"And I will be fine," he said aloud. "I do all the cooking anyway, so it's not like I'm missing out on breakfast and bed. An' speaking of food..." He wandered towards the kitchen; it was only four o'clock, but it was easy to fall out of the habit of meal-times.
He nearly tripped over his old jacket, lying on the floor, and kicked it aside. Neat and bare, his apartment echoed his voice back to him a little more than he liked, so he'd stopped picking up his things on the second day Heero was gone. He hummed a half-remembered tune as he scraped together a dinner of leftovers -- with just himself to feed, it hardly seemed worth the effort to make something new. He took his dinner and set it down on the coffee table, instinctively shrinking away from the table with its two empty place settings.
Just for a moment, silence fell completely onto the room. Duo beat a hasty retreat into the bathroom, and turned on the faucet. Before putting his hands under the spray, he leaned against the counter and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
"You," he told it firmly, "are a Gundam pilot. You fought in two -- count'em, two -- mobile suit wars, and dozens of space and Earth battles. You've blown up more buildings than the other four pilots combined. You helped save the Earth, not once, but twice. You're a hero." His grip whitened on the edge of the sink. "So why're you acting like a lovesick teenager?"
"I am a lovesick teenager," his reflection whined back. "What's your excuse?"
"Pathetic," Duo grumbled.
As he passed it, he flicked the switch on the radio; it stuttered for a moment before kicking into life. Duo didn't bother to adjust the frequency; ninety out of a hundred stations were playing the same fifty songs anyway. The sound of some pop-hit filled the apartment, and a female voice began to sing.
Re: Junk 1
Date: 2006-02-22 08:07 am (UTC)"And I will be fine," he said aloud. "I do all the cooking anyway, so it's not like I'm missing out on breakfast and bed. An' speaking of food..." He wandered towards the kitchen; it was only four o'clock, but it was easy to fall out of the habit of meal-times.
He nearly tripped over his old jacket, lying on the floor, and kicked it aside. Neat and bare, his apartment echoed his voice back to him a little more than he liked, so he'd stopped picking up his things on the second day Heero was gone. He hummed a half-remembered tune as he scraped together a dinner of leftovers -- with just himself to feed, it hardly seemed worth the effort to make something new. He took his dinner and set it down on the coffee table, instinctively shrinking away from the table with its two empty place settings.
Just for a moment, silence fell completely onto the room. Duo beat a hasty retreat into the bathroom, and turned on the faucet. Before putting his hands under the spray, he leaned against the counter and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
"You," he told it firmly, "are a Gundam pilot. You fought in two -- count'em, two -- mobile suit wars, and dozens of space and Earth battles. You've blown up more buildings than the other four pilots combined. You helped save the Earth, not once, but twice. You're a hero." His grip whitened on the edge of the sink. "So why're you acting like a lovesick teenager?"
"I am a lovesick teenager," his reflection whined back. "What's your excuse?"
"Pathetic," Duo grumbled.
As he passed it, he flicked the switch on the radio; it stuttered for a moment before kicking into life. Duo didn't bother to adjust the frequency; ninety out of a hundred stations were playing the same fifty songs anyway. The sound of some pop-hit filled the apartment, and a female voice began to sing.