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"A Reason For Me"Written By: Prynesque Disclaimer: Duo, Heero, Gundam Wing… they
are copywrited to someone else. They are being used without permission
and no money is being made. I reiterate: they aren't mine (and if
you think they are you should probably take this opportunity to get
your head checked). However, this story is mine and mine alone, and
if you so much as think of nicking any part of it, I'll hunt you down
and set my demon kitty cat on you (be afraid, be very afraid). Rating: R Warnings: Yaoi/slash, romance, angst, AU, Potential
(though unintended) OOC, some swearing, lime/lemon, alternating POV,
possible Australian-isms. Pairings: 1x2 Summary: On his last night in Chicago, Heero meets
a young man with violet eyes and a braid. Instantly drawn to him,
Heero initiates a meeting but things aren't often that simple. Notes: This story is AU. It's set in modern-day
Chicago and I think it's safe to say that that means there will be
no mentions of Gundams, colonies or any other various fantastical
science fiction-related entities. This story is also slash (or yaoi
or whatever you want to call it), so if you don't like that…
well, bugger off and come back when you have some taste! Feedback: Hell yeah? What I'm trying to say is
that if you feel the urge to review, please indulge it. I don't even
care what you say. Good, bad, it's all the same to me – just
so long as I get to hear from you. " A Reason For Me"
Duo and I have settled into a strange sort of rhythm. It’s unpredictable and irregular but it’s probably the best thing in my life at the moment. I wasn’t expecting it. I mean, he said he wasn’t going to come back and there was such determination, such conviction in his voice that I believed him. I couldn’t even bear to watch him as he left. I lingered just inside the doorway, unable to step forwards and watch him disappear. But I did hear the thunder of his footsteps pounding down the carpeted hallway and I did hear the bang of the stairwell door as it slammed shut behind him. And in that moment, listening to the deafening sounds of Duo running away from me, I thought that was the end. It was over. I considered myself lucky, though… lucky enough to get one more time, one more evening, one more morning… and I would have been happy with that. Well no, OK not happy, but accepting, resigned. But the higher beings that supposedly exist on the plane above ours had other plans. They decided to shine down on me and he came back. I think I nearly died of shock. Years ago in a passing comment, Quatre once said that he was so shocked he could have been knocked down with a feather. I don’t remember the context of those words but I do remember that, at the time, I didn’t really understand what he meant. But seeing Duo there on my doorstep, realising that he had come back to me, I knew exactly what Quatre had been experiencing that day. And you could have knocked me down with a feather. And this time, it wasn’t just once more. He came back again. And again and again. It’s like a dream, except that I never dream. I don’t know whether it’s because I don’t sleep soundly enough or because I’m not imaginative enough… but my nights are never filled with visions, pleasurable or otherwise. But now, sometimes I’m almost afraid that I am somehow living in a dream and in those moments I have to repeat those words in my head just to reassure myself that this is real… He came back. There is no pattern to his visits. Sometimes he’ll arrive in the early evening when I’ve just arrived home from work and we’ll have dinner together and then he’ll leave again. Sometimes he’ll arrive late and we’ll curl up on the couch and talk or watch TV before we go to bed. And sometimes on the weekend he’ll arrive mid-morning and we’ll spend the whole day together. Sometimes he’ll come as often as 3 or 4 times a week, sometimes twice in a row… and sometimes it’ll be a week or a week and a half before I see him again. But he always comes back. It’s like an unspoken promise between us. He’ll always come back and I’ll always be here waiting. His arrival is always the same. He knocks on the door. Three knocks; never two or four, always three. When I answer he smiles up at me and I move aside to let him in. Occasionally we’ll talk but mostly, in the first few minutes, our communication is of the silent variety. The shutters are still closed behind his eyes and the smile on his face is slightly wooden. He disappears almost immediately into the shower and he’ll emerge half an hour later, dressed in my clothes (although now they feel more like his clothes), hair damp and skin still slightly pink from the hot water. Sometimes I wonder about the rationale behind those customary showers. Does he feel dirty? Is it his life that makes him feel like that? Or is it coming and spending time with me that just makes him realise it? Does he think that I think he’s dirty? Does he think I wouldn’t want to be with him if he didn’t clense himself? These are the questions that linger on my lips every time he shuts that bathroom door. But somehow, I never quite managed to find the words to ask. Maybe it’s because I get distracted, maybe it’s because, subconsciously, I don’t want to know the answers, or maybe it’s because I’m simply not articulate enough to form a coherent sentence. All I know is that when he does return the shutters are up and I can stare into those incredible blue/violet eyes and see… just him… and nothing else really matters after that. I find myself living for the precious minutes I get to spend with him. I count the hours between his visits. It’s pathetic, I know, but something compels me and if you asked me to calculate the minutes we’ve spent together and the minutes we spent apart, I could tell you because it’s a sum I’ve done more that once in my mind. Every morning I wake hoping that I’ll get to see him that day and every night I go to bed feeling either elation or disappointment. It’s an endless cycle and sometimes it feels like it’s tearing me apart and sometimes it feels like that doesn’t matter. But I also feel guilty. Every time I see him standing there on the other side of my door, looking up at me with a slight sense of desperation, I feel guilty… guilty because, in those moments, I feel a happiness so overwhelming that it almost feels like my compact frame will not be able to contain it… guilty because, in those moments, I rarely stop to think about the no doubt horrible circumstances that compel him to escape in my direction. He never really talks about his life. Sometimes he’ll reveal the odd detail; he’ll arrive slightly bruised or distressed and as I try my hardest to patch him up again, he’ll start to talk. But mostly we just avoid the subject. It hurts him to talk about it and, to be perfectly honest, it hurts me to hear it. But, that said, I’ll always listen when he needs me to. In the beginning there were plenty of awkward moments between us. Moments of tension, of uncertainty… moments when either one of us would be defensive or unsure… it’s only natural, I guess, when you have two relative strangers with nothing in common trying to form some sort of a relationship. But with each visit we get to know each other a little better and we become a little more open. I’m honored and grateful that he trusts me enough to let his guard down around me. And I’m surprised and delighted that I trust him enough to do the same. And he laughs more. His laughter was probably the thing I missed most when I first met him again and realised he had changed. I missed the sound of his voice as a chuckle builds in his throat, waiting to be released… I missed the twinkle in his eyes. But gradually, it’s starting to come back. It is slow progress, of course, but he reminds me more and more every day of the boy I met all those years ago. And that in turn, makes me smile more and more. Of course he still has his hollow moments just as I still have my stubbornly blank, uncommunicative moments; we can’t be expected to be ourselves all the time. But he seems less empty, less lost… and there are even times when, dare I say it, I think he’s actually happy. Sometimes I think that’s just wishful thinking but then he smiles at me, one of those proper, beaming smiles… and happiness doesn’t seem so elusive. I think we’re friends now. We weren’t friends before… in fact, I’m not entirely sure what we were. But that doesn’t matter because we’re friends now. I don’t even know how or why or when that shift occurred, I’m just grateful that it did. There is just something about the way we interact, something that reminds me of the easy co-existence I shared with Quatre or Wufei. We’re comfortable talking to each other about the inconsequential things or about the immense things. But we are also comfortable just existing together in silence, content with quiet companionship… that feels like friendship to me. I’ve managed to somewhat temper my attraction to him. I say somewhat because I still have my moments when it is all I can do to restrain myself from touching him. But it’s like my desire for him has become a gentle, ever-present flickering flame rather than a raging fire; but it’s always there, somewhere deep inside me, along with a certain amount of hope. And sometimes I could swear he feels the same. Sometimes there will be something lingering behind his smile, his words, his touches… something that makes me think that he wants me just as much as I want him. But those moments always pass before I can get a proper fix on them and so now I’m unsure. Maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see. Or maybe… just maybe…? Never mind. But I’ll never act on these feeling. Partly because I’m still not entirely sure what that would entail exactly and partly because I’m afraid of the rejection I would invariably face. But mainly because Duo doesn’t need another slavering pervert chasing him. I respect him too much to reduce our relationship to physical urges. It’s mid-December now. The nights are getting frosty and the daytime is marked by bitter winds. Too cold, really, to be standing on my balcony, but of course that doesn’t stop me. My eyes scan the dark expanse of skyline before me, dotted with tiny flickering specs of light. Duo is out there somewhere… I wonder if he is as chilled as I am. The wind whips past my face, ghosting over my flesh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. But behind me I can feel the heat escaping from the living room through the slight crack in the balcony doors. The warmth seeps through my jeans, caressing the backs of my legs. I always keep the heat high in the apartment. Sometimes it’s almost too hot and I find myself walking around in a t-shirt and shorts. But I want it to always be warm for Duo. I want him to always feel that sense of relief that you feel when you come in out of the cold. I wince. I feel a bit guilty about that really… like I’m purposely trying to entice him back here so I can satisfy my own selfish need to spend time with him. I once confessed this to him. It was late at night. He had arrived late and we’d gone straight to bed. We were laying side-by-side, almost touching, but not quite. His breath was steady; I had thought he’d already fallen asleep and that my confession would go unheard. I was slightly uncomfortable and ashamed when I realised he was awake and had heard my every word. But he squeezed my hand briefly under the covers and told me that he didn’t mind. Even weeks later, I can still hear his whisper in the darkness, can still feel his hand in mine. I have every memory of every moment I’ve spent with him filed away in my mind just in case I lose him and that’s all I have left. Can’t it really be over a month since that Friday night when I first sought him out? It doesn’t feel like that long and yet one brief glance at the calendar will confirm that he has been back in my life for nearly a month and a half. Those first few days seemed to go on forever, time stretching endlessly between his visits. But now it is as though someone has pressed the fast forward button. The days gallop past. Sometimes it feels like I’m in a fast car speeding down a highway, days and events speeding by my window like a blurred landscape. Soon it will be Christmas and then the New Year will dawn. And soon… soon my contract with the Chicago office will end and I’ll have to go back to New York. I shiver violently. I’m not sure whether it was due to the cold night wind or the thought of leaving. No, that’s a lie. That horrible churning sensation I feel in my stomach, the sudden chill… they have nothing to do with the weather. It’s just… I’m not entirely sure I’ll be able to leave when the time comes. I don’t think I could bear it; I don’t think I could do that to Duo… or to myself. I’ll have to talk to Dorothy, see if I can persuade her to extend my time here in Chicago. Trouble is, I’m not the most persuasive of men; I’m not exactly a natural sweet-talker. And really, from what I’ve observed of Dorothy Catalonia so far, she’s not generally very inclined towards empathy; compassion is not something she possesses in liberal amounts, if at all. Perhaps Relena will help me. Strong, resourceful Relena… she likes me and I’m fairly sure she’d be willing to assist me if I could ever bring myself to ask for her help. But even Relena’s influence on Dorothy is limited and I’m struck by the sudden desperate thought that this is futile. Below me, a car horn blares followed by a screeching of brakes and a string of curses. As the cars speed away from each other, road rage barely contained, I find myself praying to every deity I’ve ever heard of that for the first time in her high-powered executive life, Dorothy will decide to take a day off from being a complete bitch. Hmmm, that’ll be the day. My thoughts tumble endlessly around in my mind like clothes in a washing machine. By the time the spinning stops I’m thoroughly confused and all my musings have been condensed into one single thought: Duo. This is getting me nowhere. I peer up at the inky black sky above me. A thick blanket of cloud hovers overhead and I wonder if it’s going to snow. I shiver again, goosebumps forming even under the thick layer of clothes I’m wearing. I take one last deep breath and turn away from the smoky mantle of darkness that cloaks the city, retreating back into my apartment. I’m halfway through the washing up when the phone rings. I reach for the receiver automatically. Flecks of soap suds form little rivulets that trickle down my arms, soaking into the rolled-up cuff of my shirt. I frown. For some inexplicable reason I’m expecting it to Duo. It’s completely irrational; Duo has never called me before and I doubt he’d suddenly start now, but still, as I raise the phone to my ear, part of my mind is waiting to hear Duo’s voice. “Heero Yuy,” I state. “Heero! How are you?” Wufei’s voice hums down the phone line. “Wufei!” I reply, successful in my attempt to keep the disappointment from creeping into my tone. I confess I’m a little surprised to be hearing from Wufei. Although we are very close, he is not usually the type to call and check up on me; he tends to leave that to Quatre. Instead of replying to his question, I counter with one of my own. “Did Quatre tell you to call me?” Wufei doesn’t hesitate before answering. “Yes.” I smile; I’ve always appreciated his frankness. “Quatre said you were lonely and implied that if I were a good friend I’d call to make sure you were OK. And you didn’t answer my question… how are you?” Wufei repeats, a hint of a smile in his tone. “You can tell Quatre that I’m fine,” I tell Wufei and he laughs. “I’ll pass that on, although I doubt that will stop him from worrying about you.” “I should never have called him,” I say, even though I’m still rather glad that I did. “Anyway, now that we’ve established that I’m fine, how are you?” “Not bad,” Wufei replies. “Thankfully, Sally has finally finished her exams. I’ve been walking on egg shells for weeks, trying to survive without getting my head bitten off.” Wufei laughs. His tone is light but there is a faintly peeved undercurrent and I can imagine Sally rolling her eyes as she listens to him. “Her exams went well?” I inquire. I suddenly struck by how nice it is to hear Wufei’s voice… low and slightly clipped, strangely reassuring. It makes me realise how much I miss him, as a friend and as a flat-mate. I’m sure he doesn’t miss me; Sally is probably much better company than I ever was. “She did very well.” He doesn’t elaborate but even through the slightly crackling phone line I can hear the pride in his voice. Although he would never say it in so many words, Wufei is completely and utterly enamored with Sally and it is times like these that betray just how much he does care about her. I smile. “Well, give her my congratulations.” Wufei’s voice is slightly muffled as he relays my message. In the background Sally’s voice is husky as she laughs. “Thanks Heero!” she calls to me across the room. “She graduates in two weeks, just before Christmas and then starts work as an intern at John James Memorial Hospital.” Wufei’s voice is clearer again. I remember that hospital well even though I’ve only ever been there once. In fact, it was the first and only time I’ve ever been to the ER. I was walking home from college one night and a young punk tried to mug me. Unfortunately for him my reflexes are fast and somewhat ingrained and within moments he was on the ground with a broken leg. I immediately felt guilty; sometimes I don’t know my own strength. I took him to the ER at John James and we waited for 3 hours in awkward, pained silence, neither of us really wanting to discuss the robbery or the assault. I left as soon as a doctor came to see him. I was halfway home when I realised that he’d actually been successful in his attempted robbery. I went back to the ER and asked for my wallet. Still in a state of shock, he handed it over. The doctor returned and asked if we were friends. I left again. I belatedly realise that Wufei is still talking. “It’ll be a nightmare trying to coordinate our schedules. I’ve just started working on a really big case and I’m hoping to get second chair for the trial.” There is a faint trace of pride in his voice as he discusses his work and I smile. “And even if I don’t, the experience and exposure of such a high-profile case will be a great benefit. But Sal and I were thinking of going away for a few days early in the New Year before we both get excessively busy… you know, spend some time together.” I give the appropriate ‘that sounds nice’ type of murmur and wait for him finish. “Are you still coming home for Christmas?” he asks a moment later. I’d forgotten about that. Before I left Quatre cornered me and made me promise that I’d return for the holidays. And part of me does want to go back… some of the best memories I have of my friends are of the Christmases we’ve spent together. But then I think about Duo and I know I won’t be returning to New York. “Sorry, I think I have to work.” I wince internally at the lie. “Quatre won’t be happy.” I can hear the smile twisting across his face as he says it. “Do you want to tell him for me?” I ask. “Be a man, Yuy,” Wufei replies. In the background, Sally says something about Wufei needing some work in that area himself. Wufei growls and I laugh. Some time later, Wufei heaves a sleepy sigh. “Well, I’ll let you go, it’s getting late,” he says, having finally finished his 20 minute dissertation on the current political climate. “Hn. Thanks for calling, Wufei, it was nice to hear from you,” I say automatically. “Give my love to Sally.” We say goodbye and I wait for the click as he hangs up before I replace the receiver. I feel slightly more content for having had some contact with Wufei. I don’t have the same sort of relationship with him as I do with Quatre but every discussion we have, however brief or one-sided it may have been, always leaves me with a strange sense of calm. It always strikes me as rather odd that someone as intense as Wufei should have this sort of effect on me but then, the intricacies of friendship are often inexplicable. I consider waiting up to see if Duo comes. It’s a Thursday night and it’s been 4 days since his last visit. But by 11pm my eyes are starting to itch and blur from the glow of the TV. I retreat to bed and sleep claims me unusually quickly. A loud creak jolts me back into consciousness. I blink rapidly in the darkness, trying to wipe the sleepy haze from my mind. There it is again. I’m just about to slide out of bed, my hand already searching for something I can use as a weapon, when the door creaks open. “Heero?” I sink back into the mattress, the tension in my body instantly washing away in the wake of that whispered voice. “Duo?” My voice is still croaky from sleep. My gaze finds the bedside clock; the red numbers flash 4am. “How did you get in?” is the first thing that comes out of my mouth and I curse myself for my unintentionally harsh tone. “The front door was unlocked,” Duo replies. He’s still standing in the doorway and makes no move towards me. “I knocked but you didn’t answer,” he says a moment later. I don’t really hear his last comment. I’m momentarily stunned by the fact that I somehow failed to lock the door. The simple action of turning the key and sliding the bolts across is a regular part of my nighttime routine. It comes after turning off my computer and checking that the kitchen taps aren’t dripping, but before I turn all the lights off. This is a regular schedule, so natural that I don’t even need to think about it. How could I have missed something? “I can leave if you want.” Duo’s offer drags me out of my pedantic thoughts. “No, no, it’s fine. Please stay,” I say hurriedly. My hand finds the lamp and light floods the room. We both wince at the brightness, our heads instinctively turning away. My eyes adjust and I turn back to where Duo is still hovering. He looks awful; pale and exhausted and slightly twitchy. His fists are clenching and re-clenching restlessly and his eyes are darting around the room, refusing to settle. “Sure?” he asks, his eyes finally resting on me, his gaze finding mine. I nod. “Of course.” He smiles but it feels more automatic than genuine. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that look and it has me worried. I open my mouth to ask if he’s OK but the words catch in my throat. Duo doesn’t notice; he turns away to open my chest of drawers. He reclaims the clothes that have now become irrevocably his and then disappears into the bathroom, his braid swinging ever so gently across his leather-clad shoulders. I hear the sound of the shower running and I swing my legs over the side of the bed, standing up. I go through my routine again. I check that my computer is off and then I check the kitchen taps. Finally I reach the front door. Duo has locked it but I unlock it and then re-lock it anyway. I flick the lights off as I retreat and then I curl myself back up in bed. Duo emerges sooner than I am expecting. His skin is slightly flushed from the hot water and the dark make-up around his eyes has been washed away. His braid is slightly damp but he hasn’t taken the time to wash it. His fingers fiddle gently with the hem of my shirt before he looks up at me. He looks calmer and this time his smile has a little bit more of its usual warmth. He drops his old clothes on the floor beside the bathroom door. I’ve long since stopped being irritated by this violation of my neat, clean orderliness. In fact, now I even rather like it. It’s a visual reminder, tangible proof that Duo is here with me. Duo shuffles across the room. He slides in beside me, the mattress dipping ever so slightly under his weight. Instantly I can feel his warmth seeping across the bed towards me. I bite back a sigh. I switch the lamp off and the room is plunged back into darkness as I settle back against the pillows. “Someone broke into my flat,” Duo says after several moments. His tone is a mixture of angry and upset. I grope blindly in the gloom and eventually my hand finds his and our fingers twine together. “What happened?” I ask eventually. “Joe dropped me off and the door was busted open… place was pretty trashed.” He pauses and there is a slight catch in the back of his throat when he speaks again. “They took your watch.” I’ve never heard Duo sound so vulnerable, so wretched. Duo, who prides himself on his strength, his ability to maintain a brave face, now sounds so very close to breaking. I tug gently on his hand and I feel him shuffle across the mattress towards me. He curls into my side, his cheek against my bare shoulder. My arms wrap around him, secure but not constricting. I think I was expecting him to cry, but he doesn’t. I probably should have known that. He shudders slightly; his hand is flat against my stomach and I can feel it trembling. I try to imagine what Quatre would do in the situation. He’s far better at calming distressed people than I am. In the end, I go with my instinct, raising one hand and gently stroking the length of his braid, my fingers lightly grazing down his spine. He tenses the moment he feels my hand on his hair but then he relaxes into my embrace. The trust he is placing in my hands is palpable and a lump forms in my throat, the prelude to tears that, of course, don’t fall. He drifts into sleep very quickly and after a while my hand stills, my fingers lightly curling around the end of his braid, inexplicably possessive. And fairly soon, the warm solid weight of his body pressed against mine lulls me back into sleep as well. Morning comes quicker than I would have liked. It feels like I’ve been asleep for barely a few minutes when my internal clock rouses me once more. Duo hasn’t shifted much during the night. He is laying on his side, slightly turned in towards me, his head resting on my bicep; his breath ghosts across chest and I shiver uncontrollably. His arm is still draped across my middle, and an uncomfortably warm sensation unfurls in my stomach before moving southwards. Evidently this is one of those moments when my attraction to Duo flares from a single flame to a raging fire and I’m painfully aware of how aroused I am right now. I’m usually fairly good at controlling my bodily reflexes. Self-control is something I prize myself on but Duo is just so close and so tempting and now I think it is fairly safe to say most of my precious discipline has gone out of the window. Duo stirs slightly, his arm gliding across my bare flesh. I swallow awkwardly, suddenly aware of how easy it would be for Duo to wake at this very moment and how mortified I’d be if he saw me in this state. Ever so gently, I extract myself from beneath Duo’s weight. He frowns slightly as I lower him gently to the pillow. I stand by the bed for several minutes, disappointed by the loss of his warmth. When he stirs again, I step back unconsciously and then, turning swiftly, I seek refuge in the bathroom. A steady stream of hot water beats down on my tense shoulders. I roll my head to the side, my neck cracking slightly as the water sluices over my shoulders and down my back. I duck my head under the shower, closing my eyes. I can still feel the sensation of Duo’s bare skin against mine and I feel caught somewhere between torture and pleasure. And I can’t help myself. I have to touch myself; I’m just that achingly hard. I close my eyes and I can almost imagine that it is Duo’s hand running across my slippery, flushed skin. My hand pumps faster and faster up and down my erection until I’m panting, the sound of my harsh breathing only just covered by the thunder of the running water. I don’t last long and I’m thankful for it. At the exact moment that I find my release, a picture of Duo, sleeping peacefully just beyond the bathroom door, flashes in my mind and mingled with the pleasure is a sense of shame. In spite of all my declarations about respecting Duo too much to reduce our relationship to physical desire, there are just those moments when hormone-induced urges are all I can think about. However much I would like to deny it, I am only human after all. I watch as the water washes away all the evidence of my self-indulgence and even after I’ve finished washing myself, I stay in the shower for a full ten minutes more. I finally manage to force myself out of the cubicle where I stand on the soft white bathmat and dry myself perfunctorily but then I freeze again, hesitant about re-entering my bedroom and seeing the man I’ve just been fantasising about. In the end, the willpower that I rather spectacularly misplaced earlier returns and I force myself across the threshold and back into the darkened bedroom. My eyes adjust almost instantly to the gloom and I can see the shape of Duo’s body, curled up in my bed. I swallow heavily, turning away and dressing quietly. By the time I’ve managed to get myself out into the living-room, I’m feeling slightly calmer, slightly more under control, and that’s a relief. This morning my stomach churns at the thought of the sweetly saccharin crunch of Fruit Loops so I choose muesli instead. I eat distractedly, my thoughts continually returning to the sleeping man in the other room. Just as I’m draining the bowl, my eyes flick upwards, catching sight of the green numbers flashing on the microwave clock. It’s just gone five past eight. I push my chair hurriedly away from the table and deposit my bowl in the sink. I open the bedroom door a mere sliver, just enough for me to peer inside. I really should wake him. I have to leave or else I’ll be late for work. But he looks so peaceful, so beautiful. I hesitate. I’ve never left him alone in my apartment, we haven’t yet cross the line where I’m comfortable having him here in my own personal space without me. “Do I trust him?” I’m shocked to realise that I’ve spoken those words aloud, but as soon as they’ve left my mouth I know the answer and I close the door again as quietly as I can. My fingers reach for a pen and then, in my fluid, neat script, I write a note: Duo – Had to go to work. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want. I’ll be home by 6. Lock the door if you leave… Heero. As I leave the single sheet of paper on the kitchen table, the corner just tucked under the box of Fruit Loops, I smile faintly at this strange reversal of roles… this time I’m the one leaving. I’m late and I have to run for train, but I just make it on time and soon I’m speeding away across the city, trying not to think of what I’ve left behind. I wonder if this is what Duo feels like every time he leaves me behind in that flat. I work through lunch. I don’t do it intentionally but one moment it’s 10:30am and I’m engrossed in creating perfection out of a jumbled program draft and the next moment it’s 2:00pm and Relena is standing in my doorway, hands on her lips and one eyebrow raised, looking distinctly unimpressed. I meet her gaze dispassionately, my fingers still dancing across the keyboard. She frowns delicately. “Do you remember that conversation we had months ago when you promised that you’d stop being such a recluse?” she asks, tapping her chin gently with one perfectly painted pink fingernail. “Hn,” I respond, my gaze flickering back to the computer screen. I don’t recall making any such promise. As I remember it, Relena dragged me down to lunch, insisting that I stop hiding myself away. Evidently she took my total lack of response to mean that I agreed. Sometimes I wonder if Relena is selectively deaf and blind… if she sees and hears only what she wants to. It would probably explain a lot. “Would it kill you to make an effort?” she persists. I’m not sure I understand her perseverance; I’m sure my company isn’t worth the trouble. “It might,” I reply glibly, not looking up. She tuts loudly. “You’re hopeless, Heero,” she says. Out of the corner of my eye I see her shake her pretty blonde head and turn away to leave. “Relena?” I ask suddenly. She halts instantly and turns back. “Yes, Heero?” she purrs. I pause, my fingers finally stilling. The room is suddenly very quiet without the constant click-clacking of fingers on keys. Relena saunters across the room and sinks gracefully into the chair on the other side of my desk. “What do you know about my contract?” “Contract?” Relena asks, her brow furrowing in incomprehension. “With Tanaki Industries. You work in Legal; you must have seen my contract at some stage,” I elaborate. “Well, yes, I suppose. Um… let me think.” She pauses, her head inclined slightly to the right. “If I remember correctly, you have an ongoing contract with the company. You’ve been subcontracted to the Chicago office until some time in March?… and then I suppose you’ll go back to New York for the remainder of your indenture,” she pauses and watches me carefully. “Why do you ask? You strike me as the type who knows his contract inside out and back to front.” “Hn. Just wondering. Would you check for me? I was thinking that I might like to stay in Chicago a while longer,” I say vaguely. She raises one eyebrow, intrigued, but thankfully she doesn’t ask me why. “I’ll look it up next time I’m in the contract archives,” she says as she stands. “You could always ask Dorothy,” she suggests. I raise one eyebrow sardonically. “Or maybe not,” Relena finishes, skirting around the desk and stopping beside me. She touches my arm gently and smiles with mock coyness. “I’m always here if you need someone to talk to,” she murmurs. I don’t respond. Instead I turn back to my computer, my fingers finding the keys once more. Relena snorts, surprisingly un-ladylike. I barely register the click of the door as she leaves. The unmistakable sound of high heels on linoleum jerks me out of my focused daze. I’m expecting it to be Relena again but the figure that passes my open door is shorter and rounder and significantly less elegant. Cynthia from the front desk looks up as she passes by and is startled to find me watching her. She tugs nervously at a loose strand of hair that has escaped her untidy bun. “Goodnight, Mr Yuy,” she mumbles, nodding hesitantly. “Goodnight,” I reply curtly. She smiles timidly and nods again before scurrying away. The sound of her high heels clattering on the linoleum echoes up and down the corridor long after she has disappeared. Her brief presence has destroyed my concentration but it’s not altogether unwelcome. The sky has already darkened and throughout this floor of the building I can hear others calling out their goodbyes, wishing each other a happy weekend and leaving. My gaze finds the clock on the wall. It’s just after six. I’m on my feet in an instance; I told Duo I’d be home by now. I gather my things and it’s only as I’m waiting for the lift to take me downstairs that I realise that Duo probably won’t be there, that he probably left hours ago. It is twenty past six by the time I finally arrive at my apartment building. Earl the doorman smiles in greeting as he steps forward to open the door for me. “Evening, Mr Yuy,” he says jovially as I cross the threshold. “Cold out tonight, ain’t it?” he comments a moment later as the door closes behind me, ushering a sudden gust of cool wind into the lobby. I nod automatically, not really hearing him. “Your friend left around lunch time. Came back, though. Been up there for a good few hours,” Earl says and suddenly I’m all ears. “He has?” I ask. The question is directed more to myself than to Earl, but he answers anyway. “Yep. He’s a funny one. Always comes at strange hours,” Earl muses. I don’t comment and, in fact, I’m halfway across the lobby by the time he finishes speaking. I’m tingly with anticipation as I wait while the elevator bears me upwards. I had assumed that Duo would leave during the day. I never expected him to come back. I don’t even realise I’m smiling until I’m standing outside my front door and I catch sight of my reflection in the shiny brass number plate. My key fits into the lock with a click and the door swings open. The sound of the TV greets me as soon as I step over the threshold. Duo is curled up on the couch, flicking aimlessly through the channels. “Hey,” I say loud enough to be heard over the bright jingle of the advertisements. Duo jerks at the sound, twisting around in his seat. He grins when he sees me. “Welcome home,” he says with a slightly chuckle. “D’ya have a good day at work?” My heart catches in my throat at his words. This feels so domestic… and it’s bliss. I wonder briefly what it would be like to come home to Duo every night. “Work was fine. How was your day?” I ask, hanging my coat up on the hook by the door and setting my briefcase down on the dining room table. “Yeah, not bad. Bit weird to wake up and you were gone. Thanks for the note, but,” he says and I smile. “I went to the shops. You were out of bread and I was hungry, so yeah. I found a spare key in the kitchen drawer, hope you don’t mind. Don’t worry, I put it back and all,” he shrugs and sets the TV remote down on the coffee table, leaving the channel on a cartoon I don’t recognise. I walk into the kitchen and Duo follows a moment later. I pause by the sink, my hand on the handle of the top drawer. I take a deep breath. “You could… keep the key. I wouldn’t mind,” I say hurriedly. It’s an intimate gesture, I know, giving someone a key to your apartment… more intimate in some ways than sharing a toothbrush. It’s the prelude to moving in together, the first major step in a relationship, a conscious decision to share your space, your life with someone else. But it feels natural; it feels like the right thing to do. Duo doesn’t say anything for several long minutes, so I turn back to face him. The expression on his face is rather adorable… half way between stunned and smiling. “Yeah?” he croaks after a while. I nod, not quite trusting myself to speak. “Are you sure? I mean, I could rob you blind or something. Not that I would, yanno, but… um… it’s a big step…” he trails off, looking distinctly irritated with himself or with his words or both. “I trust you,” I say with a smile, reaching into the drawer and extracting the key. “Why?” he says bluntly. “I just do,” I say simply. I hold out the key and he takes it. He turns it over and over in his hands, staring at it wondrously. “Thanks, Heero,” he says softly, sincerely. I smile again and for several long minutes we just look
at each other. Eventually, I clear my throat, breaking the moment.
“So, are you still hungry?” I ask. I make an omelette while Duo hovers beside me, stealing bits of mushroom and tomato off the chopping board. I’m tempted to rap his knuckles with my spatula but in the end, I enjoy watching him as his fingers sneak across the counter and retract, popping his ill-gotten gains into his mouth, and so I pretend not to notice. We sit on the couch with our plates in our laps. We’ve never once sat at the table to eat. I wonder if he remembers that night in my hotel room, the way the juice from his burger trickled down his chin and I wonder if he automatically moves to sit on the couch just as I do because he’s subconsciously trying to recreate that moment. Duo flicks from the cartoon channel to the news and we sit and eat in silence as we watch the good and the depressing flicker before our eyes. Just as I’m setting my plate and cutlery down on the table, the sultry newsreader announces the return of Illinois’ favourite former-Governor, home to spend the holidays with his daughter. A live clip of Senator Peacecraft arriving at the airport appears on the screen, Relena resplendent and beaming on his arm. My cutlery slips from my grasp and clatters noisily on the table top. Duo turns to me curiously before turning back to the TV. “It’s a delight to be home for the holidays,” Senator Peacecraft booms, smiling. “I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else for Christmas than with my darling daughter, Relena.” Relena smiles and blushes, leaning up to kiss her father delicately on the cheek. I’m surprisingly entranced by this image. It is strange to see Relena acting so demure and coy rather than the assertive, diplomatic woman I know. I realise that she’s very adept at recognising what is expected of her and adjusting her behaviour accordingly. “You right, Heero?” Duo asks, dragging my attention away from the TV. “Fine. I work with Relena Peacecraft. It’s strange to see her out of the office environment,” I tell him, settling back into the couch as the newsreader announces another news story. “Oh,” Duo says. There is something in his voice that I can’t quite place but he has turned back to the TV before I can ask him about it. The telecast turns to sport and within minutes I’ve forgotten about it. It’s nearly 8pm by the time Duo heaves himself up off the couch. He stretches rather inelegantly, his joints popping slightly, but I’m spellbound by the sight. He looks down at me and I hurriedly refocus my gaze on the TV. “I should go,” Duo says reluctantly. “Should probably go home and try ’n’ clean up a bit… sort all that shit out before I go to… um, work.” He massages the back of his neck with his hand, looking awkward. “I could come with you,” I suggest suddenly. “If you’d like. For moral support or something.” Duo hesitates, warring emotions flickering behind his eyes. I’m expecting a rejection of my offer; he tries so hard to be fiercely independent, to separate me from the rest of his life and I respect that. It’s a shock when he mumbles, “Yeah, that’d be nice,” followed by a tiny smile. I’m off the couch in an instant before he can change his mind, already reaching for my jacket. Usually at this stage, Duo would become silent and closed-off. He’d change into his street clothes and he’d leave quietly, his head bowed, his eyes blank. But tonight, he pulls his jacket on over my clothes and we leave the apartment together in companionable silence, Duo clutching a plastic bag that contains his original outfit. Duo locks the door with his new key, grinning. It feels fantastic to be going out with Duo like this. I can’t help but smile as well. We’re halfway down the corridor when the elevator dings and the doors glide effortlessly open. Mrs. Astermeiker shuffles into the hallway, laden down with bags. She lives in the flat opposite mine, no. 3, and she is forever inviting me in for tea. When I first moved in, I would politely refuse but after a while I found myself feeling guilty about the crestfallen look on her face and I started accepting her offers. She’s a kind old lady. Slightly odd, perhaps, but very generous and welcoming. She’s desperately lonely most of the time. Her husband died several years ago and with no children or grandchildren to visit her, she rattles around in that little flat alone with nothing but her memories. It’s worth putting up with her weak tea and her slightly stale chocolate chip cookies for the smile of happiness and appreciation that breaks across her face when I take the time to keep her company. The elevator doors have just slid shut behind her when the handle of one of her plastic grocery bags breaks, spilling apples and oranges across the hall carpet. Duo and I move as one, hurrying forwards and helping her to scoop her shopping. We both reach for the same apple, our fingers touching gently. I smile, my hand lingering against his for a moment longer before retracting as I straighten up. “Oh, thank you, Heero dear,” Mrs. Astermeiker says gratefully. “You’re welcome,” I reply promptly. We stand in the corridor for several minutes, Duo and I with armfuls of fruit, while Mrs. Astermeiker peers curiously from me to Duo. Her gaze lingers slightly longer on Duo’s hair and his jacket. “This is my friend, Duo,” I perform the introduction. “Duo, this is my neighbour, Mrs. Astermeiker. She lives across the hall in no. 3.” Duo nods and smiles. “Nice to meet ya,” he says, somewhat nervously. Mrs. Astermeiker beams. “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve made a new friend,” she exclaims, turning back to me. “And such a nice young man, though I do think you would benefit from a bit of a hair cut,” she adds to Duo. For a moment Duo looks like he’s about to turn defensive but then he smiles. “Well, I kinda like my hair the way it is, but I’ll think about it.” Mrs. Astermeiker is instantly charmed and she smiles at me encouragingly. We follow her back down the corridor and pause while she wrestles with her door. She drops her bags just inside the doorway and then holds out her hands and we pour her spilt groceries into her waiting arms. She dumps the fruit rather unceremoniously on the dining room table. “Would you boys like to stay for tea?” she asks hopefully. I glance across at Duo and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “That’s a very kind offer, Mrs. Astermeiker, but I’m afraid we really have to be going.” Her face falls and one look at Duo tells me that he’s feeling as guilty as I am. “Oh, well never mind then,” she says a moment later, smiling again. “Some other time, I suppose.” “We’d be delighted,” Duo cuts in before I can speak. Mrs. Astermeiker beams again and then so do I. Duo and I make our way downstairs in silence and it’s not until we’ve emerged out onto the street that I speak. “She likes you,” I say quietly. “Yeah, she’s a nice old lady,” Duo smiles, pulling his jacket tighter around his thin frame. “She’ll be forever asking you in for tea, though,” I warn him with a smile. “I reckon I can handle that,” he counters. “She seemed surprised by me,” he says a moment later. “Yes, well in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not the most sociable of men, and my friends are few and far between,” I reply. “In fact, I think, perhaps, you and she are the only friends I’ve made in Chicago.” I consider adding Relena to that list, but in the end I’m not sure I want to try explain our relationship, or lack thereof. “Your only friends are a weird old lady and a whore. That’s pretty pathetic,” Duo laughs, though it is somewhat bitter. “Not from where I’m standing,” I reply as we stop at the traffic lights. Duo doesn’t return my gaze but the corners of his mouth do turn up ever so slightly. The closer we get to Duo’s part of town, the less responsive he becomes. I’m beginning to think that coming with him was a mistake. He’s obviously uncomfortable by my presence. We turn down a narrow side-street and as we pass by a darkened doorway, a figure steps out of the doorway. A clearly intoxicated or possibly stoned teenager lurches towards me, slinging his skinny arms around my shoulders. I resist the urge to shove him away, instead gently trying to disentangle myself. His eyes are glazed and bloodshot as he gazes up at me. “You wanna go?” he asks me, slurring his words. “Pay extra and you can do me wiff out a condom.” Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Duo wincing. Two bright spots of pink have appeared on his cheeks. He looks desperately uncomfortable and somewhat ashamed. “Er… No, thank you,” I say as politely as I can, unhooking the teenager’s arms from around my shoulders. He stumbles backwards. “Whatever,” he mutters. He retreats back into the gloom, sinking to the ground in a cross-legged heap. It’s altogether a very depressing sight and I feel a wave of helplessness wash over me at the situation. I turn back to Duo but he’s already halfway down the street, walking brusquely, his head down. I run to catch up to him and after a few steps, he slows his pace slightly. “Sorry about that,” he mumbles hollowly, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets. “It’s not your fault,” I say softly. He doesn’t answer and we walk the rest of the way in almost oppressive silence. Duo’s flat is… well, depressing to say the least. His meager belongings have been strewn across the floor, but even if the room had been in a semi-orderly state, the bare, empty, loneliness of it is clear. There are a few concessions towards home comforts but generally it looks like Duo has rather given up on this place ever being a home. I shudder to think of Duo spending his nights in this place. It takes all my strength not to fall to my knees and beg Duo to come back with me, to leave this place behind. I never beg, I’m too stubborn. But in this case, faced with this reality, I would beg until my voice gave out. Duo shuffles from one foot to the other, embarrassed. I try to find the words to say something reassuring but, for the life of me, I can’t think of a single thing. I clear my throat several times but I’m still left lost for words. Eventually Duo turns to me; his head is still bowed and he refuses to meet my gaze. “You should probably go. Joe’ll be here to pick me up soon… you shouldn’t be here,” he mumbles. “OK,” I croak. “Thanks for… um… yeah, thanks,” Duo says as I step back out into the hallway. He closes the door before I have a chance to reply and I find myself saying “Anytime” to the worn, scratched wooden door. I hover in the corridor for several minutes, not entirely sure what I should do, what I want to do. In the end, I acquiesce to Duo’s request and I turn away, my feet scuffing on the worn stairs as I leave. I feel desperately helpless. There is nothing I can do. I entertain thoughts of riding in like a knight on horseback but the truth of the matter is that, shining armor or not, I can’t save Duo because ultimately he won’t let me. There is nothing I can do. It isn’t until the following morning that it occurs to me that that isn’t exactly correct. And suddenly I’m filled with a sense of purpose. I reach for the telephone directory, my fingers flicking through the pages until I find the right section. There is a faint hint of a smile on my face as I copy down the relevant addresses. Mission accepted. I arrive outside the first address. The paintwork above the shop reads “Mack’s Pawnbrokers” but the ‘w’ and the ‘k’ are both faded beyond recognition giving the shop a rather disreputable appearance. A bell tinkles as I open the door. The inside of the shop is dusty and a faint scent of damp and mould lingers in the air. As I approach the front desk, a squat man with a large protruding belly waddles in from out the back. His sleeves are rolled up and tattoo of a fierce looking dragon emitting a fiery spurt of flames adorns his left forearm. He eyes me warily as I draw near. “Mornin’,” he grumbles; his voice is low and gravelly from years of chain-smoking. “You lookin’ to buy, sell or borrow?” he asks. “I’m looking for a watch,” I begin. “Yeah? Well, we got a real great range of nice watches,” he says, tapping on the glass counter at the timepieces beneath. “No, I’m looking for a specific watch. It’s a one of a kind, gold-plated Cellinium Rolex, serial no. 2910/3. I don’t care how or from whom you get it and I’m willing to give you double whatever you pay for it.” “Sounds interesting,” Mack says, raising one eyebrow. “Valuable?” “Yes, though mainly for sentimental reasons,” I state. “You ain’t a cop or nothing?” Mack asks, suddenly apprehensive. “No, here’s my card.” I slide it across the counter and he wraps his stubby little fingers around it, peering closer. “Hmmm. Well, I’ll give you a call if it crosses my path,” he rocks back in his chair, suddenly looking very pleased with himself. I smile tightly and leave. I pause on the street outside and glance down at my list. There are 34 other pawnbrokers in Chicago. I stride away determinedly. I will find that watch if it’s the last thing I ever do. TBC…
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