And it's gardening season again, he thought gleefully. At the moment he was touring a small nursery. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, just something to brighten up the small garden behind the house he shared with his lover, Trowa. Quatre paused beside a tray of morning glories. They would compliment the rose bushes quite nicely.

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked up, then froze when he saw what it was. A slender young Japanese man was also wandering the nursery tables. He wasn't terribly tall, but his form was swathed in lean muscle. His outfit consisted of a pair of faded jeans and a plain white t-shirt, but to Quatre, he looked stunning.

The blonde made a small sound of surprise, both at the sight of the other man and his reaction to it. The noise made the Japanese youth's head dart up and swivel in Quatre's direction. Cobalt eyes widened as they landed on Quatre. Quatre swallowed.

"Hello, Heero," he said quietly, amazed at how steady his voice was.

Heero looked at him for a second or two, then replied, just as quietly, "Hello, Quatre." Then he returned to his browsing.

Quatre studied him. He had changed. Heero had always been a quiet, sober, rather dour individual, but now his demeanor was tinged with a deep-seated sadness. Despite the grace he still possessed, he moved as if every gesture had to be forced, as if, had he the choice, he would have laid down and never moved again. His deep blue eyes no longer flashed with sharp intelligence or quick anger, only glowed dark with remembered pain.

Did I do this to him? Quatre thought, catching his lower lip between his teeth. I made him this... this dead thing? The young man was pricked with guilt, but he forced himself to approach. "How have you been?" he asked hesitantly.

"Fine," Heero answered, monotone, not looking up. "And yourself?" He pretended to examine the leaves of a young willow, but really he was concentrating on not looking at his blonde companion. It would have hurt too much.

"All right... How... is your work going?"

The dark-haired young man shrugged one strong shoulder and moved on to look at the roses. Quatre followed; he almost couldn't help himself. "The same," Heero said.

Quatre's heart twisted in his chest. Why won't you talk to me, Heero? he thought desperately. But he knew why. Why would Heero even want to associate with the person who broke his heart? Again Quatre bit his lip and reached out to finger the stem of a nearby rosebush. A thorn pricked him. "Ouch!" he said reflexively, pulling his hand back.

Without thinking, Heero looked up and reached for Quatre's injured hand. "Are you all right?" His cobalt gaze met Quatre's sapphire, and both young men froze. Heero's warm, calloused palm was so familiar, a lump rose in Quatre's throat. Heero's gaze had softened, warmed, in response to his almost instinctual concern for the other boy.

For a moment they just stared at each other, before Heero wrapped his powerful arms around Quatre and crushed the blonde against his chest in a fierce embrace. Quatre didn't think, merely reacted, throwing his arms around Heero's neck in response and clutching him. This is so different from hugging Trowa. But it feels... right, he thought, but as soon as the words entered his mind, he remembered, and yanked himself out of Heero's arms. Heero blinked, then realization dawned, and he looked away.

"Heero, I'm sorry..." Quatre whispered.

"Forget it." Heero cut him off. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

"Heero!" the blonde called after him in sudden desperation. But Heero didn't even look back.

***

Weeks passed, and spring moved into summer. Quatre went about his business as usual, but couldn't get Heero out of his mind. At the oddest times, the memory of their brief embrace at the nursery would surface, and he would be swamped by an odd tumult of emotions: a deep-seated desire that went beyond lust, a fierce love that was so strong it pained him. And guilt, because he still loved Trowa dearly, and felt he betrayed the brunette Italian with his want for Heero.

Trowa had noticed his blonde lover's preoccupation, and had queried about it several times. But always Quatre brushed it off as concern about work, or that he wasn't feeling well, or some other such trivial thing. The former pilot of Heavyarms knew Quatre was lying, but felt the Arab would tell him when he felt it was right. Meanwhile, Quatre grew more and more confused.

One evening, it all came to a head, at least for Quatre. It was stormy that evening, as often happens in the summer, and Quatre was alone; Trowa was working late that night.

Quatre had been grasped by a sudden, inexplicable dart of lust. Not seeing any reason to deny it, he had reclined on the bed and proceeded to satisfy himself. As he did so, he daydreamed. But they were not about Trowa. A cobalt-eyed Japanese man was the one who had his hands on him, who was making him arch and writhe in his fantasies. And as he climaxed, body curved in a taut arc of ecstasy, it was not Trowa's name that escaped his lips.

"Heero!"

As Quatre relaxed in doped contentment, he became conscious of who he had been thinking about in the grip of pleasure. He sighed and closed his eyes. He couldn't deny it any longer. Though he cared deeply for Trowa, the brunette was not who he truly wanted to be with. He was not who he was meant to be with.

Then he sat up. He had to find Heero, right now. This couldn't wait. Jumping out of bed, he yanked on his clothes, grabbed a coat, and ran out into the rainy night.

***

A boy stood on the bridge, hands shoved deep in his pockets, hair whipping about his eyes. He stared down at the river, swollen by the storm. Was that rain or tears on his cheeks? He couldn't remember anymore.

He looked back in the direction of the house. His ritual, although he knew Quatre wouldn't come. Slowly he turned again, and began walking home.

The sound of sneakers slapping the wet pavement gave him pause, and he looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened as he saw who was running towards him. "Quatre...?" Indeed it was. The blonde raced to him and threw his arms around Heero's neck, face buried against his throat. Heero staggered back a half step under the force of the embrace, but returned it as fiercely as he could. "Quatre?" he asked again, dumbfounded.

"Heero, I'm sorry," Quatre sobbed against his neck. "Forgive me. I never meant to do this to you..."

Heero soothed him, broad palm smoothing over his wet hair, other arm wrapped securely around his waist. "Shh... Quatre, don't cry. It's all right... I'm here..."

Quatre looked up at him, sapphire eyes made all the brighter by his tears. "I'm here too, Heero," he said. "And I'm not going away. Not ever again."

The Japanese youth froze at the implication of those words. "Do you mean...?"

"You're who I want to be with, Heero," Quatre assured him. "I see that now. Ever since that day in the nursery, when you hugged me... I couldn't stop thinking about you... You're who I love most in the world, Heero. I don't think I can live without you..."

"Oh, Quatre..." Heero embraced the blonde so fiercely the air was crushed from his lungs, but Quatre didn't care. This was right. This was how things were supposed to be. "Every night," Heero whispered against Quatre's hair, "every night I would go to your house, and I would look up and wish that it was me there with you. I tried to make myself forget, but I couldn't... Oh, god, Quatre...!" Now it was he who wept, and Quatre comforted him.

"I'll never do that to you again," he whispered. "Never again." Heero locked eyes with him, and a soft smile found Quatre's lips. "Can we go home?" Heero returned the smile and nodded. Together they walked away, heedless of the rain.