|
" Tug"Written By: DSM Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or its characters. Paring: 2+1/ 1+2 Warnings: Erm….not really? Rating: PG Summary: A piece of Duo’s school work tugs
Heero into the right direction. A/N: *stumbles out of lurkdom* I
wasn’t planning to write this. I’m supposed to be working
on other things *hides from Ryouga Nee-chan* but Heero-Muse is a persistent
little bastard when he wants to be. I’ve learnt not to argue
when he demands something be written. If if he is rather random with
his subject choices ^_^;;
I can’t remember the last time Duo actually attended a party. In fact, despite a personality that would sometimes
speak differently, Duo is an outstanding student. He throws himself
entirely into any and every project the teachers assign to us and
though he seems to do the main bulk of his work a lot later than all
the other students, Duo’s assignments are always clearly thought
out and exemplify just how highly intelligent he really is. It is
more common to find him in my dorm room at night, It’s because of this that I see Duo in an entire different light than most of our fellow students. Perhaps it’s his sheer vibrancy that misleads people. Maybe it’s his habit for allowing every seemingly inconsequential happening to capture his full attention and when Duo gives something his full attention it is quite possible to lose any contact with him until he surfaces for air. Some mistake this for carelessness, an easy going nature that paints Duo as some one with a non-existent attention span. Others see it as laziness and climb new heights to capture Duo’s attention. If it wasn’t for the workload Duo consistently stays on top off, teachers would consider him a disaster waiting to happen. It takes any teacher one look at his energy and they’ve labelled him a handful. One moment at the receiving end of a smart mouthed comment and they’ve decided he’s a trouble maker. It takes no longer than a handful of lessons for them to realise he can’t be quite so easily classified. It takes no longer than a week…given he has the chance to remain in the school for so long…for the teachers to realise that Duo will more than likely be one of their brightest and best students. Which is why I am sitting here, staring at a recently slammed classroom door, and wondering what went so terribly wrong with our recently graded assignment that caused the violent exit Duo just made from the room. Once the teacher regains her ability to speak, she continues
on with the class but I pay no attention to the scratching chalk across
the blackboard and continue to stare at the closed door. Her voice
is a slightly I glance down at my own marked paper, the neatly printed
A minus staring back at me in cheerful gold ink. Mrs McIntire insists
on marking each of our papers in various bold and shiny pens rather
than the usual red or black ink most of my other teachers use and
I have yet to determine why. My own mark surprises me very little.
I vary rarely receive below A grades in my classes with the exception
of history (which I find mind numbingly boring) and art (because I
am highly unskilled in the area as much as I hate admit it) and a
I wrote on Peace. Hardly a surprising fact I’m sure. But now, as I glance down at my paper and the usual
comments of “well written” and “a nicely constructed
argument…if not a little unconventional” I can’t help
but look towards the wastebasket sitting innocently
I glance at the clock. There is far too much time left in this class for my liking and if I wasn’t concerned about jeopardising my cover, I would reach into that wastebasket, retrieve the assignment and sate my curiosity. Class is moving at a snail pace and I have learned more about the surface of that wastebasket, its dents, its stains, its slightly visible contents than I have about whatever long dead author McIntire has seen fit to ramble on about in that uninteresting tone of voice she adopts when she lecturers. She is glancing at me, every so often, from the corner of her eye with a mildly irritated glare and I pretend to listen to her while continuing my contemplation of all thing wastebasket, assignment and Duo. The bell surprises me even though I am anticipating it and I am at the wastebasket as soon as I have retrieved more books and the last dregs of students trickle out from the classroom. The paper, is thankfully, laying on the top of the rubbish. Although I have done my fair share of ‘dumpster diving’ as Duo has so aptly named it, I have no desire to waste time digging through other people’s rubbish when I don’t particularly have to. Not even to satisfy a healthy dose of morbid curiosity. Mrs McIntire casts me a irritated glance as she tidies her books and materials and looks pointedly at the now opened door. “Mr. Yuy. If you have quite finished rummaging through the trash would you please go to your next class?” I grunt an affirmative in her vague direction and smoothing out the crumpled pages in my hand, pocket Duo’s assignment and head out into the hall. It is only when I am free from the crowded hallways and out into the open air that I dare to pull the pieces of paper from my pocket and end this bizarre little mystery. It is the bold ‘D’ staring up in me in blood
red that first captures my attention. In all my time acquainted with
Duo, I have never known him to receive a mark lower than a B and that
in itself is rather rare. His grades It is the title that next captures my attention and suddenly the picture is becoming a great deal more clearer. Duo wrote his paper on Death. Duo’s life experiences with the Death now so intrinsically
intertwined with his very being are displayed on this page in my hand
for all to see. Hidden, concealed but still very real. McIntire’s
comments range from the In our business, I wouldn’t be surprise if we were all diagnosed as certifiably insane. I finish reading the paper and suddenly my feet are taking me to the only place I know that Duo runs and hides before my head has consciously given them the command to move. I am striding double time towards the dormitories with tendrils of concern wisping around my mind and all I know is some innate need to be certain that Duo is safe from harm…even if at the moment the harm my mind is comprehending may be himself. Duo, like with everything he does, poured his very heart and soul into that paper. Something tugs at my heart…a heart many deny existence…at the thought of the pain of revealing your soul on paper only to have someone who’s opinion shouldn’t really matter grade it as lacking. Duo’s soul is far from lacking. After returning the paper to my pocket, I enter Duo’s room without knocking. It is swallowed in darkness, the curtains drawn and the lights off. I can see a huddled form cocooned within the many blankets on Duo’s bed and hear the rugged breathing of someone fighting off tears. Duo never cries…but that doesn’t mean he has never wanted to. I am at the bedside in an instant and reaching to pull the blankets from his body when his voice, muffled from within his haven, drifts up from the bed. “Go away, Heero.” I contemplate his request. I could leave, let Duo wallow
in misery and wait until he feels ready to talk only I know that as
much as Duo’s mouth is quite happy to run away without his brain
at times, the boy can be “Heero. I said…go away.” I pause, fighting the urge to pull away those blankets just to reveal the boy underneath. Fighting the urge to see Duo just to satisfy my need to make sure he is safe. But logic determines that I should honor Duo’s request and my feet now in tune with my brain begin to lead me toward the door. My shirt meets some resistance. I turn and see a pale hand, bright in this darkness,
holding onto the edge of my shirt and I wonder if Duo is even aware
that he has prevented my leaving when he explicitly requested it.
I turn to leave again when a And another tug on my shirt. I fulfil the unspoken request and not bothering to ponder
the contradictory nature of my friend, settle next to him on the bed.
We stay in silence, Duo still mostly buried under the blankets, back
towards me and I half “Her opinion shouldn’t matter.” I break the silence. “I know.” “Then why does it?” “I don’t know.” I reach, with a little difficulty into my pocket and reach over him to place the assignment on the bed in the curve Duo’s huddled form creates. The rustle of the pages captures his attention and he plucks them from the bed, turning towards me, placing the pages on my lap. “Why do you have this?” My eyes have fully adjusted to the darkness now and
I can clearly see the lines of his face as he looks at me with eyes
filled with emotions I’d take a lifetime to fully decipher. The
look in those eyes tugs at something My hand moves without command. Duo’s eyes widen a little at the unexpected contact
and I wonder at the smoothness of his skin, the softness to the tendrils
of hair escaping his braid. His own hand reaches from within the confines
of the blankets to “Why, Heero? Why did you get this from the trash?” “Because someone’s soul is far too precious to throw away.” The wonder, the absolute bittersweet awe I see shining on Duo’s face and the lone tear that manages to escape from ironclad barriers tugs at my heart and my body reacts without thought to tug his own into my arms. He reaches up to harshly swipe the tear from his eyes and after a moment where he feels like lead in my embrace he relaxes and allows this rare moment of comfort I am offering. And then he’s letting me past the barriers he’s so carefully constructed and the floodgates are wide open and pouring free. He speaks of his childhood in school and the intense desire just to prove that he wasn’t the street trash people only ever saw him as. The desire to learn that burnt so brightly within him and the hurt and the frustration when all anyone ever saw was a boy from the orphanage. A boy they said smelt like a sewer. I can hardly comprehend Duo ever smelling as distasteful as a sewer. Not when I am resting my nose against his hair and it smells so sweetly of vanilla and musk and Duo. I understand now why Duo throws himself so completely into his schoolwork and why nothing less than top marks will suffice. I understand his thirst for knowledge and his desire to be popular and accepted when I myself haven’t cared ether way what our fellow classmates have thought of me one way or the other. No one’s opinion has truly mattered to me. I do my job, I complete my mission and I follow my orders.With that I have always been content. It’s different now, I realise, staring down at Duo as he settles into silence his hand still resting over mine, the other once again holding onto my shirt. Looking at him like this, curled in my arms and out from behind that wall he’s forever hiding behind, that feeling in my stomach and my heart finally tugs something in my mind and my own wall crumbles under the force of that single pull. I understand now. I tug on his braid, where my free hand has crept without
my knowing, and I press my lips to his hair. I don’t have time
to worry about my actions because Duo is gazing at me with the most
achingly beautiful smile I And as his lips meet mine, I feel them tug into a smile.
|
