Title: Fantasy Impromptu
Author: Link Worshiper
Pairings: 1+2+1; 3+4+3
Rating: PG-13
Stuff: AU, Duo language, sap/fluff, Duo POV
Disclaimer: GW is copyright Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency; this is just to show my love and devotion to my favourite characters of all time.

Some of the events in this story are based off of something that happened to someone my friend knows, and some of it was blatantly lifted from the film Amelie; it was too cute not to be applied to Heero and Duo. Because I have no life that way.

And this one is for Natea, for her birthday, which was March 4th. We're all so glad you're home, again! And sorry this took a while to get out; I got carried away with yet another plot bunny.

:: ::

Ever since I was a kid, they told me I had my head in the clouds and that I was hopelessly unfocused, that I moved too fast for anyone to keep up with me. There's a term for it, I believe: attention deficit hyperactive disorder. Don't let them trick you into thinking it's a bad thing, though, because it's really not; it just means that people like me are wired differently from the average schlemiel. Honestly, I think being the way I am has allowed me to tap into some creative wells that I probably otherwise would have not been able to -- and besides! There have been many celebrated geniuses with the same, so-called learning disability.

But the truth is, it's because I'm so attentive to random details that I think I'm as creative as they say I am. I'm that weirdo who'll compliment the pattern on your socks before I notice the colour of your shirt, the one who finds the people watching movies more interesting than the film itself… the guy who's twenty-two, but still blows through the straws in his drinks because he likes the way it sounds when the bubbles fill his glass.

My friend, Quatre, who teaches music theory at the big university on the other side of town, says I'm like a new, modern Mozart. He says I can put together sounds with a flare like he's seen in very few people. Honestly, I sometimes wonder if he just shoots me the bull to make me feel like my rambunctious nature is being channeled positively. Mozart could hear symphonies and make them play beneath his pen, while I just write lame-ass rock to play at the local music club on the weekends for chump change. And I know next to nothing about writing notes and all that crap. Usually, I have to ride my bike down to the university and play whatever I've got composed in my head for Quatre, so he can turn it into all those lines and dots and music staves for me. I'm useless at reading that shit beyond the basics anyway, so I don't really see the point, though Quatre insists that I keep a hard copy of all my music at least somewhere, just in case. Well, whatever makes him happy, I guess. At least I have a reason to randomly drop in to say hello -- ever since he got that job and a boyfriend, and my school schedule got so hectic, we barely have time to even grab lunch together. What a piece of crap life is, sometimes.

So here I am, peddling like mad to get across town so I can meet Quatre before his evening class. I had meant to leave a half hour ago, but there had been some fucking movie on about bored, rich people having extraneous, loveless affairs that just made me so mad, I had to sit down and jot down a few notes, in case I was ever in need of some lyrical inspiration. On the bright side, at least I didn't have to schlep my guitar down there, because let me tell you, riding your bike at top speed with a guitar strapped to your back is not fun. At all.

At 6:40, I was sailing onto the university's campus, knowing that if I hurried my ass up, I could make it up to Quatre's office with fifteen minutes to at least share a cup of coffee or something. Almost there, almost there! I swear, if I had a dime for every time I wished my college campus was closer to Quatre's, I'd be one rich motherfucker.

I was so goddamned focused on my goal that didn't even notice him walking down the street until it was far too late. “Hey, get the fuck out of the road!” I shouted at the top of my lungs as I kicked my feet of the pedals and squeezed the bike's handbrakes desperately.

The guy had been completely out to lunch, and I don't think he even noticed me until I started screaming bloody hell at him. Casually as you please, he looked up from the notebook he was writing in, staring at the loon on the oncoming bicycle for a few, blank seconds, as if he was trying to figure out what was going on. Then it hit him, and his eyes -- fucking pretty, blue-blue eyes with this distinct Asian tilt to them -- got really wide, and his lips molded themselves into a round shape of shock and confusion as frantically sought to sidestep me.

In a frenzy, I swerved the handlebars, but just a millisecond too late, because they caught him in the ribs as we collided, and the spokes of my front tire somehow got tangled in his khaki slacks with a nasty-sounding rip, taking both of us down to the pavement, bike, boys, books, backpacks and all. I went flying over the handlebars, and it's a fucking miracle I didn't bust my stupid head open -- wasn't wearing a helmet, you see -- when I hit the asphalt. Actually, it was the other guy's body the got in the way of my fall and saved my skull a splattering. And though I was thankful, the whole situation, especially the awkward position I landed in -- on top of him, I might add -- was mighty fucking embarrassing.

And then, when I saw the way he was staring up at me, with this expression like there was not a single string of words in any language on this good-for-nothing planet to even begin to describe what he was thinking, I knew I had to get the hell out of there. I heaved the bike off of my back and quickly scrambled off of him, firing all the books that had fallen out of my knapsack back inside. “'Scusemejustinarushsorry!” I jabbered so fast that it was almost even too much for my ears to follow. With lightning speed, I stood my bike up and dashed over towards the music building, flung it down on the grassy patch out front and ran inside, daring only to look back at his thunderstruck expression as the door closed behind me.

:: ::

It wasn't until I was a good halfway up the stairs inside the building that I slowed down enough to think even halfway decently. Shouldering my backpack again, I replayed the incident in my mind, rubbing absently at one of the lightly bleeding scrapes on my elbow. It had been so sudden and unexpected, I really actually needed to take the time to figure out what the hell even happened.

Okay, so one, I come speeding in on my bike; two, handsome stranger wanders in front of said speeding bike; three, inevitable collision. Right, well, if it was so simple that it could be reduced into three easy steps, then how the hell is it that it's still on my freaking mind? I usually don't pay attention to stuff like that for more than a few minutes after the fact, and even then, that's pushing it. Maybe I was just feeling guilty that I had barely given him a second and a half to say anything; it was bad enough I'd hardly apologized to him in my hurry.

At last, I reached Quatre's floor, though I was quite out of breath when I got there. (I had way too much energy to stand around for the elevators when I'd come charging in, but now that my thighs killed like bitches and my feet were about to fall off, I was really wishing I had.)

And of course, with my brilliant Devil's luck and a little help from Murphy's law -- which really 'ought to be renamed Maxwell's law, just for me -- Quatre had already left his office to go teach his class, leaving me with two hours to kill. Just brilliant.

I sat down on the little sofa propped up against one of the walls and sunk down into its cushiness. For a teacher's office, Quatre sure had taken the time to make the place awfully comfortable. All the lighting was very soothing and easy on the eyes, and there were lots of potted plants and things to give the room some colour and life. A portrait of Treize Kushrenada, a new composer whose music Quatre had quite a liking for, hung over the sofa, and the wall opposite the desk was covered with framed photographs of opera houses from all over the world. A copy of some Impressionistic painting hung across from me.

I figured, since I had the time anyway, I might as well be remotely productive and do some of the schoolwork I'd brought along with me. If I got bored with that -- which was practically a given -- I could always flesh out some new lyrics, and maybe start humming out a melody to go with them. Dumping my stuff out onto the sofa beside me, I started rooting through all my books in search of something that would hold my attention for more than fifteen minutes.

After about an hour of skipping between various assignments, I finally managed to make a pretty decent dent in the mountain of work I had for this week -- I swear that teachers forget that their students take more than just one class! Deciding that I had done more than enough mindless labour for one day, I started to put my mess of things back into my bag.

But as I was doing so, I came across an old, worn spiral notebook that I most certainly didn't recognize as one of my own -- this one had a cover that was just plain green, while all my notebooks were vandalized with Sharpies and white-out. “I wonder what this is….” I said to myself as I flicked the green notebook open. Inside, the lined pages were filled with very elegant print, far different from my quirky, comic book-like scrawl; each letter seemed to be shaped with almost artistic care, and despite the neatness of the writing, there was a certain character there that seemed all its own. It appeared to be a journal of some kind, I realized as I started to skim the first chunk of words on the page.

'10/15/--

'In keeping with a friend's suggestion, I am keeping a log of my experiences, even if it is to serve no other purpose than a place to sort out my thoughts. Even I am not foolish enough to think that I don't have an easy time communicating with people; either I don't understand them, or they don't understand me, though more often than not, it's a combination of both, where all parties end up missing each other completely. I can't say I particularly mind, anyway. At least I don't have to worry about keeping up false appearances, as so many around here do.

'Though I must admit, sometimes it does get a little lonely.'

I stopped reading there, feeling like I was sticking my nose in places it didn't belong. You might not think it, but even Duo Maxwell has a shred of dignity or two, thank you very much! There was no name on the notebook, or any other identifying marks other than the things written inside. And even still, the entries seemed to have been written with a careful sense of ambiguity that it was almost impossible to tell who the owner might be….

Except that I had a pretty good idea that this old thing probably belonged to that guy I'd crashed into earlier. It would have been so easy for me to have accidentally thrown some of his things into my bag in the chaos that had ensued post collision.

I lifted the closed notebook to my eyes, staring at it dead on, and then from the side, and any other angle I felt to turn the thing. It sure didn't seem very extraordinary, but I had a feeling that guy would be missing it, especially if the rest of had entries similar to the one I'd just read.

The problem was, I had absolutely no fucking idea where to even begin looking for this guy.

:: ::

The next day, I went back to the university, hoping to catch Quatre on a day when he had relatively few classes to deal with. The dork liked to do a lot of his outside-of-the-classroom work in his office so I knew there'd be a pretty high chance of me running into him. However, I have to shamelessly admit that I had other reasons for wanting to see him today besides just getting him to help me with my music.

Inevitably, last night, I'd gone home and spent my evening, watching TV, avoiding my homework, and staring at the green notebook. Shut up, shut up, I know it's a little sad, but it was intriguing to me, don't ask me why. I had tried to gather a few more clues about the guy I'd crashed into by just examining the notebook, whether he was a teacher or a student, someone from around here, or perhaps visiting from out of town. But since I'd sworn not to read anymore of the journal entries, I'd made my job a bit harder than it need be; all I was truly able to discover was that he loved music and had a penchant for writing out the notes of some composition. It seemed like my friend had quite the photographic memory, because the notes were scrawled out on the pages as if they were journal entries themselves, and though I wasn't quite sure what piece it was, or if I even knew it, I was pretty sure it was the same one again and again.

This time, I waited for the elevator to get up to Quatre's floor. When it finally came down, I wasn't really paying attention, and as the person riding in it stepped out, I bumped right into him as I passed. Glancing up to apologize, I caught a glimpse of dark hair and Asian features, and I quickly threw my arms in the path of the elevator doors to keep them from closing. “Hey, hey you!” I called after the guy, who was already walking for the lobby's entrance.

He stopped and turned around, pointing to himself in confusion. Now that I was starting at his face, I was beginning to doubt that this was the man I was looking for, but with my memory, there was always the chance I could be remembering wrong. Maybe, in my rush, I'd imagined that the guy I was looking for had such blue eyes, and maybe, his hair hadn't really been so shaggy and thick, but more straight and slicked back, like this guy's.

“Uh, yeah,” I stumbled over my words, realizing that I still had the Asian man's attention. “Say, this might sound like a strange question,” I began tentatively as he arched an ebony black eyebrow at me, “but did I crash into you on my bicycle the other day?”

The Asian man looked completely taken aback, like I'd just asked him to put on a pink dress and parade around campus like that all day. Vigorously, he shook his head negatively at me and turned to go back on his way. “I would have remembered the face of someone that inconsiderate,” he announced over his shoulder with an air of indigence as I stepped back into the elevator and let the doors close.

Well, maybe I had remembered the stranger's blue eyes correctly, then.

:: ::

On the way down the hall to Quatre's, I asked two other students, one with thick, curly brown hair, the other a female student with long, chestnut brown hair and glasses, if either of them had been the one I'd slammed into, but both of them denied it. Well, that was three down, and only, like, a bazillion more campus residents to go. I was making good tracks.

Notice the blatant sarcasm rotting my teeth.

I actually ended up running into Quatre about halfway to his office; he was by the water fountain, filling up his hot water pot, when I happened by. “Hey, geek stink breath,” I said warmly, waving to my blond friend as I stopped to wait for him.

“Hey, loser,” he said with a grin, noticing who was standing beside him. “What brings you to my neck of the woods? More music popping like firecrackers between those monstrous ears of yours?”

“You leave my ears out of this one, Quatre Winner!” I said indignantly, covering my ears with my palms. My ears really weren't all that big, and were actually kind of pointed, like elf ears, but Quatre always made fun of them anyway, a thing that dated back to a time when he jokingly referred to me as Dumbo.

“You know I'm kidding,” Quatre laughed, topping off the water in his pot and closing the lid as he pulled it out from underneath the cold fount. “Come on; I have some papers to grade, and we can chat in the meantime.”

I followed him down the hall to his office, and was promptly surprised by what I saw inside. Standing by Quatre's desk, one of the framed photographs that took residence there in his hand, was the very gentleman I'd been looking for the past few days! He was just as I remembered him, even in my rush, with that untamable brown hair and shockingly blue-blue eyes! (I knew my attention to detail wasn't slacking; I just knew it!)

Quatre seemed to be a little surprised to see him there as well, spending just a second too long in the doorway, staring. Then, shaking himself out of his stupor, he said, “Heero, I wasn't expecting you!”

So his name was 'Heero', huh?

I was vaguely aware of Quatre tugging on my sleeve, making a formal introduction to his friend. “Duo, this is Professor Heero Yuy; he just transferred here last month. Heero, this is my good friend, Duo Maxwell.”

I watched with a strange fascination as Yuy replaced the picture frame on the desk with a loving delicacy I don't think I'd ever seen before. Even that simple movement seemed so sure, I got the distinct feeling that Professor Yuy was the sort who committed to his every action, no matter how small it seemed. “A pleasure,” he said, though he didn't hold out his hand for a shake or anything. I can't say I particularly cared; I was too distracted by the purr of his voice to have noticed if he had anyway.

I stood there, floundering like a gasping fish on the sand, just staring awkwardly at his hands, which were half concealed in his pockets. I decided right then and there that I liked the way he used them, the way he handled things. Even just the way he held them in his pockets was enchanting to me. I wondered what sort of things he did to give him such fine hands -- surely someone who had such beautiful ones was graced with a gift that accentuated them.

Seeming to have a sixth sense about these kinds of things, Quatre sensed the oddness of the moment and made a move to save it. “Tea, anyone?” he asked, holding up the pot as he moved to the heater that sat plugged in behind his desk.

With a curt shake of his head that sent his long bangs this way and that, Yuy curtly declined the offer. Lingering by the desk for a moment, his eyes caught mine, and his mouth opened slightly, for a moment making me think he was going to say something to me. Instead, he swallowed and pressed his lips together, nibbling on the inside of the lower one. The rapidness of his thoughts was evident by the flickering of his facial expression, and he seemed at a loss as to what he should do next, like he had been painted into an unfamiliar corner. And though his hasty retreat from the room was somewhat expected after such an all-encompassing silence, I was still too busy thinking about his hands to even truly register that he had even gone as he quietly closed the door behind him.

“Earth to Duo, this is Quatre. Do you copy? Over,” said Quatre, pinching his nose to make his voice sound funny. My back mostly facing him, I was off staring the closed door, my mind still trying to wire Yuy's former presence to his departure, while still feeling like he hadn't really left the room at all.

When I fell out of the zone, I was embarrassed to find that he was staring at me with high eyebrows and a sly expression that made me want to go bury myself in a hole somewhere. And to make it even worse, when he had my attention again, all he said on the matter was, “Nice.”

Hoping I was dealing with my little embarrassment casually -- but not so casually that he would know that I was blatantly trying to cover it up -- I sat down in one of the chairs in front of Quatre's large desk, idly fingering the picture frame Yuy had been looking at when we'd come in. It was a stupid photograph, really, and I don't know why Quatre bothered to buy a frame for it. In the photo, I had been caught in the middle of tripping over my own feet, and my face took up almost half the frame, almost completely blocking Quatre and his boyfriend, Trowa, from view. It had been taken at the amusement park an hour or so out of town, when Quatre and Trowa had just started dating, and they had brought me along to play third wheel. I guess the picture is kind of funny, in a sadistic way.

“So, Duo, you have a new song?” Quatre asked, leaning back in his chair. The water was starting to boil in the pot behind him, and my eyes kept shifting focus between the blonde and the steamy bubbles. “Gonna let me hear it?”

“Uh, maybe later,” I said with a shrug. “To be perfectly honest, I'm not really in the mood to play you any music.” I made a forced effort to glare at the coffee pot, hoping that maybe Quatre would just think I was zonking out because I hadn't had a decent hit of caffeine, and not because I was thinking about Yuy and his hands. My eyes snuck over in the direction of the door again.

“Ri-ight,” hummed Quatre with a tone I did not like.

“I hate you, Winner,” I said, scratching the inside of my nose with my middle finger. I knew he could tell what I was doing.

“And I love you,” grinned Quatre, lacing his fingers beneath his chin. “So, if you haven't got a song, what have you got?”

“A question,” I replied, cutting right to the chase. “A music question,” I added, putting my bag onto my lap and unzipping it. I rooted around inside for a moment and eventually produced a packet of Xeroxed copies of the music in the journal -- I would have felt weird just handing the thing off to another person to leaf through. But it was killing me to not know what piece it was; I felt like I would know so much more about this person -- this Heero Yuy -- if I knew just what composition it was he liked so much, he felt the need to copy it over and over in his journal. It's not like it was something personal, like a private entry, so I felt no shame in wanting to know, especially since that was the sort of thing that might tell me a bit more about him. There was only so much a person could discern from handwriting and such.

Quatre took the papers from me, eyeing me with a bit of apprehension. Clutching them in one hand, he spun around in his chair and took the hot water pot off the heater and went about pouring the steaming water into the mug sitting on his desk, softly humming the tune on the pages as his eyes skimmed across the notes.

At first his voice was too soft for me to hear, but as he got more into it, he became louder, and I eventually recognized the tune. It was a dreamy sort of piece that started off quick, like a rushing wind twirling about in the autumn air, and then fell into a more lazy, relaxed lull, more like a gently flowing stream. In my mind's eye, I could almost see those fall leaves spinning down from the trees and gracefully dipping their edges into rippled glass as they landed on the water.

“Oh, oh, Chopin!” I said excitedly as the name of the composer suddenly popped into my head. I rubbed my hands together. So now I had the melody, but what did it mean? Was it a piece that signified a particular time and place to Yuy? Or did he simply just like the melody? Maybe it was somehow relaxing to him.

“That's a nice piece,” Quatre mused, blowing on his steaming mug of tea as he handed the papers back to me. “Any significance to it?”

I wasn't quite sure how to answer that right off the bat, and I'm sure that Quatre noticed me grasping for words that would answer the question without revealing too much. “It was written obsessively in this journal I found on the street, but I had no idea what to make of the notes until now,” I informed him loosely, not mentioning the details of that particular discovery. Knowing Quatre and the way he had reacted to my inability to string together a coherent sentence around Heero and his hands, I would probably never hear the end of it. And I like Quatre; I don't want to have to stop talking to him on account of something so ridiculous.

Quatre just shrugged. “Maybe the owner of the journal just really likes Chopin.”

“Then why Fantasy Impromptu all the time?” I shot back cleverly. If Quatre could come up with an answer for that, I would forgive him for any jerk-wad remarks he might be so inclined to make.

“Why not?” Quatre took a sip of his tea, giving me one of those looks over the rim of the mug.

Damn him.

:: ::

I spent the night on my couch, ignoring the TV and staring at the notebook again, still trying to decide what to do with it. I still really didn't have all that much to work with, besides a name and the fact that he really liked Chopin. But I'm sure there are plenty of handsome, blue-eyed, Asian hybrids that like classical music, and I had little to no idea where to find this Heero Yuy, aside from maybe running into him at the university. But how completely sketchy would it be to hang out there like I was waiting around for him? Not only would that be kind of creepy, but I'd never hear the end of it from Quatre, who, I might add, has been absolutely no help, whatsoever. And I swear if I hear one more comment that involves me and anything Japanese, I will have a heart attack -- the bad kind, mind you.

I peeled the book open for just a cursory glance. Entries, entries, music, entries, more music… At first, it might seem like there was painstaking order to everything there, with the way his handwriting was just so and the notes were spaced so perfectly between the ruled lines on the pages, and yet, there was still a certain air of haste to it, a frantic, secret stream of consciousness buried beneath that semblance of control. I wondered what sorts of things Heero Yuy felt that he could only get out on paper and would never be able to tell another person. Just one more, tiny peek at something he'd written wouldn't kill anyone….

With new resolve, I closed the notebook and reached for the remote to mute the TV. Then, in the fickle glow of the television screen, I reopened the spiral notebook to a random entry and let my eyes wander over it.

'11/13/--

'The new university I'm working at is so much more lively than the last place I had a job. There is a much better sense of creativity among the students, and though I haven't really gotten to know many of the other staff members yet, they all seem like very qualified and knowledgeable people. I appreciate that in a work environment.

'There is a student of Professor Winner's that I see sometimes, and he piques my curiosity. Winner must privately tutor him or something of that general nature, because I haven't seen him in any of the university's classes -- and I'm pretty sure I would remember someone with looks like that! I've been inclined to ask Winner about his friend, but I always feel strange doing so, especially since I am really only casual friends with him. But I can't help it… whenever I pass Winner's office and that young man is there, the entire floor seems to light up with both his music and his laughter. He's a very talented individual. Perhaps, one day, I'll work up the courage to talk to him on my own, instead of having to settle for knowing him only in dreams.'

I blinked stupidly at the page for a second, unsure if I was jumping to conclusions or not. I leaned over to turn on the lamp beside the sofa and reread the entry, just in case. Was Yuy really checking out one of Quatre's students? One of Quatre's male students? I knew that Quatre had quite a few outside kids who came into the university for lessons with him, and though I'd only met a few of them, I couldn't help but wonder which one Yuy was talking about. I sort of didn't blame him for being nervous about asking Quatre about whoever it was, though. God knows Yuy wasn't the only one who was chicken when it came to really getting close to someone. No, definitely not at all.

:: ::

For the rest of that week, things got pretty hectic, and I didn't have time to go back down the university, so Quatre didn't end up hearing my new songs until I saw him at the music club the next weekend. Usually, Quatre shows up without me having to ask, but after the incident in his office with Professor Yuy, I felt the need to drop a subtle hint, even if just to casually remind Quatre that he didn't have to come by himself. I knew I was just being a weirdo and looking for an excuse to see Yuy again, perhaps hoping for a chance to leave his notebook somewhere for him to find, or maybe just for the opportunity to talk to him.

“I don't know,” Quatre had said when I'd dropped my not-so-subversive hint. “I've found that Heero is rather skittish around people he doesn't know….”

“He knows you,” I'd rejoined, waving it off. Okay, so I hadn't been all that tactful, and Quatre had probably since come up with a thousand and one comments to make about me and the professor the next time he saw me, but still. “Come on,” I'd gone on to insist. “He sure seems like the type who's just begging for someone to invite him somewhere. Poor guy!”

“Duo, I have a boyfriend.”

“What, so that means you have to cut yourself off from every other person on the face of the planet? If you're so sketched out by the idea, then bring Trowa along, too,” I'd snapped, perhaps a little too harshly -- well, my desperation surely wasn't a secret now, but I think Quatre had guessed that already, little fucker that he is.

“Well….” I was so, so, so close to getting my way -- Quatre has physical trouble refusing his friends anything. And no, I'm not the sort of sick bastard who would milk that to his advantage… too much, anyway.

I ended up reducing myself to begging anyway -- shut up, I do so have pride. “Come on, Q. If not for him, then for me….”

“Oh, I know for you. I'm having trouble seeing how this serves anyone but you,” he'd retorted with that damned, smug grin of his. Oh, if that jerk chickened out and didn't bring Yuy along after making a comment like that, I'd so throttle him into next week. Asshole.

Anyway, I was just starting my set when I saw Quatre walk in, and with Yuy in tow, no less! I couldn't help the giant smirk that settled on my face as I watched them take a seat at one of the tables near the bar, beyond thrilled that Quatre had managed to keep his word -- not that I doubted he ever would anyway, but it was the principle of the matter that counted, really. Okay, so I'd gotten Heero to the club, and that was half the battle, but I still had yet to figure out how I was going to return his notebook to him without being awkward. Argh, the friggin' Devil was always in the damned details. The last thing I wanted to do was to not so casually wander up to him and be like, “So I kept your journal thing, but I swear I didn't pry into more than a minute or two of your personal life!” Right, that would blow over great…. I would probably end up just winging it, as was usually my way to begin with.

Three songs later, I was more than ready for a drink, but not quite prepared to sit down with Quatre and Yuy. I know that sounds completely strange, being as I had been the one to insist that Quatre bring his friend along, but now that it came to it, I was kind of wussing out. Sitting with them meant mentioning the journal, which meant returning it, which meant slightly awkward moment for me. I hate being in a position where I might find myself backed up against a wall, and no matter how I looked at it, I was beginning to realize that there was no way I could hand that journal back to Yuy without being kind of bumbling and stupid about it. Handsome strangers always had a way of doing that kind of shit to a guy! Oh, of all times, why did I have to become self-conscious now?

So, being the slick, suave thing that I am, I artfully slinked away from the small stage at the back of the club and took the long way 'round to the bar. It wasn't a very flashy thing, with a counter made of dark wood and brass, and rows of matching shelves, all filled with zillions of bottles of every size and shape. Perching myself on the last barstool, I flagged down Zechs, the bartender, to score myself a drink of some kind. When my fair-haired friend appeared beside me, leaning on the bar, I asked, “Yo, Zechs, can I get something obnoxiously flamboyant and full of alcohol? Yeah, and throw in one of those snazzy drink umbrellas while your at it…. Oh! And my stuff is back there, too -- can you grab my bag?”

“Anything else? An elephant, maybe?” Zechs said drolly. I could hear the sarcasm dripping off his tongue, and for a fleeting moment, I wondered if the entire universe was out to take a stab at everything I did.

“Fuck you, man. You get the drink, and I'll just get my crap by myself, if it's such a problem,” I said, flipping my middle finger at him. I got to my feet and went behind the bar with that very intent, seeing my backpack's straps hanging out of the low cupboard it was stuffed into. I knew Zechs wouldn't care that I was treading on his turf so easily; these were the times it helped to have friends from all over the place.

I quickly retrieved my bag and stood up again, slinging it over my shoulder. From where I was standing, I had a clear view of the table where Quatre and Yuy were sitting, watching the purple-haired saxophonist that was currently on stage. It was hard to tell in the low light what the aloof professor thought of the whole scene, the smoky, gold light and harsh shadows obscuring the expression on his face. Just my luck, though, as I was thinking that, he turned his eyes -- which still managed to be amazingly blue-blue, even in the crappy light -- in my direction, and I could have sworn one corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he did so. My skin was heating up like a furnace in July, and when I saw him stand like he meant to come over, I'd bet there was fire eating its way up my long braid like a flame on a kerosene-soaked wick.

So I did what any other self-respecting guy in my situation would do: I panicked. Quickly, I dropped down to the floor, pressing my back up against the cupboards under the bar and clutching my backpack to my chest like it contained my soul. My heart was slamming against the inside of my ribcage at an unnatural pace, and my blood pressure was sure to have shot right through the proverbial roof. 'Oh God, Maxwell, get a freaking grip on yourself!' I said to myself, staring straight ahead with wide, unblinking eyes. 'Quatre probably just mentioned you to him and told him to come over. S'not like he, you know, is trying to hit on you or something -- jeez! He probably just wants another drink!'

I suddenly became aware of a pair of black loafers and gray slacks beside me, and glancing upwards, I saw they belonged to none other than Zechs, who was standing there with a green drink in one hand and a look of befuddlement alighting his eye. “What'cha doing down there, huh? Drop a contact or something?” he asked, his free hand on one hip.

“Shut up, no!” I snapped, glaring up at him, which I realized probably made me seem really childish. I tightened my grip on my backpack and buried my chin in it, feeling the thin shape of the green journal prodding me from inside. I swallowed, and said to Zechs, “You see that hot Asian guy out there?”

Zechs hummed and looked up, scanning the crowd in the club. Realizing that he could see so much that I couldn't, I became really nervous, not liking that feeling of not knowing what was going on. I could kind of see a few people reflected in the large mirror behind the bar, but it wasn't nearly enough to let me know what the hell Zechs was looking at. “Hmm, oh! Do you mean the one who's coming over here right now?” Zechs asked, looking down at me after a few moments.

I had to cover my mouth with the fabric of my backpack to muffle any noises I felt the impulse to make right then. “What!? Are you sure you're looking at the right person?”

“Bed hair and blue eyes?” Zechs said, confirming that he was indeed talking about Yuy.

“They're blue-blue,” I snapped, digging my fingers into my bag nervously. Then, suddenly, like I had been smacked in the face with it, I got the greatest idea ever. As I unzipped my backpack, a triumphant grin spread itself across my face, proud that I'd come up with a way to return the journal and avoid any and all uncomfortable contact with Yuy. But as I stuck my hand into my bag, a fleeting thought that I was throwing away the opportunity I'd been hoping for crossed my mind; I'd wanted the chance to talk to Heero Yuy again, right? Hell, I'd practically set this night up for myself! So why was I stuffed under the bar of my own local haunt, hiding from the guy?

Before I realized it, underneath the low chatter of the club, I heard that familiar, softly accented voice of Heero Yuy. His tone was kind of nasal and deep, but I liked the way he pronounced his words so carefully, rolling them around his mouth like he was purring them. “A whiskey and an amoretto,” he requested of Zechs, who was still standing beside me. My chance was looming right over my head and here, the only thing I could think of, with the man's journal gripped tightly in my hands, was which drink he had ordered for himself.

As Zechs turned to retrieve the drinks for Yuy, I finally got a grip and slapped him hard across the shins with the notebook. He was taken completely by surprise and stared down at me with wide eyes, his head cocked slightly to the side. I made a frantic motion with one hand for him to crouch down, and then yanked on his pant leg when he failed to take the hint.

“What?” he hissed, dropping down beside me under the guise of grabbing two shot glasses from underneath the bar. Wordlessly, I held the notebook out to him and jabbed my finger in Heero's direction. Zechs seemed to get it, though I don't know if the arched eyebrows and the eye rolling were really necessary on his part. He took the notebook from me and nodded, standing up with a new mission.

I watched as Zechs leaned casually on the bar and laid the journal in front of Yuy with absolutely no tact at all. “Excuse me, Sir,” he said, “but does this belong to you?” I whacked Zechs hard on the foot for that one, wishing he'd taken five seconds to be a little less blunt about it. Well, at least he was the one who looked like a moron instead of me. Yuy must have given Zechs a strange look, because then the flaxen-haired bartender was saying, “No, no, it's nothing. Just stubbed my toe is all.”

I heard some rustling beneath the clink of glasses and bottles as Yuy picked up the notebook. I heard him ask, “Where did you get this?” That was it, no big song and dance; just the simple question.

“Uhm, someone who comes here a lot found it a while ago and left it for you,” Opening his mouth to say something more, Zechs seemed unsure if he should continue, so he glanced down at me, seeking a little help. I was jerking my index finger across my neck and shaking my head, one eye squinted shut and a snarl curling my lips; hopefully, Zechs would be able to figure out my meaning on that one. Thankfully, he did. “Can't quite remember who it was,” Zechs went on slowly, sending me meaningful glances every now and then to make sure he wasn't screwing up, “but he heard that you were interested in coming down here, so….” He trailed off, hoping the story was sufficient and remotely plausible. I gave him the thumbs up sign.

“I see,” said Yuy, sounding slightly disappointed -- though this just might be my overactive imagination, so don't quote me on it or anything. “Well, thank you,” he said, covering up what sounded like a sigh. He picked up the two small glasses of alcohol, pausing for a moment as if he was waiting for something else to happen, and then returned to his table. And that was it; he was gone, and I had completely blown my chance. There was no way I could go and sit with them now.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I banged the heels of my hands into my forehead. How was it that no matter what I did, I somehow managed to fuck things up? What a fucking fuck-up I am.

:: ::

I spent the next day counting the flowers on my kitchenette's wallpaper and playing solitaire with a deck of forty-nine by the sink. I was missing an ace, a knave, and the deuce of hearts, which it made it extremely hard to play, and it wasn't quite the same if I just skipped over them like I had them anyway. When that got old, I decided that I needed to stop being a stick-in-the-mud loser and get my ass outside. Lamenting over the things I should have done at the club wasn't going to change anything, now was it? Well, it sure could at least make me feel better, but still!

As I stepped outside, I realized I had two options: I could either take a ride on my bike to see Quatre for some common sense therapy, or I could hitch-hike my way to Pluto and colonize the planet in hopes that no one would ever see me again. Yeah, I found it to be a tough call too.

In the end, I ended up taking that trip down to see old Q and hoping to everything holy that he would take it easy on me -- the last thing I needed was a dose of some of his sadistic commentary about me and Yuy.

As I started on my way, I found myself wondering just what it was that sat so strangely in my stomach whenever I thought of Yuy and his journal. Every moment I'd spent with him, I'd felt like there was something waiting to be said, a certain moment that hadn't come to pass, but hovered in the air between us all the same. It was something I couldn't entirely articulate, and it was really more of a feeling, a reaction I felt by no control of my own whenever he crossed my mind. I think I was beginning to become frustrated at my inability to have any sure idea of what to make of my situation. My life was striking matches constantly, and I think my fingers would be scarred from the burns before I would be able to allow one of those moments to warm my heart.

I took my time peddling down there, enjoying the way the wind felt on my face, and how refreshing air felt when I breathed it deep, even though it was only dirty, smog-ridden, city oxygen. As I was coasting down the driveway towards the music building, I noticed Quatre was sitting outside on the front stoop with a sandwich, but as I neared, raising my hand to call out to him, I realized that he was talking to none other than Heero Yuy. It was too late to make myself scarce, and both of them looked up as the wheels of my bike rolled me nearer to them. I couldn't help but notice the way the sun reflected in Yuy's eyes, making them seem to be a lighter, more cobalt colour -- though no less blue-blue, mind you. The light breeze tossed his long, shaggy bangs and the corners of his mouth seemed to rise as I came closer. But, knowing that I couldn't mention the journal without giving myself away, I set my eyes forward and kept pedaling, zooming past the music building without even slowing down.

Another flared match burned out into darkness.

:: ::

“Ooh, mail!” I greeted Quatre when the blonde returned from his lunch break the next Thursday, a bundle of letters and a package in arm. “Anything for me?” I said with a big, joking grin, as Quatre entered the room and went to set the pile down on his desk.

“Actually, for some strange reason, yes,” Quatre said casually, picking up the package and holding it out to me.

I looked at Quatre oddly, glancing back and forth between the simple brown package and my friend, wondering if he was playing a joke on me. There were no distinguishing features about it, just a thin, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper with my name and Quatre's university address written across the middle. There was no information about the sender, other than the postmark, which proclaimed that the package had been shipped two days ago from the downtown post office, not very far away.

The strange expression of shock on my face melted back into a knowing grin, and I started to chuckle, realizing what that old fuck -- wad had done to me now. “Ha, good one, Q,” I said, taking the package and flipping it around, finding it rather flimsy. “Mailing me a porno mag or something? That's pretty rich, but it's gonna take more than a naked ass to embarrass me, my friend.”

“But I didn't send it,” said Quatre with a shrug, walking around his desk and sitting in the large chair behind it. He picked up one of the other envelopes and neatly started to tear it open with his pinkie finger. “It was just in my mail dump with all these other things.” Funny, he didn't quite sound like he was trying to play innocent; I almost believed him.

“Oh, right, like you'd come out and admit that you did it. It's okay, Q; I understand the need to pull a good practical joke every now and then, even if it does end up backfiring,” I said, rolling my eyes as my fingers absently started searching for a place to start ripping the paper. “I mean, it's not everyday you can pull the wool over my eyes, but….” I trailed off and stopped my rambling when I got about half of the paper off of the package, realizing what was actually inside.

“Duo?” Quatre looked up when I became silent. I'm sure he was wondering what the hell ghost had been wrapped up inside that package by the expression on my face -- which, I might add, probably made me look really fucking stupid.

I had to sit down for a moment, and found my ass on the sofa in less than two heartbeats, still staring at the green journal in my hands. When I'd first realized what had been beneath that brown paper, I'd begun to worry that perhaps Yuy hadn't been the proper owner of the journal, and he'd just returned it. But if that were true, how would he have known that it had been me to pass it off to Zechs? Unless there was some little bit of the puzzle I was totally missing, which, knowing me, was more than likely the case. There had to be more to this than what I was initially seeing.

While Quatre kept spying on me with worry out of the corners of his eyes, I set to trying to figure out just what that something was. I pulled the notebook out of the paper, which I balled up and tossed in the general direction of the trashcan, and set to scrutinizing it carefully. Hell, I even tried sniffing the damned thing, just in case, but its scent was like ordinary cheap paper and a vague hint of coffee.

Then I flipped through it, holding the book by its spiraled spine as I pulled my thumb across the edge of the pages. To my delight, the easy fluttering of the paper was hindered by one with a dog-eared corner. Detective Maxwell wasn't about to let that slip through his fingers so easily! I opened to the page and scrutinized it carefully, finding a rather extensive entry dated a day after my idiotic blunder at the club. The opposite page was covered with musical staves and notes, no doubt his favourite piece again.

'When Quatre Winner asked me to join him for drinks at a music club last night, I was more than a little surprised. I haven't been invited to do anything with any of my new colleagues outside of school before, and I didn't think that Quatre considered me a good enough friend to want to spend any personal time with me, and I told him so. He just laughed and waved it off, which reassured me enough to accept his offer.

'I hadn't been sure what to expect, but I was looking forward to having someone to talk to for a change; much as I like my new job here, transferring after the year's beginning has made it a little hard to get to know anyone easily. However, when we arrived at the music club he frequented, what I definitely hadn't expected was to see that longhaired friend of Quatre's on stage, playing the guitar. I didn't mention anything to Quatre right away, but any hopes I'd had of gleaning a few tidbits about Duo Maxwell in casual conversation were quickly draining from me like the colour from my face. My heart stopped beating when Quatre told me that he was the reason I had been invited to come along. Did that mean Quatre knew I liked to linger outside his office whenever Duo was playing his guitar there? Listening to him play gave me the same rush of joy and the same blanket of calm I feel when I play the piano.

'We sat at a table and Quatre allowed me to listen to Duo play while we quietly sampled different liquors. After a while, he asked me if I was enjoying myself, though I was so caught up in Duo's music, it took me a few moments to realize he'd asked me a question. Then he caught me by surprise and asked if I was enjoying Duo. I sputtered for a moment at that, and before I realized that he had been merely wondering if I'd liked the music, I had already answered that yes, I thought he was attractive and that I was curious to know more about him. I was so embarrassed at my mistake, and I found myself desperately seeking an escape route.

'But instead of being shocked or disgusted at my accidental reply, he got a secretive, knowing sort of smile on his face, ordered a round of chocolate-flavoured vodka and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. His next question concerned my personal relationship with Duo, how I knew him, and where we'd met. Sure that my cheeks were reddened by more than just alcohol, I looked away and told him about the day he'd hit me on his bicycle. I told him how I sat in the middle of the road for almost five minutes afterwards, staring after him like I had just been spun around and discarded by a dizzying tornado. With a bit of trepidation, I went on to tell him that while that incident had been the first time I'd been tossed about by the whirlwind of life that swirled around Duo, I had been swept up long before then. Though I hardly knew Quatre, for some reason, whether it was the liquor or the company, it felt good to tell someone about my heart's nervous whispers. Although used to it, I was tired of living draped in shadow.

'Quatre laughed at me again, though this time it made me feel self-conscious, like he was mocking me for pouring out my strange, unrequited feelings for his friend. Taking another sip of his vodka, he leaned across the table and smiled slyly, whispering, “So that's it, is it? Reserved, mysterious Heero Yuy is just shy and a little lonely?” Another laugh rocked his throat as he straightened and tossed back the rest of his drink. “When I introduced you to Duo and you were so quick to fly, I was worried it was something worse!”

'I eyed him blankly, wondering what he could possibly think was worse than the total agony of being in love with someone who hardly knew your name, with someone you had only seen in passing, but exuded such a magnetic aura, you couldn't help but want to be nearer to that person always. Upon seeing Duo Maxwell for the first time, the problem with love, I had quickly come to find, was that once it stretched your heart and mind, neither could ever return to their original dimensions.

'By this point, Duo had long since finished playing, and a saxophonist by the name of Noin had replaced him onstage. Scanning the club, I wondered where Duo might have gone, hoping that perhaps I could pluck up the courage to actually speak to him. Seeing him behind the bar, I muttered something to Quatre about getting some more drinks, and quickly stood up to head in that direction, my resolve clear. My palms were sweaty, and air was scarce in my lungs, but I was determined to make myself more than just a passing ghost to Duo Maxwell.

'Like most things in life, your plans never quite unfold the way you expect them to. One moment, I had seen Duo at the bar, and the next, he had completely vanished. Instead of bringing something new into my life, I was revisited by something old. Apparently the bartender had been keeping this old journal for me, the person who left there somehow aware that I would eventually come to this club. And though the bartender wasn't much help in telling me whom it had been to find it, I was pretty sure I already knew the answer. It may not have been much of a story, but it was surely a beginning.'

I looked up from the journal, glaring at the side of Quatre's head as he went on sifting through his daily mail. That cheeky, little weasel was out playing matchmaker and was having a grand fucking time with the two of us, wasn't he? I might have made some bit of insensitive commentary to him if I hadn't been too busy thinking about the things Heero had admitted to Quatre that night. I could feel my heart clenching into a tight knot when I realized that I had been completely fucking stupid to avoid Heero that night, that he had been looking to become closer to me, and I had blown it for the both of us because I was such a scared motherfuck.

Beneath the entry, I noticed something else: a bit of written text that had been boxed off with a few bold lines of blue ink. It was the last thing that had been written in the journal before it became nothing but blank pages. But when I read it, my poor, knotted heart dropped down to my heels with a stomach-churning plop. Here's what it said.

'Oh, and Duo, next time, return the journal yourself instead of hiding in a cupboard while you get a middleman to do it for you. I'm sure everyone sitting at the bar that night was quite amused by your hand signaling in the large mirror behind it, which, for your information, is slightly angled downwards. That's how you got caught, Mr. Maxwell!'

Man, I don't know how Quatre could sit behind his desk and not notice all the inner turmoil that was clouding around my poor, hazed head. It felt like everything around me was screaming with white noise, the incoherent din in my ears ringing louder and louder by the second. The room was spinning, and I wished to hell it would stop so I could get off. It wasn't until I pinched myself hard that I was calm enough to read the single line beneath the boxed off note.

'Be by the fountain in the middle of the quad at 6. Bring my journal, and don't be late!'

:: ::

5:58 that evening found me sitting on one of the benches in the quad, staring at the water that spouted from the top of the fountain's central sculpture and trickled down the sides to the shallow pool that surrounded it. A small fortune in loose change glittered up beneath the warbled surface of the water, shining even brighter in the angled light of the swiftly setting sun. Everything was bathed in this ethereal orangey-yellow light, like a monochrome painting. The breeze ruffled the small trees around me and blew a few old newspapers across the ground like tumbleweeds.

I looked down at my watch just as the second hand passed the six, signaling that Heero had half a minute before he would be late. I wondered what the hell was keeping him. With each passing moment, I was beginning to get the feeling that maybe this all was some kind of elaborate joke at my expense. I couldn't help but feel like a damned fool hanging from his feet for all the world to laugh at.

Strangely, that strung-up feeling didn't seem to have very much to do with whether or not I had been duped into being stood up.

The ring of a telephone suddenly cut through the stillness around me. My head snapped up, eyes scanning the area for the source of the noise and coming to rest on a pair of payphones nearby. I stared at them for a moment, trying to decide what to do -- I'd never seen a payphone just start to ring like that, though I supposed it was a perfectly conceivable thing to call one, why anyone would was far above and beyond me.

Eventually, the phone ceased ringing, and I went back to glaring at my watch, thinking that I was a complete fucking moron for wasting my time like this. The feeling that someone was leading me on and laughing at me all the while was really starting to swell in the pit of my stomach, and quite frankly, I was less than happy about it. Honestly, I had always had a fear that far too often, I let the world happen to me, instead of taking control of things for myself. I felt like I had a lot of wasted passion.

My train of thought barely had thirty seconds to chug along, though, because before I knew it, the payphone was ringing again. I went from frowning at my watch to staring angrily at the phone, silently willing it to shut the fuck up. When it silenced once more, and then promptly started a third bout of rings, I was fed up. I got to my feet and stalked over to the acrimonious phone, snatching it off the hook with half a mind to bitch out whoever was on the other end, angry that someone would dare disturb my universe.

I never got the chance to, however. No sooner had I pressed the earpiece against my ear was there a soft, familiar voice whispering to me. I was so surprised, I completely forgot to be annoyed, and instead blinked stupidly at the graffiti tattooed across the payphone's square body as I listened, my mouth hanging slightly open.

“I was beginning to worry you hadn't come,” Heero said without any ceremony or preamble. A moment passed where all I could hear was his heavy breathing, which was slow and deliberate, yet still wavering in the back of his throat. “Follow yourself; you'll know where you're going when you get there.” Then he hung up, and I was met with the dull buzz of the dial tone as I wondered what the hell he could possibly mean.

Slowly, I replaced the phone on its hook and turned around the face the fountain. The sun was nearing the horizon, making my shadow like a long, disfigured cutout of my shape that stretched out from beneath my feet and across the quad. I stared after it, which inevitably led my eyes to a long, brick walkway that wound into the gardens and towards the far side of the campus. And then I noticed them: drawn onto the brick in pastel blue chalk was a long, bold arrow that seemed so much to glow in the half-light, I wondered how I hadn't noticed it before. Quickly, I hurried over to it, staring down at the curious arrow with a furrowed brow. Following my line of sight down the length of my extended shadow, I noticed another blue arrow, this one a couple yards further down the walkway. And then another, and another, until I was following them out of the quad and up the steep hill most of the campus sat upon. I felt like a kindergartener on a scavenger hunt, and I barely even gave a fuck, my mind too preoccupied with the twists Heero had spun it in with this game of his. I'd know when I got there? Just where was he trying to take me?

Despite the strain of going uphill, my feet couldn't help but move quickly as I rushed to discover the ending point of this little escapade. The sun was almost completely hidden behind the skyline, and the city began to light up on the horizon like thousands of twinkling dewdrops glistening on a spider's web. I found that the sidewalk arrows were now conveniently drawn in the silvery pools that cascaded around the lampposts that led the way up the hill, making them easy to spot, even without the sunlight.

Above me, I could just make out the bluish silhouette of the university's observatory sitting upon the crest of the hill. The large dome that housed the large telescope was closed, which meant that there was no one using it at the moment, and doubtfully anyone in the building at all. That really wasn't all too surprising, considering the sun had only just set. If the astronomy nerds here were anything like the ones back at my school, most of them wouldn't come crawling out of the woodwork until it was good and dark. I hoped I wouldn't run into anyone I knew -- many students from my school ventured over here to use this observatory and its powerful refracting telescope.

The road I was following slithered behind the hill and up to a cul-de-sac that wound around in front of the modest building's oaken front doors. A railed observation deck wound around the back of the observatory and jutted out over the edge of the hill, giving one the most fucking gorgeous view of the city you could ever hope to find. I had only been here once, the first time I ever came to visit Quatre just after he'd gotten his job at the university and he'd been avid to show me all over the place. Still, I have to admit, when I was standing on that observation deck, looking out across the long road I'd just dragged myself up and seeing the way the world just seemed to spread out infinitely in every direction, I don't think there's been a single other moment in my life that has left me in such awe. Simply put, that unparalleled view of where I'd been took my breath away.

The arrows led right up to the observatory's front steps. At first, I was a little confused, unsure of where I was to go next now that my guiding markers had ended so abruptly. But then, I noticed something tied to one of the handles of the observatory doors: a long, light blue ribbon, looped in a simple shoelace bow, its tails fluttering in the gentle night breeze. I smiled, somehow finding the ribbon endearing, even if I still had no freaking clue what Heero was trying to get at with this. I tugged it, and it easily fell out of its knot and unraveled in my hand. I think there was something about the great lengths Heero had gone through that touched me, though I don't think I really quite understood that until I had that ribbon curling around my fingers. I ended up tying it around the end of my braid, liking the way the pale blue contrasted with the burnt sienna colour of my hair.

I pulled on one of the doors, half expecting it to be locked; I almost fell down when the door swung open easily. The inside of the building had an eerie quiet to it, so still I thought I could hear my heart beating and the stars moving. The short hallway I was standing in was a pocket of warmth in the otherwise freezing observatory, and I lingered there, enjoying the sensation as I scanned the area for another blue ribbon. The digital atomic clock hanging above one of the office doors bathed my face in red.

My search for the next marker proved to be a bit more of a challenge, forcing me to do a little scouting around, and I reluctantly moved out of my warm pocket of air. Eventually, I came across another ribbon tied to one of the doors to the observation deck, and, pushing it open, I stepped outside again, a feeling that whatever I had come to find would be out here somewhere. It didn't take me long. Behind the observatory, positioned by itself against the deck railing, was a simple reflecting telescope, a blue ribbon fluttering around one of the sleek legs of its tripod.

I walked over to it, its purpose clear in my mind, but before I went to peer through the eyepiece, I leaned on the railing of the observation deck and just admired the view. I felt a spark within as I let myself revel in this beautiful moment, tracing the shape of the horizon as the night's first few stars began to kindle in the dark, indigo sky. The university's campus spread out before me, and I amused myself for a moment by following my path from the music building through the quad and up the hill to my current location. This time, I didn't feel that awe-inspiring reaction overwhelm me as I stood there, but rather more a sense of serenity. Here I was, standing closer to the stars than anybody else in the entire city, and for the first time, the idea that their light warmed my face before ever touching another made me feel like I was that much closer to heaven.

I closed my eyes and lost myself in it, spreading my arms wide like they do in the movies when the wind blows. Was this it? Was this what Heero wanted to share with me? A sense of comfort? Was this what comforted him?

Letting my arms drop as I reopened my eyes, I found on unanimous answer for all those things.

No.

No, this was not it. There was something more than just this. I glanced back at the telescope, which was still sitting beside me, untouched. Seeing how it was angled at a very specific degree to point to an exact location down below, I knew that the answer to Heero's riddle would be through the lens of that telescope. I walked around to it, bending down and squinting one eye shut as I prepared to press the other against the eyepiece.

When I peered through the telescope, I was slightly disappointed to see it was focused on one of the large windows of the music building. I jerked my eye away from the lens and glared down the length of the black tube, feeling the defeated sting of letdown start to gnaw at my insides. But just as I was about to screw it all and just head the fuck home, I caught sight of the blue ribbon on the tripod again, which reminded me again of how much trouble Heero had gone through to lead me to this place. I gripped the telescope more firmly and bent down again. No, there had to be something there. From what I knew of Heero Yuy, I had the feeling he would never go so out of his way simply to waste time. There was meaning in this task yet; I could almost hear him challenging me to find it.

I stared at the magnified view of the window again. It allowed me a perfect view of one of the large practice halls, where the orchestra usually gathered for rehearsal. And then, amid the scattered music stands and black instrument cases, I found what it was Heero had wanted me to see. Sitting behind the room's large grand piano was none other than Heero himself, his fingers flying expertly across the ivory keys. With the way the piano was positioned, his back was mostly facing me, but even still, I could see the rise and fall of his shoulders as his hands danced across the keyboard; the way he held his head downwards was testament to his concentration. A small cellular phone sat on the piano where he might have leaned some sheet music, had he needed it. He had directed me to heaven only to remind me that there was more waiting for me back on earth. Perhaps the stars were warm on my cheeks, but I had a feeling there was something else that was warmer still.

Watching Heero play caused another match to strike fire within my heart. This was one moment I was not about to lose to darkness, however, and I wrapped myself protectively around the delicate tongue of flame, hoping to safeguard it from the nothingness of transient memories.

I think it was that moment that unveiled my greatest revelation about life: that there was none, that there was no earth-shattering event upon which the entire universe was hinged, and that life's meaning could be found in a series of loosely strung moments. Here, I had been spending so much energy agonizing about what might or might not be that I had frightened myself away from any kind of gamble, and found that as a result, I had let dozens of matches fall to the ground charred and forgotten. My worrisome mind had blinded me from seeing what was plain in the firelight.

And here, with hardly an explanation as to why, Heero had shown this to me. I pulled my eye from the telescope and straightened my back, gripping his journal tightly against my side as I stared across the campus to the golden glow of the room where he was waiting. And I understood.

I understood him.

Knowledge was a marvelous thing, but it was all for nothing if it was forever stashed away and never served any purpose. Heero had taught me so much in so few meetings, and yet, I knew the lesson was not fully learned until I demonstrated that these things were now clear in my mind.

In that next moment, I made my decision. Tightening my hold on the journal, I turned around and started marching back the way I came, resolutely heading to the music building. Why dream of what might be, when I could actually make it happen for myself? No one but me would be able to bring myself happiness, and if I continued to run like a three-year-old girl from any sort of chance, how would I ever achieve anything? Action without thought may be folly, but dreams without impulse were merely fantasies, and would remain so without action. This was my life, and I didn't have forever to live: it was now or never, because this match would never be struck again.

When I got to the music building, I wasn't surprised to find another blue ribbon tied to the front doors, nor surprised that they were unlocked. Steeling myself, I went inside, standing in the middle of the darkened lobby and staring up the old, grand staircase that led up to the next floor, and then curled around to the one above that. From far off, I could faintly hear the whimsical of Heero's favourite Chopin piece wafting throughout the otherwise silent building.

My boots echoed on the worn marble of the staircase as I dashed up to the third floor, noticing another ribbon tied to the banister at the top of the stairs. Straight ahead of me was a pair of wooden doors with brass handles, one of which was slightly ajar. I could hear the music more clearly now, practically able to visualize Heero's hands cascading down the keys as he neared the end of the up-tempo movement.

I felt a heavy swallow drop down my throat and land heavily in my stomach like a falling stone as I reached out to push the ajar door open, lingering there for a moment to peer into the room through the narrow crack before I made my presence known. He was still bent over the piano as before, when I had spied on him through the telescope, but now I could see his face. His eyes were closed and his lips were parted slightly, and I could tell by the sway of his head and the forward curl of his back that he was completely lost in the forest of notes. His movements were so subtle, so natural, that I knew instantly that this was what gave Heero Yuy peace and comfort. When I ran scared from things I didn't understand or know how to face, Heero Yuy played Chopin on the piano.

Large squares of starlight shone through the windowpanes, projecting past Heero and dancing across the walls and floor of the half-lighted room. Sitting there, alone, he seemed to glow like an angel with wings spun of moon shine. His fingers slowed as the piece neared its wistful end, and I felt the burning of another flame being struck inside. Shyly, I pushed the door open, stepping into the room with a supreme interest in my feet, quite unsure of how to announce myself.

But as I looked up, and the piano softly sang the last few notes, he raised his chin, and his eyelids fluttered open, those beautiful, dark blue eyes rimmed with a crescent of silver in the hazy light. Finding it was me, the corners of his lips lifted gently, and in that moment, I realized I didn't have to.

~ Owari ~