When We Were Young 4
29 Dec 2005 11:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaigouwritten in hopes that WBlue will stop being ladylike.
rating: PG-13
pairing: 3+4
warning: go somewhere else if you want blissfully happy.
This is not chronological, and the entire series revolves around conflict, and not necessarily resolution. You're welcome to write the resolution between the two for any of these conflicts, if you want. Open season.
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Quatre looked through his mail while Trowa toed off his shoes and wandered into the apartment's depths, trying to find the kitchen again. Hopefully the maid and cook wouldn't be there to hustle him out and insist they bring him his drink. He really just wanted a drink, made the way he liked, without any fanfare. He peered around the door, and smiled to himself: the coast was clear. He had to open at least four cabinets before he found the glasses, and none of them were the right kind for a highball, but an orange juice glass might do in a pinch. Then he just needed to remember which cabinet held the liquor...
"Trowa?" Quatre wandered in, looking around with a puzzled expression. "What are you doing in here? Where's Mary?"
"Shh, don't go finding her." Trowa brought out a bottle of some fine whiskey, and changed his mind on the drink. Straight whiskey would do, after the day he'd had. When Quatre came up behind him to wrap his arms around Trowa's waist, Trowa smiled, then pretended to frown at being bumped during the delicate process of flicking water at the whiskey.
But he nearly dropped the glass when Quatre whispered into his ear, "what do you think about moving in together?"
"What?" Trowa blinked a few times, then took a larger sip of the drink than he'd planned. He set it down before answering, "you mean, find a place together?"
"No, I figured here's fine. It's near both our works, and--"
"It's large enough for the entire circus." Trowa tried not to think about living all the time in a place where strangers--Mary, and the maid, what was her name? and the butler--he was still unable to look the man in the eye ever since Wufei had swung by the morning after Trowa had stayed the night, for the first time--and the butler had come up to announce Wufei and... Trowa sighed.
"You're thinking about Montgomery walking in on us," Quatre teased. "I can tell. You're blushing."
"I'm not," Trowa protested, but had to smile. "Fine."
"So you'll move in?"
"I don't--" He craned his neck and caught the barest glimpse of Quatre's crestfallen expression. Turning in Quatre's arms, Trowa kissed him, chastely, then deeper, trying to reassure Quatre, and perhaps himself.
What would he do with himself in a house that had three floors, five bathrooms, a master suite larger than his entire apartment... and his sofa. He and Cathy had searched for three weeks to find a sofa long enough for Trowa's legs. He rather liked the color, too, a pale blue, but he couldn't think of it ever fitting into Quatre's elegant, pristine, decorative world with its curlicues and sweeping arches and elaborate tilework in every room. And the lamp in his dining room, cobalt blue, that Quatre had declared minimalist but for the fact that it was actually colored. He pulled away from the kiss, aware he'd become distracted, and Quatre's puzzled frown showed his lover had noticed, too.
"Trowa, you don't have--"
"It's okay." Trowa nodded firmly, and kissed Quatre again. "We'll figure it out." Maybe he'd give the lamp to Sally; she'd complimented it the last time she'd visited. And Cathy liked the sofa, too. He could help her rearrange her tiny living room, and then he'd also have a place to sleep when he came to visit. He set that aside, and did his best to kiss away the beaming smile on Quatre's face.
Three weeks later, he moved in, arriving while Quatre was at work, taking his lunch break to visit his apartment near the Preventers' main headquarters. Everything was ready; Heero helped him carry the four boxes down to the curb, and took a cab with him to Quatre's. Neither said anything, but Trowa could tell Heero studied him with new eyes as they carried the boxes up to the master suite. Trowa stared at them for a second, and pushed two into the back corner of the closet Quatre had designated his. He straighted up and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He'd been doing that for three weeks, staring at himself, as if looking with entirely new eyes. Not at himself, but at the space he occupied: a floral sofa, with curved legs and broad arms, or the tiled hallway at the top of the stairs leading to the master suite, or in the bathroom, a hand on the gilt taps. He felt like an infiltrator.
"You're not happy," Heero observed, from where he stood looking over the rows of ties, visible through Quatre's half-open dressing room door.
"I am." Trowa shrugged, and picked up his coat, checking his sidearm. "Let's get back to work."
Heero turned with a curious expression, but he didn't ask, and Trowa didn't offer.
rating: PG-13
pairing: 3+4
warning: go somewhere else if you want blissfully happy.
This is not chronological, and the entire series revolves around conflict, and not necessarily resolution. You're welcome to write the resolution between the two for any of these conflicts, if you want. Open season.
---------
Quatre looked through his mail while Trowa toed off his shoes and wandered into the apartment's depths, trying to find the kitchen again. Hopefully the maid and cook wouldn't be there to hustle him out and insist they bring him his drink. He really just wanted a drink, made the way he liked, without any fanfare. He peered around the door, and smiled to himself: the coast was clear. He had to open at least four cabinets before he found the glasses, and none of them were the right kind for a highball, but an orange juice glass might do in a pinch. Then he just needed to remember which cabinet held the liquor...
"Trowa?" Quatre wandered in, looking around with a puzzled expression. "What are you doing in here? Where's Mary?"
"Shh, don't go finding her." Trowa brought out a bottle of some fine whiskey, and changed his mind on the drink. Straight whiskey would do, after the day he'd had. When Quatre came up behind him to wrap his arms around Trowa's waist, Trowa smiled, then pretended to frown at being bumped during the delicate process of flicking water at the whiskey.
But he nearly dropped the glass when Quatre whispered into his ear, "what do you think about moving in together?"
"What?" Trowa blinked a few times, then took a larger sip of the drink than he'd planned. He set it down before answering, "you mean, find a place together?"
"No, I figured here's fine. It's near both our works, and--"
"It's large enough for the entire circus." Trowa tried not to think about living all the time in a place where strangers--Mary, and the maid, what was her name? and the butler--he was still unable to look the man in the eye ever since Wufei had swung by the morning after Trowa had stayed the night, for the first time--and the butler had come up to announce Wufei and... Trowa sighed.
"You're thinking about Montgomery walking in on us," Quatre teased. "I can tell. You're blushing."
"I'm not," Trowa protested, but had to smile. "Fine."
"So you'll move in?"
"I don't--" He craned his neck and caught the barest glimpse of Quatre's crestfallen expression. Turning in Quatre's arms, Trowa kissed him, chastely, then deeper, trying to reassure Quatre, and perhaps himself.
What would he do with himself in a house that had three floors, five bathrooms, a master suite larger than his entire apartment... and his sofa. He and Cathy had searched for three weeks to find a sofa long enough for Trowa's legs. He rather liked the color, too, a pale blue, but he couldn't think of it ever fitting into Quatre's elegant, pristine, decorative world with its curlicues and sweeping arches and elaborate tilework in every room. And the lamp in his dining room, cobalt blue, that Quatre had declared minimalist but for the fact that it was actually colored. He pulled away from the kiss, aware he'd become distracted, and Quatre's puzzled frown showed his lover had noticed, too.
"Trowa, you don't have--"
"It's okay." Trowa nodded firmly, and kissed Quatre again. "We'll figure it out." Maybe he'd give the lamp to Sally; she'd complimented it the last time she'd visited. And Cathy liked the sofa, too. He could help her rearrange her tiny living room, and then he'd also have a place to sleep when he came to visit. He set that aside, and did his best to kiss away the beaming smile on Quatre's face.
Three weeks later, he moved in, arriving while Quatre was at work, taking his lunch break to visit his apartment near the Preventers' main headquarters. Everything was ready; Heero helped him carry the four boxes down to the curb, and took a cab with him to Quatre's. Neither said anything, but Trowa could tell Heero studied him with new eyes as they carried the boxes up to the master suite. Trowa stared at them for a second, and pushed two into the back corner of the closet Quatre had designated his. He straighted up and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He'd been doing that for three weeks, staring at himself, as if looking with entirely new eyes. Not at himself, but at the space he occupied: a floral sofa, with curved legs and broad arms, or the tiled hallway at the top of the stairs leading to the master suite, or in the bathroom, a hand on the gilt taps. He felt like an infiltrator.
"You're not happy," Heero observed, from where he stood looking over the rows of ties, visible through Quatre's half-open dressing room door.
"I am." Trowa shrugged, and picked up his coat, checking his sidearm. "Let's get back to work."
Heero turned with a curious expression, but he didn't ask, and Trowa didn't offer.
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Date: 30 Dec 2005 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 31 Dec 2005 02:20 am (UTC)