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"Love Scars "Written By: Jo Pairing: 2+1 Rating: PG Warning/Notes: Unbeta’d because it’s
short = horrendous grammar. AU. A New Year fic kind-a. Feels very
much like a rewrite of an old formula. I’m not very creative
^^ . In fact, now that I’ve written it, I feel like I’ve
read it somewhere. O.o…. Disclaimer: Do not own, not my property. I merely
borrow them from time to time but I always put them back after I played
with them. "Love Scars"
It took me fifteen minutes to scroll through the 500 channels on satellite TV. Perhaps that explained why, four and a half hours and 18 rounds of channel surfing later, I was still planted on the couch staring at the flat, plasma screened, monstrosity Heero insisted we have. Yes. He’s tech savvy and I am the botanist, besides I could never say ‘no’ to Heero. If the bastard is not blissfully clueless, then I’d say he’s taking full advantage of my… weakened condition. A condition that rendered me willingly dateless on a Friday night and New Year’s Eve, no less, but the sad truth is: of all the boys I could be kissing when midnight rolls around, I really want to kiss just one. Like I said, bastard. After six years of school and two years of living together, one might say I am at the terminal stage of my…condition, dutifully playing the role of best friend-roommate to perfection. I am emptier with each day passing, waiting for the bottom to fall out from under me. Waiting for the day Heero would come home and announce ‘I’ve found her’ or ‘she’s the one’ or much worse, ‘Duo, I want you out’. I was furiously clicking the buttons on the remote control, watching colorful screen after colorful screen flick by when the sounds of keys rattled in the keyhole. I stilled and my thumb froze. I did a quick adjust to make sure I looked like I was having a great time watching TV; alone. I sank deeper into the couch, the black leather couch, my idea, thank you very much, and stuck half of my right hand under the waistband of my baggy, knee-length shorts. The bastard; I mean, Heero plopped down next to me like a sack of potatoes. I slid just an inch closer to him, my bare left knee touching his denim-clad right knee. I stole a sidelong glance at him, giving him the surreptitious once-over. His shirt was tucked neatly in his jeans, not wrinkled and no tell-tale signs of creases or of nefarious activities. His hair was in its usual careless and unkempt-it only adds character to my character kind of self. I breathed a selfish sigh of relief even though he stank of beer and cigarettes. Bastard. “Duo?” “Yes, Heero?” I was practically fuming. Jealousy becomes me. “What are you watching?” The bastard asked incredulously. I blinked, seeing the TV screen for the first time and felt I might as well have spontaneously combusted. I did the one thing I could do. I yanked my hand out of my shorts. “Nothing, Heero.” I exaggerated a yawn and pretended to be nonchalant. “Just checking. Wanna make sure I am really gay, you know, that it’s not just a phase.” The funny thing is, my family do think that my being gay is just that, a phase. I chuckled darkly. Heero took the remote from my hand and switched channel. The last thing I saw was a caveman of a naked hunk jiggling the exposed breast of a space princess while suckling on another. She seemed to like it and I didn’t miss how well hung the naked caveman was. I considered briefly if I should chance a career change. Everyone, including lab mice, seemed to be getting more action than I was. What have I got to lose? Heero settled on the SciFi channel and I cleared my throat. “So, you had a good time?” I was prying but at the same time so damn proud of my bored - I really don’t give a rat’s ass what Heero did on his date tone of voice, I didn’t feel ashamed for prying. “Date was over in 15 minutes,” he said. I could feel my eyebrows rise to meet the roots of my bangs. So; Heero’s date was over by the time I finished one round of channel surfing. I’m sure there was no correlation between the two, but I did think about clicking the buttons faster. Just in case. “She got a call on her cell and suddenly she had to go,” he said. “Family emergency.” The lights from the TV danced on his handsome face. “She didn’t realize I could hear the laughing coming from the other end.” “She set you up?” “Looked like it.” “Blind date man...” I shrugged and didn’t finish my sentence, not at all ashamed of how pleased I sounded. The bastard wouldn’t pick up on it anyway. When it comes to Duo Maxwell, Heero was as sensitive as a common household toilet seat. “Love hurts,” I smirked at him, “looking for love hurts like hell too, buddy.” Heero snorted and slapped me on the back of my head lightly. I don't know what got into me then; he’d done that plenty a time, but something in me, probably the two years’ worth of dateless nights, bubbled to the surface of my skin and I itched, all of a sudden. “It’s true. Love or the quest for love, always results in devastation and physical harm.” Once I started, I couldn’t stop. “Look here.” I swept my bangs back from my forehead, revealing a faint, inch-long scar just beneath my hairline. “Suzie Summers. Fourth grade. We were on the monkey bar, she decided we should get married and have four children. I told her she stunk and she pushed me. Hit my head good.” And Suzie Summers cried like she was the one with blood gushing out of a gaping wound in her head. Heero chuckled. “You’re a regular heartbreaker, Duo.” The bastard has no idea. “This,” I turned, pulled my shirt off, and showed him the neat little row of puncture wounds on my back. “Senior prom. Sylvia Newberry. I was a boring date. She snuck off and I found her making out with George Madison in his car. I threatened to punch his lights out, unfortunately ol’ George didn’t take threats well and he threw me into a mangled pile of construction debris. Being tangled in barbed-wire, that was the highlight of my night.” I didn’t mention that George was the captain of the football team and that I really didn’t care much for Sylvia Newberry but everyone had a date that night and I succumbed to peer pressure. Budding realizations of homosexual tendencies and gay fantasies about the captain of the football team aside. In retrospect, I’m not sure if I was mad at her for making out with him, or mad at him for making out with her. “And this?” Heero pointed to one on my left collarbone. “Tommy Sandburn.” “This?” A half-moon shape cut just under my right nipple. I shivered knowing Heero’s finger was so close. “Ted Ganon.” “This one?” He pointed. The thought that I may have taken this too far occurred to me. ‘Oh shit’ sprang to mind and I fell silent. Two years of waiting for Heero to come home on dateless night stirred again under my skin and my courage crept up on me like a drunken bat wobbling out of hell. “Junior year at Cal State. Track and field team practice. Coach Kane made us do a long run around campus in the rain. Some bozo behind me stepped on my heel, shoe came off and I fell face first into a puddle of water, cut up my knee good on the asphalt and some broken glass.” Heero was speechless and motionless for a long while before he finally asked, “So… is it a love scar?” I could smell his hesitation, a light flashed in his eyes. “Yes.” I was suddenly tired and out of words. Exhausted. It must have been those two years of waiting on dateless nights. I stifled a yawn. “This bozo,” he said, voice soft like a dreamy whisper and shaky like a bashful virgin bride on her wedding night. If, there are anymore virgin brides to be found. “Is he…was he, someone special?” And he waited. The bastard. “He is.” I avoided looking at him, elected to stare at my knee, the scar on my knee, and Heero’s finger resting on my knee, pointing at the scar. I jumped when my watch beeped midnight and I bit my lip. The beast was out. It was now or never. I turned to him, recalling the many wildlife safari shows I’ve watched on the many dateless nights, and I moved deliberately slow, approaching the spooked and suspicious wild animal before me. He didn’t flinch when my fingertips graze his chin and slid along his jaw. He drew a sharp, audible breath when I kissed him on his cheek. “Happy New Year, Heero.” And with that I got up from the couch and ran like the coward that I am. Ran while Heero was still stunned and could not hurt me or throw me out of the apartment we share. I’ll let him do that tomorrow. The thought of apartment hunting on New Year’s day hurt like rocks grinding in my stomach. I swore silently on the way to my room. “Duo?” Shit. “Yes, Heero?” “I think,” he paused for a long while, as if trying to find the words. “I think I’d like to start running again.” Hot damn. “Ok.” I mentally slapped myself for my romantic prowess, took a deep breath, steadied myself and tried again, “we could do some laps around the park tomorrow morning.” And I waited. “It’s a date then.” With that he was gone, disappeared into his room. I stood at my door with my mouth hung open, wondering if having had a three-day old pizza for dinner was making me hallucinate on my feet. “Oh and Duo?” The bastard poked his head out from behind his door. “Run behind me this time.” |
