July 17, 2000
I'm really nervous about this...::dies:: It took me forever to get the opening paragraphs how I wanted them to be...and this is still a rough draft, I guess....it could use major revisions...
AKL
Quatre Winner was running from something. His hands twitched restlessly, sheltered in his coat pockets, as he watched the train station blur into faint lines of color. He heard the loud call of the steam whistle, and then the engine, roaring to life, drowning out the faint sounds of chatter in the background.
He had less than twenty credits in his pocket and his only possessions were currently on him or in his hand. Hugging his coat tighter around his thin frame, he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of violins in his mind.
"Trowa," Quatre said softly, reached out to embrace his lover. "It's something I have to do." The brown-haired dancer nodded slowly, shivering in his loose leather jacket. "I'll miss you," he said hopefully.
That prompted a smile.
"I'll miss you too, Quatre-sama," he teased, stepping into the embrace, breathing in the scent of the shorter boy. "Take care of yourself."
Then Trowa was gone. He wanted to go after him, to say he'd made a mistake, that he wanted to spend his whole life less than a foot from him, but the train arrived and he got on, a feeling of wrongness spreading through his whole body.
He tried to forget the war. He really had. Yet, ten reminders stayed with him no matter where he went, what he did. Even now, his fingers throbbed dully, aching painfully when he tried to do anything more severe than zip up his coat. Quatre smiled at the ticket collector as they made their way down they aisle; she smiled back, tightly, and demanded to see his ticket.
It took forever to work the white slip of paper out of his pocket, his fingers whimpering in pain. The lady looked at him strangely, but said nothing.
He carried only a violin, the way he had when he had first come down from New York to Connecticut, where he'd met Stefan. Beautiful, beautiful Stefan, with long wild hair and a manic gleam in those bright brown eyes, his only teacher and his first lover. The one who'd taught him to play with joy and live with feeling instead of the other way around.
On a whim, he unsnapped the metal latches on his violin case and took out the instrument, stroking the glossy wood as he wood a lover, letting his fingers run over the taut strings that hadn't been touched in almost a year.
Smiling almost devilishly, he plucked a string and nearly dropped the violin onto the carpeting as the reverberations sent terrible waves of white fire through his index finger. Still not fully healed... He was beginning to doubt that he would ever be able to play again. Then again, even being able to hold a violin in his hands without fear of dropping it was quite an accomplishment.
And Romafeller had done quite a job on his fingers.
Gods, he still heard the sounds of those boots coming down onto his bones, crunching and grinding until the sound completely took over his hearing.
Shivering, he set the violin back into its coffin just as the train pulled into New Haven. Here already, he thought, only mildly amused. It appeared he'd gotten lost in his thoughts again, something that happened more and more frequently. Gathering the case into his arms, he got off the train and hailed a taxi to the house that would be his home for the next year.
End Part One
Ariana
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