Back to One
~ Act Twenty, That's a Wrap
In the end, he never won the biggest acting prize. That had always been reserved for Duo and the highly decorated actor certainly deserved it. But if Quatre was being honest with himself, the competitor in him wanted that win. It didn't help that Duo, a fierce competitor himself, not-so-subtly reminded him of his triumph every chance he got. But it may have been an honor to be the subject of his merriment if only for the fact that he considered him an equal in their profession, a profession Quatre had apparently denigrated by way of halfhearted retirement.
Still, he was satisfied with his last acting job, granted, he won no more than one accolade. A nomination, according to Wufei, was just as great an honor. Wufei and Trowa won something too for each of their own categories. That was three for five. To hell with the five or none rule.
It was a month after the end of the most important awards season that he found himself on another continent, making good on his promise to himself to see the world, stop worrying about what people thought about him, and leave Trowa behind. In his opinion, his selfish wish for separation was needed until he figured out if the reason they got together was not because of Trowa's sometimes tiresome, all-too-relentless pursuit coupled with fan expectation. Time and space did its job until it no longer did. Just how long was too long and how far was too far?
The chaotic atmosphere around him was pleasantly distracting after a big steak dinner washed down with refreshing glasses of Coke, though empty wine bottles also filled his occupied table. Tango dancers, in what was supposed to be a modern take of the show, were flying in the air held by ribbons. It was tacky to some, amazing to others. Señor Tango's performance hall was a fiesta that evening. The place, filled with tourists from a cruise ship that had docked in port that morning, was full of energy. Low hanging chandeliers, tables packed together and waiters near-running to serve their guests gave the place atmosphere. The owner of the place was singing his heart out, reaping applause from the audience.
Quatre let the atmosphere take him just as he'd learned to deal with the altitudes of La Paz, the constricting humidity of Cartagena, the winds of Punta Arenas or the majesty of Patagonia. He accepted them all as they came throughout his months of traveling far south of his comfort zone. This continent was, indeed, a hidden gem.
He picked up his glass of Coke, bypassing the endless bottles of wine within easy reaching distance, and took a sip. He surmised that his tablemates spoke Croatian, not one word of which was familiar with him, so it was a little lonely. After spending his last few days in the states attending award shows and wrapping up his publicity duties, it was always unusual and liberating to find himself as one of the unknowns, as just another tourist in another country, but there was only so much alone time he could take before he sought the company of another.
"Found you."
Always a tickle on the back of his neck, Trowa's voice carried past the singing showman. It made him shiver more than the chill of the air-conditioning above him. It had been so long since he'd heard his voice this clear, not across choppy lines and antiquated pay phones. He wiped sweaty palms on his pants as he turned to face him.
Trowa would certainly look good dancing with the ladies on stage. He still had a killer look, noticeable even from his simple button-down shirt and formal slacks. Nervousness gave way to fond familiarity. Quatre couldn't help but grin at the sight of him. Maybe it really had been too long a time and too far a distance.
"Aren't you a bit overdressed?" he greeted.
"You are underdressed," Trowa accused, leaning down to his ear level. He could feel his hot breath on his neck and it was distracting.
"I can't help it. It was a last minute invitation," he explained, shifting in his seat to regain his personal space.
"Which one?" Trowa questioned.
"The accordion player."
There was silence from Trowa as Quatre watched him study the stage. There was only one accordion player. There was no way he could have missed him.
"Handsome," Trowa said with a critical eye while studying what he deemed his competition. "… and too young. I hope you know how jealous I am," he continued, before getting out of his space altogether and straightening up to survey the rest of the place. "Even if we haven't been together for a year…"
"A year plus," Quatre clarified. "Are you shooting a film around here?"
"The only thing I'm doing here is looking for you."
Buenos Aires. Trowa found him in the outskirts of Buenos Aires, in a one-of-several, tourist-filled tango halls littering the city.
"You need a drink," he said, handing his stalker-slash-tracker an unopened bottle of wine. "I have no cell phone on me. I'm sure you had a grand old time pinpointing my exact location."
"I have the tendency to let decades-long crushes overtake common sense… and I've been sober for a while now."
Quatre retracted his previous offer, feeling guilty for forgetting Trowa's admitted alcoholism. He stood from his seat, having had enough of the singing from the fedora-clad man on stage. He promised to watch the show, not stay until the conclusion. It had been three hours and counting. The accordion player would probably be disappointed.
"How long will you be here?" Quatre asked as he eyed the musician. Though an apologetic nod would not suffice, he sent the devastated young man a short wave of goodbye. He felt guilty to be seen leaving with another man when the musician on stage had been more than forward about his intentions. To be fair, Quatre was also very specific when he established his refusal to do anything other than watch the free show offered. That, and he never turned down a free meal these days.
"I'll be here as long as it takes."
This was Trowa alright, always a bit pushy, always too brazen with him. He sometimes wondered what happened to the shy teenager who couldn't even approach him. Honestly though, it didn't matter because he was more than happy to see him. It wasn't the fans chanting encouragement that spurred him. It wasn't Duo's cheesy Trowa-centric SOB story that guilt-tripped him. This time, he was sure it was because he himself was looking forward to being with Trowa. He was willing to try again if the other didn't change his mind, which seemed highly likely with the way he spoke.
"I'm surprised you didn't come find me sooner."
Trowa looked frustrated as he ran a hand through his ever-floppy hair. "Who in their right mind doesn't have a cell phone these days?"
"I didn't have enough allowance to accommodate that massive expense," he reasoned, leading the way out of the dark, lively building. What he didn't think about beforehand was how he'd get a ride back to his hotel with no taxies in sight that late at night. And there was the little matter about his budget, which he threw out the window when he booked a hotel. It was his only splurge in months. He'd been living mostly off hostels and kindly people's homes in little towns.
"I offered—"
"To buy me one," he acknowledged. Trowa wasn't the only person who offered to buy him a mobile phone. His family back home was probably pulling their hair out with how difficult the communication had been. Other than giving them reassurances via regular phone calls that he was alive and well, he preferred to stay off the grid.
"I bet you need one of these to get you out of here though," Trowa said. His savior for the night pulled out his most sacred electronic device to call a taxi then presented to Quatre the usefulness of the device. He agreed, especially because he didn't want to argue with his companion for the night. Hearing Trowa's voice – that alone – pleased him in a manner it never did before. The sound was so imperative to his sanity at the moment that it surprised even him.
"I left my bags with an assistant, but I don't have a hotel for tonight," Trowa said with a frown after describing his scenic plane trip over some beautiful, varying landscape. Quatre could have listened on forever to his candid descriptions of the seemingly never-ending journey he took to find him in the outskirts of Buenos Aires but assured him that they would be fine.
"I have a place," he said, not being able to stop a smile from creeping into his face. Trowa must have been talking movie scripts with someone to get this carried away. All that purported planning and he looked worried about the last detail of his meticulously planned trip.
"Hotel at least?"
Quatre laughed at the honesty in Trowa's question. He had, after all, been staying in rather… basic lodgings. "Three whole stars," he assured him. "In downtown."
Trowa's relief at that was very audible and would be even more audible by the time they made it back to the hotel. He seemed overwrought with delight when Quatre closed the door, pushed him against the wall and kissed him. In between trying to slot his keycard into the holder and feeling for his hastily discarded backpack on the floor, Quatre was busy trying to appease his on-edge, probably jetlagged ex-lover. It was only a sudden trip sideways to the floor courtesy of an overstuffed backpack that forced Trowa to back off enough for Quatre to place the key into its holder and fill the once pitch-black room with light. Quatre couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips upon witnessing a usually graceful Trowa sprawled on the floor.
"That carpet looks good on you," he commented. "It brings out your eyes." And it did, in a strange but fascinating way. Quatre had seen the deepest colors he'd ever seen these last months of travel and nothing compared to this man on the carpet.
"So does this monstrous bag that smacked me in the ribs."
Quatre knelt on one knee, intending to help Trowa up but decided last minute that maybe continuing his former mischief in the dark would be more appropriate. He gave his jaw a lick then a kiss, following the prominent line all the way to the tip of his unshaven chin. Trowa's appreciativeness was vocal, but he was uncomfortable enough that he brought attention back to his predicament.
"As much as I've dreamed of you ravaging me where you found me, may I please dislodge myself from the floor? The backpack is digging in to my side."
Quatre straightened up and offered his hand. His other hand was busy retrieving condoms and a bottle off the side pocket of his backpack.
"Very well, my prince," he said with his proffered hand. Properly, he reminded himself, because he wasn't in some tent somewhere experimenting with a guy who wasn't Trowa or in someone's house somewhere convincing himself the woman he was having relations with wasn't just interested in bagging him for bragging rights. Maybe he should have abstained, but that was never a plan and it wouldn't have been a plan that would have went very far. After all, this was also a journey that sought enlightenment about his sexuality.
"It kills me to imagine you with anyone else," Trowa admitted as he was hauled off the floor. He looked miserable at the idea of him having sex which was made especially clear with the condoms placed within easy reach in his backpack. Quatre wasn't surprised. This wasn't the first time Trowa displayed his possessive nature.
"I've missed you," he whispered in appeasement, as if the statement was so sacred nobody else should be allowed to hear it. "I've missed even that part of you that's always jealous," he specified, this time leading him to the pristine bed before gently guiding him to sit. He knelt on the floor so he would be just at the right height to drop a kiss on his neck. The materials collected from his bag were dropped at the side table before he kissed a line following Trowa's exposed skin up to the top undone button of his shirt. He was trying his best to prolong the moment, but Trowa was insistent as he applied a downward pressure to his shoulders. The crude sounds he made coupled with his pleading requests was a clear indication of what he wanted. At least one of them wasn't interested in making this last long. Quatre obliged.
He quickly unbuckled Trowa's belt and undid his zipper. A grunt of approval was all he got as Trowa let himself fall back on the mattress, lifting his hips up. Quatre made quick work of pulling his trousers down and enveloping him with his lips. The immediate response was Trowa's long fingers flying to cover his mouth. The expression Quatre saw on his handsome face was of complete disbelief mixed with euphoria. He quickly climaxed without warning, arching his back and grabbing on to the sheets as he rode the unexpected wave. Quatre had to admit that it took him by surprise. After that much time apart, maybe that was all he needed to bring him over the edge.
Quatre slowly withdrew his lips from Trowa's length with a playful scrape of his teeth before pulling his own jeans off. When he reached for the condom on the table, he was caught again by surprise when Trowa did a two-handed grab of his cock and testicles, enclosing them in those elegant fingers. His sated, glowing form against the white sheets made for a superbly stunning view. He was gorgeous in more ways than he could imagine. And the honesty of his contentment remained unhidden for Quatre to see. There was no doubt about it. He was certainly attracted to Trowa and it was confirmation enough when all it took was a few firm jerks from Trowa's hand while watching his gorgeous, masculine face to lose control of himself completely. He came with a guttural release, steeling himself with his hand gripping the sheets just above Trowa's shoulder.
When it was over, he felt all his remaining energy leave his body as white spots overtook his sight. He dropped with a thud next to Trowa and felt an arm land on top of his torso.
"I've missed you," he repeated with closed eyes because he missed him more than he expected, and that longing felt even stronger now that they were together.
"I think I caught that earlier," Trowa murmured in response, turning sideways to bury his face in the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. He kissed where his lips landed.
Quatre stiffened when a realization suddenly hit him. "I'm not ready to come home," he said. He wasn't ready to be separated from Trowa either. He wanted it all – the man and the adventures that liberated him from eventual responsibility, the same responsibility he wanted to take on later in life. It didn't seem fair that he had that much leisure time and money to make it happen. Other people were out there letting go of their dreams and freedom to make a living.
When Trowa did not say anything, he wondered, listening to the sounds of people having drinks and socializing in a bar nearby. Eventually, the air conditioning cooled their bodies to an uncomfortable level, forcing Quatre to grudgingly disentangle himself from Trowa to clean up. He was swiping a moist, warm towel over Trowa when he finally received the reply he'd been waiting for.
"I missed you too – a lot," Trowa said, staring up at the ceiling as if it held his interest more than anything in the room. He put an arm over his eyes and sighed. "And I love you."
Quatre paused in his movements. He'd only considered how far he'd come and not for a second considered how far they've come. He felt like the most awful person on the planet.
"Please don't say anything," Trowa recovered, sitting up to grab the towel off him. "We finalized the divorce yesterday… or two days ago. I'm not sure. I've lost track of time with the change in time zone."
It really had been too long, but the question was, was it long enough for him to expect that it was going to be tied up like a neat bow in the end? This was not a movie. This was his life and reality bit back at him once again. He'd almost forgotten how they'd gotten together and the people who took a ride with them along the way. It was hard to stop reminding himself that he ruined a relationship along the way. It didn't matter what state of neglect their relationship was already in. He was still a part of this and he felt guilty. On the other hand, he also felt justifiably miffed at Trowa for involving him in it and right now, he felt more angry than guilty.
"So that should wrap it up? It's all good. I should come home, and we'll be an A-list couple."
"You were always my first choice."
Quatre bit back an angry rant. Trowa wasn't the one going on a more than year long escapade in search of whatever kind of enlightenment the world had to offer. He wasn't the one running like a lunatic at the first sight of a narcotic or a sniff of coca tea. He wasn't the one sleeping around trying to figure out in what spot on the spectrum of sexuality he belonged. He wasn't the one still without answers in his thirties.
"I'm good for you," Trowa said with confidence, a confidence that felt exclusive to the director.
He was not up for an argument, so he didn't protest when Trowa pulled him by the hand and led him to the bathroom. It was cold inside, but the little basket filled with tiny bottles of toiletries and the folded towels on the counter made the space cozy. Trowa never let go of his hand save for the brief moment when they discarded their clothing. The warm water hitting his skin momentarily distracted Quatre from his brooding, but he was not ecstatic when Trowa picked up a washcloth and scrubbed them both down. He was old enough to wash himself, but maybe that wasn't the point. He reluctantly accepted this show of affection because it felt nice to be pampered occasionally.
"I can sense you overthinking," Trowa said, working a lather on his hair and he wasn't wrong. Quatre let out a juvenile pout. "I saw that too."
"I'm still not ready to come home," Quatre insisted. He wanted this semi-vacation to last forever. Being away meant he didn't have to find a job or think about the family business. It meant not having to deal with boardroom staff or nephews and nieces trying to sway him in their favor. He didn't have to be the one used as leverage for agreements nor did he have to be made a sideshow of the entertainment industry. Maybe they forgot about him by now. If you were low-key enough, they were quick at forgetting. But was that feasible? He was the subject of interest of the man now giving him a head massage. Trowa wasn't exactly low-key.
"I never asked you to come home," Trowa replied, pulling his head down to his shoulder to continue with a neck and shoulder massage. The spot on his shoulder that took the weight of his heavy backpack stung, but his muscles seemed to detangled at the action. He was grateful for the little bit of respite offered. "I mentioned the divorce because I wanted to tell you that I was running away from the press for a bit. And I was going to ask you if you didn't mind me tagging along. I know you need this time alone, but I was wondering if I could be selfish enough to ask you to take me with you."
While Quatre was thrilled at the prospect of spending his travels with Trowa, he was also wary of the attention it would bring.
"I'll wear facial prosthetics as a disguise," Trowa offered, which garnered an eye roll from Quatre. "I'll skip the good hotels and restaurants. I won't be flashy. I promise."
Quatre pulled away enough to look Trowa in the eye. He wanted to make sure that he was serious and that it wasn't simply an attempt to get a reaction out of him and he wasn't surprised at what he saw. If there was ever a man so deeply in love with him, this was it. In there lay the dilemma. He still didn't know what to do with it.
"Trowa," he started, swiping his forehead to stop shampoo suds from getting into his eyes. "I'm still confused as hell and I'm nearly forty."
"I know."
"I am a grown man being bathed by a guy who's accomplished and kind and so in love with me that I don't know how to respond. I wish I could be one of those fictional versions of me that could easily respond in kind."
"Does that mean you don't like me?" Trowa said with a start. His hands latched on to one of Quatre's many backpack-caused bruises on his hip. Realizing his error, he held his hand up in surrender before dropping a kiss on each hip. "But you do like me," he amended, straightening back up to face him. "And I'm not the type to like someone just because they throw me a little bit of kindness or impress me with aircraft flying skills. I like everything about you – the over-analyzing going on in your head, the overcommitment to a cause and that tight-lipped refusal to say what's on your mind."
"…I just blurted my heart out to you," Quatre complained. "I've never said any of that out loud before."
Trowa smiled at him with that small quirk of his lips that complimented his bright, earnest eyes. "Thank you," he said before diving in for a deeper kiss, which Quatre had to admit that he loved. It could be so easy with him if he let it. "I didn't expect you to figure it out in 14 months. It's a lifetime thing, Quatre. You've got to trust me on this and let me in on it if it's okay with you."
Conceding was not part of his character, but he did for now and just for Trowa. "Alright," he said. This was more than just a film about his life after all. There were no second takes, but there were second chances. And back to one with Trowa was more than he could ask for.
End.