[scene] 7:55AM Saturday 11/23/85

 
"And these children that you spit on,
As they try to change their worlds,
Are immune to your consultations,
They're quite aware of what they're going through."

                   —David Bowie, "Changes"


7:55AM Saturday November 23, 1985 - Springfield High School


In the nearly empty parking lot of Springfield High School, a young man sits behind the wheel of a silver BMW 325i, a sleek German convertible with a black leather interior. He turns off the car's engine and sits for moment feeling ill. He shouldn't be here today. This isn't the sort of thing that happens to this young man, coming to detention on a Saturday. He's losing his whole day to this.

Quatre Winner sighs and, with one last, regretful grimace, opens the car door. He retrieves his belongings from the passenger seat, lifts his head, and walks with as much confidence as he can muster toward the school's entrance.

His honey blond hair is frosted platinum; gel and hairspray hold it in an immaculate, voluminous style. He wears gray pleated slacks, black ankle boots with small silver buckles, and a pink cashmere v-neck sweater. The collar of the white shirt he wears beneath the sweater is turned up. As he enters the building he removes his sunglasses—Ferrari of course—and makes his way to the school library. He's the first one there, and for that Quatre is grateful. He'd hate for the defectives to watch him take his seat.

He seats himself near the front of the room in the seat farthest to the right. Hopefully he'll be left alone there even if Mr. Quinze won't let him leave.

Heero Yuy sits quietly looking through the car window, his back straight and his hands in his lap. Beside him, Odin drives, his eyes fixed on the road. Heero could have walked to school, but Odin had insisted on driving him.

The car stops in front of the school, and Heero opens his door.

"Is this the first time or the last time we do this?"

Heero stops. He already has one foot out of the car and is holding the straps of his backpack. "Last."

"Use the time wisely."

Not bothering to reply, Heero closes the car door and walks to the school. He doesn't tell Odin that they aren't even allowed to use the time in detention wisely, or in any constructive way.

Adjusting his backpack he makes his way to the library. There's only another student inside, and it doesn't take Heero long to recognize Quatre Winner. Making a decision, he walks to the place next to Quatre, puts his backpack on the table and sits down.

Chang Wufei hunches down farther in his seat and pulls his letterman's jacket around himself to keep the cold and the self-disgust he feels at bay. He should be at hockey practice and then out on the town with one of the cheerleaders. Instead he is spending the day in detention with a bunch of losers. He is sixteen now, has been for three days, and he's been hoping to get a motorcycle, but now it is looking like his chances of even getting a driver's license can be summed up with two words: slim and none.

The lecture from his father is a far away drone in the back of his head, but he makes sure he nods in all the right places. The dutiful son showing proper attentiveness and respect. He's heard it all before, many many times before.

You need to work hard and be your best. More than your best. Honor your family. Sports will pay for you to go to a good college. Sports will give you a good life.

Now he has a new line to add to the mantra.

Don't be a discipline problem. Discipline problems don't get scholarships. Discipline problems dishonor their family and bring shame to their parents.

Wufei waits silently for the end of his father's speech, then nods once before grabbing his backpack and getting out of the Blazer.

Slamming the back door, Duo slips on his shades, jumps from the steps, and takes off across the yard at a fast clip. He has to make up some time or he'll be late. Late for detention means another suspension, and Howard will have his ass. If he times it right, he could get to the school with enough time to spare to hit up his locker, get a few things, and still make it to the hall before Quinze makes his appearance.

From across the parking lot, he sees someone get out of a fancy convertible and walk toward the school entrance. Ah, Mister GQ himself. Duo snorts and plays with the pen knife in his pocket. If it was a normal school day, he might have done it. But there is no one else to defuse the blame on this day. He kicks the tires as he passes.

It's already too late for a locker visit. He'll just have to make the time later.

Trowa slings his backpack over his shoulder, shutting the car door with his free hand before he remembers his mother hasn't asked what time to pick him up. He steps up beside her window, raising his fist to rap on the glass for her attention—but she's already gone, off to wherever people who can't admit they're not really going anywhere, go.

His hand drops to his side, still curled in the unused fist. Then he loosens it, not fully relaxed but not a fist; pushes the open sides of his sister's black cashmere coat back to access his front jeans pockets, slides his hands in.

Duo's there when Trowa pushes open the library door. Of course he is; it wouldn't be a surprise to find him here even if Trowa hadn't seen him enter the school. The others aren't a surprise, either, not exactly. Trowa had heard the rumors, almost unbelievable, that both Quatre Winner and Chang Wufei had been given detention this Saturday. Not just one, but both of them. And—quick glance—Heero Yuy, too? Trowa hadn't heard that one.

He doesn't look at any of them as he skirts along the edge, sticks close to the wall on his way to a seat as far back as he can be. He does steal a look at Duo when he sits down, and to his alarm Duo is looking at him. Duo winks, and Trowa's not sure why; he's not sure Duo knows why, either. Trowa ducks his head, long bangs falling comfortably heavy and opaque over his face.

Trowa doesn't look up even when he hears new footsteps, and then the unmistakable, unhappy voice of Richard Quinze.

"I see we're all here," Quinze says. "And on time, too." He pauses to survey them. "Well, well," he sneers, "I suppose congratulations are in order."

"Um," Quatre raises his hand to attract Mr. Quinze's attention. "Pardon me, sir, but there's a been a mistake. I know this is detention, but, I...uh...I really don't think I belong in here."

Quinze ignores him and keeps on talking, "It's now seven-oh-six. You have exactly eight hours and fifty-four minutes to consider why you're each here. To reflect upon the error of your ways..."

Quatre 's cheeks burn with shame. Bad enough to even be here! Now he's being ignored in front of the others. And, god, he's here too: Quatre can feel Trowa Barton's presence far behind him like an itch on his shoulder blade. Even worse is Chang Wu Fei, who Quatre's sure is sneering at the back of his head, and Duo Maxwell... Just that he's Duo Maxwell is bad news.

Quatre glances beside him at Heero Yuy—the only face he could possibly be relieved to see—and gives him a tight, embarrassed smile. But he's not sure if he's happy to see Heero or not. It is at least a surprise. Quatre can't imagine what the model student could possibly have done to land himself in detention. Still, they were friends once.

Heero doesn't return Quatre's smile. Quatre sounds more arrogant than Heero remembers him. Facing the front again, Heero reminds himself that people change.

He doesn't know the other students in the room. He has heard of them, but knows only their names and some general information. Unlike most of his peers Heero doesn't keep up with social events. It's not worth wasting his time and energy on.

"...and you may not talk. You will not move from these seats."

Heero glares at Quinze. This detention isn't worth his time and energy either. What a pointless way to spend a day.

"...and you...will not sleep."

The sound of Maxwell's feet hitting the floor distracts Wufei from the strange feeling that someone is watching him. His attention is now fully focused the interaction between Maxwell and Mr. Quinze. The white knuckles of his fists are the only thing that betrays his anger at the disrespectful behavior exhibited by that delinquent.

"All right people, we're gonna try something a little different today. We are going to write an essay—of no less than thousand words—describing to me who you think you are."

Wufei mentally rolls his eyes and sighs. Could this be any more of a clichéd and stupid waste of his time? Casually he slips out of his jacket and prepares himself mentally for the task ahead. He can whip out a thousand words in no time. Maybe with a heavy dose of remorse and self-discovery Mr. Quinze will think he's learned his lesson and let him go early.

Throwing his legs back up on the table, Duo leans back in his chair in concentrated disinterest. He looks at his hand, studies the cracks in the glove. As paper and pencil are slapped down on the table in front of him, he glares at the man.

"And when I say essay...I mean essay. I do not mean a single word repeated a thousand times. Is that clear Mister Maxwell?"

Duo rolls his eyes and looks away. "Crystal."

"Good," says Quinze, pushing a strand of his greasy hair behind his ear. "Maybe you'll gain a little personal insight, Maxwell. Maybe," Quinze mocks, "you'll even figure out if you want to end up back here again."

Heero stands, "I can answer that for myself now, sir. No."

"Sit down, Yuy."

Heero sits.

Duo ignores the teacher as he continues to talk. But when Heero tries to brown-nose the guy, Duo can't help but stare, his lip curling up in a half smile, and part smirk. Quinze likes suck-ups, but only if they earn him something. He doesn't think Heero has anything ol' Dick would want.

"My office," Quinze addresses the group and points out the open library door, "is right across that hall. Any monkey business is ill-advised..."

His attention is caught and he throws Quinze a disbelieving look. Monkey business? His chuckle is short; his eyes are dancing, waiting to jump on the next idiotic idiom.

Quinze looks pointedly around the room. "Any questions?"

Unable to help himself, Duo tosses his bangs out of his eyes and asks, "Yeah, I got a question."

Quinze turns back.

"When did you and Detective Crockett start sharing wardrobes?"

Quinze shakes a pencil at him. "You'll get the answer to that question next Saturday, Mr. Maxwell. Don't mess with the bull, kid, you'll get the horns."

Fucking great... Duo stares slack-jawed for a moment. Horns? I'll shove one up your ass, you prick.

The man walks from the room, and Duo says looking directly at Heero, "That man is a brownie-hound." When Heero fails to look impressed, Duo turns away and slips off his coat.

A thousand words. Trowa doesn't think Quinze would appreciate even one word of why he's here, let alone a thousand... but a picture's supposed to be worth a thousand words, right?

Trowa leaves his bag on the chair beside him as he works it open, the zipper purring softly as he does so. He glances around as he reaches inside: everyone else is absorbed in themselves, of course; of course they are.

Carefully, he draws out his Polaroid with one hand, using the other to brush back his bangs and tuck them behind his ear as he brings the camera to his face. He looks through the viewfinder, tips his chair back silently, a little more, a little more, until they're all in frame, backs and slivers of profiles, and: *click-flash*.

The camera's already coming down as Trowa realizes they're all looking at him. He drops it into his lap, drops the chair back to the floor with a dull thud, drops his gaze before any of them can catch it. Drops his face, his hair falling back over it. One hand still wrapped around the camera, he reaches up to tuck the bottom edges of his bangs between his lips, securing the veil and giving his mouth something to bite on besides itself.

"You keep eating your hair," he hears Duo say, "and you're not gonna be hungry for lunch."

Trowa otherwise engages his tongue in playing with the tips of his hair.

Quatre frowns when Heero returns his smile with a blank, bland look and then looks away. Heero's hardly in a position to judge him, being in detention as well. His old (Former maybe?) friend's perceived disappointment in him still rankles. Quatre transforms the small hurt quickly into indignation. Whatever Heero did to get in here must be worse than what Quatre did.

Mr. Quinze is telling them they have to do some ridiculous essay explaining themselves to him. Quatre can't possibly take such a directive seriously from a man who patently does not even understand the correct application of shampoo. He rolls his eyes as Mr. Quinze slaps the paper and pencil down in front of him.

Then Maxwell's obnoxious heckling and—that sound—is he spitting? Quatre doesn't turn to see, just the thought nearly makes him gag.

"Oh. My. God," Quatre whispers and lets his head fall forward into his hands, covering his face and wishing as hard as he can that he'll wake up soon and find himself at home in bed and not here with that revolting fuck-up.

Quinze stalks from the room, and all falls silent for a moment except for the rustling of clothes and sighs of the other students. Quatre lifts his head to look at Heero again, but Heero seems occupied twirling his pen between his fingers and glaring at the paper in front of him.

Suddenly, *click-flash* comes from behind, and everyone turns in unison.

Trowa's got a Polaroid camera pointed at all of them whirring as it ejects a photograph. Quatre grimaces. He'd have preferred some warning if his photograph was going to be taken. His left side isn't his best.

At Duo's words, Trowa hides behind his hair and starts chewing on it. Quatre winces in embarrassment for the strangeness of the other boy. He appreciates Trowa's uniqueness, sure, but does he have to be so weird sometimes? Would it kill him to behave normally every now and then?

Heero is curious about Trowa. What would prompt someone to take a picture of such uneventful moment? Although Heero has to admit that the people gathered in the room probably would never be seen together again.

Quatre acts like everyone is below him. Heero doesn't remember him being that way before. Wufei looks irritated, which is understandable considering the circumstances. Duo seems relaxed, and Heero envies him for a moment, for being able to just sit and let go, not worrying about the useful things he could be doing right now.

Pushing those thoughts away, Heero opens his backpack, takes out a pair of reading glasses and puts them on. It's obvious that the others aren't planning on working on their essay, but Heero is not about to waste another Saturday for failing to complete the assigned work.

He stares at the blank paper, tapping his lips with his pencil, as he thinks of his opening paragraph.

'Who do I think I am?'

High school teachers expect their students to be able to answer questions that philosophers have been trying to answer through time. They might as well ask for the meaning of life.

Heero throws his head back and sighs.

Wufei is seething from Barton's presumptuousness in taking a picture without asking first. Of course he would never have agreed, like he wants his moment of humiliation documented for everyone to see. Especially one that shows him in detention with that. Unconsciously, Wufei's gaze slides to Duo, and he makes no effort to veil the contemptuous curl of his lip. He can't help but notice that Duo is studying Heero with a look that could only be called sexual gracing his deceptively sweet features.

God, he thinks, I'm surrounded by fucking FAGS.

Wufei's eyes drift to Heero, who appears to be lost in thought, and he breathes a sigh of relief, finding comfort in the knowledge that least one other person appears to be normal. He has known Heero since their freshman year as they've often had honors classes together. Looking at the other boy Wufei realizes with a shock that he has never even said hello to him or in any way acknowledged his existence. Something akin to shame floods through him, and he ducks his head to hide the blush coloring his cheeks. There was no reason for him to have snubbed Heero; he's a perfectly acceptable person to associate with.

Unlike some people, he thinks, his eyes drawn to the delinquent in question.

As Wufei watches Maxwell crumples up his essay paper and throws it at Quatre. His aim is off and it sails through the air well over Quatre's and Heero's heads and into one of the aisles of library books. The pitcher in Wufei automatically analyzes and corrects the error in the toss even as the other part of his brain records where the ball of paper lands.

800s, literature

Wufei laughs derisively at himself. Wouldn't people be surprised to know that Chang Wufei Mr. Jock himself is really a wannabe nerd who has the Dewey decimal system memorized? Being a good student is something to be admired and appreciated, but admitting that you actually liked school is the quickest way to invite scorn and derision from the people who matter. At least to his father, Wufei is not so sure he gives a fuck anymore.

His paper remains white with little blue lines. College rule, his mind supplies. Like I’ll ever see the fucking inside of one. He smiles though, knowing that dorm rooms he could become very familiar with. If he ever gets out of high school. If he ever gets out of this town.

In a flash, his paper is no longer white with regimented lines; it’s a ball soaring through the air. At the glares he receives, Duo props a leg up on the table and rocks back in his chair, his smirk challenging more. No action there. He blows a mock kiss at the letterman, and ignores the disgusted look.

"All right!" he calls out. "I got something to say." Knowing eyes are on him, he plucks his sunglasses from his pocket and slides them on. Picking up his air guitar, he fingers the first few chords. "Dun-dun-dun-da-dun. It’s better to burn out, dun-dun-dun-da-dun-da-dun, than fade away!"

"I can’t believe this is really happening to me..." Quatre lowers his head, but Duo can still hear him. Losing his audience doesn’t bother him, but he does drop the guitar as a sudden thought occurs.

"Oh shit." Duo drops his chair to the floor. "What do we do if we gotta take a piss?" He glances between Heero and Quatre before flashing a look at Wufei. He would turn to look at Trowa as well, but he’ll wait to include that one in something special.

Quatre faces the front again, disgust at Duo’s vulgarity plain on his face. "Oh, please."

Grinning, Duo chirps, "If you gotta go," He unzips his fly. "You gotta go!"

The camera is still in his lap, and for a moment Trowa considers turning it under the table in his best guess of Duo's direction. But he isn't sure if Duo would find it funny, or flattering, or a punching offense.

You can't always tell with Duo. Which is why Trowa's never approached him about the thing he's wanted to ask Duo, even though he doesn't think Duo would hit him for it even if Duo said no. So it's not a fear of getting hit that's stopped Trowa from asking. He sort of doesn't think Duo would go around telling people what Trowa said, if Trowa were to say anything. So it's not exactly a fear of that, either.

He doesn't think Duo would do anything like that. But you just can't tell with Duo sometimes. Because sometimes, most of the time, Duo doesn't want you to be able to tell.

So while Trowa knows this is a laugh, what Duo's saying and doing right now, he's just not sure about
his part in it, the picture-taking. Maybe, probably, Duo wouldn't want Trowa to have a part. Not that Trowa really wants to have an active part. So he just sits quietly, head down, secret amusement twitching his lips.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Quatre mutters to the ceiling. He can't even make himself look to see if Maxwell is seriously intending to pee on the floor. He fervently hopes not, that it's just Maxwell trying to get attention. What kind of repulsive cretin would actually urinate on the floor in the library?

Heero turns and glares at Duo. It's difficult to concentrate on his essay with all that noise. He wonders why Duo acts this way. If he wants attention there are better ways to get it. Duo's looks alone attract a lot of people, but then tried to push them back with his actions. Why does he want to keep his distance?

Realizing that he's staring, Heero turns back to his paper. He isn't thinking about the essay.

Wufei glances at Heero and Quatre, noting their reactions. It is evident to him that as much as they are repulsed by Duo's behavior neither is willing to speak up. He will then. Speaking his mind to his peers has never been a problem for Wufei.

"Don't even think about peeing in here, Maxwell!"

Disgust and contempt are clear in both his voice and on his features. Duo raises a hand, first gesturing for silence then pointing towards his crotch.

"Don't talk! Don't talk! It makes it crawl back up!"

"You pull that thing out, and I'll tie a knot in it before you even get started."

Duo winks at him again, and Wufei feels his hands fisting in rage.

One chance, he thinks, give me one chance and I will pound his ass into the floor!

His zipper already closed, Duo aims a growl at Wufei. "You’re pretty sexy when you get angry!" He waggles his brows, waiting for the expected reaction and grins when it comes. Homophobe in the side pocket.

Glancing around, he notices Trowa still has his head down. Duo frowns slightly, wondering if maybe he should do something. Trowa had been someone he knew from junior high, though not well. Damn mental case. He almost gets up but thinks Trowa wouldn’t like talking to him. Duo wants a cigarette and wonders if Quinze will be coming back any time soon. He touches the pack in his jacket and thinks better of it. Acting on a sudden impulse, he nudges the leg to Heero’s chair.

"Hey, homeboy." When Heero looks around, Duo almost forgets what he was saying; Heero is wearing glasses. Sliding his lips up into a half smile, he pitches his tone into bedroom suggestion. "Why don’t you go close that door," he points with a jerk of his chin, "and we’ll check out just what pretty boy is hiding."

Trowa dares an unveiled glance, to determine just which pretty boy Duo is talking about. Their eyes are all on each other, so Trowa folds his arms on the table, rests his chin to watch openly. The pretty boy, he guesses from their postures and expressions, is The Pretty Boy. Trowa's gaze goes fleetingly to Quatre, and then back to the comparative safety of Duo.

Now Quatre turns to look Duo full in the face. The leer Duo's giving him makes him flush hot. He's irritated yes, but... But what? Quatre won't let his thoughts stray that far. This is absurd. His eyes flick to the back of the rows of desks. Trowa Barton is watching, though he's looking at Duo. Quatre's grateful for that, though he resents immediately the thought that Trowa might be watching simply out of perverse curiosity.

And Wufei... Wufei looks ready to kill someone, and Quatre is not at all confident he's not one of them. Especially if... Never mind.

Quatre can't look at Heero. This is too humiliating, that he's being forced to participate in any of Maxwell's games, and even after six years he doesn't want to look ridiculous in front of Heero. Not Heero.

He knows Duo's most likely got no real intentions of molesting him, and he's sure he's strong enough to keep Duo off him. Regardless, the mere thought of being stripped and degraded in front of Heero? (And Trowa, though Quatre doesn't even want to begin to imagine that.) Now Quatre grows angry. He narrows his eyes and speaks coldly to Duo:

"Don't you even think about touching me," he says.

Heero makes no move for the door and just examines Quatre's defensive look and Duo's amused one. He leans slightly towards Quatre, sending a clear message: he's not to be touched. Heero doubts that Duo would really attempt something, but he's not willing to risk it. Not with Quatre.

Trowa is watching them silently and Wufei looks like he's about to lose his temper. Heero thinks that if he can get Duo to focus on him then Quatre won't be in the spotlight, and Duo won't tease Wufei enough to actually end up fighting.

He pushes his glasses up and looks directly at Duo when he says, "I think we should just write our papers."

Wufei can feel the little bit of patience he has left fraying around the edges. As much as he dislikes Winner's little Nancy boy he is not going to stand by and watch him be humiliated.

Of course not, whispers that little voice in the back of his head. When it comes to humiliating fags you want to be an active participant.

Self-disgust mixes with his anger and fuels the fire in the pit of his stomach. His eyes meet and hold Duo's issuing an unspoken challenge. When the boy smirks back at him Wufei's words fall fast and cold.

"I am about two seconds away from kicking your ass, Maxwell!"

Duo just shrugs showing that he is not the least bit intimidated. Slowly his eyes roam up and down Wufei and he licks his lips.

"What did you do to get stuck here with us? Get caught fucking someone in the shower?"

Wufei's eyes narrow and his fists clench. He knows that Duo is trying to wind him up and get a reaction, but the anger and humiliation of the day is almost too much, and he bites on the bait dangling in front of him.

"I'm not a fucking fag like you!" Unconsciously his eyes flick to the side to take in Quatre with his statement. "I don't fuck guys in the shower or anywhere else! Just because detention is your homeroom doesn't mean you can treat other people like shit!" His glare deepens and the flow of his words slows as he carefully enunciates each one. "Shut...the...fuck...up!"

His lip curls and Duo slides his eyes away. He says almost under his breath, but loud enough for Wufei to hear, "I’m crushed."

In front of him, he sees Heero exchanging looks with Quatre. Companionable, almost comfortable, they share an understanding he will never. A hot flash surges and his mouth moves before he thinks.

"So, are you guys like... boyfriends?" he adds just a touch of a dubious slur to his tone. He can see Wufei shooting daggered looks. "Steady dates?" Heero stares at him unblinkingly and Quatre refuses to acknowledge his existence. His tongue holding the sound, drawing it out, Duo keeps his eyes locked on Heero. "Lo~vers?"

When Heero looks away, he adds a little more harshly than he’s intended. "Tell me, Hee-ro, does he score on your joy stick?"

Trowa knows Duo is not really serious, that he's just trying to get a rise out of them. Maybe it's just a random shot, or maybe Duo is aiming at something he saw, or thought he did. Trowa doesn't know. He doesn't look at Quatre, because he doesn't want to know. Whether or not Quatre has a boyfriend, or even just a crush, is none of Trowa's business. Whether Quatre Winner is straight or gay, it has the same exact impact on Trowa and Trowa's life. Which is none.

So Trowa doesn't look at Quatre or at Heero or at Duo. And he doesn't particularly want to look at Wufei, either, after that nasty little outburst. He doesn't want to speculate, nastily himself or otherwise, on just how many guys Wufei has fucked in the shower. Or wanted to. Or how many of their sisters he has fucked instead.

For the first time, he wishes he wasn't here. He wonders what would happen if he got up and walked out.

He glances at the clock, and then out the window, which is forever away.

Quatre closes his eyes as he feels the heat flood his face. He knows he's gone beet red, and there's nothing he can do about it. Duo's words brought back in a rush all his memories of when he and Heero were ten and all Quatre could think about was whether Heero would like it if Quatre kissed him. And right now, with Heero leaning toward him half protectively, it brings back all those feelings—and all his regrets.

He takes a deep breath and hopes his flush will be misinterpreted as anger. Quatre's discovered the best way to deal with people questioning his own orientation is to be dismissive, and so he is. He barely spares Duo a glance as he speaks.

"No one's interested in your ridiculous theories, Maxwell, so why don't you just shut up."

Now Quatre turns his gaze to Wufei. It takes a lot of willpower not to flinch away from the angry black stare, but he didn't miss the way Wufei looked at him when he said 'fucking fag', and Quatre is also hyperaware of Trowa's presence in the back of the room, though he doesn't look at the other boy: the boy who everyone supposes is what Wufei would call 'a fucking fag'.

He keeps his gaze steady, his voice imbued with the authority that can only come from being raised the way he's been: "And I don't even want to know what the hell your problem is, but you should try keeping it to yourself."

Heero shakes his head at Duo once before turning his attention back to Quatre and Wufei, who isn't looking happy.

"Mr. Quinze is going to come in here if you keep making noise." Heero's voice sounds irritated but he's actually worried. He hopes at least Quatre and Wufei will prefer to stay silent than to waste another Saturday in school. Trowa hasn't spoken once and Duo… Well Duo clearly wouldn't let that stop him.

Heero wonders briefly why he's so worried about what Duo would and wouldn't do. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes before he puts them back on and looks at the blank paper in front of him. He's never had so much trouble writing an essay.

Wufei meets Quatre's look steadily. He does not challenge Quatre but he does not back down either. He keeps his mouth closed and allows his expression and body language to speak for him.

My problem is you, Mr. "I'm perfect and the world worships me" Winner. You, with your designer clothes and fancy car. You, with your big ass house and your picture post card family. You, who have never had to work a day in your life for the things that other people spend their whole lives struggling to achieve. You, the prince of the school who has everything from grades to status handed to you because of your name. You, you spoiled self-centered little prick.

The sound of Heero's voice allows Wufei to break his eye contact with Quatre without appearing to have lost, and he does so. His gaze shifts to the other boy, and he nods in acknowledgement of the words spoken. His eyes drift back down to the blank paper in front of him, and he sighs.

Who do I think I am?


to be continued...