***
Heero trembled. That didn't happen. But he was lying on a bed, strapped down because he was too weak to break the leather. That didn't ever happen either. Dr. J would kill him. Or maybe he was already dead, from the blood loss, and this was some strange dream. It had to be, because this didn't happen. Not to him. Boys weren't weak like this, crumbling beneath leather straps and curling into their boyfriend's warmth because they had nothing else.
Nothing else, -- but he had himself! That had always been enough before, couldn't it be now? He scrunched his eyes closed, his head pounding. Why was Trowa even here, trying to be nice to him? He knew that the Latin boy hated him, he'd said that exactly. After Trowa had left, Duo had pulled him back down, and the American had returned to sleep, his arms coiled about Heero's waist.
For whatever reason, Heero couldn't bring himself to move. His cheeks still smarted from the tears he shed earlier, and he simply could not find the will within himself to escape from Duo's gentle embrace. Or perhaps it was the blood loss. That was certainly a good answer, the blood loss might have even put him in shock, which could explain the strange emotions.
Heero groaned weakly, realising his mind wasn't even functioning with full logic. Everything seemed jumbled and disorganised within his mind, swirling with strange colours, discordant with the previous description, if he ever used it, of simple red, black and white. Now violet seemed to dominate his ordered thoughts, changing his decisions and casting blue doubt upon his actions. Old yellowing fear with stinking orange shadows seeped across the events of the past few days, mostly centring about Trowa, and what he had done to the Latin pilot.
He crumpled up his dreamscape, bitterly trying not to think of Trowa. He knew what he'd done, explained it to Wufei, but he still felt there was nothing he could do to mend the rift. Rather, until Quatre forgave Trowa, all he could do was beg forgiveness, and he refused to humiliate himself further. It was humiliating enough to be strapped to a bed, found bleeding, and being cuddled by his boyfriend where anyone could see.
He wasn't sure why that was, though. Why it was embarrassing, and why he couldn't apologise to Trowa. He rolled onto his side, wincing as his face collided with Duo's shoulder. He sighed as a wave of pain flowed over him, wringing tears from his dry eyes as he lolled against the American's form. The world seemed to blur before him, spinning back into mild focus as he blinked rapidly, desperately trying to see again.
Heero felt a soft hand brush over his forehead, and looked up, straining to make Duo's concerned violet gaze from the murky vision. The fingers rested against his flesh, feeling chilled against the taut flesh. He slid down, resting his neck against Duo's arm, and closed his eyes. Duo jerked suddenly, dropping Heero's head against the bed. He grimaced at the sudden explosion of red pain in the back of his head, but couldn't drive himself to sit up, even to catch himself. He heard mumbled voices, and moaned softly at their tones. He guessed at what little meaning he seemed to hear through muddled ears and mind, but heard only insults and jeers at his weakness.
Heero whimpered as Duo shook his curled form, then subsided into tortured sleep, a terrifying image of Odin thundering at him across his eyelids before even that too dissipated into violet nothingness.
***
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