Pairing: 1+4
Author: Naisumi
Notes: Hi minna-san!! ^-^ This is yaoi! (duh) Anyway, C&C (PLEASE!!!) to chanc@uakron.edu, and enjoy!! ^-^
Disclaimer: These characters don’t belong to me (yet...I plan on kidnapping Hee-chan, Q-chan, WuWu-chan, Tro-chan, and Duo-kun, _soon_ ¬.¬), but I _do_ own all following poetic descriptions in this fic! Well...er...ehehe, yeah, ‘cause it’s my fics ^^;
***
“I didn’t know you drew.”
“It’s a hobby I just picked up on...it’s not as prominent a priority as my music.”
“...Why did you start in the first place?”
“Oh...well, I had some things I had in mind that I wanted to put down on paper.”
“...”
Heero gazed intently at the drawing pad that he clutched. I watched him wonderingly from beneath dark honey eyelashes, with admiration, surprise, and anxiety. Admiration for his stonewashed cobalt eyes, his mahogany hair that swept a great jagged arc along the back of his head, drooping like a weeping willow’s sullen branches.
Surprise stemming from the fact that Heero Yuy was actually talking to me. Never mind that it was to more or less question my hobbies, to wonder darkly about my interests. My interests? I had had no idea that he even cared.
And...anxiety? Why would I feel anxious? Smiling secretively to myself, I caught the spiral binding of the pad laden with mythical scenes, imagined specters of a dreaming mind, and the very twinkle that the stars portrayed in the velvety night sky. As I gently withdrew the pad from the russet-haired pilot, lifted my demure gaze to the piercing twin set of indigo light.
“Ne, Heero-kun...Let’s not talk about the pictures that I’ve painted...” Smiling once more, I leaned backward, feeling the plush velvet of the armchair shift to accommodate the curve of my back. Heero watched me with his endless midnight gaze, his posture stiff and rigid as he stood before me.
“...hn?” I stifled the inane urge to giggle at the slight shade of confusion that my fellow pilot’s expressive eyes conveyed. So beautiful...it was like stargazing, another one of my favorite pastimes. You have to know where to look in order to be rewarded by the diamond glint of pearly stars. They always try to flit away at the most inconvenient of times—slipping deep into a cove or dell in the vast night sky. But stars are so beautiful...I think sometimes that the reason why they are there is to remind us to grasp what we can have before it blinks out of existence. It applies now...it will always apply. Especially during war.
Heero...Heero’s emotions are like stars. Bright, beautiful...glittering. Like a single teardrop suspended in a well of cerulean blue. Such a prismatic teardrop, too...sometimes, my heart would shriek of how pain enveloped the teardrop. Teardrop...I think that Heero’s soul _is_ a teardrop. Yes, I like that thought. An opal teardrop, shaded with melancholy blue, willful violet, passionate crimson, faithful jade, and, most of all, innocent white.
A startling white. Heero’s soul is so white...a creamy shade akin to a dove’s wing. That must truly be the origin of his Gundam’s name. A dove. To symbolize hope, trust, and innocence. Because he is...he is. So hopeful that he’ll be able to accomplish his mission...ever-trusting in the scientists—in us. And innocence.
“Heero...I want to paint a picture.”
The pilot of Wing stared at me, silently inquiring about why I would want to do such a ludicrous thing. I then gave in to my urge to laugh, chortling at the subliminal expression hidden away in those blue, blue eyes.
Now he frowned. A disapproving frown that spoke volumes. I calmed down, only giggling every so often, now. “Well...I just want to. To paint a picture, I mean.” I turned my gaze placidly to the window, my mouth still quirked in a small amused smile. “It’s a beautiful day outside, don’t you think? Don’t you think so...Heero?"
“What do you want to paint?”
I turned to look at him once more. Duo-kun was right...Heero Yuy, the Perfect Soldier, indeed had a one-track mind. I giggled, again, and mentally made a note to myself to stop spending so much time with Duo-kun and my sisters. “Well...”
My expression became solemn, as I pondered out how I was to answer this new complication. Heero..._Heero_, the innocent bellicose pilot of so much talent and prodigy, wanted to know what _I_ was going to paint.
“I want to paint a picture of innocence.”
I smiled serenely at the slight surprise that registered briefly on Heero’s face. Then, he scowled, Prussian blue eyes narrowing. “...hn.”
“A picture.” My smile widened as I stood up slowly, the maroon cushion of the seat rising in my wake as my weight shifted off its velveteen surface. “A magnificent picture. I want to paint...I want to paint something that’s important to me. Something that makes such a tremendous impact in my life...no,” I turned to him, a jubilant smile on my face as I exclaimed softly, “Something...someone that makes an _astounding_ impact in _all_ our lives!” I laughed quietly, and continued, approaching Heero, who was watching me silently with an ever-so-familiar stoic expression.
“Do you think...do you think I’d be able to capture the essence of my subject?”
One eyebrow disappeared under the unruly mop of chocolate hair, blue-icing eyes frosted over as he considered my question—pale rosebud lips pursed slightly upon an angular plane of white chocolate. Beautiful.
“...who?”
I grinned—‘who?’ He wanted to know ‘who’ I was going to paint? I followed through with the childish impulse to hurl myself at him, at the hard planes of a soldier’s body, to throw my arms around the Perfect Soldier’s waist and cling there in an affectionate embrace. Heero started, and I could feel his intense gaze staring incredulously at the top of my flaxen head, burning with unasked questions, that would probably remain unanswered in the course of this conversation.
“Heero...” I mumbled into the soft muscled hardness of his chest, “I want to paint Heero. Heero Yuy.” Inhaling the intoxicating musky scent of gunpowder, iron, and the crispness of the first downy snowfall of the year, I vaguely heard the sharp gasp that came from Heero. Heero—the toughened soldier...fifteen years of age. The essence of Heero...“I want to capture your essence on a canvas, Heero.”
I met his wintry cobalt gaze evenly with my own, and continued in a hushed whisper, my arms never breaking their link around his slim waist, “I want to paint. I want to paint and never stop—I want to portray everything. I want everything. I want to...”
I want to paint so much. I want to paint diamond pearls in a sparkling opal creek coursing down indigo velvet riverbed—I want to paint the hard jagged metallic shades of gunpowder. I want to draw a cobalt streak across the supple curve of a dove’s wing, I want to kiss the reflecting pool of a innocent soldier’s soul. I want...I want an elfin countenance, a penetrating cerulean gaze, softly hard muscles beneath warm bronzed skin thrumming with the fast-paced rhythm of life. I want to teach and re-teach a student whose mind the fog of war has muddled. I want to guide the lost traveler that has tripped in the forest of destiny, and ended up a terrorist instead of an innocent. I want to turn back the hourglass and lovingly cradle the cobalt-eyed child that had been taken in by a metallic scientist—a trainer of soldiers, a trainer of killers. I want...
“I want to paint innocence. Heero, will you let me paint...” I moved away, suddenly uncertain of my brash actions. “Heero, will you let me paint you?”
The silence was oppressive—crowding around me, jabbing my sides with bladed elbows, wrapping shadowy tendrils around my throat and squeezing the hope out, drop by crystalline drop. There was silence...a dark gnawing silence that ebbed at the coastline of my soul. Then...
I blinked at the rustle of forest green cloth and maroon velvet. “Go ahead. But, Quatre...?” I smiled slowly at Heero, who was now seated in the cozy armchair that I had previously occupied. Blinking lazily at him, I gathered up a few paintbrushes and a few shades of blue, “Yes, Heero?”
“Why?”
Pausing slightly in my motion of searching for the right palette, I contemplated his question. ‘Why.’ I knew what he was asking...but...
I smiled, “Because. I want to portray my heart in its purest emotion. I want...” I gently stepped towards him, watching the intense inquiring Prussian blue gaze following my every movement. “Because, I want to show my love.”
Cerulean eyes widened in shock, and I smiled again, “I want...I want to paint a picture of innocent love. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“...” Heero watched me, his gaze astounded and amazed. Aquamarine against cobalt—we stared at each other for the longest time—until, finally, a mahogany-haired pilot whispered huskily, “Yes. It...it makes perfect sense.”
I smiled. And it did...it made perfect sense. It made all the sense in the world to want to paint such a timeless portrayal...for the glowing visage of innocence to continue—to remind all the glittering teardrop stars in the bejeweled sky, to not worry. To not worry...because, there is still such things as...a cobalt streaked dove’s wing, an faithful soldier—a timeless portrayal of innocent love.
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