disclaimer: i don't have any rights to gw except my first amendment fair use right.

genre: AU, ordinary life, stuff like so
pairings: 3x4 established, working on that 1x2
warnings: none so far.. 'cept i wrote in first person POV and Duo is.. an attorney (hides)

Part 3
by 0083

- The Second Encounter -

I woke up on Saturday. About two in the afternoon, but still, it was Saturday which I had meant to sleep through. At least I wasn’t hung over, but then last night came crashing down on my head like a ton of bricks.

I had been attracted to a guy. Granted, he was a great looking guy, but still, the operative word was guy. Man. External organs. Male.

I was speechless, both verbally and mentally for about four hours after that initial thought upon awakening. There was a mantra in my head, yes, but it was just ‘ohgodohgod’ repeated about nine thousand times. Not productive nor conducive to anything remotely resembling a thought.

Then as I anticipated the night before, there was a knock on my door. It was Quatre and Trowa of course since they knew that if they had called, I would not have answered. I could just pretend I wasn’t home, but I swear, those two would stand outside my apartment door until I opened it. Resigning myself to their questions and inevitable advice, I opened the door.

“Duo! You look.. like you’ve been run over by a bus! Are you okay?”

Quatre changed from interrogator to mother hen in a space of a nanosecond when he saw how tired and traumatized I looked. I suppose I do look terrible. After all, last night had been filled with revelations that I had not been expecting.

Trowa followed Quatre in, both of them bustling me back into my home and setting me down on my sofa. They looked at me intently then Trowa went into my kitchen to get me a glass of water. When he handed it to me, I drained it in two gulps. In my shock and non-thought phase, I had forgotten to drink or eat.

“What in the world happened? Did you go out last night by yourself?”

There was a bit of admonition in Quatre’s voice and more than that in Trowa’s eyes. They did not like me going out by myself to bars because they knew I had a terrible habit of drinking myself into senseless oblivion without one of them to watch my back. I could almost see the disappointment running through them, so before they got even more depressed on my behalf, I interceded.

“I did, but I didn’t get drunk. I actually got home before one.”

That raised some eyebrows. Yeah, my friends know me too well. I would never, ever come home before four in the morning if I went out alone because I would have gone home with some hot girl and banged her for all I was worth. That reminded me once again of my interesting sexuality dilemma and I blanked out from the shock of it.

“What happened then? You look really awful.”

I turned my slightly glazed eyes over to Quatre, but I couldn’t get my voice to work. I had no idea what to tell them, really. And I figure, if anyone would understand male attraction to other males, it would be these two. Still, I could not find a way to say I, the ladies’ man, found a man attractive in a very sexual way.

“I.. uh. Hmm..”

Normally, I’m chatty. So my three monosyllabic utterances were completely out of character. They knew this and if it was even possible, they became even more concerned. I could see the scenarios running through their heads, every one more horrible than their last thought because I was notorious for having a thick skin. What could traumatize me to the point of speechless shock?

I know what it is, but I’m not going to enlighten them. Hell, I’m having a hard time as is trying to explain and justify it to myself right now.

Quatre must have noticed that I wasn’t about to volunteer information and being the good guy that he is, he decided not to push me. Instead, he offered me support with soothing words and a promise that I could talk to him about anything at all. Then my two best friends left, still worried and puzzled, but willing to let me muddle through this on my own before I reached out for their help.

Saturday went by rather quickly after that since I decided being spaced out was not a good way to spend time. Instead, I buried myself in my work, putting in extra effort and time into things I could have done in my sleep. I was actually trying to avoid thinking about the whole fiasco the night before, but I didn’t admit that to myself until I was burning the midnight oil well past midnight.

You would think a guy like me who has more than enough words and arguments in his head most of the times would be able to rationalize myself out of this strange circumstance, but I couldn’t. That frustrated me. I argue for a living, most of the time quite successfully and I couldn’t argue to myself why I should or even should not have been attracted to a guy. I found myself unable to convince myself that I was straight, gay or bi. That’s right, at the ripe age of twenty something or other, I have come to the crossroads of ‘what is my sexuality’ without finding an answer.

I wondered then if this new development would complicate my mission to be special.

However, one thing was for certain. I do not do well when I don’t have all the facts – call it a side effect of my job. Facts lead to presumptions, presumptions lead to reasonable doubt, so forth and so on. I need the facts.

I needed to see that guy again and reassess what happened without turning into a staring, gaping aquatic creature.

I grabbed my coat and ran out the door. Tornado Fodder was calling me.

It was a perfect plan too. I would get there, casually talk to the bartenders about the guy, find out who he was, et cetera, et cetera. I would put to use all my resources I have at disposal to my advantage. I would treat it like work – I’m interviewing clients or witnesses to get to the bottom of my core argument. In case you were wondering, my occupation is nothing more than to argue someone’s innocence even if I don’t believe it. Yes, a hated criminal defense attorney.

But as all perfect plans go, mine fell apart. The first problem was that as soon as I got there, I ran into Quatre and Trowa. Second problem arose when I found myself unable to conduct my questioning with those two around. Perhaps the final straw was when I actually saw that guy again, across the bar, staring at me.

To define staring. It is not a gaze filled with friendly intentions, nor is it a smoldering heated look designed to seduce. It does not fill one with the feelings of being wanted, loved or needed. Staring is uncomfortable, rude and quite frankly, nerve wracking on the party who is on the receiving end of it. He stared. I received it. I resented it.

After a moment of uncomfortable reception, I abruptly turned away. I was feeling a bit.. undefined. There were many things running through my head, such as ‘he’s as hot as I remember’ to ‘gah, will he stop staring at me it’s creepy.’ Yet in the center of my thought maelstrom was the one need for me to actually talk to him at some point so that I could finally put my strange attraction to rest.

Or set it on fire, who knows. I just needed all the facts to go forward or this would hinder my special mission to be special.

When I’m in deep thought, I’ve been told that I get a slight crease between my eyebrows and that I chew on my knuckles lightly. That must have been what I was doing as I contemplated my fallen apart plan because Quatre shook be by my shoulders and asked me if I needed to go home to rest.

Rest. Ha. It was nearly two in the morning and I had been working all day after I got over my emotional trauma. I didn’t need to rest, I needed answers.

“Quat, Tro, you guys go home. I have some business to take care of.”

“Business?” Surprisingly, it was Trowa who responded. “What kind of business can you have at two in the morning on a Saturday, I mean, Sunday night?”

I tried not to get irritated, but I couldn’t help the irrational surge of annoyance. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see the guy moving towards me at a leisurely but a measured pace and I didn’t want my friends around when he came. Some things had to be handled by myself without their supporting interference. Like this.

Quatre caught on to my rising ire so he quickly said good bye and dragged Trowa off with him. I foresaw another day of questioning the next day, but thankfully, Monday would be just around the corner and I could duck them tomorrow until next weekend. Work, as much as I hate it sometimes, would save me from explaining my bizarre behavior for a whole week. I hope to have it figured out by then.

As soon as Quatre and Trowa were gone, I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I knew who it was, but I was still reluctant to turn around to face him. If anything, however, I am not a coward. Whatever confuses me, I must face straight on without faltering. Otherwise, the confusion would walk all over me and my pride would never let me live it down.

I turned my head slightly and caught a glimpse of the guy’s face once again. Prussian blue eyes. Or were they cobalt? The colors are similar enough and in this dim bar light accompanied by my severe lack of knowledge on color schemes, I couldn’t really say. Whatever the color they were though, I admitted that they were beautiful.

My body followed my head in turning and then I was facing him. I realized belatedly that he was standing rather close to me, a little too close since the bar was not as crowded as to warrant that type of close personal invasion. However, I let it slide in favor of dragging information out of this guy.


Deep voice. I like that.

“I’m Heero.”

Succinct. I also like that.

“How about some coffee?”

Straight forward. Needless to say, I like.

Too many things I liked about this guy and he has spoken three sets of sentences at me. And I haven’t said a thing yet. Heero who wanted to have some coffee, I could tell that he would cause me trouble.

Then again, I like trouble too, don’t I.

on to part 4

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