Title: Red and Green
Rating: R for Language
Warnings: Shonen ai, massively OOC
Pairings: 3+4
Disclaimer: Waii!! I don's own Gundam Wing. Some big corporation in Japan does. I have no money, so please don't sue- all you'll get is my little sister and my guitar.
C&C is shamelessly begged for. I mean it. I'll spit shine your shoes. Nezumi will perform a strip tese for you. C&C, onegai! Flames, of course, will be burned as a sacrifice to the Shrine of Pocky and its keepers- Yanagi, Sakura-chan and Diana-sama.

Red and Green


I think that red is a beautiful color. No, I don't mean the Fire Engine red like your Aunt Metilda wears on her fake acrylic nails. I mean the red of blood, the dark, liquid red that slams into your awareness like an out-of control semi. When a person sees blood, the reaction is instantaneous- a sense of fear, maybe even nausea. Trowa's face was a mixture of two of those emotions when he walked in today and saw me bleeding all over the floor of our dorm room. I wasn't totally conscious at the time, but I would have known the look anyway. He doesn't often let emotions show on his face- almost never- but I've learned to read even the subtle shifting of the muscles across his face that betray what his silence and flat eyes hide. I've watched him long enough. I was still lying on the floor when he kneeled near my head, holding a First Aid kit he'd grabbed from somewhere I couldn't see. His long fingers are under my chin, turning my face for inspection. I note, somewhere in the depths of my mind, that his eyes were very, very green. Is that color even natural? Its like grass…

"Quatre," his voice is saying. He has a nice voice. It's quiet, and deep. I like to hear him talk. He's saying something else…

"What happened?"

He's swiping at the cut above my eyebrow with something that stings- it must be rubbing alcohol. It doesn't hurt, really, it's a good sting, something clean. That's good- I feel incredibly dirty. It continues as he moves to my split lip. Said injury impedes my attempt to answer his question, as I mumble something about tripping on some stairs. I don't want him to know what happened- he'll ask questions, and then he'll find out I'm- that I-

He's looking at me again, and his unnaturally green eyes are boring into my brain. He knows I'm lying. It's all I can do to close my eyes to get away form that piercing gaze. Lucky for me, he drops it and continues to assess the damage to my body. Split lip, several severe cuts and bruises and two fractured ribs are ticked off in rapid succession. Shit, those guys did a better job than I thought. I shudder. What did I do to them? What kind of a monster am I? That kids blood-

Suddenly I'm gagging again, and I try to push myself up, hoping that I make it to the bathroom in time. Before I know it, I'm leaning over the toilet, heaving. Fuck, I thought I threw up everything after that fight. It hurts now, like I'm about to throw up my internal organs. Eventually I stop, almost sobbing now, and lay my head on the cool porcelain. Someone is talking softly to me, saying something that sounds soothing, and I am vaguely aware of hands smoothing my hair. I realize with a start that it's Trowa, his long fingers brushing my hair back from a sweat-drenched brow and murmuring soft, reassuring things. What the hell? I start to pull away. This is torture, doesn't he know that? Does he have any idea how many nights I have lain awake wishing that I could be this close to him, that I could feel his hands in my hair? Yet, even as I try to pull away, he is holding me back, kneeling next to me, as he cradles my head to his chest. He is still smoothing my hair, a soft, gentle touch. I am in shock- why is he doing this? This can't be real….

"Quatre," his breathe breezes past my ear, and it's almost too much, I want to run, to get away from this mockery of my feelings. Is he hurting me on purpose? Does he know that I'm- as those men put it so perfectly- a faggot?

"Tell me what happened."

His words are more of a shock than the fact that my head is cradled against his chest. Why is he being so expressive? Trowa never acts like this. What going on? But his hands in my hair and his breath on my neck are real, and suddenly I can't hide anymore. The tears are hot down my cheeks as a sob into his shirt, both hands clutching convulsively at the warm fabric of his turtleneck. The story comes out in chunks, but even in my garbled confession I manage to omit the reason behind the attack. I still don't want him to know that. Maybe after this we can just pretend this whole bathroom episode never happened, and I can go back to pretending it didn't mean anything to me.

He is still holding me when I finish crying, and now I feel like a fool for letting myself show such a weakness in front of him. Everyone always thinks that I'm the weak one, the emotional one. And maybe I am, but I hate myself for that weakness, I hate myself for my betraying emotions. The too-cheery attitude I convey is every bit as much of a mask as Duo's laughter or Heero's icy countenance. Even as much as much as Trowa's silence. I chance a glance up at Trowa's face, and his eyes are boring into mine again. Fuck, he's going to ask, please don't ask, please…

"Quatre," he says, his eyes never leaving mine, "Why did those guys pick a fight with you?"

He knows. Oh, fuck, he knows.

I push violently away form him and stand up quickly. I wave of dizziness sweeps over me, and I almost fall, but he is there again, catching me.

"Stop it!" My own voice scares me- the words come out harsher than I had expected. But this torture has to end, now, or I'll do something I'll regret. "Please, Trowa, just don't touch me. It's already hard enough to make sense of this without you being so close. Please, it's driving me crazy. I don't want to do something that we are both going to regret, okay? So please, just stop torturing me, and leave me alone."

I'm turning, walking towards the door. I'll ask the school for a new dorm room tomorrow. Then I can get out of here, away from his body, and his voice, and his eyes…

His hand on my shoulder stops me before I can leave the bathroom.

"Quatre, please don't leave. I didn't mean to…torture…you. I just…"

"What? Decided that taunting the fag would be fun? I've already had enough of this today, Trowa, I don't need anymore."


Why does he sound so upset?

"I'm not teasing you. I- When I saw you lying on the floor today, my first thought was that I would do anything I could to help you, because I feel something for you that I shouldn't. And I just thought that if I could be near you, maybe this- feeling- would be sated. But it's not and- God, Quatre, I like you…a lot, and…"

Reality is crashing in on me like an avalanche. Trowa… cares? In this one moment, I decide that even if it's only for today, only for a fleeting moment, I will let myself believe that he cares. I reach out for him, touch him, and he responds. The kiss is awkward at first, but that doesn't matter. For the first time, and maybe the last, I feel free.