Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Tokyo Lights ❯ Chapter Four ( Chapter 4 )

 

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Tokyo no hikari

 

Tokyo Lights

 

 

Summary: 1x2, AU: Heero and Duo work the bugs out of their relationship while on a vacation. (Changed from the earlier summary because 1. I didn't like it, 2. Someone complained that they weren't having sex in every sentence, 3. It wasn't attracting attention anyway.)

 

Warnings: sex; implied non-con later on down the road; not exactly PC.

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

Touchdown

 

Even though Maxwell was half-awake when he and Yuy got into the hotel room in Osaka, he still made sure he got what he was promised.

 

Yuy tried to persuade him to wait until both had more energy, but Maxwell didn't listen.

 

So to the bed they went, with Yuy cautioning Maxwell to stay quiet. The walls in Japan were a lot thinner than the walls in America.

 

Quatre Calls Duo at 2:34 PMon July 4th:

 

“SHIT - Hello?”

 

“Hi… um, is Duo there?”

 

“Is this Dean?”

 

“No, it's Quatre.”

 

“Oh, hey Quatre! Couldn't recognize you over the phone. Yeah, he's here; just give me a sec. DUO!”

 

“WHAT?!”

 

“IT'S THE PHONE!”

 

“BLOODY - JASON, KEEP THAT DAMNED CAT AWAY - Yeah, hello? OW, SHIT! JASON!”

 

(There's a moment of hissing and stunned silence on Quatre's part.)

 

“Goddamned - yeah, hello?”

 

“Duo?”

 

“Oh, hey, Kat! Is that you? I thought you were Dean - the jerk's been calling me nonstop for the longest while now. He seems to think that it's my responsibility to paint Amelia. I keep telling him that I have no time right now! But - anyway, what's up?

 

“Er - when did you get back to Chicago?”

 

“A few hours ago.”

 

“How was SVA?”

 

“It was okay, I guess.”

 

“How did you like New York?”

 

“What is this, a survey? Quatre? You know I hate uncomfortable silences.”

 

“I have to talk to you, Duo.”

 

“Well, you're in luck - ”

 

“It's something serious.”

 

“Oh, yeah? Give me a second to get into serious mode, then. Okay. What's wrong?”

 

“Hilde called me last night.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“She says that you might've been asleep, so you might not remember, but she visited you. And Heero.”

 

“…Oh, shit…”

 

“Precisely: `Oh, shit.'”

 

“Ah, man… Shit, where is she?”

 

“She's at home. I'm here with her.”

 

“Fucking shit. Shit, shit, shit!”

 

“Cursing isn't helping you, Duo.”

 

“Kat, what'm I supposed to fucking do?”

 

“You could try apologizing to her, though I don't think she'll accept it right away. And with reason.”

 

“Huh? What's that supposed to mean? Don't tell me that you're going to team up with her against me!”

 

“Duo, I'm not teaming up against you, but I am on her side.”

 

“It's the same thing!”

 

“Duo, you just cheated on Hilde!”

 

“Christ, it was just a quick fuck. Just a one night stand. Well, two, technically - ”

 

“I can't believe you're saying this.”

 

“I can't believe you're against me!”

 

“Is it really so unbelievable? Duo, do you have any idea how hurt Hilde is?! Well? Aren't you going to say anything?”

 

“Can't think of anything to say.”

 

“…Duo, I didn't call to scold you - ”

 

“Could've fooled me.”

 

“I just want you to come by as soon as possible. Today, tomorrow, whenever. Hilde just needs to see you.”

 

“I don't know, Kat.”

 

“Duo!”

 

“I mean, if I go there… what? She'll yell at me, scream at me, I'll feel like shit, and you won't do anything but watch me feel guilty. Then maybe we'll have lunch and sit around in an uncomfortable silence. You know I hate those.”

 

“Duo, it's the least you could do. She wants to forgive you. She wants you here.”

 

“I bet she does. She'll freakin' murder me, I swear.”

 

“Please tell me you'll at least think about it.”

 

“I'll think about it.”

 

“All right, Duo. Thanks.”

 

“Okay. Bye.”

 

 

Keith Haring

 

I guess I'm talented when it comes to art, but I'm no Keith Haring.

 

My high school art teacher, Edie Bertrand, always told me that I had the greatest potential she'd seen in a while:

 

“Your photography - it really captures the moments, the emotions on the models' faces! Your paintings are vibrant with color, and you already know how good you are with your drawings - especially when it comes to value,” she told me once, “but I wish you would just be more serious as a developing artist. You could be the next Keith Haring if you worked at it!”

 

See, Edie Bertrand worshiped Keith Haring. In the stuffy, cramped art classroom, it was her daily ritual to remind us that Keith Haring became famous from drawing cartoons with white chalk on empty, black advertising boards in Subway stations. I guess telling us this is supposed to inspire us to be like him.

 

But like I said before, I'm no Keith Haring.

 

I mean, Keith Haring is - or rather, was - a modern pop art genius. Frankly, it would be a waste of time to even attempt to reach his… grandeur (oh, big word!) And that goes for people that even want to try! (In other words, I don't want to try.) I'm a bloody Maxwell, and Maxwell's are well known for their laziness. I mean, in all seriousness, I wouldn't mind working as some guy in Burger King; hell, I don't even care if I was some jobless hobo. I'm too lazy to care.

 

Being an artist like Keith Haring comes with responsibilities. Well, I say fuck responsibilities. And I say fuck being Keith Haring.

 

I'm Duo Maxwell, baby, and that's the way I like it.

 

Breakfast in Osaka

 

The red halls were deserted, the elevators completely and absolutely private, and even though we had seven floors to go down to the lobby, Heero wouldn't let me touch him.

 

I think it's pretty safe to say that I'm on the edge of becoming frustrated.

 

While we were getting dressed in room 303 - our room - he promised me that we would do whatever I wanted that night, but until then I would have to learn patience; he reminded me of the list I wrote before I came here and made me pull it out to confirm that “Be patient” was on it. He then started to lecture me, saying that we'd just fucked last night and that I needed to learn to be satisfied. And then, off on a tangent he went! Apparently, I ought to be grateful that he even brought me with him to Japan in the first place. Then he started to curse Americans in Japanese! (I knew this because I quickly learned how to pick out amerikajin from the rest of the nonsense he usually mutters.) I don't know when he became such a damned rude monk, but regardless, I didn't seem to have much choice in the matter - so I dropped it.

 

So, right now we're supposedly enjoying a quiet breakfast in Osaka.

 

The restaurant is really just a small room stuffed with tables and packed with people. There's a closed off area with green curtains, but I can see through the thin fabric into a room with a lot of tiny men in black business suits and grey ties. I can only assume that they're the more important people of the hotel, and so get a special area for themselves.

 

We can help ourselves to what we want and sit down at regular sized tables and chairs - something I definitely wasn't expecting. I thought that we would have to sit on mats and at tiny tables that barely rose a foot off of the ground. Everything does seem a bit smaller, though: the rooms, the low ceilings, the doorframes, the people…

 

All right, so I'm kidding. The people aren't all midgets; in fact, four Japanese men - all of the tallest people I have ever seen - just walked in, bending down so that they wouldn't hit their heads on the top of the doorframe; one of them has to bend his head a little so that it won't brush against the ceiling. And I'm not even exaggerating.

 

There's a pillar in the middle of the room, and surrounding this pillar are heated shelves and tables where all of the food is. There are scrambled eggs that looks like watery, mushy, yellow soup; bacon that looks uncooked and tastes more like ham; toast that's about three inches thicker than I'm used to; salad that's the same as you would find in America; and rice. There's a lot of rice. It's sticky and is tasteless without salt or soy sauce.

 

Heero seems slightly put out when he finds out there isn't any of what he calls miso soup, but he doesn't dwell on it and loads up his plate. He may not look it, but the guy can eat more than I can - and that's saying something, seeing that I won the annual school cheeseburger eating contest in junior year of high school.

 

I suppose I should be used to it by now, but while I'm buttering my toast, I can't help but feel kind of… I don't know… freaked out by the amount of people that are staring at me. It's not like I wore anything out of the ordinary - a green shirt I borrowed from Heero, a pair of simple jeans, and some sneakers. My hair attracts attention, yeah, but usually - after the first minute or so - people get over it and get back to doing whatever the hell they were doing.

 

But not this group of people.

 

No, these people's eyeballs are practically bleeding from their intense stares, and some of the eyeballs might even start falling out of their sockets. But whenever I look up, they look away, as if they were never staring in the first place, and continue eating. Then, when I look back down at my food, I can feel their intense stares again and hear the shocked silence.

 

“Heero,” I whisper and glance about; the people go back to what they were doing.

 

“What?”

 

“Why is everyone staring at me?”

 

“Because you're so obviously gaijin,” he replies simply.

 

“How am I obviously gaijin?” This offends me for some reason.

 

“You have long, brown hair and dark blue eyes.” He picks up a fork and starts to eat.

 

“Well, you have dark brown hair and blue eyes too!” I pick up the chopsticks and try to hold them properly.

 

“Plus you speak too loudly,” he adds.

 

I flush. He smirks and reaches across the table; he holds my hand, showing me the correct way to hold chopsticks.

 

“And regardless, I'm still Japanese.”

 

“Half Japanese,” I mutter.

 

At this, Heero seems to take slight offense. “Japanese nonetheless.”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” I mutter, and go back to buttering my toast.

 

 

 

 

Author's note: Gaijin is one of the Japanese words for foreigner. The Japanese can be pretty xenophobic sometimes, so this word is usually loaded with unspoken meaning. In Duo's case, it's that he fits the stereotypical gaijin who sticks up like a nail and needs to be hammered down.

 

Anyway, like usual, please tell me what you think! As you can see, my style is still developing, but at this point the plot for this story his solid. Any tips, advice to be shared from one writer to another?

 

(Oh, and was just thinking, if you don't have the Japanese language downloaded on your computer, then please ignore the encoded nonsense at the top of the screen.)