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A Stagnation of Love (rewrite)	By : shinigamiinochi Category: Gundam Wing/AC > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2207 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing AC or the characters from it. I am making no money from this story

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
A Stagnation of Love

Chapter 3

Part 4
　

By the time I walked past the town hall towards Quatre's side of town, my wrist was a solid piece of iron dangling limp at my side. I had had breaks that had hurt less. It didn't ache, it throbbed. My lower arm and wrist were so stiff, I could barely move them and every time I flexed my fingers, it sent waves of pain through my wrist. I didn't need to look at it to know it was going to be swollen tomorrow. I should have been furious at my father for doing that, but after crying my heart out, it was hard to feel anything at all. I just felt numb to the whole thing, like I was living a rerun of my own fucking life. I was just relieved that he had busted up my left wrist instead of my right. At least I would be able to do my homework tomorrow.

Just thinking about what I was about to do filled me with dread. I was exhausted and depressed and all I wanted to do was sleep and hope that when I woke up, things would be better. Instead, I was going to a basketball game I didn't want to go to and out to a dinner that I really, really, really didn't want to go to. As much as I loved Quatre, I hadn't been looking forward to this dinner with him and Trowa before my father had busted up my wrist. I certainly didn't feel up to it, and I definitely didn't feel like the sort of person Quatre should be putting all of his faith in. To say I felt inadequate at that point is an understatement.

Quatre was waiting for me near some shops on Main Street, a large street where most of the less designer businesses had set up shop in north Nausten. There was a pharmacy, a small, but upscale grocer's market, two restaurants I had zero hope of affording a meal in, a thrift shop that had dresses in the window that had probably cost half a grand brand new, and a liquor store that I was sure sold more wine than beer.

Quatre was wearing dark jeans that had to be new and a t-shirt depicting our basketball teams' mascot. I had never seen him wear anything athletic and he never really seemed like someone who had any kind of school spirit. I wondered if he always dressed like this for Trowa's games or if this was special. Although the clothes were casual, on Quatre they looked immaculate.

I had never had any respect for the Nausten Nautilus, but our blue and silver school colors really brought out the blue in Quatre's eyes and the gold in his hair. I didn't know how, but my best friend made that dorky t-shirt fashionable. In that moment, I thought Quatre was more beautiful than Relena could ever hope to be. Or maybe it was how his obvious nervous excitement lit up his whole face. He smiled brightly at me when he saw me. I could see the relief on his face under the neon red light from the liquor store's sign.

"Duo, you came!" he said happily.

"I said I would," I shrugged nonchalantly, not letting him see how his happiness to see me made me feel so much better. I was still tired and hurt, but I was glad I had come, if only to remember what it felt like to have someone smile at me instead of scowl.

"I know," he said shyly and his light blush was strangely enduring to me, "but I was worried you might have had second thoughts. I know this isn't something you want to do. Thank you so much, Duo, I really mean it."

"You're my friend," I murmured, feeling uncomfortable in the face of his gratitude just for showing up, "if you need me, I'm here."

"I have some water for you," he rooted around in the plastic bag he was carrying, "Trust me, you're going to need it. The gymnasium gets boiling hot during these games, especially during a big one like this. Here."

He handed me a bottle of water. It wasn't all that warm out, but after running all that time, the water was a pleasant sight. I could have drunk the whole thing right then and we weren't even at the game yet. Not thinking, I reached for the water with my left hand. As I clenched my fingers around the bottle, pure agony shot through my wrist. I hissed in pain and dropped the bottle. I grabbed at my wrist as it throbbed and shook a little. Quatre quickly snatched the bottle from the ground before it could roll away, his eyes wide with alarm.

"What's wrong?" he asked and I almost groaned at the panic in his voice. The last thing I wanted that night was for Quatre to be worried about me and start panicking.

"It's nothing," I tried to assure him, "I hurt my wrist a little while ago, I just forgot about it."

At that, Quatre immediately grabbed my left hand, pushed up my sleeve, and turned my hand over, examining it. I sighed. He always fussed like that whenever he found out I had some sort of injury. Quatre never seemed to understand that I was used to pain like this and, to me, it wasn't a big deal. Or maybe he did understand and it was that exact reason why he flew into a panic like this.

"It's bruised," he said with a frown.

I shrugged at that. It was dark enough now that, with the red glow from the liquor store, the bruises were only slightly visible. There was no way to tell what the real damage was. Quatre let go of my left hand only to grab my right, pulling me along as he walked.

"Come on, we can pick up some ointment and bandages from the pharmacy," he urged, tugging me across the street to where the more brightly lit pharmacy was.

"What?!" I stammered, "No, Quatre, it's fine, it's just bruises, and we'll be late for the game!"

My best friend completely ignored me, although I knew that he had heard me. He had quickly learned that when it came to my injuries, it was pointless to argue. If he intended to help me, he did just that and pretended he was deaf to all of my protests. I never knew what to feel when he was like this. I wasn't used to having anyone really... care for me like that. If he hurt me badly enough, my father would take care of me, some of my bittersweet memories of him lingered on the sweet side during those times when he had actually seemed to care about the pain he had caused. But Quatre was the only one that actually seemed... offended and worried about my injuries. It was both nice and annoying. I was used to caring for myself with an injury like this and I didn't feel that I needed to be coddled, but it just meant that Quatre gave a shit about me, so I couldn't complain that much.

Just like Quatre had learned to not listen to my protests, I had learned to just go along with him when he was like this, so I let him pull me along and when he told me that he would be right back, disappearing into the pharmacy, I just sighed and stood there on the sidewalk. I thought about offering to pay for whatever it was he would end up buying, but I didn't bother. I didn't even want to do anything to my wrist and I knew I couldn't pay for it anyway.

To make myself feel marginally better, I told myself it was payment for him dragging me out to dinner and the game. At that point, I didn't know what I was dreading more, sitting on some hard bleachers watching a bunch of jocks chase after a ball as my classmates and various parents screamed in my ear when I could be reading or something constructive, or sitting in a restaurant watching my best friend stumble to make conversation with a boy I barely knew and had no clue if he would even like me or want me around, while watching Quatre's every word to protect him from himself.

At least at the restaurant there would be free food. I wasn't going to take it easy on my friend, either. I was going to order something that I could never possibly afford, maybe even more than one thing so I could take some home for tomorrow night's dinner. It was the only thing I was looking forward to.

Quatre didn't take long in the pharmacy, jogging out the door with a bag in hand.

"Ok," he said, slightly out of breath, "I got you an ice pack, some Tylenol, and this ointment the pharmacist said is really good for any swelling."

I almost rolled my eyes at him. Usually when I had an injury like this, I just took some pain meds and went to sleep. Quatre was going about it like a military operation. He dug out a tube of ointment and placed the bag on the ground. Taking my left hand again, he turned it over like before. This time he gave out a startled little gasp.

"Duo, you're wrist is completely black!" he almost yelled at me.

He wasn't exaggerating. Under the white lights of the pharmacy, the damage to my wrist was completely visible and I could see that it had already started to swell. The tattoo of bruises in the shape of my father's hand around my wrist was so black, it almost looked like it had been done in faded ink, the edges dark purple and red. The perfection of the shape of his palm and fingers would have been interesting if it wasn't on my throbbing, searing hot skin. I could remember how it felt having that large hand on me, like my arm was caught in a steel trap, those fingers digging into me and twisting. I wished I had a tan instead of my pale skin so those bruises hadn't looked so horrible.

Quatre cradled my hand so delicately, obviously scared of hurting me more, and it was a strange contrast to my memories of the last touch my wrist had received. He looked so distraught at my injury one minute, then cold the next. It was the same look he had had at the hospital that one time when he had realized that all my cuts and bruises, my father had put there. His eyes met mine for a moment and I was scared he would say something. He would tell me that I needed to tell someone about my father again, I thought, or lecture me about all the damage he would do to me next time. I was sure of it.

I didn't want him to. I didn't want the reminder of the same fear I lived in every time I heard my father raise his voice or every time I saw him open a can of beer. Sometimes, when I just hear that click of someone opening a can of soda or hear that low hiss of pressure and carbonation, I feel that fear, even though I know how stupid it is to be scared of such a thing.

To my surprise, he didn't say a thing. That cold look became sad, then he was putting ointment on the bruises, wordlessly. I didn't think it would really help. My dad was strong, frighteningly so at times, and the damage was deep, the amount of swelling already proved that, but I let him do it if it made him feel better. When he handed me the ice pack, I pressed it against my wrist even though I didn't want to. I hate ice packs. They make my skin clammy and numb, but I guess it was better than having my wrist swell up to elephant size. I even kept it pressed to my wrist the entire walk to school and during most of the game.
*****
As I have stated several times by now, up until that point, I had never been to a basketball game before and I have not been to one since. Quatre had mentioned that this particular game was a big one, but I had had no idea that by 'big' he had meant that half the fucking town would be there. The school parking lot was completely full of cars by the time Quatre and I had gotten there and more people were filtering in to the gymnasium. It almost made me doubt going.

I never liked crowds and I especially didn't like being surrounded by people I was forced to go to school with. When Quatre had asked me to go to Trowa's game, I hadn't thought of the possibility that I might run into Relena, Dorothy, one of Zechs's friends, or worst of all, Zechs himself, and the thought of that settled into my stomach like a stone.

Despite the crowd, Quatre and I managed to sneak into the gymnasium easily and find open seats. Most of the parents were chatting up teachers that had shown up for the game and a lot of our classmates were buying snacks and drinks that were being sold right outside the gym. Coach Strum always had a fit if one of his students dared to bring food into his sacred gym, but I guess it was fine during game night. I had a few bucks in my pocket, but I was content to swallow a couple painkillers and sip at my water. Quatre had found us seats at the edge of the bleacher and he had, thoughtfully, sat next to me so I could have the end. I knew it was intentional, that he was thinking about how I hated being boxed in like that, and I appreciated it. This night was making me stressed out enough.

I felt weird, realizing that this was what Quatre did every game night, show up here amongst the crowd all by himself, just to watch his crush play. I didn't even know if Quatre enjoyed basketball. I had never really seen him this excited over something before, except for the few times I caught him texting Trowa or about to talk to him. It was odd to me, that this was a facet of my best friend's life that I had never been a part of until now and I still wasn't so sure if I was welcome in it or not.

Quatre flashed me a strange look, looking a bit startled, and I wondered with paranoia if he knew what I was thinking about.

"You have blood in your hair," he said with that mixture of alarm and sadness he often had when he noticed any kind of evidence of my father's abuse.

"Do I have time to wash it off?" I asked, not explaining what the blood was from or giving it any attention beyond that.

My headache was almost gone anyway and until that moment, I had forgotten all about my head wound, although that might be because of the painkillers I had taken. He nodded.

"The game doesn't start for another twenty-five minutes," he informed me.

I thought about just going into the locker room to get the blood out of my hair, but realized that the basketball team was probably in there. That would have been embarrassing. The way my life was going, I needed as few humiliations as possible. I walked quickly back out of the gym and located the nearest bathroom, feeling fortunate that this thing was being held some place I knew so I didn't have to stop and ask for directions.

Being in the school late at night was strange, but I guess all kids feel like that during events like this one, like seeing a teacher outside of the classroom for the first time and realizing that this stern, knowledgeable person you spent half your day with to craft your future and make sure you didn't grow up to be some kind of uneducated, juvenile delinquent, was just a normal adult. The school was eerily quiet and dark, the hallway empty of any sign of life besides myself. The same school projects and banners advertising the game and our basketball team that had been there during the day decorated the walls. I could hear the loud noises coming from the gym, but they were so distant, it was like they were coming from another world. I couldn't decide if the lack of sound and people in that familiar hallway was relaxing or creepy.

The boys' bathroom was similarly empty, allowing me to inspect the back of my head in privacy. My chestnut hair in back, right above my ponytail, was indeed streaked with blood, but it was dry. If I had a darker shade of brown hair, I doubt Quatre would have noticed it at all. I felt around my scalp for the small wound the phone had made. It had already scabbed over, so I didn't worry about it any more than that. I had had a lot worse head wounds before.

Using only my right hand, I wet some paper towels and cleaned the dried blood from my hair. It came out easily. If only the steady throbbing of my wrist would go away as readily. The pills Quatre had bought for me were helping a little, but weren't stopping the small reminders my wrist was giving me every once in awhile that it was still hurting and damaged.

I rushed out of the bathroom, hoping that I wasn't late. I distantly wondered why I even cared if I was late for a game I didn't care about, but I didn't really know how these things went. Would I not be allowed in the gym if I was late? Would someone get annoyed by it? But really, it was because I had promised Quatre I would be there. I knew he only really cared about the dinner afterwards, but I had still promised him.

I was also kind of curious. Curious about what the big deal was with this game everyone else seemed to be going nuts over, and curious about what it was that Quatre saw Trowa doing during his sport that had so enticed him. As I all but ran back towards the gym, I almost walked right into Relena.

She was talking to Dorothy with her back to me. I couldn't hear what she was saying, mostly because of the white noise in my head from her sudden appearance. I wasn't really that surprised to see her there. She seemed like the type that would go to all of our school's big events, even if her brother didn't. I didn't have a single doubt that Relena Darlian had about as much school spirit as I did, but she liked people to think she did.

She had her light brown hair up in a casual braid for once and was wearing a gauzy white skirt that hung around her knees and the same team shirt that Quatre was wearing, only this one was that obnoxious shade of pink they had made the girl's version of the shirt. I never understood that, why someone had felt the need to make the girls' shirt pink instead of just making the regular silver and blue shirt in girl shirt sizes. Dorothy was wearing the same shirt and I thought that loud, pink color suited her even less than it did Relena.

Dorothy's blue eyes widened as she suddenly noticed me there, alerting her friend to my presence. Relena whirled, looking shocked to see me for some reason. I guess she had never thought I would go to one of these games. That made the two of us. My heart started to race. She got over her surprise quickly and glared at me. I looked down at the ground as I walked hurriedly past the two of them, hoping that if I looked scared or demure enough, they wouldn't bother with me. I just did not want to deal with Relena's shit that night. Seeing her made me feel tired, worn down, and hollow all over again.

To my surprise, I managed to get back to my seat without anything bad happening. I didn't even trip as I walked up the bleachers. The game still hadn't started. The cheerleading team, which was solely made up of the seventh and eighth grade gymnastics team, was doing some kind of routine in the middle of the court. In the time that I had been gone, Quatre had bought a large bag of freshly made popcorn and more bottles of water. I happily accepted one of them from him and grabbed a handful of popcorn when he offered the bag to me. It was hot, salty, and loaded with butter. My stomach reminded me that I hadn't fed it since lunch. I almost wished we were at dinner already.

Almost.
*****
The game hadn't sucked nearly as much as I had thought it was going to. My entire experience with watching sports before that night were snippets from the football games my father watched on television. Hulking men tackling each other over a ball while announcers blathered on and on about things any idiot could see with their eyes. Even when I had been a child, it had disinterested me to the point of boredom. I had just assumed that basketball would be the same: loud and boring.

The game was loud. There was a lot of screaming, cheering, jeering, and taunting from both Nausten's side of the gym and the visiting team's. I didn't pay attention to which town they were from, but their mascot was an alligator, their colors white and green (1). The constant loud noises made me twitch as first, but as the game carried on, I found myself cheering a few times, each for Trowa. I couldn't argue that the upperclassman was very talented at his sport.

The game wasn't boring, I'll give it that. It wasn't like I became an instant fan or anything, and it still wasn't more to me than a bunch of guys chasing after a stupid ball, but it was more entertaining than football. There was no tackling or violence of any kind, just strategy, teamwork, and skill, something that Trowa seemed to have a lot of. Watching him, I could understand some of Quatre's fascination. In school, Trowa was just a shy, awkward, and quiet teenager with average grades. On the basketball court, he was a demi-god on the fast track to godly status. I never would have thought so looking at his lanky form, but Quatre's crush was both fast and agile, oddly graceful as he dived and weaved between players. He didn't hog the ball when he had it and all of his shots and passes were incredibly accurate. When I saw him nail two three pointers that won Nausten the game, even I had to cheer for him. Quatre was just beside himself. He screamed and cheered for the boy he loved, his face red with happy excitement and his blue-green eyes brighter than I had ever seen them before. Watching Trowa play, he came alive.

I could understand then, Trowa's choice to focus on his sport over something like a girlfriend. Maybe I was a bit biased, having never fallen in love or even gotten a crush, but he had a gift. If he kept at it like he was, he had a great shot at a good school, a bright future. That was a hell of a lot more than I could say.

Some of the crowd dispersed as the game ended, but a lot of people stayed behind to congratulate the players or talk with friends. It took Trowa awhile to get where we stood on the court, waiting for him to emerge from the locker room, with so many people chatting him up about his game play. But the second his eyes landed on Quatre, he pushed past them with a smile. It made me want to believe that he really did feel something for my friend, but for all I knew he was just happy to see a friend and eager to get out of there and some food in his stomach. I imagined running all around the court was hungry work.

"Hey," he greeted Quatre.

He seemed in his element on the court, bolder and more forward than he was at school. Or maybe that was leftover adrenaline from the game. His dark hair was wet from a shower and he smelled nicely of clove soap or shampoo. He was wearing very dark, slim blue jeans and a long-sleeved, dark green shirt that matched his eyes. Like Quatre, his clothes suited his body perfectly, especially his long legs an arms. It also made him look very adult. Standing next to them, I felt dirty and underdressed. Watching them together made me feel completely out of place, a stranger latching on to them like some kind of parasite. I didn't belong there.

"You were amazing!" Quatre exclaimed breathlessly, "I can't believe you made those shots! All of that practice really helped."

Trowa nodded in agreement.

"I was sure I was going to hit the rim on that second one, though," he remarked, "it was lucky."

The tall teenager took his eyes off of Quatre for a mere second and realized that I existed.

"Ah... you're Duo, right?" he suddenly turned shy, like he usually was and if for that alone, I wished I had just gone back home after the game. I promised, I reminded myself for the fiftieth time.

"Hi," I muttered shyly, "Yeah, I'm Duo. I guess Quatre mentioned me."

Trowa stretched out his hand and I stared at it like an idiot for a moment before shaking it. I hadn't expected him to be so... formal and polite to me, so unlike the teenager that he was. His hand was bigger than mine, and darker. For a stupid moment, I thought of my father's hand, large and tanned, gripping my arm. I hadn't forgotten about my injury and was glad that I was wearing a long sleeved shirt. It was bad enough that Quatre knew my dad knocked me around, no way in hell was I letting Trowa see my bruises.

"Quatre's right," I said awkwardly, not really sure what to say to the boy my friend liked, "you're really talented. It must have taken a lot of practice to nail a shot like that."

Trowa blushed a little at my praise. He seemed just as unsure around me as I felt around him, which actually made me feel better.

"Th-thank you," he stammered, "Quatre said you aren't really into stuff like this."

I shrugged.

"I don't get out to social events like this," I confessed, "I work two jobs and have responsibilities at home. I also don't like crowds and all that shouting, and I'm not athletic at all, so I've stayed away before now. But it was fun watching you guys. You're a great team."

It was a cool thing watching Trowa as I spoke. He eased up and lost his nervousness, acting more natural like I had flipped some kind of switch. He nodded enthusiastically.

"I really don't like the crowds and noise, either," he said and I felt this odd sense of camaraderie with him that I had only ever felt with Quatre, "It used to give me headaches and make me so anxious I couldn't concentrate on the game. It got a lot worse when people started cheering for me."

He sounded so amazed at his popularity and I didn't blame him. If it had happened to me, I didn't know how I would be able to function.

"And now?" I asked, honestly interested to know how he dealt with his stardom.

"I liked basketball too much to just quit," he told me, "After awhile, it just became white noise to me. Every once in awhile, it bothers me, but I just focus on what I'm doing and try not to let it distract me."

I felt an instant respect for him. I wish I had something I felt that passionate about, something that I could just throw myself into with so much conviction that I refused to give it up, that everything around me just faded away. I envied him the ability to make all those cheers and screams white noise. I wished I could do that with my parents' fighting.

It suddenly dawned on me that, even if it was in a small way, Trowa and I had connected. I had thought myself incapable of connecting with anyone except for Quatre. Yet the two of us had just held an entire conversation and neither of us had tried to include Quatre in it. I felt panic then, worried that my friend was jealous or made at me for monopolizing Trowa when he was Quatre's crush, but when I worriedly glanced at him, he was smiling at us, happy to see us getting along.

"Trowa... um... " Quatre stumbled over his words, "I-I hope you don't mind... I told Duo he could come with us out to dinner..."

Quatre looked so nervous as he spoke, I ached for him. I swore that Trowa actually looked disappointed to hear that I was joining them. I wanted to believe that he had been looking forward to just going out with my friend, but maybe he was just annoyed that Quatre had brought his stupid friend along without asking and I was just misreading him. I watched my shorter friend stammer, trying to come up with some kind of lie as to why I was coming out with them and obviously incredibly uncomfortable with lying to his crush.

"Quatre invited me to come see the game tonight. I skipped dinner to be here, so when Quatre told me you guys were going out afterwards, I sort of invited myself. Quatre just felt bad about me going without dinner, but if you don't want me tagging along, I can just go home and heat up some leftovers or something," I lied and almost winced at how pathetic that sounded.

I didn't mind lying for my best friend. Hell, I lied all the time, there was no reason for him to do something that made him so obviously uncomfortable. I hoped Trowa wouldn't order me to go home. I had promised Quatre that I'd go out with him to help and had just given myself an out.

And I didn't mention my other lie. If Trowa did tell me to leave, I wasn't going to go home and heat up some leftovers for dinner. What we were going to have tonight was our leftovers, and after the fight my dad and I had had, he wasn't going to save me a damned thing. He would just throw out perfectly good food out of spite, he had done it plenty of times before. There would be no dinner waiting for me at home tonight.

I would have felt bad about not only lying to Trowa, but manipulating him to feeling bad for me, but I was there for Quatre, not him. Trowa instantly relaxed at my explanation and I wondered what his problem had been to begin with.

"It's ok," he said, "I don't mind you going to dinner with us."

Quatre shot me a grateful look while Trowa wasn't looking at him and I felt better about lying to his friend.

"W-where did you want to eat?" he asked the taller boy nervously, "It should be in walking distance, but Duo and I aren't picky."

Duo wasn't picky, I thought, because I was so hungry and so broke that I would eat rat meat so long as it was hot and free, an Quatre wasn't picky because he was more interested in Trowa than food. Before the eighth grader could respond to Quatre's question, I saw Relena push her way through the crowd towards us, Dorothy dutifully in tow. I felt my stomach drop like a piece of lead and, childishly, I wanted to yell at Trowa and Quatre to make a run for it, but that would have looked stupid and I doubted that Trowa was scared of her like we were.

"Trowa!" Relena exclaimed with a little wave, "There you are! Dorothy and I have been looking all over for you, the big star!"

She stepped right in front of Quatre like he didn't exist, separating the two of them. I wanted to snarl at her and scratch up that oh so perfect face of hers, maybe break her pert little nose or knock out a white tooth. Why couldn't she just leave us the hell alone? Couldn't she let Quatre have this one thing without trying to mess with him?

To my surprise, Trowa actually looked irritated at her presence and tensed up, right before every single emotion fled his face. It was like he had become a stone statue.

"I'm not a star," he said tersely, unable to keep his annoyance out of his voice, "The win was a team effort, as always."

"Nonsense," she looked up at him with an expression that I could only call demure. She seemed oblivious to his complete lack of interest in her and her company, or maybe she just didn't care. My bet was on the latter. Like me, she wasn't there for Trowa, she was there for Quatre, "everyone is talking about those amazing three pointers you made. I didn't see any of your teammates make shots like those."

"If it weren't for my teammates, I never would have been open enough to make those shots," he snapped at her, his patience growing thin.

I probably should have been crafting up an escape plan, but I was fascinated watching the two of them volleying back and forth. Relena had that cruel glint in her eye and her words, while having a faux, vapid sweetness to them, like the way so many of Trowa's female fans spoke to him, were also snide. She was trying to make him think she was impressed with him, but he wasn't buying it. My respect for him grew a little. He might be awkward and shy and unwilling to really fight against her for Quatre's sake, but he wasn't an idiot and he wasn't falling for her bullshit, either.

His reaction to her was especially interesting to me. Until that night, Trowa had just been this shy, awkward person to me. That was all I had ever seen of him, and even when he had been comfortable talking to Quatre, he had still seemed so unsure of himself, but quite, nice, and polite, from what little interaction I had seen. When he had been talking to me before, he had relaxed a bit and acted companionable, laid back. But I had never seen him irritable and frustrated and almost angry until Relena had shown up.

"If you don't mind," Trowa someone managed to match Relena's snide tone, "Quatre, Duo, and I were going to dinner. I don't have all night to chat about the game. I still have homework to do and I'm tired from the game."

"Oh, I'm sure," she smirked, not deterred by his brush off.

Then it dawned on her what Trowa had just said and she shot double glares at Quatre and me. Then, no more than a second later, she regained her composure, her smile both superior and sinister. She directed that smile directly at Quatre.

"Winner, I didn't see you there," she lied sweetly, "How awfully nice of you to offer to pay for the team's VIP's dinner. It's a bit strange, though. I could have sworn I saw you at every game this season, but you were never at any games last year, or any other year now that I think about it. I just assumed you don't like sports. And Trowa's the only player you've ever cheered for, isn't that right?"

Quatre went ghostly pale and even I was shocked at how forward the bitch was being. I couldn't think of a single thing to say to distract her. I felt frozen with horror, I couldn't even begin to guess how Quatre was feeling.

"I guess I can't really blame you," she continued cattily, "Trowa is an amazing player. But with you coming to all of his games, and your chatting him up every chance you get, everyone hardly sees him with his real friends anymore. With your... 'reputation'... people are going to get the wrong idea if you aren't careful. I mean, it's a bit obscene for a boy to be trying so hard to spend so much time with another boy when they aren't even friends, don't you think so?"

Quatre looked like he was going to throw up. Before I could yell at her to just quit it already, her piercing gaze fell on me.

"And look, you even dragged poor Duo out of his cave. Or maybe he invited himself? I certainly hope he doesn't have a mind to get chummy with Trowa, too. It would be just terrible for your precious friendship to be broken up by something so petty as jealousy."

My hands curled into fists, making my wrist scream in pain, but I ignored it. Her insinuation was ridiculous but cruel and I hated that none of us could find the words to make her shut up. I watched with rage as she sidled up to Trowa, wrapping her arms around his and pressing herself against him. I couldn't bear to look at my best friend just then, to see how he felt by her bold move.

"I feel so sorry for you, Trowa," she said with concern that was as fake as everything else about her, "With Quatre constantly harassing you, it's no wonder all the girls in your grade haven't had the chance to approach you. Who knows what everyone is thinking is going on between you and someone as strange as Winner."

Trowa blushed darkly, from her accusations or her body against his, I didn't know. I wanted to read his mind, to find out what he thought about all this. Did he enjoy having a pretty girl pressed up to him like that? Did he understand what she was insinuating? Did he believe her?

"Don't you feel bad, Quatre?" she sneered at him, "You don't want everyone to think that Trowa's a..." she paused but I could actually see fag on her tongue and how much she wanted to say it, "... well, someone like you, do you? Oh, I have a great idea!" her face lit up and my desire to punch her in that face returned stronger than ever, "Quatre can go take Duo to whatever greasy diner he can actually afford, and Dorothy and I will take Trowa out someplace nice, someplace he deserves."

Her blue eyes seemed to burn into my best friend. Just looking at them made me feel cold.

"How about it, Quatre? Why don't you just go run off and save Trowa some humiliation?"

Her gaze was intense and sinister. I didn't need a single person to tell me that Relena wasn't asking Quatre to go off with me. She was threatening him... demanding him to not talk to Trowa anymore. She was doing what she always did, she was going after the only friend I had, making him miserable, and forcing him into a corner. And he would give in, because he always give in to her. In reality, although I was loathe to admit it, he didn't really have a choice. She had proven to me that she and her bastard of a brother could make our lives hell if we decided to fight back against them.

In that moment, I hated Relena more than I had ever hated her or any other person before. I wanted her to die. I wanted to throw her off a tall building and watch her become nothing more than a red smear on the ground. Why did she do these things? Why did she hate Quatre so much? She didn't like Trowa, she didn't even care that he existed, but she would gleefully use him to hurt Quatre as much as she could. And why? Because she enjoyed it. She would break my best friend's heart for a bit of entertainment.

"No."

I, along with Relena and Trowa, stared at Quatre in shock. My normally soft spoken and submissive friend was glaring at Saren, his sea green eyes bright with a fiery rage and a determination I had never seen in him before. No was the very last thing I would have ever, ever thought I would hear him say to our bully.

"I won't go away," he said to her, his voice hard and mature, the voice of someone who would not back down no matter what was thrown at them, "I don't care what you think and I don't care what you say. Trowa is my friend, unlike you, and if he doesn't want to be seen with me or want to have dinner with me, then I'll honor that. But that's up to him, not you. And for your information, I didn't offer to pay for Trowa's dinner because he won the game. He invited me. If he wanted to hang out with you, he would have invited you to come with us. The only one who isn't wanted here is you."

Words cannot describe the sheer amount of rage that filled every inch of Relena's features. The air seemed to even grow hotter, looking at her fury. I felt frightened being that close to her and if she had taken a cat-like swipe at Quatre's face, I would have been the least surprised person there. But words also cannot describe the pride I felt for my friend at that moment.

I wanted to sweep him up in a tight hug and congratulate him on finally standing up for himself, at the same time that I felt an intense fear overtake me. Because I had learned my lesson about what happened to kids that angered Relena and Zechs. I had thought Quatre had learned that lesson, too, long before me. But I was just too happy to see him like that, taking control of his life, and again I envied his relationship with Trowa. He had found something to fight for, even more than his fear for his wellbeing. I wish I knew what that felt like. I wish I had that kind of strength.

Trowa finally came back to his senses and extracted his arm from Relena's tight grip, edging away from her like she had some contagious disease he desperately didn't want to catch.

"Like Quatre said," he murmured in that awkward way of his, yet his voice, while soft, was as firm as Quatre's, "We're friends and you aren't welcome at dinner with us. Just go away and leave us alone."

All of that fire in Relena's stare turned to the coldest, sharpest ice. It would have worried me, but then Quatre looked at Trowa and they smiled at each other. It was a soft smile on both of their faces, yet somehow brilliant and shinning. It was the sort of smile that two people gave each other when the rest of the world ceased to exist. Quatre looked so happy seeing Trowa stand up for him. It gave me hope that maybe all those things that he claimed were impossible, all the things that he craved more than anything else, could be possible after all.

If nothing else, I hoped that Trowa and Quatre could be good friends, that Trowa could keep making Quatre happy, even if they never ended up together. I hoped, at the very, very least, that one day Quatre would gain the courage to tell Trowa that he was gay, and that Trowa could accept him if not love him.

"A word of advice, Barton," Relena snapped at Trowa, her chilling demeanor enough to make me nearly shudder, "I suggest choosing your 'friends' with a bit more common sense. It would be a shame if those skills of yours should go to waste because of who you decide to hang with."

With that, she flipped her braid over her shoulder and strode off, Dorothy chasing after her wordlessly. I don't know which one of us was happiest to see her go. Probably Quatre. With her gone, his soft face lost it's fierceness, but he still seemed to glow, or maybe that was just my imagination.

"I am so, so sorry," he apologized to Trowa, "I keep making trouble for you-"

"It's not your fault, Quatre," the tall basketball player smiled at him and the smile made him look incredibly handsome, "Relena was the one making the trouble. Do you... do you still want to go to dinner?"

"Of course!" Quatre beamed at him, his fair face sporting a pretty blush. He really had the perfect skin for it and Trowa seemed to be very capable of bringing those blushes out in him.

Again I had that feeling that I was out of place, unwanted, unnecessary. The same I had been my whole life. But right then, it was ok. I was used to being unwanted and I liked seeing my usually sad and quiet friend so happy.
*****
We ended up eating at Charlie's. It was a nice place, not too fancy for a couple of teenagers to afford a meal there, but they had great food and it was a much more formal place than anywhere I had eaten in. It made the places I worked at looked like complete dives, and I guess they were. I felt a bit self conscious at first, but the waitress that led us to our booth didn't even look twice at my worn jeans.

"Thanks for letting come out with you guys," I said as we sat down, Quatre and I taking one side of the booth and Trowa taking the other.

"It's no problem," Trowa insisted, "You're Quatre's best friend. The more the merrier, right?"

I managed a shy smile at him. I still wasn't really sure where I stood in their relationship. It was like Trowa said, I was Quatre's best friend, but he didn't know me beyond the rumors he heard at school and whatever Quatre had told him about me. I wondered what his opinion was of me. He had seemed ok earlier when we had talked, but Relena's... remarks had made me feel nervous again. A part of me wanted to lie and assure him that I wasn't a fag and him hanging out with us wasn't going to ruin his reputation, but I didn't want to bring the subject up again. I decided to just believe he wasn't going to be taken in by any of Relena's crap.

"Honestly," he said with a shyness that mirrored mine, "I should be the one thanking you and Quatre. Despite what Relena said, I don't actually have many friends. I've probably hung out with Quatre at school more than I have anyone else."

"Really?" I asked with wide eyes, "But you're so popular."

He chuckled and next to me, Quatre's face went bright red. I guess he liked it when Trowa laughed.

"I'm popular because I have talent and win games," he pointed out, "and I guess I'm kind of friendly with the guys on the team. We do hang out sometimes, but before I joined the team, I was too shy to make many friends and even now, I don't have many interests with them beyond basketball. I'm not that great at other sports. I'm pretty awful at football, even though I like watching it. I don't play video games and I don't go out to movies much, so there isn't much for me to talk about with my teammates outside of practice. I just tend to go along with what everyone else wants to do when I hang with them and pretend like I know what I'm doing."

I felt amazed with every word my classmate spoke. I had always felt like such an outsider, like such a... well, loser, because Quatre was my only friend. I had looked at Trowa and seen this popular guy who was just a bit socially awkward, I never would have imagined that he had the same problems as me. I guess you didn't have to be bullied to feel distanced from everyone else. Quatre and I got along so well, even though we were different and had different interests. I couldn't imagine pretending to get along with other people when there was absolutely nothing there that was relatable. I wondered what it was that he and Quatre talked about, if they liked similar things and that was why Trowa felt a connection with him.

We went quiet as our waitress, Beth, handed out our menus and took our drink orders. Quatre ordered a sweet tea, Trowa a coke, and I got a Shirley Temple. I remembered having had one when I was a kid. My dad had brought me some place, a restaurant or a bar. I had been very young, so I don't remember it well. I do remember that I had had a sip of his beer and hated it. He had laughed good naturedly and let me try a Shirley Temple. I had loved it, especially the cherry bobbing in it. I hadn't had one since and I wanted to see if I still liked them or if it was just the pleasantness of that memory, my daddy and I having a drink together before I had begun to be frightened of his choice of beverages.

"What do you like, then?" I asked once Beth had left.

Trowa blushed darkly as he looked at the menu.

"It's... it's stupid," he muttered.

"No it isn't!" Quatre protested, "I think it's great."

I hadn't thought it possible, but the older buy flushed even darker at Quatre's praise, which of course made me even more curious.

"It can't be that bad. I mean, all I do is read. I listen to music a little, I guess, but I've seen so few movies. I don't like sports at all, even if it was fun to see you play tonight, and I don't watch that much television, so pretty much everything our classmates talk about, I am clueless about. But books are the one thing I love more than anything else. I even like poetry and doing all those writing assignments in school, always have. In case Quatre hasn't told you already, I also like vocabulary and pretty much anything involving word play. So unless you like... I don't know, collecting scabs or eating hair, I'm probably not going to judge you for it."

I managed to get an earnest laugh out of him.

"No, it's nothing like that," he continued to chuckle and then looked at me warmly while he got himself under control again, "You know, all of my classmates believe all that stuff Relena and her brother say about you, that you're this strange, antisocial outcast who lives in a trailer and is some kind of terrible juvenile delinquent."

All I could do was blink at him about that. I had no idea what rumors there were about me floating around school. I could understand everyone believing I was strange and antisocial. I was antisocial. I only had one friend because Quatre was the only person who had ever tried to be my friend, and I just didn't trust my classmates. I was quiet and awkward and had very little social skills, so none of those things was ever going to endear me to other kids my age. I could even see the rumor that I lived in a trailer. It was no secret that I came from a poor family. I didn't wear new clothes and sometimes wore the same ones over and over because my mother frequently forgot to do the laundry. The other kids from my side of town no doubt recognized where I lived. It was a short leap for someone like Relena to change 'Duo is poor' to 'Duo doesn't even have a house'.

The rest was news to me. 'Juvenile delinquent,' huh? I guess my being quiet and poor and not having any friends except for Quatre might give the impression had some kind of attitude problem. A lot of people from where I lived were surly and basically the kind of kids nice, upstanding folks like the Parkers called 'bad seeds'. It came with the territory of being constantly poor and looked down on by other people for it. When you got beat up for smelling bad because you wore the same clothes or the gas company turned off your hot water, or the people that were supposed to be your friends, teachers, and role models told you that you were a loser, you not only started to believe them, you tended to lash out at them for it.

"But you're cool, Duo," I heard Trowa say, rousing me from my thoughts by shocking me again, "None of them know what they're talking about. You're down to earth and a nice guy."

This was also news to me and I would have thanked him for that news if I wasn't worried that it would make me look like an even bigger nerd than I had just confessed to be.

"I like animals," he finally came out with it, "I always have, since I was really little. Not just dogs, but all animals. When I was a kid, all I would do all day was watch nature documentaries. I would never watch cartoons or read comic books. For my birthday one year, my mom got me a subscription to National Geographic. I don't think I had ever been so excited. I always thought I would become a biologist or at least a cameraman for one of those documentary crews. I would always get really excited thinking about getting to travel the world and see all these different kinds of wildlife and places. I guess I gave up on that."

"Why?" Quatre asked sadly. I guess this was something they hadn't talked about.

Trowa shrugged.

"I realized that while I might love wildlife, I'm really good at basketball. Or rather, my dad realized it and went nuts. He told me that it was nice to want to be a photographer or a biologist, but basketball is more practical and I have a real good shot of making a career out of it if I stick with it."

"That's a terrible thing to say to a child!" Quatre exclaimed.

I wondered if he had ever shared some dream with his parents, if they had been supportive and he just didn't understand. I thought about my own father. I had never had any dreams to share with him and he didn't need that kind of fuel. He told me I was useless and a waste of space practically every day, he didn't need any dreams to destroy.

"Maybe," I said, "but your dad's right, it is more practical, if all you want to do is do something you're good at. Trying to become a biologist would probably take a lot of work, and there's no guarantee you would be good at it. But I don't think he should have deterred you entirely, either."

Again Trowa smiled at me and I felt this weird connection with him. I struggled to figure out what it was, why I suddenly felt comfortable around him when he had made me so nervous before. I opened up my menu and pretended to read through the various items. This particular subject we had suddenly found ourselves on reminded me of an argument Quatre and I had had last year.

Our school had had a spelling bee and Quatre had wanted me to join. He had said that I was a natural at that sort of thing, but I hadn't wanted to. I had told him I was too nervous of standing up in front of everyone like that, and I just didn't have the time to study words between my two jobs, but the real reason was that I was convinced I was not good enough to enter any kind of contest. My dad believed I was a failure and who was I to correct him? I wasn't good at anything. My grades were a joke. Why would a contest be any different? Why make a fool of myself when I was the last person who believed in my abilities?

But Quatre had believed in me. He had, eventually, bullied me into entering and I had actually won. It had been a close thing, but my love of vocabulary had gained me a stupid little trophy and a fifty dollar certificate to Rosalie's Burgers. Not too shabby of a prize considering how good those burgers were and all the times my dad kicked me out of the house without any dinner. That gift card had kept my stomach full for quite some time.

Then it hit me. I was having a friendly conversation with someone. I was connecting with someone, someone that was not Quatre. Was this what it was like? Gaining a friend? Quatre and I had become friends because of our shared problems. This was the first time I had actually gained one just by having a friendly chat. It was a very weird feeling, the realization that I was doing something normal.

"It's not a big deal," Trowa was telling Quatre as I zoned back in to the conversation, "I like basketball a lot, especially now that I've gotten really good at it. I still like animals and I would like to do something related to that, even if it's just a hobby. Basketball will get me into a good college, but it doesn't mean I can't study biology when I get there."

"I know," Quatre said with a soft smile, "I just think your father is being pushy. He should understand that there are other things you're interested in."

Their voices were so warm as they talked to each other. I could have faded away and I don't think either of them would have noticed. It wasn't a bad thing. Their friendship was solid and, I thought anyway, something special, or I might have just been reading into it too much, wanting to hope that my friend had a chance with the other boy. I reminded myself that I was supposed to be Quatre's filter that night and felt angry at myself for zoning out like I had. Not that he had done anything that a friend wouldn't do in front of another friend. I honestly had no clue why he had found it necessary to bring me along. He was doing perfectly fine. It wasn't like he was seconds away from blurting out 'I love you' to Trowa. And even if he was, how the hell was I going to stop him? Shove one of the little rolls of bread Beth had left at our table in his mouth?

I looked through the menu for real, knowing that our black haired waitress would be back to take our orders soon. Everything Charlie's served sounded delicious to me. Loaded baked potatoes with cheese, chives, and bacon. Salmon with a rosemary and lemon glaze. Italian flatbread covered in homemade tomato sauce, basil, and six different kinds of cheese. They were calling it pizza, but I worked at a pizza place and I could tell you that nothing like that had ever been made there. Even their breadsticks looked gold plated compared to the shit we served. And this wasn't even a five star restaurant.

Although I had what seemed like an endless amount of choices for my dinner, there was one thing that I wanted above all else. Steak. Specifically, their New York Style Ribeye. The thing looked huge and swathed in all kinds of spices. It even came with two side dishes. It was expensive at 25 bucks, something I could never be able to afford, not for a single meal, but Quatre had said I could order whatever I wanted, and I wanted this steak. I had never had any kind of steak before in my life beyond the so-called steak tips my mother bought for stew in the dead of winter. They certainly didn't look like that. It probably sounds silly, me so excited over food, but I couldn't help it. This was probably one of, if not the only, chances I would get to eat something like that.

I had my mind made it when I put the menu down and banged my left wrist against the edge of table. Agony flared up through my arm and I bit my tongue trying to keep from making any kind of noise. The ice pack had helped numb it and keep it from swelling up too badly, but it was still noticeably larger than my other wrist, yet in talking with Trowa and Quatre, I had somehow forgotten all about it. It wasn't a constant ache anymore, or at least not until the constant stream of Tylenol I had been taking wore off, but holding things was completely out of the question. Just trying to grip things turned my wrist into a bed of pain and my muscles would shake and twitch. With that reminder, I realized that if I really wanted to keep up this charade that I was completely fine in front of Trowa, I couldn't order any food that would require me to use my left hand to eat it. Which of course meant no steak.

This incredible depression filled me. Well, it was more like it struck me. I actually felt on a verge of tears, although I know that sounds pathetic. It wasn't about not being able to eat what I wanted, not really. It was just one more thing, one more disappointment in my life. My dad had busted up my wrist and taken this from me. And why? Because he had gotten drunk and had a petty, pointless argument with me. He had almost broken my arm, and I should have felt incredibly lucky that I had gotten away before he had, but I just felt... defeated. This was just one drop in the ocean that was the shit my father had put me through, the shit he made me feel every day.

The sadness and depression I felt then, remembering his hand on me, hurting me, and that dark smirk he had worn on his face when he had done it made the physical pain he had inflicted on me feel like nothing at all, no more than a paper cut. I didn't even hate him for it, not really. I just felt very sad. I had been chatting with Trowa like I was a normal person like him. I wasn't. His father had tried to discourage him from his dream for something practical. Mine had broken my left arm five times. Seeing my best friend talk to his crush with that warm and soft smile on his face just made my eyes wet and I very nearly stabbed myself with my fork to keep from thinking about those tears that wanted to come spilling out. I blinked them away as Beth returned to our table. I was being stupid again.

I ended up ordering the salmon, something that I had never tried before. I had had fish before, scrod and haddock. Dad would bring some home once in awhile and he would broil it in bread crumbs and lemon, but fish, especially salmon and swordfish, is just too expensive. The salmon was actually more expensive than the steak, 28 bucks. I substituted the rice pilaf that came with the meal for roasted vegetables. Beth gave me a strange look at my request. I guess not a lot of teenagers asked for vegetables, but I loved them. After some internal debate, I decided to keep the loaded baked potato and hoped I would be able to eat it with just one hand.

Trowa ordered some sort of grilled chicken with a salad and French fries. I had thought that Quatre would get one of their huge salads, but to my surprise, he ordered the steak that I had been coveting even though I knew he was not a huge fan of red meat. With our food ordered, the two of them launched into a lengthy debate about some movie that had come out lately that the both of them had seen. I hadn't, so I was content to just watch them bicker in a friendly way with each other. I had ceased to exist to them again and that was ok.

I wished that I had turned down Quatre's plea to join them tonight and just hadn't come at all. I was having a great time. I had maybe made a tentative friend, had been social with someone that wasn't Quatre for the first time ever, I was out of my chaotic house for a little while, had been privileged to see Quatre stand up to Relena, was going to eat a good meal for once, and I was really seeing what Quatre and Trowa's relationship was like for the first time. But watching them together only made it clear to me that I should have told Quatre no.

My best friend hadn't trusted himself to be alone with the boy that he loved, but from what I was seeing, he was doing just fine. He hadn't needed me here and I felt like my attempt to help him was just hurting him. I had taken away a golden opportunity from him. If I hadn't shown up, who knew what would have happened. Maybe Quatre would have slipped up and told Trowa how he felt. Maybe Trowa would have been ok with that. I would never know and worse, Quatre would never know. No matter how much sense I had, no matter how many statistics Quatre came up with, I just kept on hoping a miracle would happen, and knowing what I know now, I wish more than anything else that I could just go back in time and skip that dinner, no matter how happy it had made me at the time. But even then, I know it's just me hoping for miracles.

Stupid me.

"So, how long have you two been friends?" Trowa suddenly asked, rousing me from my regrets.

I took my first sip of the Shirley Temple our waitress had brought me. At that one sip, I remembered that day with my father, sitting on a high bar stool, drinking my very first carbonated drink as my father used one of his big hands to ruffle my hair instead of grabbing me or hitting me. We had both been smiling. I had loved him then, truly loved him, with no other feelings in between us. This Shirley Temple had a stronger taste than that one had and I wished I knew how to make one. They were delicious, or maybe I was just sentimental.

"Three and a half years?" Quatre looked at me for confirmation.

I nodded, fished the maraschino cherry from my drink, popped it in my mouth, and chewed on it happily.

"Yeah, it was on my first day of school that we became friends," I recalled.

Some days it felt like Quatre and I had been best friends for twenty years. Others, that first day of school was yesterday. It took Trowa a few seconds to do the math in his head.

"You started school in the fourth grade? Were you home schooled?" he asked me, perplexed.

"Not really... kind of..." I struggled, unable to tell him the truth, "It's a long story, but basically I was in and out of the hospital a lot as a kid. I just kept missing my chance to go until I was nine. My dad taught me a little, basic math skills mostly, but he and my mom were always so busy at work. I was lucky that I got to start in the fourth grade after missing so much."

"That must have been hard," Trowa sympathized, "My family moved around a lot when I was little, so I never made any friends until we settled here finally four years ago. Everywhere we went, I was always just the new kid. None of my classmates bothered talking to me because they didn't know me and we never stayed long anyway. It didn't help that every new place, I had to take placement tests and I didn't always end up in the same grade as everyone else my age or learn things that I understood. I can understand how much it must have sucked for you."

"Well, at least I got put in the right grade and at the beginning of the year," I pointed out, amazed to have met someone who got how lonely and out of place I had felt back then, a loneliness that had never gone away, "And I was born here. I'll probably die here. I've never even been outside of Nausten, so I can't imagine what it was like moving around all the time."

"Why were you always moving around?" Quatre asked. I guess this was a new subject for him, "Was you father in the military?"

"No, nothing like that," Trowa shook his head, "My parents were both circus performers, so were both sets of my grandparents. We would move to a town, do performances for awhile until our audience ran out, and then we would move on. Sometimes I got to stay a couple months in one place, and other times just a single week. It all depended on the cash flow."

Both Quatre and I gaped at him with wide eyes astonishment. Never in a million years would I have guessed that the quiet boy came from such a colorful background.

"That's amazing," I couldn't help exclaiming, "I would have loved to live with a circus! All those animals... did you guys have tigers and lions? We never get stuff like that around here. There's some stupid, ancient law that was made up centuries ago saying that only Nausten citizens can perform 'public arts' here, or some bullshit."

Trowa laughed at my excitement.

"It wasn't all that glamorous, trust me. We lived out of trailers, ate a lot of greasy, bland food, and there was always work to do. I was only ten when we stopped touring, so I never got to do any performing or heavy lifting. I mostly helped cook and keep everything clean. We did have big cats, though. They were my favorite part of the circus and I had always hoped that I could be one of the guys responsible for caring and training them one day. We had horses, bears, elephants, dogs, and a monkey, too."

I envied Trowa's childhood, to travel from place to place, to actually see a tiger or a bear in person, face to face, this exotic creature that someone like me had absolutely no hope of seeing except through the heavy glass of a zoo exhibit, a hundred feet away. He was right, his life at the circus hadn't been glamorous, but it was more than my life had ever been and ever would be. I would never see the rest of the world, it's beauty. Nausten was my world and I would die in it, and there was nothing beautiful about my life.

"Why did your family stop traveling?" Quatre asked.

The smile faded from Trowa's face and his expression turned sad and remorseful.

"During our last performance together as a troupe, someone in the audience shot a firecracker at one of our elephants. She panicked and stampeded. Something caught fire and it spread very quickly. No one died, but my father hurt his leg trying to get all the animals out of the way of the blaze. He and my mother had a double trapeze and high wire act. His injury made it impossible for him to perform or do any heavy labor, so my parents decided that the most reasonable thing for them to do would be to quit the circus and settle down someplace. My dad got into advertising and my mother used the skills she had learned at the circus to become a dancer and an actor," he smiled fondly at some unspoken memory, "she's a talented performer, no matter what craft she throws herself into."

"That's awful," Quatre sympathized, "but at least it worked out ok for your parents."

Trowa nodded, but there was something bitter in his gaze. I had seen that look in the mirror a hundred times, and I was a pro at seeing it in other peoples' faces. Trowa's, Quatre's... that look of unhappiness even though they were smiling. I knew without Trowa having said a single word about it, that it hadn't really worked out for his folks. They had given up their dream when they had had no choices left. I had never had a dream like that, nothing solid in my head, but all the same, I knew all about forgotten dreams, about giving up on things.

I wondered if Trowa's father was like mine and loathed his job, loathed that he had had a future stolen from him. At least his son hadn't been responsible for that fire. He couldn't resent him for it like my father resented me.

Our food came then, ceasing all talk as we dug into our respective meals. Although it hadn't been exactly what I had wanted, the salmon and everything it came with was delicious. If I were rich, I thought as I shoved forkful after forkful of the herb encrusted fish into my mouth, I would eat salmon every single week and would never grow tired of it. The vegetables, which were actually green beans, broccoli, those weird little corn things, and carrots, were fresh and even the baked potato was amazing. Next time I made some for dinner, I would have to remember to add cheese and bacon to them if we had any.

My stomach was usually happy with whatever I shoved into it, but when I tasted the fish, it seemed to open up into a bottomless pit. I put away all that food, plus two Shirley Temples, and I could have easily eaten more if it had been in front of me. I didn't know if it was because I had had so little to eat that day or if it was because of some weird upcoming growth spurt or just the occasion, but I felt like a glutton.

"So," Trowa said through a mouthful of chicken once we had eased out of our feeding frenzy mode and could actually speak to each other again, "How did you two become friends on the very first day of school?"

"Well..." I started and then looked at Quatre nervously. I had finished my food and Trowa was halfway through his, but my best friend was picking at his steak almost prissily, not really caring about it nearly as much as the salad he had gotten with it.

I didn't want to tell this story. It wasn't nearly as painful or sad as Trowa's story about the fire, but it felt too personal to me. I didn't want to relate to this boy that I was just starting to know, a boy that Quatre wanted to impress, that on that first day of school, Relena had accused me of being a liar and had written on my face in permanent marker. I didn't want to tell him that Quatre was the only person in that entire classroom who had given a shit, the only one that had wanted to help, and I certainly didn't want to tell him how low that one act had rendered me and why.

I could only see acceptance in Quatre's blue-green eyes. Whatever I decided to tell Trowa was fine with him. Of course it was, he was the hero of the story. He didn't have anything to be ashamed about.

"It's a long story," I concluded lamely.

"You have a lot of long stories," the taller boy chuckled again.

If anyone else had said that, I would have prickled and felt teased. Hell, if anyone else but Quatre or Trowa had said that, I would have been teased, but his tone was so friendly and I quickly realized that he was just joking with me. I felt myself relax a little. I was over thinking things again.

"It's really not that interesting," I said, "It was my first day of school and Relena was picking on me because I was new and didn't have any friends. Quatre tried to get her to back off and we just kind of... clicked, I guess."

If that was a lie, it was surely one of omission since all of that had happened. If Trowa realized that there was a whole lot more to that story than what I was saying, he didn't mention it.

"Ugh," Quatre suddenly groaned and pushed his plate away, "I just cannot eat another bite," his eyes locked on me and he smirked a little, "Here, Duo, you can have the rest of this if you're still hungry."

The little manipulator reached over, grabbed my empty plate and practically shoved his in front of me. I narrowed my eyes at him, but he just kept smirking back at me. He had eaten half of the steak, if I was being generous, and I was. In reality it was probably just slightly more than a third, but he had cut up the rest of the steak into manageable, bite sized pieces, the whole thing. He gave me an innocent look and continued to finish off his salad with enthusiasm.

My dear friend was not fooling anyone with that look and his little plate switching maneuver. Or, well, he wasn't fooling me any. Quatre was sweet and kind, but he was also smart, with all of the strategy and preparedness of a field commander. These traits made him a great manipulator and con artist if the mood struck him. He had ordered the damned steak because he had known it was what I really wanted, had spent the time that Trowa and I had been eating to cut it up for me, and deftly made sure I got it with his crush being unaware that I was too injured to cut up food.

If it hadn't been kind of sweet and nice of him, and if I hadn't wanted to taste that steak so much, I would have been pissed off at him coddling me like that. My emotions bounced back and forth between love and resentment for Quatre when he did stuff like this, but I couldn't even complain if I wanted to keep up his little charade, so I ignored his innocent look, speared a piece of steak on my fork, and popped it into my mouth.

Mere words cannot describe the sheer bliss of that first bite of steak. It was like butter. Butter and meat, combined in one mouth watering food. If I had been full to bursting, I wouldn't have been anymore. I was starting to believe that I had died tonight. I had gotten hit in the head with a rogue basketball, fallen from the bleachers and broken my neck. Now I was in heaven, I had thought to myself. That was the only logical explanation for this meal, for this friendship I had stumbled onto with Trowa, and the only explanation for how fucking happy I was, that nothing seriously wrong had happened. Relena had been vanquished, if only for the night, and I was happy. It couldn't be real.

Nothing bad happened at the end, either. We all finished our food, even got dessert (we shared this huge sundae thing that Beth recommended). I barely remembered what we talked about as we waited for the check. Something boring. Something pleasant. Quatre paid for the whole meal. Trowa started to complain about it, but I assured him that it was easier to convince a mountain to relocate than convince Quatre not to do something nice like that. I was sure that he could afford it.

"Maybe I'll see you around sometime," was the last thing that Quatre's crush said to me as we parted, spoken with a shy, but friendly smile. I felt amazed and had just nodded in agreement. Then it had just been Quatre and I as we walked to his house.

"How's the wrist?" he asked me when we stood in front of the fence in front of his mansion of a home.

I flexed it and winced.

"Still hurts," I said truthfully, "but not nearly as much as it did before."

"Good," he smiled warmly, "Just remember to keep it elevated and take more pain pills."

"'K," I planned to go to sleep as soon as I got back home and had no idea how I was going to keep it elevated since I automatically slept on either my side or my stomach, but I'd figure it out.

Suddenly, Quatre's sunny smile dissolved and he flung his arms around me in a crushing hug. I was glad that my father had messed up my wrist instead of my ribs. He just clung to me for several minutes before saying anything.

"Thank you, thank you so much for coming," he said.

I patted him awkwardly on the back.

"It's no big deal," I murmured, "not like I did anything special."

He let go of me, the shoulder of my shirt that he had pressed his face against was suspiciously wet, but I didn't say anything about that.

"Yes, you did," he gained his smile back, "I mean it, Duo, tonight was great. I wasn't nervous at all because of you, and Trowa really liked you."

I took his word for it as the expert to Trowa Barton. I guess we had sort of hit it off, or at least found some sort of friendly understanding. He wasn't a bad guy. He was fun to talk to when he wasn't too nervous to talk and decided to get out of his shell, and Quatre liked him.

"Ah... and is that good?" I asked uncertainly.

I was still new to this whole 'my best friend is in love' thing. I wasn't sure if his crush liking me was appreciated.

"Of course it is. I wanted you two to like each other. I like the both of you," he paused, uncertain of himself for some reason before saying, "Duo... thank you for having my back."

"Always," I promised vehemently.

I wished that that night would never end, but it did then. Quatre walked into his house, turning back to wave at me, then disappeared for the night.

Why did I write about that night in such detail? I was just going to write a little bit about it, but it ended up like this. I just couldn't stop myself. I didn't want to stop myself. It wasn't like it was anything important. I had dinner with my best friend and my best friend's crush. About the only thing that anyone needs to know about that is that Quatre made a fatal mistake. I made a fatal mistake. I let him say no to Relena Darlian, and in the end, he paid for it. Mrs. Khushrenada told me to write about all the things that have happened to me that made me sad. That night doesn't make me sad.

I guess, if I had to state a reason why I wrote all those things about that night it's because I wanted to write about one moment in my life that went right.

Before it all went completely wrong.
　

End Part 4
Author's note: As it is now almost the end of November, I am going to start to upload all the of the progress I have made in Nanowrimo. Currently, I am on part 8 of this chapter, so it's going to take awhile to upload it all.
(1) This is an in joke of sorts. In middle school and high school, my schools' mascot was a dragon and our colors were green and white. When I went to college, our mascot was an alligator and our colors were (shocker) green and white. What are the odds?
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A Stagnation of Love (rewrite)