Because Trowa needs to SHUT UP and leave me alone in class...

[windandwater]

He had wanted to be Nameless. Rather, it was not an overwhelming need or desire, but a comfort. If he was Nameless, he had nothing to worry about. He didn't have to think about the consequences of his actions. He didn't have to care about a family that he didn't have. He didn't have to care that there weren't warm arms to comfort him in the night.

He didn't deserve anything like that.

That was the cold embrace of being Nameless.

And, really, what had a name done for him? His first name (if he had ever been named) was gone from him. He could neither remember nor recall it. And why would he want to? All it would bring were faint recollections of the family that was ripped from him -- or had they abandoned him? It didn't really matter. There was nothing but pain and disillusionment with that name.

Nanashi -- No Name -- the badge that he had worn almost all his life. The name, which was not a name, but still place weight on his young shoulders. Nanashi, whose toys had not been blocks and bears, but guns and C-4. Being a mercenary was not a bad way to live. Neither was it good, but it kept him alive. If you pulled your weight, you got to eat and a place to sleep.

And, if you were a fair-faced young boy in a camp full of men, you recieved *many* places to spend the night and the men would call you all sorts of names.

He didn't like to think about being Nanashi. That name only brought coldness and unforgiveness.

Writer: Dammit, Trowa! How the *hell* did you come up with this?!

Trowa: [lounging in a pair of jeans and a blue sweater] I told you that I wanted my fic.

Writer: But I *KNOW* you want that threesome...

Trowa: Yes.

Writer: I am NOT writing a hurt/comfort! I have SCRUPLES!

Trowa: It's not a hurt/comfort. It's angst. With a squishy ending. You like angst with a squishy ending.

Writer: Trowa! I have work to do!

Trowa: Quatre and Duo already agreed to help.

Writer: [blinks, then frowns] I'm not writing a citrus-threesome scene. That's final. I don't care how much I love the three of you. I. AM. NOT. WRITING. THAT. THREESOME. SCENE.

Trowa: You don't have to. I just want some fair time.

Writer: Ooooohhhhhhhhh... this thing is gonna turn out to be some sort of weird introspective series, isn't it? Starting with, "Wu", isn't it?! Dammit...! [thuds head against desk]

Trowa: [smirk]

Writer: [muffled against desk] I *heard* that smirk, Barton. Go. Go... fuck your boyfriends or something. I need some space.

Trowa: I'll tell the others you won't work on their fics yet.

Writer: You're gonna pay for that one, Barton. I don't like bunnies pulled outta nowhere on me. You saw what I did to that Dx4.

Trowa: [shudders] *That* was entirely twisted.

Writer: So are you... at least, the way I write you. Now go! Shoo! Have your lemon scenes AWAY from my fic!