by Flint
Trowa stood on the snow-covered sidewalk gazing up at the house before him. The breath leaving his nostrils formed a small cloud of mist in front of his face. He gazed longingly up at the lit window above him. Quatre was up late again. Home alone, working late. It had been Two weeks now since they’d had the huge fight that ended with him leaving the house and staying with his sister Catharine. He wanted nothing so much as to run up the door, throw it open, and rush up to the bedroom, throw his arms around Quatre and apologize. He wanted to feel the familiar soft alabaster skin against his again. To feel the comfort he found in those arms. But he was right damnit! He wasn’t quite ready to apologize for something that wasn’t his fault. He threw the beer bottle in his hand into the bushes in frustration and walked away.
Quatre gazed out of the corner of the bedroom window at Trowa standing on the sidewalk. This was the third night in a row he had stopped in front of the house and gazed up at the window. Quatre had thought each time that he was going to come up to the door, but each time he had walked away. Quatre had tried to go and talk to Trowa at his sisters, but Trowa hadn’t been there, and Catharine had quickly given him a piece of her mind and shut the door in his face. He had walked home after that, and decided that if Trowa wanted to talk to him, the he could damn well come to him. Even from this distance, Quatre could feel the fire in his stomach that the sight of Trowa always brought on. He wanted to feel those strong, protective arms around him. He wanted to feel the electricity flow between them when their lips met. He then watched as Trowa turned to leave again. Without thinking, Quatre picked up a vase from the nearby nightstand and threw it with all his might against the wall, watching it shatter into a million pieces.
Why was he doing this to himself? This was his fourth night of standing in the cold, watching a lit window. He didn’t care anymore who was right and who was wrong. He just wanted Quatre back. He turned and started up the walkway.
Quatre watched from the window for the fourth night in a row. It appeared for a moment as if Trowa was going to leave again, and that was all Quatre could take. "Fuck it, I don’t care anymore!" he screamed as he ran down the stairs, determined to catch Trowa before he could leave.
Suddenly, before Trowa could knock on the door, it was flung open and before him stood a dishelved Quatre, breathing hard and crying.
As Quatre opened the door to run out, He practically ran into Trowa who was standing on the landing. Suddenly, they started talking at the same time.
"Quatre, I don’t care whose right, I’m sorry I let it come to this…"
"Trowa, I was wrong, and I shouldn’t have given up when your sister pissed me off.."
They stared at each other for a moment, a nervous chuckle hanging in the air. Suddenly Quatre decided to take matters into his own hands and grabbed Trowa’s head with his hand, forcing the taller boy to bend down. He then proceeded to ravish him with a kiss that left them both breathless and weak-kneed. As they stood with their foreheads resting against each other, their breath mingling in the cold, crisp, winter air, Quatre spoke. "How about we just skip to the part where we run upstairs and really make up"
"Hell yes," Trowa responded. They walked hand in hand back into the house and shut the door.