May 18, 2000
Hi, um, this is a present for the nice admin (i think he's an
admin... o.0) that suggested I join this ML. I must say, you are all
a lot friendlier and...nicer than some of the people on the GWfanML.
So, in short, this is for Quatre--Trowa's Husband. ^_^
It's my first Quatre and Trowa fic...mild shounen ai. Be gentle! :D
It started with an explosion of confetti into the grave streets, then slowly began to pick up speed until half of L-3 was dancing on the cobblestone streets. Old men that hadn't seen the sun for years since the war began threw open the doors to their houses and went to the old pub for a toast. Mothers tossed down darning needles and stood at windows, breathing collective sighs of relief for their babies who would soon return home from the army.
Two young boys stood in a darkened alleyway, hands caught in worn pockets, watching the commotion, watching the celebrating but not participating. By all rights, they should have been out there first, the first to laugh and dance and sing, because they had truly suffered.
And would continue to suffer.
For who would truly know the Gundam pilots? Who would wish to? They would fade away, and the part they played in history would fade, leaving only a bare mention of rebel mobile suit pilots. No mention of the humanity of these pilots, the scars, the tears, the blood they shed so that the universe might be free. No mention of their loves, their fears, anything outside of a number. The world would push on, pass them by without so much as a glance behind.
Quatre and Trowa stood in the darkened alleyway, hands caught in worn pockets, and nearly jumped as a small group of children grabbed them, pulling them into the streets to dance, to celebrate.
Trowa watched as Quatre kneeled down to eye level with the oldest boy, talking to him, speaking in a way that only children truly understood. He saw the gentle smile, and honesty and earnest in his eyes.
<He's going to be a good father someday,> he thought absently, allowing himself to be pulled away into another cluster of people.
Quatre watched as his former partner was led away by two giggling girls with daisies braided into their dark hair. Sisters, probably, he mused as he saw the younger one reach out and yank the older girl's hair.
Trowa would be leaving soon. They'd stopped back on L-3 to hide the Gundams in a special storage facility that Quatre's sisters had kindly had built for them, in the event that the Gundams would ever be needed again. But now... There was no reason for him to stay, and the thought of the quiet brown-haired boy simply disappearing sent a faint ache through his heart. They had become good friends over the years; who wouldn't become friends with someone that you overcame death with?
He watched as Trowa reached up and plucked a sakura blossom from an overhead branch, handing it to the older girl who watched him with adoring eyes. <He's so gentle,> he thought, then shook his head.
It was hours later that the two boys met up again, coming face to face with each other. The celebration had grown bigger, if that was possible, and some brave soul had climbed up the poles to light the street lamps with candles, casting strange exotic shapes onto the stones. It was a beautiful night, slightly humid.
Quatre had long ago shed his shirt, and was busy weaving his way through the crowd, looking for Trowa when he bumped into him. He looked up into a pair of emerald eyes and froze. They looked at each other, and it was like something clicked. Some hidden part of themselves came into play, came awake after being surpressed for so long, flooding their veins with intoxicating *feeling*, emotion. After being cold and unattached for so long, the feeling was addicting. It was soothing, yet it burned so hot. Quatre reached a hand out tentatively to touch Trowa's cheek, and the taller boy smiled, resting on hand on Quatre's hip.
The kiss was tentative, Quatre's tongue shyly requesting entrance into his mouth, and gaining it, then pulling away.
"Trowa," he breathed. "Is this okay?"
Trowa nodded again, allowing a tiny smile to curve onto his face. He knew how much his cold act hurt Quatre, but it had been necessary during the war. <Maintain distance, protect yourself.> That had been his motto.
But the war was over, wasn't it?
This time as they kissed, Quatre backing Trowa up into a wall, hand slipping beneath his plain turtleneck, they didn't stop after the first kiss. Or the second.
And as they kissed, the world pushed on. Stricken mothers sobbed as telegrams arrived at their door, bearing bad news about the welfare of their sons. Old men raised another toast to peace. A young woman sat alone in her office, dreaming of a pair of Prussian blue eyes, as the owner of those same eyes made love to a violet-eyed god of death.
The world passed them by, but it didn't matter.
This was their peace.
::wails:: Oh god, that was terrible! I'm so sorry for torturing you
all...
Trowa: Then why do you continue to do it?
Ana: ::tearfully:: I won't get better if no one tells me what's
wrong...
Trowa: ::aside:: abrainwouldbenice... ::to ana:: You suck at keeping
characters IC.
Ana: Oh, that's all?
Trowa: ::dies::
Ariana
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