[July 21] [Gundam Wing] [Of confessions and unsaid words]

[tyreling.livejournal.com]

Title: Of confessions and unsaid words
Day/Theme: July 21 / voicing the words he cannot say
Series: Gundam Wing
Character/Pairing: Trowa, 3+4, mild mention 3+5
Rating: PG13
Other: "Apricot Blossoms" universe (will post that up as soon as the short version is done), for 31_days community, AU, heavy fluff.
Inspired fanart: http://nekocinart.50webs.com/gw/index6.html

Quatre—Trowa realizes—could fall asleep anywhere. The wooden floor in his living-room doesn't look exactly comfortable to roll about and sleep in. He's probably succumbed to exhaustion that has been plaguing him for awhile as soon as the exam month started. Cram classes aren't any better; demanding more of Quatre's energy and attention. Which is why Quatre tries to skip them often, choosing to be Trowa's drinking tea  companion instead. 

It's only recently did Quatre request for Trowa's help to guide him with one of the  subjects he has trouble with. The initial idea of studying at -his- apartment no longer sounds as horrifying as Trowa had first thought. It's all right. He has nothing shocking to hide from his younger friend. Quatre even knows about Wufei, his first and longest crush since high school.

His apartment, apparently, doesn't look very lived-in. No family pictures on the wall, except for the frame of his sister on the salon table, a small couch, a 19 inch TV screen, a small aquarium and a fully-stacked bookcase. but even so, Quatre has gladly entered 
it without trepidation and somehow gets it into his head that the floor is far safer and  more comfortable to fall asleep on while Trowa is making a call in another room.

Curled up on his right side, Quatre looks perfectly serene as if he hasn’t slept in peace for a long time. For a moment, Trowa remains rooted by the living-room opening, staring and studying his younger friend. A stray wind makes the top of Quatre's hair sway back  and forth; Quatre releases a soft sigh, lips parting slightly.

Trowa shakes his head—he's not going to check out his younger friend—a hand going up to his tie, loosening the knot and unbuttons the top of his collar. Quatre is still young,  nearly 18—if he remembers correctly. That will make them a good ten years age difference.

Quatre had already a successful path laid out for him, something which Trowa refuses to stand in-between with his consultant job. Shaking his head, he takes off his coat and  silently walks into the living-room to drop down on the couch, feeling drained for some 
reason.

"Quatre." He calls out. "Quatre, you'll catch a fever if you sleep on the floor."

Quatre doesn't stir one bit, obviously not hearing him at all in his deep sleep.

"You could have used the couch." Trowa mutters between a sigh and a groan. Why does Quatre insist on being so humble about his hospitality? The trait endears Trowa enough to question his own intentions. They're comfortable friends, who often have tea or coffee with cake or cookies together, discussing serious topics, sharing interesting every-day-moments—if it weren't for Trowa's sexual preference he would have been happy to remain Quatre's older and wiser friend and teacher.

"Please don't make me do this." Trowa whispers to the ceiling.

The boy has a good life ahead of him; he's a rich man's son. A lot of girls, if Trowa hasn't misheard, seem to like him a lot because of his respectful and polite attitude towards them in general. Everyone around him is proud of his achievements, Trowa 
included, but the expectations seem to be pressuring Quatre's hopes for freedom and self-evaluation. The idea of being shackled to the title of perfect and ideal son/student/heir bounces off a growing dislike and disgust on Quatre's part; it's probably why he doesn't shy away from a few cigarette sticks and skips classes whenever he likes to.

Trowa feels his own self-control dissolve as soon as he takes another look at Quatre on the floor. Lately, Quatre seems to be having such an effect on him. Pushing himself off the couch, Trowa threads carefully around Quatre's sleeping figure, goes on his knees behind Quatre's back and leans over to his friend's ear.

"Wake up, Quatre. You're going to catch a cold if you continue to sleep here." He says in a soft voice. He places his hand on Quatre's shoulder and shakes gently.

Quatre wakes up with a start, gasping and immediately turns to look wide-eyed at Trowa, the sleepy haze still visible in his eyes and grants Trowa an apologetic smile.  

"Oh—it's you. Trowa. I fell asleep?" Quatre even looks surprised as those words hint at.  He creases his eyebrows in worry.

"I'm sorry for waking you up. You must be very tired." Trowa merely smiles.

Quatre chuckles, sits up, about to go on his feet when he loses his balance and falls onto an unprepared Trowa.

"Owww." Quatre releases a groan, his hand going to his head.

Trowa throws an arm around Quatre's chest, a vain attempt to keep him steady. "Hey, you know very well that you can't stand up too quickly after you wake up. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just woozy. Sorry for troubling you again."

Trowa looks unconvinced and lays a hand across Quatre's forehead. His eyebrows crease together in worry. "I told you, you shouldn't sleep on the floor. Idiot."
 
He doesn't realize he is hugging Quatre from behind until he feels the rumbling motions radiating from Quatre's chest and back, when he starts chuckling. "You love me anyway."

Trowa freezes.

The words are said with a teasing tone and yet the small truth behind them remains ringing in his ears. Quatre has voiced those words he couldn't even prepare in a tumble of nonsense coming out of his own mouth. He realizes again, too late, that he's 
attracted to Quatre more and more like bees to honey. The fact that he is still holding Quatre close, makes him fully aware of how small his friend feels, snuggled close to his chest.

"Quatre," he whispers.

"Yes?" Quatre stops in mid-laughter. He doesn't seem to notice the dilemma he has caused, craning his neck slightly to look up at him with bright aquamarine eyes.

He dodges his look, choosing to look at something other than those honest eyes and  regrets immediately when his own stay enrapture with the sight of Quatre's perfect smile—his lips so close.

It takes a lot of self-control—Trowa bashes himself out of his love-sick stupor—willing his body to go into action.

"You're to remain in bed until the cold is completely gone." He says, shifting Quatre's body to a position that allows him to carry his friend, bridal style, to his bedroom (Quatre releases a surprised "ah!" and instantly clamps onto him) and tucks Quatre in.

"Hey! Hey! I can't sleep right now. I need to study those models." Quatre protests, kicking away the sheets.

Trowa pushes Quatre's shoulder down with one hand and pulls the sheets back. "Go sleep off the cold, Quatre. I'll  wake you up once dinner is ready."

"But!" Quatre looks up defiantly, if not stubborn, but there's a certain glint in his eyes that makes Trowa wonder if Quatre would still refuse his offer.

"My bed is more comfortable than the floor. So take advantage of my offer, please. I don't want you to get sick because of my being a bad host."

"You're not-."

"Go to sleep, Quatre." He hushes Quatre with the tip of his index finger ghosting across his lips and is out of the room before Quatre could say anything at all, closing the door behind him and he almost stumbles to lean against the wall beside the door.

Once he is sure Quatre wouldn't escape the bedroom, he looks down at the finger that has touched those lips, heart leaping at an impossible rate, staring at it before he forces himself out of his stupor again. He takes leisure steps to the kitchen, keeping in mind that Quatre is still younger than him and is now his patient.

TheNekoTalks:

^^; I've yet to upload the original "Apricot blossom" fic. But here's a side shot of the actual fic. This is based on one of my fanarts.

Thank you for reading.

.:Nekocin:.