From behind me, I heard the slide of a screen door opening -- my neighbor on the left side was apparently in the mood for the late night view as well. There was the flat slap of bare feet against concrete, then arms and elbows came into view beyond the edge of the partition, hunched over the rail, clad in white, starchy dress-shirt sleeves. A sharp scratch of flint being struck, and then the grateful exhale of hazy smoke trailed into view. Another late-night smoker. Wonder how his evening went. I gave my cigarette another drag and sighed.

"Bad night?" came the low voice from the other side of the wall. I briefly wondered just what the fuck this partition was made out of -- cellophane? Paper mache? -- that completely bypassed any semblance of privacy, but then I decided there was no harm in a little neighborly commiseration.

"Yeah, you could say that," I muttered, watching his trail of smoke drift across the city view. "You?"

"Writer's block," came the answer.

"Oh, you're a writer?" I ventured, taking the bait.

"Supposedly," he returned. "But tonight, it's been more of an exercise in futility."

"Yeah, that makes two of us," I said.

He puffed out another bit of smoke into the cold air. "Oh yeah? What sort of failure brought you out here?"

"Put it this way," I answered, smirking now, "I went to a birthday party of a friend with a lot of sisters, and apparently I'm doomed to strike out with anyone who shares a last name with him."

"Ah," he said, a lightness to his tone. "Bad luck with women."

"For the last millennium or so," I said. I neglected to add that I hadn't been having much more luck with men, either. "What's your book about?"

"Bad luck with women," he said with a shared laugh.

My burgeoning good mood was immediately extinguished by a sudden gust of wind, which whipped my hair around wildly and chilled anywhere still damp from the shower. I heard a snort from the other side of the partition.

"And people tell me to cut my hair," said the man. "There must be a story to that."

"There is," I admitted. "And maybe if it wasn't three-thirty and freezing out here, I'd stick around to tell it to you."

"Fair enough," he chuckled. Then, a pause. "Heero Yuy."

I let the name run its course in my head, trying to place the nationality, though the man had the accent of a local. "Duo Maxwell," I replied. I dragged the last few drops of nicotine from my cigarette, then flicked the filter over the side of the balcony.

My purpose for standing outside and making small talk now over, I turned from the rail and gave the curling trail of smoke from my neighbor's side one more glance. "Well, Heero Yuy," I said, "it was nice to meet you. Sort of meet you, at least."

"Likewise," he replied. "Good night."

"Yeah, night," I said, sliding the balcony door open and gratefully stepping inside the dark warmth of my bedroom, ready to sleep and put this night behind me.

The next night, when I went out onto the porch for a smoke, I admittedly was hoping Heero would be out there to continue our conversation from the night before, but it was Wednesday evening before our schedules happened to coincide again. This time, when I took my usual place at the balcony rail, Heero's trail of smoke was already there to greet me. I fished out a cigarette and took the time to light up before I spoke.

"Writer's block again?"

He grunted in response. "You'd think it would be easy to produce three thousand words, wouldn't you?"

"Hey, if it was easy, would so many authors turn to alcohol?"

"Oh, don't tempt me," he replied. "And you? Strike out with another sister?"

"Oh no, that well has run dry, my friend," I admitted. "Three strikes and you're out, apparently."

"Three strikes? How many sisters does this guy have?"

"Somewhere in the thousands, apparently. And the word has gotten around to all of them that I'm a dog."

There was a low chuckle across the wall. "That's tragic."

"You've succeeded in summarizing my entire love life in a single word, pal."

Following another laugh, Heero extended one long arm over the edge of the rail, cigarette dangling between slender fingers. "How long have you been living here, Duo?" He ventured. "You're the first person in this apartment building I've managed to meet since I've lived here."

"A few months. And I don't know anybody in this place, either. Unless you count the herd of elephants that live above me, but I'm only making an educated guess about that one."

"Few months ago for me, too. Used to live across town."

"Yeah, me too," I offered. "Moved on up to the East Side. Apparently, making more money means you don't have to pretend to want to get to know your neighbors."

Heero snorted. "And it now costs three dollars to use a damn washing machine," he added.

"Yeah, what is that about?" I laughed. "If I'm going to pay three bucks to a fucking washing machine, it better be granting me wishes or something."

An appreciative snicker floated past the wall. "Maybe I should come out here with a tape recorder. You'd cure my writer's block in no time."

"Oh, it's a funny book about striking out with ladies. You sure you're not writing my biography?"

"My problem," Heero said, "is I cannot find my protagonist's Love Interest. I just can't get a handle on her. It's like I know objectively what kind of person she is, or has to be for the story to progress, anyway. But every time I try to write her, it just seems flat."

"Wish I could help you, Heero," I replied, "but the last time I wrote a story was in ninth grade English. And I got a C."

"Usually, I'd model it after someone I know," Heero continued. His hand disappeared behind the partition and I heard him drag long and deeply on his cigarette. "Novels are basically the graveyards of writers' past relationships. All the women they've loved and lost. My problem is, I'm trying to write about a woman I don't have the experience to describe."

"Bad luck with women," I recalled. "So, you need inspiration?"

His finished cigarette sailed out over the ledge. "Actually, I'm starting to get a few ideas," he said rather cryptically. "I think I'm going to go try and bang a few of them out right now, in fact." The screen door on the other side of the wall slid open with a squeak. "Night, Duo."

"Goodnight," I replied. My own cigarette was by now long extinguished; I had only been out here to talk to Heero, truth be told. Returning to the darkness of my apartment, I made my way around my room getting ready for bed, hopping into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face.

By the time I was in bed, my mind had traveled back to my conversation with my new friend next door. Heero Yuy, the writer with women troubles. Struggling to find his muse and all that.

He had a nice voice, I decided abruptly. It was even, low, not deep but it had a nice tone to it. I found myself wanting to know what he looked like. Being an author didn't exactly require the physique of an athlete, but what little I'd seen of him -- arms, basically -- were toned and shapely. What did the rest of him look like?

Woah there, I chided myself. Don't get ahead of yourself, Duo. How embarrassing is it to fantasize about a voice behind a wall?

I made a good point, I decided. Time to get some beauty rest.

Still, it was a long time before I could.

"Were you born here?" Heero asked Sunday night when we found ourselves reunited.

"Born and raised," I said, not so proudly. "I spent most of that time on the south side, though."

"What was that like?"

"Well, not great. At least not for me."

"Why not?"

For some reason, it didn't bother me that Heero was prying. Because I only knew him from a voice through a wall? I reasoned to myself that must be why.

"Growing up in government care in Glory Heights doesn't make for the rosiest of childhood memories."

"Government care? You grew up in an orphanage?" Heero asked, dragging on his cigarette. I found myself pulling my third out of the pack.

"Most of the time." Some of that time had also been spent on the streets, but Heero probably didn't want to know that.

"Duo," he breathed.

I shrugged, but he couldn't see it. I raised my cigarette to my mouth and lit it gratefully. Shit, why was I spilling my guts to the guy? I spent most of my time trying not to dwell on the past.

"You said there was a story about your hair," he said at length.

"Oh." Damn, I had. Well, I could lie, I reasoned. He wouldn't know.

Heero's arms came into view as he leaned over the edge, long and lean. He was holding a fresh cigarette.

"Sorry," he said when I didn't follow up. "You don't have to get into it if you don't --"

"I knew a kid at the orphanage with long hair, really long," I blurted the truth out before I could think. "Back then I was pretty small. And when they picked me up, you know, I hadn't been living in the most pristine conditions either. Everyone basically jumped me from the moment I stepped foot in the place."

Heero was silent. That cigarette remained unlit in his fingers.

"Well, this kid with the long hair, for some reason or another, he decided he liked me. He stuck his neck out for me. Took a lot of beat-downs as a result. I don't know, I guess he wanted a little brother. And I just wanted anyone to want me." I sighed, running my hand quickly along my braid, a habit I hadn't done in years.

"Most of the kids at this place got adopted eventually. But the two of us never did. We refused to be separated. I grew my hair out to look like him. I idolized him, really."

"What happened?" Heero said, finally speaking.

"He got sick," I said with a finality that implied the rest.

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago," I replied.

"But it still matters to you. You've kept your hair long." Damn, he was a perceptive guy. Suddenly, I wanted out of this conversation. I had revealed way too much.

"You have a good night, Heero Yuy," I said, flicking my cigarette away.

"Thank you," he replied, "for telling me."

"Oh, uh..." I stammered. "Don't mention it."

"Good night, Duo," he breathed, in his deep low voice.

I stepped into my apartment and ran my hands through my bangs, exhaling a breath I hadn't known I had been holding. What was it about this guy that made me tell him things I never told anyone? Why did I want him to ask about me, so I could tell him?

I knew then that I was in deep shit.

I realized this was getting ridiculous after about an hour of waiting on my balcony in the cold on a Friday night. I had even pulled a love seat, the only chair I had in my bedroom, out onto the deck while I waited. There I was, shivering in my coat, and probably making my room cold in the process. Oh yeah, did I mention I had the screen door open so that when my buddy next door came out, I could close it and make it sound like I had just happened to grab a smoke at the same time, instead of seeming like I was sitting here waiting for him like a psycho? Which is what I was acting like.

I need to go inside, I told myself. It's a Friday, who knows where he is. I shouldn't even be here anyway. I should be out trying to meet someone so I'm not desperate enough to resort to stalking my neighbor with the hot voice. This is pathetic.

Click! Came the sound of the door on my left. I sighed even as my heart pounded a little faster. Well, at least it had only been one hour.

"Duo?"

"Hey," I said, trying to sound upbeat, not like the stalker which I obviously was. I gratefully slammed my balcony door shut and went to join him by the railing.

"How was your night?"

"Well, I'm out here. What about you?"

"I've been working nonstop," Heero replied, sounding a bit proud of himself.

"Congratulations, I guess that means your writer's block is cured?"

"Well, it's a start." Heero sighed. "I ended up scrapping everything and starting again."

"Woah, won't your editor or somebody be mad at you?"

"Probably," he replied, leaning his elbows out over the edge. "But sometimes you just know when you have something good going."

I was mulling over that when I realized I hadn't even pulled out a cigarette yet. Also, neither had Heero. Maybe he just wanted to hang out with me? Yeah, fat chance. I quickly got out my lighter and lit a smoke from the pack which I had forgotten in my coat pocket. I took a couple of drags. Why was I so nervous?

"Hey, Duo, could I bum one of those off you?" Heero asked when he heard my lighter strike.

"No problem," I said, fishing out a second to hand to Heero. I reached out across the railing and I could see him do the same. This was the first real contact we'd have, I realized. Then, long, slender fingers were touching my palm, and for a moment our fingers intertwined as I relaxed my grip on the cigarette and passed it to him. My heart beat too fast. I hastily pulled on my cigarette.

Then, his hand was gone, and I could hear flint struck behind the wall. "Thanks."

What was wrong with me? Just a second of physical contact and I was gonna pass out? This was really getting out of hand. I didn't say anything in response, too worked up over nothing.

"Hey, Duo," Heero said, apparently oblivious. "I don't want you to think I was just out here to get a cigarette off you. I really like our nights together like this."

Oh, Christ. I'm sure he hadn't meant that the way I was taking it, but the words hit me like a hammer. My heart thumped wildly and I could barely even hold the cigarette in my hands. I couldn't stay on the balcony with him in this state. I had to get some air. I almost laughed at that thought.

"I-I gotta go," I said abruptly, wincing at the way my voice caught.

"Duo, wait, I didn't --" Heero was saying, but I was too embarrassed to stay around to hear him finish. I practically flew through the door, leaving my cigarette smoldering on the concrete floor outside.

I threw myself onto the bed and groaned. What the hell was wrong with me? I didn't even know what the guy looked like and I was waiting for him in the cold like a creep. I was freaking out over a second of contact and an offhand comment. He probably thought I was a freak of nature at this point. Yet again, I had managed to screw everything up.

I chuckled at my own stupidity. What was I even talking about? There was nothing to screw up! Heero was just making small talk with the stranger next door while he had a smoke, probably trying to avoid an awkward silence. There was nothing there, just my own wild imagination building our interactions into something they weren't.

After a while, I pulled my clothes off, still chilled from the outside air, and crawled under the sheets, but it was a long time before I could get any sleep.

I stayed far away from the balcony after that. I had given up my nightly smoke, a ritual I cherished, just to avoid Heero. I was so embarrassed, I had even convinced myself that there was no way Heero would want to talk to me anyway. Not after how I had acted that last time. I felt like he had to have picked up on my nervousness and guilt from waiting for him -- God knows I wasn't slick enough to hide it. He had to think I was a freak by now.

I tried to tell myself that I didn't even want to go out there, but to be honest, I wanted to talk to him almost as much as I wanted to smoke. Maybe more, but I wasn't willing to admit that. It sounded crazy even to me.

It was another Saturday night two weeks later when I finally broke. Even so, I went out at barely nine, much earlier than Heero had ever been out to join me. I thought I was safe, and I wouldn't have to confront him or my own stupid emotions, which I still hadn't gotten in check weeks later.

The air was noticeably colder. It seemed Fall was turning into Winter overnight. Even so, I was grateful for the rush of fresh air that hit my face, and I pulled out a cigarette and quickly lit it. The first drag was unbelievable, warm and gratifying. Wow, I had missed this. I took another, peering out across the bright and noisy city.

Then I heard the unmistakable click of the screen door to my left.

"Duo?" I heard. Shit.

"Hey," I replied, and somehow my voice was steady. "How'd you know I was out here?"

"I had a hunch," Heero said cryptically.

I found I couldn't think of anything nonchalant to say. I was happy to hear him, I realized. Even after two weeks? I had a serious problem.

There was silence for a few minutes, as Heero wasn't speaking and I couldn't. I noticed Heero wasn't smoking.

"You haven't been around for a while," he said finally. His voice was quiet.

"Oh..." I stammered. Get it together, I told myself. "Yeah, I haven't been."

"Was it... because of what I said last time?"

"What? No!" I said, much too quickly. I tried to think of an excuse, fast. Anything but the truth.

What I came up with: "I've been trying to quit."

"What?"

"Yeah, cigarettes are too expensive, and it's gonna get too cold soon, you know." I was so full of shit.

Heero was silent for a while. Then: "You're not coming out here anymore?"

Huh? That was unexpected. "Well, no, I guess not." He sounded kind of upset. Now I was a jerk for lying on top of everything else.

There was another long silence. It was terrible. Why did something as simple as "I'm trying to quit" sound so heavy?

"I want to see you." Heero said at last.

Woah. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. For a while I couldn't think, my mind was whirling too fast. Had I been wrong? Maybe it hadn't been just my imagination. Maybe Heero had felt something too. Maybe we were both insane.

I belatedly realized he was waiting for an answer. Steeling myself, I replied. "Come over."

I heard his screen door shut. Holy shit, this was really happening. Quickly, I put my cigarette out and went inside. I was going to finally see him. What was I wearing, how did my hair look? I ran a hand through my bangs quickly. Well, it was in a braid, at least it was tame. I was in old jeans and a wrinkled shirt. Would he care?

There was a knock on my door. Christ. I wasn't ready. What if he didn't look at all how I expected? What if he didn't like me? What if I was still reading the signs wrong? God, it had been known to happen before. My heart pounded as I turned the knob, seemingly in slow motion. Then, I was opening the door.

He was about my height and build, standing in front of me in black pants and a messy white button-down. His hair was a shock of brown that fell in thick bangs over his eyes, which were a deep blue and looking right at me in a fierce gaze. His face was angular, his cheekbones and jaw well defined. There was a hint of something exotic to the dusky color of his skin.

I swallowed. Holy shit, he was gorgeous. I couldn't have even imagined how good he looked.

"Duo Maxwell," he said, in that deep voice which had started all this trouble in the first place.

"Heero Yuy," I replied in kind. It took all my concentration to keep my voice steady. "Uh, come in."

He stepped into my apartment, and I saw his eyes give the place a once-over. I shut the door behind him as nonchalantly as I could. "Can I get you anything?"

He shook his head. Shit, I could've used the moment to think.

"You wouldn't even know our places had the same layout," he said, still looking around the room. "But this is pretty much how I imagined your apartment to look. It suits you."

I had to laugh a little. "Hey, how would you know?"

"I'm paid to have a good imagination," he said, turning to face me. His perfect mouth curled into a little smirk.

"What?"

"Sorry," he said. "It's just..."

I swallowed again.

"Your hair is even longer than I imagined."

"Hey!" I said. God, I was afraid I would start blushing.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, but he seemed to be pretty amused. "Listen, I brought something for you."

"You did?"

"Yeah," he said. Then he was closing the distance between us. My chest thumped. Thankfully for my heart, he stopped a few feet from me and pulled something out of his pocket, slipping it into my hand with those long fingers. I looked down at it stupidly.

It was a pack of cigarettes. In fact, it was the same kind I smoked. He had remembered just from that one cigarette I gave him?

"I don't want you to quit," he said, with that same distracting smirk on his face. "I barely wrote for the last two weeks. I'll never get my book finished if you stop smoking."

"What?" I was the cure for his writer's block? "You're not writing about me, are you?"

Heero looked away from my gaze. "Sorry."

Christ! I couldn't tell if I was overjoyed or mortified. "Hey, I didn't say you could do that, you know."

"Writers write what they know," he said. "So I wrote about what I knew. Falling for the voice on the other side of the wall."

"What?" I managed to squeak out. My breath had left me in an instant. For a moment, I really wished I had a cigarette.

Heero closed the last few feet between us, and then he was inches from me. Could he hear how fast my heart was beating?

Those arms, which for weeks were the only part of Heero I'd been able to see, snaked around me. One strong hand came to rest at the small of my back, the other at the base of my neck, those long, slender fingers curling up into my hair. Those incredibly blue eyes gazed right into mine.

"In my book," he breathed, "this is the part where I kiss you."

Instead, I threw my hands up to cup his face, the strong line of his jaw, and I closed the inches between us myself, meeting his lips with mine.

Suddenly, Heero was backing me up into the wall, kissing me hungrily, his tongue searching out mine. My hands scrambled for purchase, tangling in his hair, running along the smooth skin of his neck as he pulled me closer. I was sure I tasted like tobacco, but Heero certainly didn't seem to mind. He sucked my lower lip into his mouth, biting it gently, then swiping it with his tongue by way of apology. I moaned, responding in kind.

"Bed?" I panted when he released me.

"Yes," he replied, leading me by the hand.

He practically threw me on the mattress, crawling over to kiss me fiercely again. For a moment, he pulled away, looking down at me, breath a little ragged.

"You look even better than I imagined, you know."

I laughed and began to unbutton his shirt. "Yeah, you too."

"I thought about doing this practically every time I talked to you," he continued, taking off my jeans even as I was undressing him. "I couldn't stop thinking about you." He slipped his hand into the band of my underwear. "I thought all I'd get to do was write about it."

I moaned and pulled him down for a long kiss. "You better know what you're doing, in that case."

"I have a pretty good idea," he laughed, and proceeded to show me.

"I have to ask," Heero said, much later, "why do you have a love seat on your balcony?"

I shook my head. "It's a long story, man. I'll tell you eventually. If you promise not to include it in your book."

He chuckled, low and sexy, and passed me the cigarette he had lit. I shivered a little in the cold, and he pulled me closer to him on the seat, draping the comforter -- the only thing I had on, mind you -- around us. Heero had had the presence of mind to at least put his shirt back on before we went out on the porch. I took a drag and leaned into him for warmth.

"You know," he said, "I guess if we do this instead, I don't mind if you quit smoking."

I laughed. "Maybe I'll only smoke after sex."

"Deal," Heero replied, grinning.

Heero's arm tightened around me, and he placed a kiss against my brow. We stayed there together for a long time, watching the smoke curl out from our shared cigarette and dissipate out across the lights of the city beyond.