The lines were hard, and black. They cut deeply into the blanched paper, as if they were wounds on the creamy skin of an angel. He stared at them for a moment, then slid the paper between the pages of his Physics book. It would remain there until he returned the book.-- then it would be trash.
Trowa glanced around the stuffy art room with calm. Most of the other 9th graders' faces were stricken with nerves; they were, after all, freshmen in an entirely new school. Trowa should have been the anxious one-- he'd moved from several worlds away, and was settled in 24 hours before school began. Catherine, his older excessively protective sister, had been frantic at the delayed shuttle flight, and was a complete wreck from the port to their front porch. She'd calmed at seeing the house-- a 2-story brownstone building with peeling paint on the shutters and door, and no heat. Both Bartons loved it.
The bell signaling the beginning of class startled the class collectively. Their silent, respectful gazes swept forwards to the front of the room where a beaming blonde man stood. "Welcome to Art I!" He cheered, clapping his hands daintily. Everyone sweat-dropped. "I'm Mr. Zechs Marquis, your teacher. Just call me Zechs--" he winked a bright blue eye, and several of the googly-eyed girls giggled shyly.
I shouldn't have taken this class, Trowa thought darkly. They'll just fail me like in the junior high...
"Well," Zechs sighed, never losing his bright grin. "I guess I should take attendance! Mmkay?"
A knock at the door broke Zechs out of his intent study of the attendance chart. He frowned lightly, and opened the door.
"Hello-- I'm sorry I'm late; I just got in--"
"QUAAAAAAATRE!" A high pitched voice squealed. One of the many excited little cheerleader type girls waved viciously at the door where this Quatre had yet to appear. Several other students greeted him with; "Hey man!" "Where's your tan?" "How was Cancun?" "Come sit by me Quatre!".
Zechs' frown remained in place as he stepped aside to let the tardy student enter.
Trowa watched indifferently until he really focused on the white blonde hair, crystal eyes and modest encompassing smile. Quatre nodded to his fellow classmates, and turned back to the teacher with and earnest gaze.
"I really am sorry for interrupting, Mr. Marquis. I should have waited until class was over--"
Zechs brightened visibly at Quatre's sincerity.
"Oh it's okay, Quatre. Just have a seat and I'll take attendance for real this time!" He patted Quatre's thin shoulder and cleared his throat. Trowa lowered his gaze as Quatre passed his table. The boy carried with him a halo of warmth that Trowa wanted to feel, but rejected.
Another popular, perfect little soul, he thought. Someone else to mock me.
"Trowa Barton?" Zechs listed suddenly. Trowa raised his hand and felt curious gazes from all around. Fresh Meat, he read on their faces. Zechs went on. Trowa phased out. He could feel the desire for his pencil and paper growing. That always happened when he was depressed, or just numb... Numbness was common.
"Wufei Chang?'
A handsome, well dressed Asian boy raised his hand from the far corner. Trowa saw several girls raise their brows in a silent language only predatory girls could comprehend. Fresher Meat...
A small buzz of conversation began in the classroom, and Trowa heard Quatre laugh lightly. He sounded, looked, and acted perfect. Trowa knew his type...
"Duo Maxwell."
"Here prof-- I may run and I may hide but I never tell a lie-- Duo Maxwell at your service! Do we use crayons in this class? I am the best at coloring books."
Appreciative laughter rolled over the room, and Zechs scowled.
"No, Mr. Maxwell, we do not use 'crayons' in Art I."
"Dang-- finger paints then?" Trowa glanced up at that, and almost (almost) smiled. The speaker was a bubbly, black-clad, indigo-eyed boy with a long braid down his back. It made him look formidable as well as amusing, if that was possible.
I'd use violet, instead of blue, for his eyes. Trowa thought absently, clenching his right hand a little as he imagined chalk pastels in his grip. And a deep, chocolate brown for Wufei's eyes... The rest would be black, maybe a little midnight blue... And Quatre. White and gold, silver maybe and sky blue. Beautiful-- He stopped there and concentrated on his scratched desktop. It was safer.
"Quatre Winner-- I wonder, is he here?" Zechs pondered.
Quatre laughed easily and raised his hand.
Quatre Winner. Maybe just pencil, just to get in every detail.
"And Heero Yuy." Zechs finished. The quiet, solemn boy sitting at the table next to Trowa raised his hand. At Trowa's sparing glance he was offered a stony glare. His eyes were amazing. Deepest ocean blue, with actual sparks of blue flame. His hair was a complacent mess of dark chestnut, and Trowa could sense the power in the boy's small, lean frame.
Pencil, too, then. Pencil did wonders for muscular detail--
Zechs chose that moment to clap eagerly and explain his class curriculum. Effort counted above talent, and there would be chances for extra credit. There would be options for contests, and displaying their work in the school's art case.
"And--," Zechs trumpeted ominously. "Your first assignment is--" Groans filled the room, and Trowa raised his eyes. The man smiled entirely too much.
"Draw me!" He posed, and the students didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or hurt him. Zechs passed out blank paper before they could decide, as well as drawing pencils. Trowa fingered his eagerly, and hunched over the paper. The sharp lead descended, but he halted.
I-- I-- can't. He won't... He'll fail me, because I don't do the assignment... right... He closed his eyes in defeat, and pressed the pencil tip hard to the paper. It snapped, and was like a crack of thunder in his ears. He laid the pencil down, and stared at the paper. He imagined that it mocked his weakness, his misery of suppression and surrender.
"You want me to sharpen that for you?" A bright, sweet voice asked above him. Trowa forced himself not to look up into heaven.
"No, thank you," he replied softly. Quatre moved on, and Trowa folded his arms and head onto the table top.
Catherine would hate it that I gave up... But it's for the best. I need to do well in High School-- can't afford to fail because of my insubordinate 'talent'.
"Duo, you're cramping that whole table," Zechs declared loudly. "Move to another one-- the girls will survive with out you."
"Well, I don't know about that..." Duo countered. He flew out of his chair with a clatter and Trowa felt his table jerk. He looked up with a slight frown. Two blazing eyes blinked at him, and Duo smiled more.
"Mind if I sit here?"
Temporarily rendered mute, Trowa watched Duo make himself comfortable. The guy was like a giant ball of energy. Duo thanked him happily and began scribbling furiously on his paper. Trowa risked a glance.
He's quite good. Using gesture-- the basic shape of an object with loose, fast lines. Duo's head rose and fell rapidly, and he pushed pencil and paper away in seconds. He turned back to Trowa who ducked quickly back into his arms.
"So, Trowa right? Where are you from? I can tell you're new 'cause you're about as sociable as Heero over there-- he's new too; in my Advanced Calculus class." Duo jabbed Heero's side suddenly, and the quiet boy's freezing glare pounded into the chatterbox. Duo was still smiling at Trowa.
"Omae o korosu," Heero snapped. Duo snickered, and waved pleasantly.
"Yep, he's my best friend."
Trowa watched Heero's eyes turn into burning blue coals, while his face remained completely emotionless. Heero turned back sharply to his paper.
"I came from the L3 colony," Trowa spoke slowly, eyeing his shattered pencil.
"Really? That's pretty far away. Hey-- you haven't even started drawing yet? Don't like the subject? You should get started-- ole Zechs up there seems all tight-assed about stuff like assignments." Duo paused to breathe, and slid his functional pencil over to Trowa. "Just draw a stickman, the guy won't notice."
"I heard that Mr. Maxwell," Zechs snapped. He'd been hovering over the table before them. Trowa almost smiled at Duo's sheepish grin. He took the pencil unconsciously, and began sketching. It was a profile, beginning completely from memory. His mind glazed over, and all that was left to life was his heart beat and the paper. A curve for his chin; shading only for the nose and high cheekbones. The teacher's lax hair drew itself into a hundred soft strokes, all swimming synchronized across the paper.
"Oh wow."
Trowa snapped to attention and covered the drawing with his hand. It crumpled in his fingers automatically, wrenching a shocking cry from the enraptured Duo.
"What the hell?!?! Gimme that--" He wrestled with Trowa over the unappreciated sketch. "Are you insane man-- if you're not gonna turn it in give it to me so I can!!" He poked Trowa's ribs and the paper was his. A sick feeling fell over the poor artist, as Duo jumped out of his seat, worried about whether or not Trowa would tackle him. He would have if he weren't so quick....
"Duo," Zechs warned at the commotion. Duo flapped Trowa's paper in front of the teacher's face.
"Hey! I had to save a masterpiece in the making. You have got to give me crayons because this would look great with a little pizzazz pink and psychedelic purple--"
Zechs snatched the paper away, and shoed Duo off, even as the boy recited every color of the 64 Crayola pack of crayons. One wondered how he knew so much... Or, so little...
Trowa's breath caught painfully in his chest as Zechs straightened out the crumpled paper. He studied it politely, then frowned, pushing his face closer. Trowa crumbled again onto the table. It felt like his whole world had been violated; a knife wedged between his ribs, up and deeper into his heart. That was his passion, his life. The secret force that kept him alive... And the teacher had its frail skeleton in his fist.
"Who did this?" He inquired of the air. No one answered. It seemed they hadn't heard...
"Trowa," Duo supplied. Trowa vowed to cut the boy's braid off. And burn it.
The teacher was silent again, and as if to apologize for a hellacious 60 minutes, the class bell rang. Trowa bolted like a shot around Quatre, Zechs and Duo. He hoped fervently that English didn't have the same concoction of beauty, torture and tension that art did...
The lunch room was chaos, as was expected. Students from all grades were flooding the lunch lines, smiling innocently at the lunch ladies and complimenting them on their hair nets.
Trowa entered hesitantly. He looked around for the nearest empty table-- and it had been taken; by Heero Yuy, and Wufei Chang.
Interesting, Trowa smiled invisibly. I'll have their features clear in my head for the pastels--
"Do you mind if I sit here?" He asked Heero softly. Wufei glanced at him from two seats away, then continued picking at his tantalizing lunch of white rice and strips of meat. Trowa wished he'd taken up on Catherine's offer to pack his lunch...
He sat uninvited, across from Heero who wasn't eating either. He was doing-- homework? Trowa smiled thinly.
"Heyyyyyy all my friends all at one table waitin' for me I know, I know!" Duo suddenly plopped down beside Heero, a yellow lunch tray piled high with the Cook's Special. He elbowed Heero, chattered at Wufei, and swept his hair out of his eyes to look at Trowa. Trowa glared. It may not have been as effective as Heero's scowl, but it would do.
Duo's smile faltered.
"You still mad at me because of art?" Trowa didn't answer. He was unconsciously studying Duo-- drawing with his mind. A... talent... perhaps.
"Maaaan I didn't mean to make ya all mad-- your drawing was really good-- see, here, I got it back for ya and everything!" The bright eyed boy dug around in his pocket, and presented the folded version of Trowa's 'Zechs'. The look he held out along with the image was hard to resist. Trowa took the crumpled paper slowly, watching Duo break into a giant grin.
I'll accept his apology.... I could use... a friend...
"Cool. Now, lemme eat in peace-- you guys talk way too much!!"
Wufei snorted at Duo's comment, and turned green as Duo began shoveling whatever he could reach on his tray. Heero scooted ever so slightly away, and Trowa fully expected him to take up on his earlier foreign threat, as a chunk of what seemed like mashed potatoes slopped onto his paper. Trowa nodded and settled his chin into his palm. There were a lot of people to study. He recognized Une Ozmond, Relena Peacecraft, and Lucretzia Noin, better known as "The Best BBall Player, Noinners." Or just Noinners. And then there was Quatre, surrounded by said girls, and numerous other students Trowa couldn't identify. Some looked to be upper class men. Quatre looked-- Trowa blinked-- Bored? Quatre was bored? And yet he was smiling courteously at the blabbering idiots surrounding him. Quatre's eyes began to wander, and met like a jolt of electricity with Trowa's-- he looked away quickly.
They were like clear, warm blue water; the shallows of the sea, not that I've ever seen the sea, but still. He was quite amazed.
"So where do you all live?" Duo had finished his entire tray, and was speaking to all three silent companions. No one spoke, and Duo looked disappointed. Trowa was disconcerted to notice he had a soft spot for the braided fiend. He answered dutifully.
"Second Street. I think they call it Old Sank--"
"Yeah! I live there too! Did you move into that brownstone at the end of the street?" Duo asked excitedly. Trowa nodded. "Cool! I live right next door." Trowa sweat dropped. "I was going to come over and aggravate but I had to work. 'Bout you Hee-chan?" Duo lowered his head to peek around Heero's arm. Heero stiffened at the endearment.
"Don't tell him, he might find you and talk you to death."
Trowa gazed at Wufei in surprise. He'd spoken. Duo seemed pleased despite the dig the Asian had given him.
"Naw, I just moved here too, don't know my way around. Where d'you live?" He stole one of Wufei's chopsticks and waved it tauntingly. Wufei gave him a withering look and retrieved it expertly.
"The Heights." Duo nodded, and was once again poking at Heero. Trowa wondered how long it would take for him to break--
"Indian Hill Park," Heero sighed angrily, and snapped his book shut firmly. He stood with it, and walked away. Duo's hurt frown followed him until he disappeared out of the cafeteria doors.
"I'm beginning to think he doesn't like me much," he said reverently. Trowa nodded and was laughed at, or with rather. Duo took a swig of his milk carton, and seemed to all but bounce in his seat. Trowa knew he was in for it.
A half hour later Trowa's ears were buzzing from the constant chatter Duo had provided. He was a happy boy, and very energetic. Very. Trowa decided he liked him. Wufei tolerated him, and Heero... Trowa wasn't sure. He could tolerate him to an extent, obviously. But who could hate the nut case? He was the friendliest thing Trowa had ever come across.
His last two classes flashed by pleasantly. He liked History, and Trigonometry was a breeze. He silently thanked the advanced education system of the Colonies-- they were always striving to be superior to Earth.
He decided against the school bus. It wasn't such a long walk...
"Trowa!!"
I take that back, Trowa groaned. He glanced back to see Duo pounding down the sidewalk, his braid flapping in his wake of 100 mile per hour winds.
"Walk with ya?" Duo clomped to a stop and proceeded to skip. Trowa shook his head ruefully. The guy never stopped.
"I don't know about you but I think I'm gonna have fun this year. Wufei's in my English class, I got Heero in Calculus, Quatre's my only hope in Intro To Business-- the guy's a natural business man, which makes sense since he's the Winner heir. Kid's rich, lemme tell ya."
"Heir?" Trowa found himself asking. Duo nodded vigorously and twirled around a bit.
"You never heard of the Winners? Own every oil company you can think of, and the whole L4 colony. Has twenty-nine sisters. Huh-- Quat knows PMS like the back of his hand."
Trowa laughed, and felt Duo's shocked gaze. He didn't laugh often, and the sound was foreign to even someone he'd just met. Duo gasped suddenly, and took off. Trowa watched him speed down the left fork in the road-- and pounce on a lean, dark haired figure with a green tank top on. Heero. Duo was thrown to the sidewalk like a rag doll, and Heero ground his neck into the cement.
Trowa bolted toward the two figures. He skidded to a halt and grabbed Heero's arm, pulling him up. Heero's eyes were like needles, stabbing into Trowa's mind mercilessly. He fought to speak intelligibly.
"Let him up, he won't hurt you," he growled. Heero's jaw clenched tighter, and he ripped away.
"Don't touch me again." He stalked off, leaving Trowa to stare disapprovingly after him, until Duo started to gasp/laugh.
"Help me up--" Trowa pulled the grinning, slightly blue boy up, and held him back as he tried to run after the disappearing Heero again.
"I'm only going to assume you're not that stupid," he offered dryly, surprising Duo yet again.
"Hey, you're funny!" Duo laughed, punching him lightly. Trowa turned him around gently, hoping ardently that they didn't meet up with Wufei on the way...
"Would you like to come in?" Trowa asked as Duo stopped in front of Trowa's driveway. Duo scratched his head and shrugged.
"You don't mind?" he grinned foolishly and followed Trowa.
Jamming his hip against the door Trowa stepped in, dodging boxes and rolled up rugs as he went. Duo was close behind, his face full of curiosity. Trowa led him into the kitchen, and settled his book bag on the table. Duo mimicked him, and smiled broadly.
"I like it. You got a sister, huh?"
"How did you know?" Trowa rummaged around in another box to find two glasses. "Would you like some lemonaide?"
"Sure. Pink?" Trowa smiled, and nodded. "Your house has that-- feel, ya know?"
Trowa didn't. He gave Duo a glass of pulpy pink lemonaide and watched him gulp it down.
"Do you have a sister?"
Duo finished, and stared at the bottom of the clear blue glass. Trowa was appalled to see pain, and sadness cross his normally dynamic features.
"I ain't got no-booody," he sang softy, grinning. The grin wasn't real.
"I'm sorry," he said automatically. Duo shook his head dismissively, and held out the cup. "I've gotten used to it. 'N let's just say my place is roomy." Trowa didn't smile.
"Do me a favor?"
Duo looked at him questioningly. He'd regained some of that cheerful composure, but now Trowa saw past it. He was lonely... Such a wonderful person was lonely.
It's an amazing emotion, but I'd never want to capture it on paper. Not on him.
"Stay for dinner? Catherine would love to know I've all ready made friends."
Duo laughed. Relievedly.
"I hope your sis cooks well, cause I'm takin you up on that offer."
Trowa inclined his head. Good.
By the end of dinner, Catherine had adopted Duo, or just about. They seemed like long lost friends, chattering about the years gone by and what their futures were going to be. Duo now knew Trowa's entire history.
".... and then... our parents got into an accident last year, and we moved here. I've got the greatest job at the Winner Corporation's main office downtown--"
Trowa grew still. Catherine had handled that last piece of information well. But the mood had grown decidedly darker. Duo had not missed it.
"I'm sorry," he told her softly. "I never knew my parents. I grew up in an orphanage-- I'm living alone now. Shh, don't tell anyone," he winked at Catherine. She smiled.
I haven't seen that smile in so long.... A ghost of a smirk passed over Trowa's own immobile features and he sipped the last of his pink lemonade.
"That was a great dinner, Catherine," Duo swore. He'd devoured every last morsel on his plate.
"Thanks," Catherine puffed up, glaring at Trowa. He often picked at the giant steaks and chicken Catherine cooked. I'm probably the only one who has the guts to inquire about the "big black chunks"....
"I *know* you'd love to have me stay--" Duo snickered at Trowa's mock suffering look. "But I gotta go to work soon. Thanks soooo much for the dinner--" Duo bounced up and gathered up his book bag from the living room sofa. Trowa saw him to the door.
"Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow?" Trowa asked Duo's retreating figure. It was already getting dark. The boy was melting away in Earth's natural shadows. Trowa watched him pause, and turn. The amazing contrast of his pale face, dark clothes and hair took the L3 native's breath away. Duo now wore a long, black robe. The robe of death.... And he carried a scythe. It glittered once before the image flashed away, and Duo spoke.
"I don't wanna impose, Tro--"
".... You're good for Catherine-- and me...."
Duo was quiet. He'd all but disappeared.
"I'm not good for anyone Tro......" Trowa barely caught the sad, tainted whisper. "I'll have to check on what's for dinner," he added loudly.
"Okay...."
Duo was gone.