? “Well...I originally planned to apply for North Carolina...but...I don’t know. I’m undecided.”
“Let me know. I would like to assist you in every manner possible,” the man continued, looking thoughtful. “Let me explain–I sponsor scholarships–full scholarships to those that I find worthy of them. Be it four years, be it med school–whatever. Artists, academics, techs, athletics–whatever. I usually scout out every high school in the area for these kids, and pick out at least two from every one. If you’re curious and want to know if I’m legitimate, check out my webpage...”
A man was suddenly there, handing Quatre a holographic card. The blond was startled–the man seemingly appeared from out of no where, dressed all in black. As Quatre took the card, the man merged back into the crowd, and he stared at the clear display: Dost, President. Gemini, Incorporated. Below that was an office number and Internet links. Quatre raised his eyebrows, blinking. He looked at the guy again, who looked suddenly delighted as he looked off to the side.
A Chinese male, just barely out of his teens, was coming over, holding two sodas and looking entirely disgusted with the scene. He was dressed in black, had a sullen expression on a full face, and had long hair that was tied back rather messily. He wasn’t the standard muscle-man–in fact, he seriously could be considered pudgy. But it was obvious, that when he moved, he was more capable of speed and power than one considered on the first glance. Just the size of his arms had Quatre blinking in impressed curiosity.
When the Chinese saw Dost talking to Quatre, the sodas went flying.
“What the FUCK?” he roared, both of them jumping in surprise.
“Aw...I was going to drink that,” Dost complained as he watched his soda fly.
The Chinese had the man’s collar in both hands, and was growling, “You had BETTER not be doing what I THINK you’re doing, you fucking crazy ass prick!”
Dost whimpered, and the Chinese whirled on Quatre, startling the boy. He had to take a few steps back at the fury on the guy’s face.
“What did he say to you? And if you talk to the press about it–!” he started furiously, Quatre shrinking with each word. He suddenly disappeared as Dost shoved him away.
“Don’t pay him any mind,” Dost chuckled, flushing with embarrassment. He had his hands on his cheeks, as if he were some embarrassed manga character. Just the fluid actions of his comical movements and mannerisms were enough to make Quatre’s head spin. This character was simply too unreal!
“He’s overdue for some punishment. Now...I am willing to assist you, Mr. Winner. Concerning the needs of your future, I believe that a scholarship could quite possibly get you to where you want to be...”
“Uh...a scholarship...?” Quatre repeated, blinking as the Chinese recovered, and stared at him pointedly. “Wow...to...anywhere?”
“Yes! Anywhere and everywhere! For anything! Two years? Four? Six? Ten? I can sponsor you...All expenses paid...apartment–because I don’t DO dorm rooms; vehicle; job; classes–the whole ten yards. Education is way mucho important, and I intend to go all out for it! All I ask in return is that you consider a two year internship within my corporation...of course, you’ll have to decide on your own. No real pressure! Just know that if you want to go–I’m the guy you want to talk to.”
Quatre wrinkled his forehead, trying to absorb this information. He looked back at the card, then back at the man.
“Who are you?” he then asked, trying to fit this man’s face with a name.
“My name’s Dost...no last name. I’m alien,” Dost said with a gesture at his chest, grinning. “I own practically all of the South Side, and have many, many riches concerning business matters throughout the entire universe...I’m a powerful guy, Mr. Winner, and money is of no particular concern to me when I would love to help educate the masses of this planet! I’m sure more than a few colleges would love to acquire you through their athletics programs...how are your grades?”
Quatre winced. “Let’s just say I’m passing...”
“No matter. How about it?”
“I...would like to think about it.”
“Great!” Dost said, clapping his hands together, practically bouncing in place. “I just love helping out Earth’s gifted youngsters...”
The Chinese muttered something that caused Dost to whack him. The man turned back to Quatre, smiling rather cheesily.
“Ignore him. He’s deprived of sexual gratification due to his ugliness...he’s my bodyguard, in case you’re wondering. He’s jealous of the attention I receive from other people...”
Quatre cringed as the Chinese took Dost out with an elbow drop. The self-proclaimed money-maker crumbled to the floor while the Chinese cracked his knuckles, growling. He looked at Quatre, who took a few more steps back to escape.
Rising back to his feet with an uncanny chirpiness reserved for anime characters, Dost wiped off his clothes and grinned at Quatre. “If you have any questions, comments, or any such concerns, please–contact me by the number listed on the back. I’ll personally answer any of your questions. I would really like to see you in college, Mr. Winner. College is the final frontier for a gifted person such as yourself, and I would really like you to go far in the world.”
“Perverted old freak,” the Chinese muttered, shaking his head and looking visibly embarrassed.
Quatre glanced at him, then at Dost, who looked at the man with a frown. Shaking his head, he looked at Quatre and shrugged.
“It was nice knowing you,” he then concluded, holding out his hand. When Quatre took it, the man pulled him forward, whispering, “And, no, this isn’t a perverted proposal–if you must know, I prefer Asians. Round eyes don’t do it for me.”
Quatre stared at him, unable to think of what to say as Dost let go of him, and laughed heartily. Moving to escape, he nodded furiously, tucking the card away in his bag. Dost waved, saying something to the Chinese, who gave him a purely disgusted expression.
That was odd, he thought, shaking his head. I swear to God, that name sounds so familiar...and why’s he so creepy?
Just as he was walking out, through, he heard his name once more. He turned to look over his shoulder, and barely had time to give a cringe as Michael slammed into him.
“HI!” he shouted. “Guess what? I watched you!”
“You...er...did?” Quatre asked, feeling a little awkward as the kid hung off his leg. He gave an embarrassed glance around as various classmates stared curiously in his direction. “Where’s your dad?”
“I dunno. I escaped. Where are we going?”
“‘We’? Who said anything about me and you going anywhere?”
“I don’t wanna go home, yet! I wanna stay with you! Can we go to your room?”
“Oh my GOD! I’ve corrupted you!” Quatre cried in horror, hands to his head.
“Do you have games? I’m not tired. I wanna go to the store...do you guys have a store here? Mommy says that she wanted to go here, but everyone’s so mean, she said. I don’t think they’re mean–Drake, he’s my dad’s friend, and he says that people are just dumb. I think I can handle dumb people...daddy says that mommy’s dumb, and she’s not even that good at things, and...”
Quatre closed his eyes and tried to filter out the constant chatter of the boy as he let go of his leg and began digging into his game bag, looking for something to drink. Finding his half-finished Gatorade bottle, Michael took that out, struggled to open it, and began drinking without asking. Quatre rolled his eyes, and deliberately tipped the bottle so that the little boy choked and sputtered at the wash of liquid.
Michael laughed, then began drinking again, keeping an eye out for the older boy. Quatre looked away, watching as his fellow classmates and fans began moving out from the crowded gym, heading out into the raining outside of the night. He looked down at Michael as the boy handed him his bottle, and began talking again, digging through his bag.
“I should have figured he’d find you,” Jake grumbled, shaking his head. His teammates were moving out from the area, heading outside into the rain. He was dressed casually, looking annoyed and fully disgruntled with things. He looked at Quatre with a snotty frown. “Well? Got anything to say?”
“About what? That you guys deserved the ass-whipping I dished out?” Quatre asked, folding his arms behind his head and reveling in the feeling he got.
Jake scowled at him, then pulled Michael away from Quatre’s bag. “Your grandparents are looking for you, you little freakazoid. Let’s go find them before they have this school’s cops crawl all over my ass...”
“I thought you had him on Fridays?” Quatre then asked curiously as Michael began to protest immediately, clinging onto Quatre’s bag. The blond was pulled along as Jake tried prying Michael’s hands from the strap, and Michael yanked at the bag in order to try and dislodge his father’s grip on him. At the tug of war, Quatre was jerked around.
“I...I did. But...because I had a game tonight, and I was desperate–I had to call them. In agreement for them watching him, they–it’s complicated, all right? Let’s go, Michael. I’m not in the mood,” Jake then ordered, pulling Michael away from Quatre’s bag. The boy immediately flopped, dead weight, onto the floor and refused to budge. “Let’s go!”
“NO!” Michael bellowed from the floor. He changed position so that he was now kicking at his father’s game bag, a stubborn expression on his face. Every time Jake reached down to try and grab him, he received a velcro Big Bird shoe on the arm.
Quatre tried to repress a snicker, but failed.
“This is not funny, Michael!” Jake finally growled in exasperation. “Get up!”
“He looks like me when people try to make me do things I don’t want to,” Quatre observed as one small foot kicked continually at Jake’s scruffed Nikes.
“Well, you act his age, so I’m not surprised...Get up!”
“MAKE ME!”
“God...just one night...I wish you would do what I say,” Jake finally sighed, shoulders drooping.
“Spank him.”
“I don’t spank my kid!” Jake exclaimed, giving Quatre a horrified expression.
“I was just kidding...but that usually worked on me.”
“MICHAEL. Get UP. Quatre, I don’t want to hear your kinky love stories!”
“Ha! Ha! Ha---! Hey! You called me by my first name!!”
“NO! NO! NO! I don’t wanna go with them! I wanna stay here with him!”
“Hey, Trip! Let’s go!” one of the Stanton players called from the other door. Quatre noticed the pitying expressions that were shot in their direction as they filed out.
He looked back at Michael, who began kicking again in earnest as Jake tried grabbing him. He snorted.
“Where are his grandparents, anyway? Why aren’t they coming to get him?” he asked, crouching, and picking Michael up by one leg. He pulled the boy completely off the floor, the boy shrieking with laughter at the unexpected attack.
“They’re too busy talking with some senator and his wife back in the gym,” Jake muttered, pulling Michael into his arms, and ducking the rabid kicks once more. “Besides, I just wanted to say goodbye to him.”
Quatre eyed them uneasily, frowning as Michael began screaming a storm, wanting to stay. He reached out, punching Jake’s arm. “Well, hey–call me. I’m going to be by myself all night. Everyone’s going to the dance, and Felicia ditched me.”
“‘Dance’? God...those things sucked...Fine.”
“Well...good game,” Quatre then trailed off as Jake hauled the boy over his shoulder, Mike screaming a storm and kicking wildly as they disappeared within the crowd.
With a frown, Quatre turned and walked out, shrugging. Tonight was just one of those weird nights...he scrunched his brow, thinking of Dost, and his proposal. Really, scholarships were going to be all that he needed in order to go to college, as his uncle and aunt couldn’t pay for it all...and he was going to work. There was no doubt about it.
His talent with basketball was enough to qualify him for a athletic scholarship, and there wasn’t any doubt in his mind about that! He’d make it to college, but he seriously had to wonder–should he discount going to Tarheel territory? It wasn’t as if he had completely focused on his future, but maybe tonight would give him some insight into it...he could spend the night in his room–alone–and think about things–alone–and figure out what he was going to do later on in his future.
He frowned, looking back at the crowded gym. No Trowa...no Felicia...no anybody. He felt more than lonely at that moment–it wasn’t as if everyone had abandoned him, or that they cast him aside. It was just...one of those moments in time in which he finally had time to himself. He should use it intelligently, for once, and think about things. Really think about things.
He turned and continued his way toward the dormitory, shoulders drooping.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Felicia stared at herself in the mirror as her hair was manipulated forcefully with a curling iron. She winced as her head was tugged to one side.
“I’m so happy!” her cousin crowed, wiping fake tears from his eyes as he continued to curl her hair. The dapperish male was standing behind her, expensive Armani sleeves rolled up his elbows and bright blond hair in a state of disarray. All of his piercings, from eyebrow studs to silver that ringed the shell of his ears, seemed to sparkle with his mood as he worked on making Felicia into a ‘woman’.
She had to admit that the guy, despite his rather rough image, had a way of transforming her into something entirely unexpected. Which was why she asked him to do her hair and makeup rather than paying some overpriced artist to do the job. He was usually the one that made her up whenever her uncle decided to show her off to society during an occasional outing. He always did a fantastic job, and she relied on him tonight to work his magic.
“My little baby’s growing into a woman! FINALLY!”
“Shaddup,” she muttered, scowling at his reflection. “You say this shit every time you make me over.”
“Are you sure that’s going to stay up?” her other cousin asked, not liking the idea that she was wearing such a fitting and closely cropped dress. He held out another dress, one that was still on its hangar and with a price tag dangling from the neckline. This particular cousin was the overprotective sort, and he usually insisted that she wear things befitting a Victorian dame. The only reason why he tagged along was because she had needed his maturity and patience for sticking with her decision on going to the dance. So far...he was totally ruining the moment for her with his insistence on wearing something else.
Of course, the only reason why she allowed these two into her room was that Dallas was a bisexual alien–but he had the best ideas for such events and dresses, and he was usually stopped in his advances with threats of cutting his ‘Fairly Odd Parents’ from the airwaves. Vegas was a racist/prejudiced alien that completely found humans unappealing, which rendered her as appealing as cowshit to the guy.
And, they were both her bodyguards whenever she was out in public. When they weren’t with her, they were working for her uncle. Of course, they did not know she tended to sneak out from the school during her party binges...
“This one’s much more fitting–”
“For a fuckin’ nun!” Dallas exclaimed, releasing the curl of hair and batting at his cousin with the iron. “NO! She’s wearing this dress, and you’re gonna fuckin’ like it!”
“I just don’t think she should be going out in that!” Vegas exclaimed, kicking him.
Felicia had to scowl again. For a pair of twenty-six year olds, they behaved the same way Michael Trip did when he was throwing a fit. She dropped her chin into her palm, muttering as Dallas continued to curl her hair, and Vegas shifted through four other dress options for one that he approved of.
“After all, her breasts are about to fall out of that thing!” he complained.
“Eek! You said ‘breast’!” Dallas squealed.
Felicia looked down at her chest, one hand moving up to consider the flimsy material with a concerned expression. She wasn’t worried–she knew all the tricks of the trade, and this dress hadn’t failed her before.“I wore this one to that conference out on Io–it held up. I’m using the double-sided tape...Besides, I ain’t exactly channelin’ Jenna...”
“You wore that?” Vegas cried, throwing her dresses about in his distress.
“You were soooo hot! You had your hair up, huh? And you wore the pearls...where’s the diamonds?”
“I’m not wearing the diamonds...I wanted the onyx...”
“Honey, onyx isn’t going to go well with that color...wear the diamonds...”
“I don’t wanna be all sparkly!”
“I think you should wear the pink one,” Vegas grumbled from behind them, holding up a fluttery pink dress from the Versace Spring Lines. No expenses were spared when Merrick decided his niece needed a new wardrobe.
The two bodyguards standing near the door shifted uncomfortably, both of them dressed in light colors and looking terribly out of place as one held a case full of jewelry and the other held a case full of shoes.
“I didn’t WANT the pink dress!!”
“Vegas, she’s wearing this dress, and Goddamn it, hand me the hair spray!”
“Who is this guy, anyway?” Vegas asked, abandoning the dress and handing over the hairspray.
“Just...a guy. Some guy. That’s all.”
“Are you scared? This is your first school dance!” Dallas sprayed a mist over her curls, and continued to work the curler throughout the thick, dark strands. “I’m sooo excited! Oh, and I packed some condoms in your purse–”
Vegas whapped him with the palm of his hand, and pulled on her hair to get her attention. “Felicia, you’d better not be having sex at your age! Teen pregnancies are on the rise in this city, and with you being who you are, you certainly don’t need that sort of bullshit at your age! You can’t even take care of yourself! Sex is too much responsibility–!”
“Shut up, you windbag! Felicia, ignore him–he’s still pissed that I hired a male stripper for his birthday party...even though that was six months ago!”
“I can’t BELIEVE you DID THAT TO ME!”
She sighed, hanging her head. Whatever possessed her to ask her cousins to help? Oh...yeah...it was because she’d never gone to a school dance, and she’d panicked–!
“Vegas, I started having sex when I turned twelve. She’s old enough to make her own decisions–make sure you watch the way he dances,” Dallas then whispered, nodding firmly. “Guys that dance great are always awesome in bed...”
Felicia snickered, nodding.
Vegas sighed, shaking his head. “Well...what shoes are you wearing?”
“She’s wearing the Manolos...the black ones...”
“You wore those the last three times you went out! You were featured in Teen People for being a repeat offender in those shoes!” Vegas scolded, then had the grace to look utterly disgusted with himself for saying that.
“So? They’re awesome, an’ I like them. They fit good on my ankles, an’ they don’t pinch my toes...”
“With that dress...?”
“Vegas, you don’t know shit, so you can’t say shit!” Dallas roared, Felicia wincing as the curler was worked madly through the rest of her hair. “Those shoes will fit this dress!”
“...You need a shrug. You need a bra. You need CLOTHES!”
“I’m surprised you even know what that thing is...”
“I’d prefer you weren’t wearing that–how about this one? This one’s...er...cute...” Vegas held up a dark green Carolina Herrera, and Felicia shook her head.
“If I’m dressin’ up, I’m dressin’ up,” she declared, turning in her seat. “And I’m wearing THIS dress! GODDAMN IT!”
“Don’t you ‘Goddamn’ me, you little–!”
“Hair spray!”
Vegas took a deep breath as he handed the hair spray over, and looked at the dress once more. “Won’t you get cold in that thing?”
“I’m not planning on wearing it all night...”
Dallas roared with laughter as Vegas’ face turned scandalized. Felicia chuckled, shaking her head. “I plan on wearing my pj’s when I come back here...”
“Sometimes...I just want to...”
“Lick my toes?”
“...That leaves me with a dirty taste in the back of my throat...”
“Bring me the diamonds!” Dallas commanded, finished with her hair.
He continued to work his magic as the man holding the jewelry case walked over, presenting it formally. Vegas looked grumpy as Dallas eyed the contents within, and began naming off what he wanted. Felicia rolled her eyes and slouched her shoulders, sighing. She wondered if Quatre was mad at her for ditching him–but she didn’t want to confess what her real plans were for tonight. He’d make fun of her, and she definitely didn’t want that aggravation. Then she wondered what Max was going to wear tonight, and felt her face heat.
He was so fiercely attractive that she had trouble thinking whenever he looked at her. Just the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand...his odd laugh, and she was putty where she stood. It didn’t help matters much when he continually flirted and played with her. He had a way of manipulating her words and moods so that he ended up making her laugh and chuckle. He made her feel good, and she was trying not to think of her ex, but it never failed–often, she wondered if this was going to turn out different, if Max was going to fail her as he did.
She sighed again and felt her heart thunder nervously against her rib cage, turning to look at her reflection in the mirror. She had to admit–when Dallas worked to please, he certainly worked his worth. She had to smirk, eyes narrowing with anticipation. Max had seen her photo here and there in the tabloids, but what were holographic pictures compared to the real thing?
“Dallas...?”
“Yes, m’love?”
“Did I ever give you head like I promised?”
“Not this week...”
“...Seriously. Is that all you guys think of?” Vegas muttered, a dark expression clouding his features as he glared at the both of them.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Sylvia frowned as she stared at her gown. She had it fitted over the past week, and while the silky Ralph Lauren was enough to cause heads to turn, she was certain there was something lacking in her outfit. She wanted to look her best–it was her first school dance, and while this was just a formal dance, nothing compared to prom, she just wanted to let the other females in the school know that she was capable of fitting herself to their ranks. She was sure everyone that was attending the school function was going to be decked out in their finest, regardless of the occasion. It was a night to set hearts afire and for heads to turn, and for whispers to carry on behind raised hands. She wanted to look her complete best and be part of that gossip.
Licking her lips, she reached up to fuss with her blond hair, which was piled atop of her head in a flurry of curls and strands. She thought she looked like one of those models from Vogue, with an outlandish hairstyle to compliment a pretty dress. A single diamond pin pulled a random section of hair from her face, and glittered with every movement she made. The gown, which was a deep plume color, was flimsy material that fit tightly against her shoulders, fit against her bust line, and disappeared into a corset that had taken her roommate minutes to master. But it complimented her figure, having a waist for the first time in her life, and she was pleased with the hourglass effect–no matter that she couldn’t rightly breathe. The rest of the material fell into a relaxed shower of added silk and lace from her stomach down. It was quite Victorian, but she wanted an outfit that would best compliment Trowa’s.
Thinking of the goth’s outfit, she fussed with the arm straps and the single diamond and pearl choker, hoping that she didn’t look too outlandish. It wasn’t her usual style, and she’d taken out all her earrings, inserting a simple diamond stud in place of the usual one she wore in her nose. She had to admit, with all the work and dieting she’d gone through for this night had paid off. She stared at the full length mirror her roommate had at the foot of her bed, and swept the train of her dress to the side. Her shoes were a little tight, but they fit, and they complimented her dress very well. The strappy Pradas were not ordinarily the kind she would pick out, but...she had to admit, it went with the dress.
She took a calm breath, realizing that in order to fit the damn thing, she couldn’t eat or drink...or even breathe deep. She fluttered her lashes, testing the attached mink fur that she’d carefully glued on earlier. With the added flush of her cheeks and berry stained lips, she had to admit, she looked pretty damn good. She smiled at her reflection, and spritzed on some perfume. With a nervous gesture, she checked the clock, and realized Trowa should be picking her up at any moment. She fiddled with her dress, then straightened the material she’d bunched.
At the knock at her door, she took a deep breath and gathered the train so that she was better able to maneuver through the small room. She opened the door, smiling nervously as she looked up at Trowa. He was wearing all black (as usual), but they’d coordinated their outfits together so that they both looked almost similar. He had a high collar black stretch shirt that fitted tightly to his upper body, and was tucked into a waist-cinch that was wrapped outside his pinstripe pants, of which fit tightly to him as well, showcasing his long legs and rather nice ass. He had his hair slicked back, revealing both eyes for once,
and wore no makeup. He looked incredibly–well, Sylvia flushed brilliantly, and tried to stammer a compliment, but she kept thinking that he was going to lean forward and try to suck her blood.
The resulting looks they both had gave her images of Lestat and lycanthropes...though she believed in no such things.
“You look...very...awesome,” she finally said, blushing as she realized that wasn’t what she wanted to say. She wanted to say phenomenal, or gorgeous, or handsome–not a simple expression that she used everyday for simple things. Something that would really cause him to either blush or feel self-conscious in the way that he truly did feel...phenomenal, gorgeous or handsome.
Trowa shrugged, not really feeling like talking at the moment. He felt like he was heading off to a funeral. But Sylvia did look lovely in her dress and funky hair, and she managed to present herself in a way that was truly appealing. She didn’t have the figure of a model–she really just looked...human. Her face was flushed with color, her wide blue eyes lined simply so that her color stood out. She looked like a wide-eyed cherub.
He wanted to draw her. He forgot about Quatre and the business from before as he took in her outfit with an artist’s perusal.
He then held up a corsage, a simple calla lily surrounded by baby’s breath and greens. She held her arm out, and he fitted it to her wrist–she realized, upon closer inspection, that the wristband was actually a diamond and white gold bracelet. Her eyes went wide as she looked up at him curiously, feeling light-headed at the gift.
He shrugged again. “A gift...for you...For being...understanding. I know I put you through hell, and...well... I know this doesn’t–”
“No, no...it’s beautiful,” she gasped, touching the bracelet that was fitted with a temporary holder for the calla lily and greens. “Oh my gosh, it’s beautiful! You didn’t have to–! But thank you so much! Trowa...”
She reached out, clasping a hand within hers. Looking up at him with a pleading expression, she went on to say, “I just want you to know that yes, it is hard, but...but I’m willing to do all this to...to keep you happy. To...I know it’s wrong, and it’s like I’m throwing myself at your feet and forcing myself to do things, but–I just want...you to understand that I’ll stand by your side. You...you are just an outstanding and amazing person, and I–”
“Sylvia, you don’t have to say anything. I mean...I just want you to know that I’m thankful for you for putting up with this shit...It’s pretty...cruel to string you along behind me when I’m running after Quatre, and...and we don’t have to talk about that. We can just go, and...do whatever people do at dances...”
“Dance?”
“No. I don’t dance.”
Sylvia laughed, shifting her grip from his hand to his arm, hugging it to her face. “Oh, Trowa...really. I understand. Let’s not talk about those kinds of things, and just enjoy ourselves! If you want, we can just show up for an hour, and leave to do other things...You know? The officials did extend curfew by an hour just so kids can go out for a little while afterward...”
Trowa shrugged again, and the two began walking for the stairway, to make their way to the dance. As they did so, he wondered what Quatre was doing, and if the boy was, by some miracle, going to be there...
“Trowa...?” Sylvia paused in the middle of the stair hall, and looked up at Trowa. Holding her train, and still looking entirely cherubic–Trowa was forced to forget about Quatre, and focused on her. “I...I just want to know...what’s going to happen?”
“With what?” he asked curiously, not getting the question.
“With...with us,” she started, lowering her train to the floor. “I...I heard Quatre’s leaving for his hometown...and he isn’t expected to return. I...I was just wondering...what was going to happen to us?”
Trowa stared at her, not really understanding what the question was about. He still felt so down that Quatre was leaving for home after this semester, and he didn’t want to think about it. But it was inevitable–without the funds, he could not continue attending Darken.
He honestly didn’t know. He knew that if he tried getting back with Quatre now, they’d only have to separate once more when he moved. And who knew what happened then...? It was obvious long-distance didn’t work with them–three months apart, and their entire relationship went down the drain. So, in the meantime...what happened? Did they continue to be friends? Would and should they try something short...?
He looked at Sylvia again, looking at the wide blue eyes, the way they pleaded with him to consider something different from what he was thinking. She had that odd way about her, about interpreting everything that he thought. In a way, he got along well with her because they were both so individual and different by nature. And in another, he was attracted to her...but he wondered if that was only because she resembled Quatre by blue eyes and light hair, and, in a way, reminded him of the boy.
He didn’t want to hurt her by being this way, but then again, he still had feelings for Quatre...it was a complicated issue, and it made his head hurt. The only way to solve the issue was to talk to Quatre about it. Thinking of the boy now, he hoped that he’d see him there. Even if he were with someone else.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he replied to her question.
Sylvia had seen nothing of his thoughts displayed on her face, but from the way his eyes constantly shifted from her and all around them–it was apparent that he was undecided on this issue. He still had things to discuss with his ex. Quite frankly, this was a very irritating and tiresome issue. It was a record that kept repeating itself no matter how many times it was fixed. It needed to be thrown away–for good.
But she swallowed her annoyance, and reached out for his hand. If he was willing to torture himself to be with her, then she couldn’t complain too much. After all...she didn’t understand what they had. She never would because she was not them. She was an entirely different matter.
She focused ahead as she picked up her train, and concentrated on being able to walk in her shoes. Tonight, she was going to have fun, and she was determined to do so...even if she wasn’t always on Trowa’s mind.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Heero waited impatiently with his date, a girl named Haylie. She was busy blabbering on about how good her friend’s dress looked and was currently applying lipstick to already stained lips. They were sitting at a table that had been fitted with a pretty, decorative cloth, candles and small glass bowls with goldfish in them. Other tables were designed in similar manner, and he felt sure that the goldfish were looking at him in pity.
He rolled his eyes, severely uncomfortable with the setting, and for the fact that this girl was already driving him up the wall. An hour into the dance, and he just wanted to go.
But he was waiting for Duo to arrive, and the guy was notorious for being late. He and his date were supposed to have met them half an hour ago, but were a no-show. With a boppity LL Cool J hit currently playing, the dance floor crowded with people that were dressed to the nines and all of them moving to the beat, Hiiro wanted to crawl under the table, make his way subtly to the door, and escape into the night. He hated these things–coming to them with Relena had been more than comforting, because at least they knew what to talk about, and she didn’t jabber his ear off the way Haylie did. He didn’t know why he said ‘yes’ to her asking him–maybe it was just because he wanted to be with Duo, and had sacrificed himself to the girl just to see him.
He was getting anxious, but the only indication of this was a constant balling of his right fist as Haylie peered at herself in her compact mirror, snapping her gum. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, wanting out. If Duo wasn’t coming within the next two hours...
“Hey! Sorry we’re late! Kinda had dress problems...”
Hiiro snapped his head around, to see Duo and his date, Lacy, standing there to the side. Lacy was wearing something white and dress-like while Duo...well...that boy was looking mighty fine tonight. Hiiro felt his mouth drop open slightly as he took in the broad shoulders that were hidden beneath a stiff dark gray button up shirt tucked within a black cummerbund, and loose fitting dress slacks. His hair was immaculately groomed from his face, bangs swept to the side, and Hiiro noticed that pure white Adidas shoes had taken over the customary place of stiff wingtips.
While the outfit was casual, yet formal at the same time, the way it accentuated his coloring and his athletic frame was enough to make Hiiro drool slightly. He’d never really looked at Duo this way before, and now that he was...how could he have ever missed how attractive he really was? He was seeing him the way the girls did, and for the first time(actually, he couldn’t remember the count of how many times), he could see how long, dark brown lashes accentuated violet eyes; how the long, skinny nose drew attention to firm, curving lips of a wide, friendly mouth; how the sharp angles and drops of his face, having lost the baby fat within the past few months, accentuated a heart-shaped face befitting that of a Roman god.
He had to remember that they weren’t outed yet. He cleared his throat, shrugging for the lack of anything to say. Duo brought with him a scent of cologne that wasn’t displeasing or uncomfortably strong, and that same easy grace with which he usually handled things. His date laughed and shouted at Haylie, both of them exclaiming fakely over their dresses. While the two hurried off to join their friends standing nearby, Duo turned to him, shrugging.
“You look good,” he told Hiiro, grinning in that easy way he had.
Hiiro glanced down at the standard black and white tux he wore, having never really put any effort into anything original. He’d forgotten the cummerbund and forgone the shoes in favor of leather Oxfords, and had skipped the tie in favor of a bowtie. He’d combed his hair into something that looked stiff and different from his customary mess, and felt uncomfortable with the overall presentation. But as Duo looked over him once more, he felt himself heat with unexpected embarrassment in that he didn’t try hard enough to look as enticing as the other did.
“Thanks. You, too.”
“Were you guys here long? She was worry over whether or not she had a ‘bulge’ in front,” Duo muttered with an annoyed roll of his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.
Hiiro snorted, scratching at his ear. “About an hour. I was being driven crazy by the constant lipstick coloring, and the fact that she knew who was wearing what and how I was supposed to care.”
“Chicks are crazy, huh? I mean...they think of the weirdest things...do the oddest things...and expect us to notice every bit of it,” Duo grumbled, taking a seat next to him. The food court was decorated with the theme of roses and glowing stars, and resembled a rose garden at midnight.
The dance floor was alight with multiple colors and flashes of light, and the music was loud enough in that he had to lean close to Hiiro to be heard. Which was all right–the Japanese smelled good enough to inhale deeply of, and his obvious discomfort with the scene made Duo eager enough to suggest that they leave together–to just ditch their dates and go somewhere else. But he was too scared to make the suggestion–he didn’t want to offend the other. But then again...
Hiiro nodded in response to his earlier observation, picking at a cufflink. He surveyed the mass of students that were reveling in the scene, and winced at the 50-Cent beat that was playing. He looked at Duo, and nudged his foot with his shoe.
“Do you really want to stay here?” he asked.
Duo turned to him, lifting an eyebrow.
“Why?” he asked cautiously.
“Let’s go. Let’s just...go. They won’t notice.”
“...Yuy....they’ll hunt us down and castrate us in our sleep...” Duo said, aghast and thrilled that Hiiro was suggesting this to him. He stared at Hiiro with wide eyes, wanting to believe that this was actually happening.
“...Do you really want to stay here?”
“...Do you?”
“I’m asking you.”
“I made a promise...”
“...So you want to stay here...?”
“...No...do you...?”
“I asked you...”
They both stared at each other, secretly memorizing each other’s features. Then both cracked grins, and left their seats, glancing over their shoulders at their dates. They left the dance with chuckles and elation, not caring that the rain was pouring down on them.
Duo looked over at Hiiro, and ran a hand through the stiff brown locks. “Wash that stuff out, man. You look crazy with it.”
“Those shoes don’t go with that outfit.”
“I didn’t like that I had to wear something uncomfortable with this. I’m uncomfortable enough as it is. Hiiro, wait...”
Hiiro brushed his rain soaked hair from his face, sure that his tux was being stained with the stuff that had kept it under control. He looked at Duo, who was looking at him with a worried expression. Curiously, Hiiro gestured at him to speak, and watched as the other looked around them. The rain was falling hard enough to make it nearly impossible to see anything, and the thunder that was crashing seemed to shake their very bones. But Duo closed the distance between them, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Hiiro stiffened in reaction to the sudden move, feeling utterly shocked when the boy kissed him.
It was as if things were ignited all at once–this simple kiss, given in the rain, with both of them dressed as they were and doing something that they had never conceived of? It brought out the intensity of feelings, and Hiiro returned the kiss, reaching up to hold onto Duo’s elbows. Their lips melded and tasted, exploring each other’s with slight hesitation and tenderness. Hiiro lost himself in the kiss, feeling as if his entire world was rearranged and fitted back together again with this seemingly simple gesture. The feel of his friend’s lips against his was something he’d never forget, and didn’t want to go without.
It made his heart hammer madly, and for his breath to quicken as he moved in closer, his hands shifting to draw Duo closer to him. Their bodies touched and relaxed against the other’s, and the kiss intensified. Tongues touched and explored, the rain continuously reminding them that it was still there. Hiiro could feel Duo’s heart pounding fiercely, just as fiercely as his, and felt relief in that he wasn’t the only one that felt this way. He wrapped his arms around the other boy’s waist, his hands spreading to touch as much as possible, and felt the other tighten his grip around his shoulders.
When they finally broke away, thunder booming overhead, Hiiro realized that he did not regret or feel odd about it at all. It felt totally natural; very new; very beautiful. He didn’t feel shamed at all. In fact, he felt the opposite. He touched Duo’s face, the other boy brushing his hair from his forehead, his fingers trailing over his cheek, to reach back and gently clasp his neck.
Duo shifted his eyes to Hiiro’s, searching for anything that may cause him to regret his impulsive decision, but found none. In fact, he saw acceptance and wonderful feeling, and he grew very happy with this response. He chuckled, then started laughing. Everything was just too much, but it fit–! It fit! After a few moments, Hiiro laughed along with him, and they separated, heading back to the dorm building...holding hands.