Unexpected Fic
Sep. 8th, 2006 04:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
misanagiAfter not writing practically anything for quite a bit, this unexpectedly wrote itself at 3 am. Hopefully the writer's block is gone now...
White Canvas
Rating: PG
Pairing: Trowa and Quatre
Warnings: AU. Some sap
Summary: A work of art brings Quatre and Trowa together.
Thanks a lot to Anne for the beta.
_______
The white walls made the paintings stand out a bit. They looked more impressive if it was possible, but even so, Trowa didn't think he could live in a house where all the walls were white. He recognized his work in the living room, hanging over a low table on the large wall. The vivid reds, greens and yellow of his painting seemed to step out of the wall, commanding the attention of anyone who entered the room. The piece hadn't look exactly right when he had finished it, which was the reason he agreed to sell, but somehow, whatever had been missing, wasn't now.
The painting had found a home.
"It is magnificent," a voice said from the threshold of the living room.
Trowa recognized Quatre Winner immediately. The known billionaire had caught his attention back in the auction house. Trowa had spent most of the time looking at Quatre and noticing the way Quatre looked at the works auctioned. Trowa's art wasn't the only one being sold then, and Trowa had watched Quatre, waiting to see when would he bid. Quatre only bid once, and it was to purchase the painting that now hung in the living room. A painting that had gotten Trowa enough money to pay for rent for the entire year.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barton." Quatre walked into the room and stretched out his hand.
There was nothing pompous about Quatre's clothing, but just the way he carried himself made Trowa feel uncomfortable in his jeans and simple white shirt. He took Quatre's hand anyway and offered a simple greeting.
When his agent had called two days ago saying that Quatre Winner wished to meet him, Trowa had immediately refused. He didn't like meeting people, especially those who called themselves "art enthusiasts". Heero, however, had insisted that someone like Quatre could help launch Trowa's career, and when Heero insisted on something, it was safer to agree.
"Can I offer you something to drink?" Quatre asked with a smile.
Trowa shook his head. "Mr. Winner—"
"Quatre," he interrupted. "I get enough of Mr. Winner in the office. I find formalities put a distance between people and I'd rather not have that at home."
The fact that Quatre had called him by a formal title didn't escape Trowa. He swallowed and tried again. "Quatre." It felt so natural to think of the other man as Quatre, but yet it felt inappropriate to use that name while speaking. "I don't know why you asked me to come here."
Quatre's smile didn't falter. "I wanted to meet you," he said, as if it explained it all.
"Why?" Trowa focused his eyes completely on Quatre, ignoring the white walls and his painting.
Quatre's eyes, however, drifted to the canvas and his look sobered a little. "I don't know what you are trying to say with this painting. There are no known shapes, no images I can recognize. I'm clueless as to what style you used or what artists might have influenced you. I don't know about perspective or composition." He shrugged. "However, I can hear it talk, I can sense it." His lips started curving a little. "This painting talks about passion. It tells stories of dreams, even parts of my dreams... And it's lonely."
Turning his back to the painting, Quatre looked at Trowa, quietly, much in the same way he had looked at the canvas.
It was a challenge not to wiggle under Quatre's stare, under those eyes that seemed to be able to see so much, to see right through everything Trowa wanted to project and straight into what Trowa wanted to hide.
"Do you know why I bought this," Quatre asked after a while, his eyes fixed on Trowa's.
Trowa answered with a soft shake of his head. He held his breath, waiting for Quatre's next words.
"There was something missing. Your work talks but it also has room to listen." Quatre licked his lips, slowly. "I asked you here because I wanted to know…" He paused and shook his head. "There's something missing in me." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I have room to listen."
"Listen…" Trowa repeated, slowly. His fingers were twitching nervously. He felt naked standing in front a man he just met and who seemed to be reading too much into the painting, except that he wasn't. He was seeing just what it was, and Trowa felt the desperate need to hide. "What makes you think I have something to say?"
Quatre gestured back at the canvas. "You are already talking. Your work is talking for you. All I had to do was listen."
Trowa took a step back. It was too much. Too sudden. "My work isn't me. Buying my art doesn't give you a sudden insight of who I am." But it did. Quatre could see.
With a small sigh, Quatre's head dropped. His eyes were hidden behind locks of golden hair when he said, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Of course you are free to leave."
But Trowa couldn't, not when he couldn't see Quatre's eyes, not with Quatre looking so sad with his painting, his art, as a background.
A minute passed before Quatre lifted his head slightly. "Would you let me show you something before you leave?"
When Trowa nodded, Quatre started walking out of the living room, pausing only long enough to make sure Trowa followed. After a few turns in the hallways, they entered another room. This one, surprisingly, wasn't painted white but a clear golden tone, and there wasn't a single painting on the walls. Instead, they were covered with books, shelved from the ground to almost the ceiling.
"Please sit," Quatre gestured to the large sofa before heading for a small table in the corner. When he came back, he was holding a small book. He handed it to Trowa and nodded, before moving to the other side of the room, giving Trowa space to look.
The book was brown leather bound and there were no markings. He opened the first page to find a picture of a woman who looked remarkably like Quatre. As Trowa turned the pages, he realized that that was the only picture of a person in the entire album, because that's what it was, an album. Each page had a different photograph and no writing. The corner of a room. The view from a window. A plush toy. A dead leaf on the ground. A desk, shot from such a low angle that it seemed incredibly tall. A sword on the ground. A black and white frame of a grave. And on the last page, a photo of Quatre's white living room wall, and Trowa's painting coloring it.
The sound of the book closing filled the room, and only then Quatre faced Trowa again, but didn't walk any closer. "You have the right to see too."
Trowa stood up, the album still in his hands. He was still naked, but now Quatre was naked too. "There's something missing in me, Quatre." This time, saying Quatre's name felt right. "I have room to listen to you talk too."
Quatre smiled, brightly, and took a few steps closer. "Do you want to stay for a bit… Trowa?"
And Trowa replied with a small smile and a whispered, "Yes."
- The End -
White Canvas
Rating: PG
Pairing: Trowa and Quatre
Warnings: AU. Some sap
Summary: A work of art brings Quatre and Trowa together.
Thanks a lot to Anne for the beta.
_______
The white walls made the paintings stand out a bit. They looked more impressive if it was possible, but even so, Trowa didn't think he could live in a house where all the walls were white. He recognized his work in the living room, hanging over a low table on the large wall. The vivid reds, greens and yellow of his painting seemed to step out of the wall, commanding the attention of anyone who entered the room. The piece hadn't look exactly right when he had finished it, which was the reason he agreed to sell, but somehow, whatever had been missing, wasn't now.
The painting had found a home.
"It is magnificent," a voice said from the threshold of the living room.
Trowa recognized Quatre Winner immediately. The known billionaire had caught his attention back in the auction house. Trowa had spent most of the time looking at Quatre and noticing the way Quatre looked at the works auctioned. Trowa's art wasn't the only one being sold then, and Trowa had watched Quatre, waiting to see when would he bid. Quatre only bid once, and it was to purchase the painting that now hung in the living room. A painting that had gotten Trowa enough money to pay for rent for the entire year.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barton." Quatre walked into the room and stretched out his hand.
There was nothing pompous about Quatre's clothing, but just the way he carried himself made Trowa feel uncomfortable in his jeans and simple white shirt. He took Quatre's hand anyway and offered a simple greeting.
When his agent had called two days ago saying that Quatre Winner wished to meet him, Trowa had immediately refused. He didn't like meeting people, especially those who called themselves "art enthusiasts". Heero, however, had insisted that someone like Quatre could help launch Trowa's career, and when Heero insisted on something, it was safer to agree.
"Can I offer you something to drink?" Quatre asked with a smile.
Trowa shook his head. "Mr. Winner—"
"Quatre," he interrupted. "I get enough of Mr. Winner in the office. I find formalities put a distance between people and I'd rather not have that at home."
The fact that Quatre had called him by a formal title didn't escape Trowa. He swallowed and tried again. "Quatre." It felt so natural to think of the other man as Quatre, but yet it felt inappropriate to use that name while speaking. "I don't know why you asked me to come here."
Quatre's smile didn't falter. "I wanted to meet you," he said, as if it explained it all.
"Why?" Trowa focused his eyes completely on Quatre, ignoring the white walls and his painting.
Quatre's eyes, however, drifted to the canvas and his look sobered a little. "I don't know what you are trying to say with this painting. There are no known shapes, no images I can recognize. I'm clueless as to what style you used or what artists might have influenced you. I don't know about perspective or composition." He shrugged. "However, I can hear it talk, I can sense it." His lips started curving a little. "This painting talks about passion. It tells stories of dreams, even parts of my dreams... And it's lonely."
Turning his back to the painting, Quatre looked at Trowa, quietly, much in the same way he had looked at the canvas.
It was a challenge not to wiggle under Quatre's stare, under those eyes that seemed to be able to see so much, to see right through everything Trowa wanted to project and straight into what Trowa wanted to hide.
"Do you know why I bought this," Quatre asked after a while, his eyes fixed on Trowa's.
Trowa answered with a soft shake of his head. He held his breath, waiting for Quatre's next words.
"There was something missing. Your work talks but it also has room to listen." Quatre licked his lips, slowly. "I asked you here because I wanted to know…" He paused and shook his head. "There's something missing in me." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I have room to listen."
"Listen…" Trowa repeated, slowly. His fingers were twitching nervously. He felt naked standing in front a man he just met and who seemed to be reading too much into the painting, except that he wasn't. He was seeing just what it was, and Trowa felt the desperate need to hide. "What makes you think I have something to say?"
Quatre gestured back at the canvas. "You are already talking. Your work is talking for you. All I had to do was listen."
Trowa took a step back. It was too much. Too sudden. "My work isn't me. Buying my art doesn't give you a sudden insight of who I am." But it did. Quatre could see.
With a small sigh, Quatre's head dropped. His eyes were hidden behind locks of golden hair when he said, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Of course you are free to leave."
But Trowa couldn't, not when he couldn't see Quatre's eyes, not with Quatre looking so sad with his painting, his art, as a background.
A minute passed before Quatre lifted his head slightly. "Would you let me show you something before you leave?"
When Trowa nodded, Quatre started walking out of the living room, pausing only long enough to make sure Trowa followed. After a few turns in the hallways, they entered another room. This one, surprisingly, wasn't painted white but a clear golden tone, and there wasn't a single painting on the walls. Instead, they were covered with books, shelved from the ground to almost the ceiling.
"Please sit," Quatre gestured to the large sofa before heading for a small table in the corner. When he came back, he was holding a small book. He handed it to Trowa and nodded, before moving to the other side of the room, giving Trowa space to look.
The book was brown leather bound and there were no markings. He opened the first page to find a picture of a woman who looked remarkably like Quatre. As Trowa turned the pages, he realized that that was the only picture of a person in the entire album, because that's what it was, an album. Each page had a different photograph and no writing. The corner of a room. The view from a window. A plush toy. A dead leaf on the ground. A desk, shot from such a low angle that it seemed incredibly tall. A sword on the ground. A black and white frame of a grave. And on the last page, a photo of Quatre's white living room wall, and Trowa's painting coloring it.
The sound of the book closing filled the room, and only then Quatre faced Trowa again, but didn't walk any closer. "You have the right to see too."
Trowa stood up, the album still in his hands. He was still naked, but now Quatre was naked too. "There's something missing in me, Quatre." This time, saying Quatre's name felt right. "I have room to listen to you talk too."
Quatre smiled, brightly, and took a few steps closer. "Do you want to stay for a bit… Trowa?"
And Trowa replied with a small smile and a whispered, "Yes."
- The End -
