23-Sep-2000
Notes: I don't like the ending, any suggestions?
Warnings: Yaoi. Angst
The leaves dance wildly in the sky, free at last to waltz with the wind.
Quatre races among the leaves his arms outstretched as if he is worshipping the falling leaves.
He suddenly decides running around in it isn't enough as he throws himself on to a pile of leaves. Baptizing in autumn.
I watch the ecstatic Arabian from the back of an oak tree, carefully avoiding being sighted.
/* "Isn't it beautiful?" Quatre eagerly waves a piece of red leaf in my face.
I stare at it, failing to see why it mesmerized Quatre so much.
"It's red!" Quatre points out happily, "The whole world is being covered by them like a giant fire!"
"Fire?" I do not understand how such a destructive force can be beautiful to Quatre.
"Not to burn everything!" Quatre laughs, "Warm it up. All this color to warm up the world. So no one will be cold."
"Oh," I whisper. So no one will be cold. */
A red leaf lands squarely on my chest, begging for me to stay. Pleading for me not to leave their nymph.
I pick up the leaf from my turtleneck, and hold it up against the light. The red leaf glows proudly, with its veins stretched out like a stain glass window.
I stare at the iron gates and feel an urge to laugh. They are huge iron gates. At least two stories high, and the tips of the bars are crowned with sword sharp edges.
I hope Trowa didn't pick this place because of the gates. Does he think these gates will keep me away? No, he can not think I am that weak.
Four months. It took me four months to locate Trowa.
Four months to consider what I will do when I find Trowa. In the end I am not sure if I want to hug Trowa or yell at him. I know why Trowa left. Of course I know. How naïve does Trowa think I am? I wonder. A sheltered childhood does not equal perpetual ignorance.
My train of thoughts is derailed when a nervous maid finally comes to the gate, but she makes no motions of opening it. She stands there, studying me.
"Yes?"
"I am here to see Mr. Trowa Barton," I say politely, as I fight off the urge to just leap over the fence.
The maid hides her surprise well, but not well enough to fool a battle-hardened soldier.
"He's..."
"Tell him I will not leave until I see him," I cut her off, something I rarely do. But lies are meaningless, and I rather not hear them.
I think the determination in my eyes silences anything else she might have said. She nods slightly, and hurries back into the house.
I sigh and watch my own breath condense into a tiny cloud in front of me.
I can feel Ralph staring behind me. I know I have put him in the most awkward situation in his life. And after all he's been through, he isn't expecting this.
Martha comes with the message of the young gentleman at the gate for me.
I do not respond, as I steal glances of Quatre from the slit in the curtains.
Ralph groans as he watches me watch Quatre.
"You know if I was a romantic, I would be more touched by this whole situation, but being the recluse that I am, I just want to kick you out the window and have you land in Quatre's arms," Ralph threatens me. I can feel his frustration building, yet I remain silent. Only one coherent thought runs through my head... he found me.
"He won't give up, you know," Ralph warns me, "He made you fall in love with him, and he certainly isn't going to give up now."
I see my own hands shake in front of me as I fondle the leaf.
"Trowa, you are dying. You are not in the middle of some soap opera..."
I turn slightly at the sound of my name, but turn back to the window again.
"He must be some kind of saint to love you," Ralph complains.
"No, he's an angel."
"Oh."
I am sure I am turning blue. How attractive,. Well, if all else fails, I freeze to death. I am half amused by the thought. Good God, I'm beginning to think like Duo.
Still, it is obvious waiting isn't going to accomplish anything. To be perfectly honest, what I really want to do is to climb the gate, kick down the door... I stop himself. No, there is no fantasizing about that. It's just that four months has been very long time to search for Trowa... especially since...
I know Trowa is watching me. I know him too well.
On the second floor of the dreary mansion, there is a curtain with a very thin opening, and my instincts tell me that's where Trowa stands.
I stare at the case in my hands. I was planning to do something else with it, but in this moment, as I stand there in the unrelenting coldness, it doesn't seem to matter any more.
Violin music cuts through the winter eve. Soft, but unrelenting.
Autumn Song. Tchaikovsky. The recognition sends a series of percussion through my mind.
It must be cold out there. So white. Drained of color.
As if the sky is listening, it begins to snow. Drawn by the spell of the music, I come to my window once more.
Quatre's arms are stretched out against the wind.
The white flakes cover his small body. The cold must be burning through his hands, as he is forced to slow the rhythm. How can he maneuver the violin with frozen hands?
Stiffened by the cold, his fingers begin to bleed. Burning red blood coats the surface of the violin.
The snow rages wildly about the autumn nymph, protesting his intrusion into their world, but he continues playing. The music drowns out all of the surrounding, as if the whole world focuses on him and him all alone. The music drowns out all pain. Yet, Quatre's fingers must be refusing to function properly. The melody leaps into unfamiliar chords. The music strains from its original form.
Blood slowly dripps into the snow. Its warmth stains the whiteness.
The music suddenly stops as Quatre collapses on to the snow.
Warm. I'm not cold any more. I slowly open my eyes. A sleeping Trowa greets me, curled in a small ball on the sofa facing the bed. His face half covered by his hair. I guess fainting in the snow finally convinced him I am not going to leave. I stand up from the bed, and walk over to his side. Very softly, I brush his smooth brown hair away from his face. Ever the light sleeper, he wakes up at my touch. His forest green eyes study me, but he says nothing.
Trowa, you are an idiot for walking away without telling me. Trowa, do you have any idea how hard it was to find you? Trowa, I know you are dying. Trowa, I...
"I love you," I hear myself whisper.
He looks up at me as if not understanding what I said.
"I love you," I repeat myself. Louder this time.
"I love you," my angel tells me. His hand warm against my face.
Tentatively I reach up to touch his face, and draw him into my embrace.
"I..." I don't want you to. I don't want you to see me dying. I don't want to see you hurting...
"I am not naïve, Trowa," Quatre stares me directly the eyes, "I know you are dying."
"I'm sorry..."
I'm sorry I won't be able to be with you. I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm so sorry...
"I'm not," Quatre's hands cups my face, "Everyday, for the rest of my life, I will thank whatever gods are out there for you. I love you, Trowa. I love you so much it hurts. And even though there is no tomorrow for us, I love you."
"I know," I can hear my voice cracking, "I have loved you from the beginning."
"And I will love you to the end," Quatre promises as he gathers me in his arms.
The winter spirit rages on outside my window, but inside my room everything is red.
~Owari
(:./draco/burning)
