Destination Eden (revised) | By : Lisachan Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 3370 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Chapter
8
When he woke up, still very
early in the morning, he could tell two things for sure. One: he was terribly
cold and two: boy, he was hungry! Like they were out to nag him, they had planted
a bakery, not five feet away from him. A bakery that had always been there for
that matter, he'd just never seen it before.
The most wonderful smells wafted through the
air, making him picture the most colorful pastries
and cakes. Gingerbread with candy, apple dumplings with icing sugar, cinnamon
bread with raisins.
His eyes opened again and
everything was gone. Bye gingerbread, bye apple dumplings, bye cinnamon bread.
They looked rather sad, his eyes, until they noticed movement. A delivery van had stopped right in front of the bakery. A man got
out and went inside. A few moments later he came out again with a large, flat
tray. He entered again, and came out with another one of those trays. And in
again, and out, over and over. They all disappeared at the back of the van.
Trays stuffed with tasty things.
Duo sneaked closer. The man
stayed in longer this time. He and the lady behind the counter had started
chattering and tried to surpass each othe tel telling the most world shocking
gossip. Hey, have you heard about that skyscraper that burnt down? No, tell me.
With careful steps, Duo
tripped to the back of the van and peeked inside. Oh heavens! Muffins, donuts, pastries, all begging to be taken.
And have you already heard
about that bank that was robbed? Really now? No, didn’t know that.
Duo’s hands crawled to one the the trays. One. As good as nothing. Two. Oh, they surely won’t miss them.
Three. Well, now I’m at it. Four. Fat cats. Five. And one for the road. Six.
Duo had just come up with the most world
shocking gossip. Hey, mister delivery guy, have you heard? Your van is being
robbed right in front of your eyes.
Laden with his freshly built
up food supply and a good amount of fear, he ran for it. He ran, turned into
the first alley, almost slipped, ran again, nowhere in particular. His backpack
sloshed on his back, but he kept on running with the precious pastries tightly
clutched in his arms.
A hand shot out of a
building and dragged him inside. An other hand was clasped in front of his
mouth and strong arms held his floundering body tight.
“Don’t be afraid. I won’t
hurt you,” someone whispered in his ear. “Do you trust me?”
Duo shook his head. No, he
didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust anybody. Still the pn len let him go, and he
turned around to see who had had the nerve to drag him by
the arm, just like that. It was a boy. He looked older than him. He had black
hair and blue eyes and didn’t give a mean impression.
“Why did you do that?” Duo
asked.
The guy grinned. Good, he
wasn’t about to go screaming blue murder, that little boy. “Let me tell you
something, chap: when you have stolen something, then…”
“Who says those are stolen?”
inteinterrupted him, glancing swiftly to the cakes in his arms.
“Oh, were you running away from your own shadow, then?”
Duo looked down in defeat
and suddenly found the dirty floor very interesting.
“Thought so. Well, what I
was about to tell you is that when you have
stolen something, then you shouldn’t run away,” the boy said. “You make a suspect
out of yourself if you run away.”
“You also make a suspect out
of yourself if you wear poor clothes,” Duo retorted brightly.
“Running away and poor
clothes is doubly suspicious. You’d rather be
just suspicious instead of doubly suspicious,”
the boy replied sagely.
“I’d rather be not
suspicious.”
“All street boys are
suspicious.”
“I’m not a street boy.”
“Street girl?” the boy
asked, eyeing the braid.
“No! I’m just a boy.”
“Just a boy who steals for
fun.”
Back to the dirty floor.
“What’s your name?”
“Duo.”an>
“How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
“Are
you looking for shelter, Duo?”
“Yes.”
“For half of you food supply
and the contents of your backpack you can stay here.”
Duo snorted disapprovingly and
finally ventured to look up again. “You hardly know me and already you start
wheedling stuff out of me.”
“That’s not wheedling stuff
out of you, boy. That’s negotiating.”
That “boy” had come out just
a tad too belittling for Duo’s liking, but he
assumed that anything was better than the open
sky as a roof.
“Are you a street boy too?”
he asked.
“What do you think?” Benoît said
self-evidently. “Fucking, of course. Or did you think I could go around
pretending to be a salary man in these togs?” He slipped
an arm around Duo’s waist and pulled him closer. “Could you do that too?”
Very well, fellow, challenge
accepted. No way would he be intimidated by
that kid. “Of course, piece of cake. One day I’ll come back with one hundred
dollars.”
“I'll
hold you to that. Fifty dollars is an
exception. The usual tariff is twenty, thirty at
the most. The day you come back with a hundred or more, I'll owe you a lot of respect.”
“If I can interrupt my
lovebirds for a moment, I’m going shopping now,” Solo meddled carefully.
“Anything you need?”
“Shampoo,” Duo said. “I
would like to wash my hair.”
“Say, what do you think this
is, kid? One of those snob hotels?” Benoît snorted disdainfully.
“But it’s greasy.”
Benoît regarded the brown
mass and stretched out his hand. “Let me feel.”
“Don’t you touch it!” Duo
yelled, taking his braid in a possessive grip.
Talking about freaking.
Although he had to admit the boy had indeed wonderful hair, no doubt about
that. Something told him that maybe, if he would extol the hair, Duo just might
like him then. Hail to the braid! He almost had the tendency to hold out his
left hand and shout out like the Germans had done: “Heil Hitler!” Or was it his
right hand? It would cost a lot of water though to wash all that hair. But
surely, that shouldn’t be a problem. They used
rainwater after all, since the waterworks had been turned off.
“You’re right, it is greasy,”
Benoît said. “Solo, I think we should let him wash his hair. It would be a
shame to let it go to waste.”
Surprised eyes shone and
looked hopefully to see Solo’s mind playing
paper, scissors, stone.
“Show him the bathroom,” he
said finally. “There should still be a bit of
shampoo left. And Duo, you can give your backpack to him.”
The backpack was accepted
and greedily emptied out before Benoît led Duo to the bathroom. There he came to the
amusing, for Duo much less amusing, conclusion
that the bit of shampoo left wasn’t enough.
To be continued…
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