A soft rustling in the darkness, a small creaking of the bed. The blanket is thrown carefully to the side. One figure continues to lie in bed, breathing evenly as the other begins to pick up the clothes on the floor.

The person lying shifts slowly to face him.

"Go back to sleep," the standing one tells him.

A sleepy eye opens to reveal sky-blue eyes in the darkness. He is not able to fool the other with his pretense. "You're leaving?"

"Go back to sleep."

Silence, only rustles as clothes are put on. A boy quietly moving around the room, gathering materials to be taken with him. Finally, the opening and closing of the door as he leaves.

Silence.

Until the figure on the bed hunches and sobs into the pillow.

*

Once again, night.

He stares at the other boy lying in his arms. His fingers entangle with the golden hair that falls on his lover's closed eyes. He is beside the boy, blankets drawn up to their naked waists.

'Even in the darkness,' the boy observes, 'he glows in a special light...'

He feels a sudden stab of pain when he realizes that he must yet again leave before dawn.

'Torture'

Unbidden word. But it comes to him anyway.

A hand touches the sleeping boy's face, brushing lightly over his mouth, caressing his cheek, shaping his nose, finally touching his eyelids.

Warm.

Wet.

Tears.

A small part of himself dies.

*

"Trowa."

"Go back to sleep."

Silence. They have done this all before, why is it still hard to turn away now?

"Why do you leave?" Finally, the question.

The taller boy stops buttoning his jeans. He turns to the speaker on the bed. His eyes, unreadable. "I'm needed," he answers simply.

"A mission?"

"No."

"The circus."

A guess.

The other turns away from him without a word.

The mattress shifts as the other lies back down, turning away from the busy figure. He closes his eyes. "I need you, too," he whispers to the wall.

The other does not answer.

*

One feet after the other.

Footprints trail behind him. Walking on sand.

His aircraft is far from him, security will find it sooner.

'I don't care.'

He only cares for one now.

Purpose is in his eyes, mingled with uncertainty.

Dusk will fall in the desert soon.

*

Fingerprints on glass.

He looks beyond those prints, beyond the glass, to the outside world where he longed to be. He feels as if he should wait.

He follows his instincts.

Outside, he barely sees a figure walk.

Recognizing him, he calls a servant.

A clock ticks on at the corner of the room.

Finally, he is there, standing at the doorframe of his office. His eyes are warm, pleading, finally understanding.

"Trowa." The golden-haired boy hesitates, looking away. "I--"

"Quatre."

There is tenderness in the voice.

It makes the other turn to him again sharply.

*

'My feet led me to him.'

'My heart...'

The other boy looks painfully surprised. He cannot help it. Quickly, quietly, perhaps because of sheer exhaustion from walking thirty miles in the desert heat, he stumbles to the arms of the other.

'No barriers.'

"Quatre."

The boy's arms around the pale other tightens. "What's wrong?"

'There's nothing to fear.'

He begins to cry softly.

The other is alarmed. "Trowa...!"

'I understand.'

A whisper in the darkened room.

*

"I need you, too."

*

The stars are out.