1+2, shounen-ai.

Every Night
by lampshaded

He hates his life. He's told me many times. We both work as hackers. It's a pretty decent job for both of us, especially since he doesn't like to "miss out on quality sleeping time" for a job, and I don't like working with strangers. We were roommates in college, and we've stuck together since. Though he's not particularly unhappy with his job, I think he wants more. That's why he always leaves. What I don't understand is why he always comes back.

I'm good at keeping my emotions in check most of the time, but every now and then random things make me blow up at him. One time it was a disgusting dish that had gotten pushed under the couch. Another time was when I found out he stole money from a store. It wasn't like he needed it; I think he just wanted the challenge. I yell at him when my control snaps; my words are mostly unintelligible, usually about him not taking out the trash or leaving dirty dishes in the sink, but that's not what I'm really yelling about.

I want to see him stay home for once. I want to see his beautiful hair clean of its usual products. I want him to laugh because he's happy, not because he's drunk. Most of all, I want to see him content.

"Duo," I say, drawing his attention away from his reflection. I know what I want to say, but as soon as his reflection's eyes lock into mine, the words retreat.

"Why don't you stay in tonight? We can order pizza." I know he loves pizza; he stares at me blankly a second before narrowing his eyes. He's reading my face with an almost sad expression on his own as he tries to see my motives; he knows I can't stand greasy pizza. Then he smirks, grabbing some things off the top of his dresser. After a brief, harsh, laugh, he's out the door.

"Nice one, Yuy." I hear as I follow him into the living room. Then he's gone. If he would've stayed a minute longer, I could've gotten the courage to say it wasn't a joke.

Sighing, I sink down onto our couch. It was new when we bought it, but it's taken some abuse over the past few years. We used to watch movies on this couch all the time. There's a dent in the arm where Duo always put his feet, the inner padding worn thin. In the middle is a dip where one of us would always curl up and sleep before we got a big enough bed that we would both have our own side.

I stretch out on the cushions, fitting into the worn dips he made when it was his turn to sleep on the couch. Hopefully soon we can get another bed; we've got room. It didn't used to bother me when he first started going out nightly, but now I don't want him to share his time with random strangers, and I feel like some impatient husband waiting for him to come home. Does he know I count the ceiling tiles until he comes back and flops into bed? Does he know it's hard for me to sleep when I can't hear him breathing? I fall asleep like that, curled up in his "spot" on the couch, like some loyal pet waiting for their person to come back.

The next thing I register is the phone's incessant ringing. I groggily stumble to it and answer.

"'Lo?" My voice is muted from sleep.

"Heero, can you come get me? I'm uh, on fifty-second by uh, the park." His voice is hushed and he's breathing hard. I calculate the distance and travel time; it's not far away.

"I'll be there in twelve minutes." I tell him. "Be careful," The words fly out of my mouth right before I disconnect the call.

My mind conjures all the worst scenarios as I pull on my shoes and hurry to our car. I'm in such a rush, I don't even remember to grab a jacket against the January night. As soon as I pull up to the curb of the darkened park, I see his familiar figure dart across the headlights and climb into the passenger's seat.

"Are you --," I start to ask, but he cuts me off with an irritated, "Just drive!" He sits tight-lipped the whole way home. I try to steal glances at him, but in the dim light, I can't distinguish anything other than the fact he's had some alcohol. He just stares out the window, his sleek hair reflecting the light from the evenly spaced streetlamps. Frustration boils higher and higher inside me the entire time.

When we get home, he darts ahead of me and directly into the bathroom before I can even get the door locked. As I sit on the bed with my hands clenched into fists, I can hear him using the bathroom sink; probably washing up. When he comes out and switches off the light, I can tell there's something wrong just by the way he moves. I stand, not letting the matter go.

"What happened?" I ask, my voice sounding rougher than I intended.

"Nothing." He mutters, pulling off his shirt and getting ready to go to sleep. In a flash, I have him pinned to the wall by his arms.

"What. Happened." I hiss out of my gritted teeth, but he still won't look me in the eye. Then he's struggling against me, but I know he can't get away.

"Heero, just, let, go!" He tries to twist away, punctuating each word with movement, until he finally gives up and hangs his head.

"Why are you always so mad?" He asks me in a whisper, limply hanging from where I've pinned him. It's then that I realize I'm making bruises on his arms and let him go, then follow him as he slides to the floor.

"Why are you always so stupid?" I say, watching as he curls up and hides behind his knees. "Why do you always go out? Why do you always sleep with strangers? Why are you always drunk? Why --,"

"Because it's all I've got!" He hisses at me, his knuckles white where he grips his elbows. "Sure, I've got a job, and a house, but nothing else! After a few drinks I forget no one wants me around." He moans, rocking his head. "I know someone wants me when I'm with them. It doesn't matter who...I just gotta feel --," His head rocks back against the wall as he closes his eyes.

"It's all I've got." His lips barely move at the repeated whisper. I can see what he's been trying to hide, a darkening bruise on his cheek and a blackening eye. I get up and grab a wet washcloth. He hasn't moved when I come back and crouch in front of him.

"You've got me," I say quietly as I press the cloth against his bruised face and gently run my fingers down his jaw. His other eye opens and looks at me tiredly, his confusion evident.

"But you're always mad," he whispers back, between dry lips. "You don't want me around either."

I shake my head and carefully pick him up, then place him on his side of the bed. He offers no resistance.

"If I didn't want you around, I wouldn't have offered to order pizza," I say as I climb into my spot and get ahold of one of his hands. We look at each other in the dim light for a few silent minutes before he speaks.

"I met her outside the bar." He closes his eyes tiredly and pauses. "We'd only had a few drinks when her ex came storming in, ready to beat the living daylights out of anyone who dared touch 'his girl'." He paused, sighing. "He got me once before I could get away... the guy was built like a rock. He chased me around a while until I finally gave him the slip and found a phone to call you." He opens his one visible eye and looked at me.

"I prolly could've walked home but I didn't want him to find me again." He says, looking down at the blanket. Another few minutes passes between us as he stares at our entwined fingers and I soak in everything he's said. I'm the first to move, as I pull him closer and put an arm over his side. He looks up at my face, uncertain.

"Don't go out anymore." I say in a quiet tone, lightly squeezing his hand. "And I'll stop being angry." I add. His gaze flicks up to mine, skeptical, with maybe a flicker of hope.

"Just try it. If you stay home tomorrow, I'll order pizza." I tell him. His eyes lock into mine and he suddenly looks younger.

"Promise?" He asks me, searching my face.

"Promise. I'll order pizza every night if it'll keep you safe." I intone, watching in triumph as the corners of his mouth curve slightly upward at my words.

"Let me be here for you." I whisper, removing the washcloth from his bruised skin, then gathering him in an embrace.

He sinks into my arms with a sigh, nodding his head against my collar. For the first time, I can actually feel rather than hear his breath even out in sleep. As my thoughts fade into sleep, I find myself hoping it'll be a nightly occurrence.