Disclaimers: I don't own em, I'm just messing with'em. Angst and shonen ai
"I hate you," he murmured tonelessly, staring into the empty green eyes. They stared right back, unwavering. "Bastard." He snarled, wishing he could lash out at his enemy, make him hurt, make him pay. The eyes just stared at him, endless, reflecting absolutely nothing. No emotion, no feeling, no life. The face was a mask, blank, unmoving, uncaring. "I wish you were dead," he shrieked suddenly, slamming his fist against the wall. "You bastard! You have no feelings, no life, nothing! Are you even human?"
"No. I'm not human. They took that away from me. The men-- touching me, groping me... forcing themselves on me, again and again and again. They hurt me. They made me this."
"You brought it upon yourself. Worthless little shit. It's all you deserve!!"
"Shut up! Shut up!! That's not true!" He clenched his head in both hands, shuddering, curling in upon himself as though to ward off a blow. "It's not... it's not what I deserve. They hurt me! I wish...I wish I had killed them when I had the chance! I had a gun!"
"The gun. Comforting weight in my hand. Cold metal. I know how to use it. I know how to kill. I've been killing since I was a child."
"You couldn't. You were weak. You fool. You worthless weakling.You're nothing. You're empty. You're a pair of dead eyes with no soul!"
"No... no... " He clenched his hair in both hands, tugging painfully to distract himself, the hoarse sobs echoing through the room. "I hate you!" he screamed. "Shut up! Shut up! Die!"
"When I kill, I'm strong. The strong survive, the weak get used. I'm strong."
"Weakling... weak... they used you, and you couldn't stop them. Worthless shit."
"Fuck... fuck... no!! No!!! I'm not... I'm not..." Shuddering sobs shook his entire frame, leaving him gasping for air.
"Yes you are. Look." Pale hands ripped off his shirt, revealing the long white scars criss-crossing his back. The marks. The reminders that they had used him, that he would always be flawed; always be worthless.
"I can still hold a gun." he whispered. "I'm not worthless when I have a gun."
"Yes. When I have the power to kill, I'm strong. They can't hurt me if I hurt them first."
"Don't let them hurt me anymore," he sobbed, fingers tracing the scars. "Please... please..."
"Don't hurt me anymore." He curled up tight, then slowly raised his head, to stare into the dead green eyes. A pair of dead eyes with no soul.... alone in the darkness, staring at his reflection in a shattered mirror and in his own shattered mind.
There was a timid knock at the door. He turned slowly, trembling.
"Ne, Trowa?" the voice came from the other side. Soft, gentle, hesitant. Quatre. "We're going to get some food, want to come?" Hopeful.
He got to his feet, pulling his turtleneck on again, hiding the scars. For a moment, his eyes closed. Breathe. In control. He opened his eyes. Flat. Green. No emotion. Hide behind the mask again. He opened the door. "I will come," he murmured, nodding. Quatre smiledbrilliantly, and Trowa felt his frozen heart warming even as itclenched in pain.
Slowly he closed the door, leaving only silence in the empty room.
End Part 1
"Anou... Trowa... I wanted to tell you something..."
"Yes, Quatre?" The beautiful green eyes focused on him a moment, causing his heart to pound harder in his chest. He couldn't lose his courage. He had to tell him... taking a deep breath, Quatre met those eyes, and smiled slightly.
"Trowa... I love you."
And quite suddenly, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. Shocked, his eyes flew to Trowa's face. The green eyes were narrowed,so hard and furious they had faded almost to black. When Trowa spoke,his voice was a growl.
"Get out before I kill you."
It was a gut reaction; he couldn't control himself. Quatre's words frightened him, because they were so incredibly unexpected. They threw him off center, made him uncertain, made him feel. Feeling always led to pain; he needed the numbness. He had to regain his balance. So the anger inside him, the part of him that dealt with threats, efficiently and mercilessly, took control. It flooded his limbs, and the gun was in his hand before he could even think of what he was doing. It wasn't right; it wasn't what he wanted to do. But it was all he could manage.
Quatre drew back like he'd been slapped. "T-Trowa..." He stammered, lost. He felt like he could barely breathe; his mind was screaming, sobbing, a horrible howl of loss and despair. Unconsciously he clutched at his chest, as tears filled his eyes.
Suddenly, in a blinding flash, he realized the pain he was feeling was not wholly his. The agony of Trowa's rejection was echoed by another pain-- similar,but not his.
Despair, loneliness, heartache-- but it wasn't coming from him. It was coming from Trowa.
His eyes widened, startled. The hand holding the gun was shaking, Trowa's eyes shut tightly. His lips were moving infinitesimally, a sibilant whisper accompanying each trembling breath. Quatre strained his ears to hear, and finally made it out.
"No -- pleasedon'tleave -- don'tleaveme-- Ididn'tmeanit-- I'msorry--"
"Trowa--" he reached out, touching Trowa's shoulder gently. Trowa's head jerked up, his eyes flew open, meeting Quatre's gaze. The green-eyed boy's mouth moved, but no sound came out.
Quatre's heart ached; from Trowa's pain and from his own feeling of helplessness. What could he do? He didn't understand how to help-- but he knew he had to.
Finally, he simply gave into his own heart's urgings, and pulled the other boy into a close embrace, stroking his hair gently.
"Trowa... " he whispered softly.
Trowa's slender frame shuddered momentarily, then relaxed slightly, his head resting against Quatre's shoulder. Tiny, sobbing breaths escaped him, as he remained unmoving, the gun hanging limply from his fingers.
"Trowa... " Quatre murmured, not knowing anything else to say, tears slowly falling down his cheeks.
Long moments passed in silence. Finally, Trowa's breathing calmed, until it was just a tiny whisper of air against Quatre's neck. Quatre relaxed, his fingers still gently caressing Trowa's hair, holding him tightly. His eyes opened in surprise as Trowa's hands ever so slowly, hesitantly came to rest on his back, light and barely there, but still returning the embrace.
"Quatre... " Trowa's voice was the barest thread of sound. His green eyes squeezed tightly shut. It was so hard to force out the words. To tell this beautiful golden angel how much he meant to Trowa; how he took away the pain; how when Trowa was with him, he felt safe, he felt right.
He struggled with the words... but words had never been his forte. "I... I feel the same," he murmured. It sounded so trite,so banal; but it was all he could do.
It was enough. Quatre pulled back ever so slightly, and their eyes met. Quatre's were filled with tears, yet his face glowed with joy,and the smile on his face warmed Trowa clear through. Slowly, the edges of his lips turned upwards. It wasn't a smile; it was too hesitant, too uncertain. But still it was there.
And it was enough.
The End
(:./madcat/masks)
