Disclaimers:  I don’t own anything.

Author’s notes:  This is my first attempt at a Yaoi fic (Or whatever it’s called), so I hope it’s not terrible.  It’s a Quatre/Trowa
pairing, since they’re such a cute couple.  If you don’t like these types of fics, I suggest you stop reading this now.  And
remember, I have warned you, so don’t flame me.

There isn’t anything too graphic, but I hope you don’t mind.

Misplaced Trust
Part One

Quatre stood on his balcony, gazing at the stars above him.  The stars usually looked so beautiful, twinkling like diamonds in the
black sea of the night sky.  But tonight he didn’t see their beauty, didn’t notice the way they sparkled.  His mind was on other

Trowa was his heart’s desire, the only person he truly loved.  He wanted Trowa in his life, wanted him to be more than a
friend.  But Trowa didn’t feel the same, and now he knew that for sure.  After what had happened that night there was no doubt
in his mind.

For months after the war had ended, the other pilots had lived in one of his homes on Earth.  One by one they each left, going
back to their normal lives.  But not Trowa.  He had no place to go, no normal life to go back to, so Quatre let him stay.

Quatre tried to get Trowa to be more than just friends.  He hinted, trying to get the other pilot to take a walk with him, or to do
something else.  But all he could ever get Trowa to do was play music with him.  They never got any closer, and it began to
wear Quatre’s hopes down.

Then, finally, Quatre decided to tell Trowa exactly how he felt.  After one of their duets, with Quatre playing the violin and
Trowa playing the flute, he had turned to Trowa.  

“Trowa?”  He asked, his voice already quavering with fear of rejection.

“Yeah?”  Trowa said, as he put the flute away.

“I have something to tell you.”  Quatre said.  He carefully placed his violin back in its case and turned to face Trowa.

The other boy looked at him.  His eyes were so beautiful, shining like emeralds.  “What is it, Quatre?” Trowa asked.

Quatre swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.  He was scared, afraid of rejection, of how Trowa might react.  But he
knew he had to say this.  It was now or never.  “Trowa, I-I love you.  More than as just a friend.”  He said, the words not
coming as easily as he had hoped.

He watched as an expression of shock crossed Trowa’s face.  Trowa backed away a step, and Quatre’s heart sank.  He could
see the fear in Trowa’s eyes.

“Quatre, I can’t.  I’m sorry.”  Trowa turned and left the room, without another word.

Quatre was heartbroken, but at least now he knew.  Trowa didn’t love him, and never would.  He couldn’t move, couldn’t
breathe, knowing that he could never have what he truly wanted.

Now, as he looked up at the stars, he felt the hot tears once again falling from his eyes.  Remembering that moment when
Trowa had walked away from him, brought all the pain back to his heart.  He sank to the ground, wrapping his arms around
himself in an attempt to stop the agony in his soul.  He lay on his side, drawing his legs up to him, sobbing uncontrollably.


He didn’t know how long he had been laying there, his tears falling from his eyes.  The cold night air didn’t matter to him,
nothing did anymore.  Trowa didn’t love him, so Quatre might as well be dead.

A pair of strong arms lifted him from the ground, but he didn’t open his eyes, didn’t look up to see who had come to his aid.  He
continued to cry, wrapping his arms around whoever held him.  He couldn’t stop his tears, couldn’t control his sobs.

He felt the softness of his bed beneath him.  As the arms drew away from him, he forced himself to open his eyes.  To his
surprise, he saw Rasid kneeling beside his bed, his hand on Quatre’s shoulder.

“What is wrong, Master Quatre?”  Rasid asked, his face showing nothing but concern for him.

Quatre stifled his sobs, and looked up to the older man.  “I’m fine.”  He lied, not really wanting to talk about his problems.

“I do not believe you.”  Rasid replied.  He held out a handkerchief.  “Dry your tears, Master Quatre, and tell me what is
bothering you.”

Quatre took it, and wiped away the tears that still fell from his eyes.  Then he blew his nose.  He didn’t bother giving the
handkerchief back to Rasid, since he was sure that he wouldn’t want it back now.  He turned away from Rasid, rolling over
onto his side.  

“Please, Master Quatre.  Tell me what is troubling you.”  Rasid said, his hand firm on Quatre’s shoulder.  “Was it that boy,
Trowa?  Did he hurt you?”

The mere mention of that name, brought fresh tears to Quatre’s eyes, and once again he found himself unable to stop them.  “He
doesn’t love me.”  He cried, burying his face in the pillows.

Rasid’s hands rubbed his back, soothingly.  But nothing could comfort him, nothing could ease the pain in his soul.  He wanted
to die, just so that the pain would stop, just so that he wouldn’t have to feel anymore.

“Then he is a fool.”  Rasid said.

“But I love him.  He's everything to me.”  Quatre replied, turning back to Rasid.

Rasid smiled slightly, although it was hardly noticeable.  “You will get over him, Master Quatre.  And then you will find someone
that deserves your love.”

“I don’t want to get over him.”  Quatre replied, throwing his arms around the older man, crying onto his shoulder.

Rasid returned the embrace, comforting Quatre if only slightly.  After a several minutes, Rasid pushed Quatre away.  “You need
rest, Master Quatre.”  He said.

Quatre didn’t argue, didn’t put up any sort of fight.  He sat up, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed and took off his vest.  
Rasid stood and walked to a dresser, pulling out a pair of silk pajamas for Quatre to wear.  Quatre didn’t mind changing in front
of the older man.  He felt no embarrassment.  Rasid was like family, like the uncle he never had.

Once changed, he laid back down on the bed.  Rasid pulled the blankets up for him.  Quatre just laid there, feeling dead inside.  
As Rasid turned to leave, he said, “The pain will stop, Master Quatre.  You’ll see, someday you will get over this.”

Quatre called out to him before he could reach the door.  “I want to leave, Rasid.  I want to leave tomorrow.  I can’t face him
again.”  Quatre said.  “Tell him this house is his now.  I don’t want it anymore.  He can stay here as long as he wants.”

“As you wish, Master Quatre.”  Rasid replied.  Then he turned back to the door and left.

Quatre tried to sleep, tried to keep his mind off of Trowa.  But it was no use.  He was all there was.  Nothing else mattered.  

Once again, he curled up into a ball, the blankets still covering him.  He buried his face in a pillow and wept, trying to keep his
sobs as quiet as he could.  He didn’t want to disturb anyone else.  All he wanted was for Trowa to love him.  And now that he
couldn’t have that, he just wanted to die.


Rasid stood outside the door to Quatre’s room for a moment.  He heard the muffled sobs.  It pained his heart to see Quatre in
pain.  He was such a kindhearted person, he never should feel heartache.  To Rasid, Quatre was like a son, the son he never
had.  If he could do anything for the Quatre, he would.

He wanted to kill that Trowa for ever hurting Quatre so badly.  How could anyone spurn the love of someone like Quatre?  Any
man, or woman, would be honored that Quatre felt love for them.  What made Trowa any different from all the others that
fawned over him, that wanted him to be near them?

Rasid stepped away from the door and walked through the halls of the mansion.  He was furious, so angry that anyone had hurt
young Master Quatre.  He threw open the door that led to Trowa’s room, intending to give the boy a piece of his mind.

Trowa was sitting in a chair, a glass in his hand.  It was obvious that the boy had been drinking.  He placed the glass on a
nearby table as Rasid approached him.  His face remained calm the entire time, as if nothing was wrong.

“Do you know what you have done?”  Rasid asked, trying to keep his rage under control.

“Leave me alone.”  Trowa replied, not rising from his seat.

Rasid grabbed him by his collar and lifted him out of the chair.  Trowa didn’t put up any kind of a struggle, nothing.  He just let
Rasid hold him there, his feet dangling a few inches above the floor.

“How dare you hurt Master Quatre so badly?”  Rasid hissed through clenched teeth.

Trowa lifted his gaze, looking into Rasid’s eyes for the first time.  What Rasid saw in them, confused him.  There was a genuine
look of sadness in those eyes.  “I couldn’t help it.  I can’t love him.”

Rasid lowered him to the ground.  “What do you mean?”  He asked.

“I just can’t.  He deserves better than a nameless ex-pilot.  I won’t explain myself further.”  Trowa replied, once again sitting in
the chair.

Rasid loathed the way he just sat there, no emotions on his face.  He had just broken someone’s heart.  Did he feel nothing?  

Rasid turned, sick of the sight of Trowa.  “This house is now yours.”  He said as he walked to the door.

“What?”  Trowa asked.

Rasid didn’t turn, didn’t want to see his face again.  “Master Quatre has given it to you.  He says you can stay as long as you
want.  He will be leaving tomorrow, and I doubt he will ever be coming back.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, didn’t care if the boy had anything else to say.  Rasid opened the door and left.  He walked down the
hall, going to make arrangements for Quatre’s departure.


Quatre sat in the limousine, waiting for the driver to start the engine.  He closed his eyes, never again wanting to see the house
he was leaving behind.  It would forever remind him of Trowa.  So he couldn’t look, couldn’t be reminded of what he could
never have.  

The limo pulled away from the mansion and Quatre breathed a sigh of relief.  Maybe some time on the colonies would do him
some good.  He couldn’t get any farther away from Trowa than at the colonies.  Maybe he could get over Trowa in time.

Over the next few months, Quatre immersed himself in work.  He wanted to forget, wanted to move on with his life.  But every
night, he was plagued with images of Trowa, dreams of the man he loved.  And in those dreams, Trowa loved him back.  But
when he woke up, his life was empty.  There was no one for him, no love in his life.  Sure he had friends, people that cared for
his health and welfare, but it wasn’t the same as the love he wanted to feel from another human being.  He wanted someone to
see him as more than Quatre Raberba Winner, billionaire, the owner of dozens of companies.  He wanted to be loved, to feel the
contact that came with both an emotional and a physical relationship.

Quatre sat at his desk, listening to the proposal of a man named Peter Clark.  He was from a small company that was looking to
make a deal with Quatre.  He wanted to sell him some equipment for some of the resource satellites.  They had been discussing
this deal for several days and it seemed as if it would be profitable for both companies.

“So do we have an agreement?”  Mr. Clark asked.

“Sir, I believe we do.”  Quatre answered, rising from his seat and reaching across it to shake hands with Mr. Clark.  “I’ll have
my people draw up the contracts.”

Mr. Clark took his hand away and began placing his papers back into his briefcase.  As he closed the lid, he asked,  “Listen, I
don’t know this colony very well.  Do you know of a good restaurant somewhere around here?”

Quatre looked at his watch.  He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten.  “I am a bit hungry myself.  Why don’t you join me at my
favorite restaurant?”  Quatre replied, walking around his desk.

“Sounds good to me, Mr. Winner.”  

“Please, call me Quatre.”  Quatre replied.

“Only if you call me Peter.”  Mr. Clark smiled.  

Quatre noticed that Peter resembled Trowa slightly, with the same color hair and the color of his eyes.  A voice in his head kept
telling him that the resemblance was the only reason he thought Peter was an attractive man.  But he pushed those thoughts
away, convincing himself that Peter was nothing like Trowa.  In the few days they had spoken, Quatre knew that this man
actually showed his emotions and didn’t hide them behind a mask of indifference like Trowa did.  But he also realized that Peter
probably had no interest in him at all.  For all Quatre knew, he was a happily married man.


Dinner went well.  Peter was very good company, keeping Quatre’s spirits high.  He never thought of Trowa once.  After
dinner, they went out for drinks, although Quatre had been against it at first, since he didn’t drink much, and the fact that he
wasn’t old enough to drink.  But Peter had been quite persuasive.

Quatre was working on his third drink.  He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, since Peter had ordered for them, and he was
already feeling a bit lightheaded.  Peter looked up at him.  “Quatre, can I ask you something?”  He asked.

“Go ahead.”  Quatre replied, trying to keep his head clear.

“I hope I’m not being too forward, but I just have to say that I find you very attractive.  And I would like to take you back to
my hotel with me.”  He said very matter-of-factly.

Quatre had been taking a sip of his drink at the time, and once he heard that, he spit it out.  He coughed several times, and
struggled to take in a breath.

“Are you okay?”  Peter asked.

“I'm sorry, I guess I was just a little surprised.”  Quatre replied, putting the glass on the table, and coughing one last time.

“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.  I’m moving too fast.  But I just thought that since we’ll probably never see each other
again, I’d give it a shot.  Looks like I was mistaken.”  Peter looked away.

“No, I’m truly flattered.  It’s just that I’ve . . . I’ve never . . .”  Quatre tried to put it into words, but couldn’t think of a way to
put it.  He could feel himself blushing and looked down at his hands, feeling very embarrassed at the moment.

Peter gently laid a hand on Quatre’s hand.  Quatre looked up, his body trembling slightly.  The look in Peter’s eyes was
tantalizing, he just couldn’t look away.  “You’re innocent?”  He asked.

“Innocent is the wrong word, I think.”  Quatre replied, knowing what Peter had meant.  “I lost my innocence long ago, during
the war.”  

Finally able to look away from those alluring eyes, a deep feeling of shame filled him, remembering all of those he had killed in
the name of peace.  He felt a tear slide down his cheek, and closed his eyes against the other tears that threatened to come

Something warm touched his cheek and he opened his eyes to see Peter brushing the tear from his face with his thumb.  “Why
are crying?”  Peter asked, his eyes reflecting concern.

Quatre forced a smile.  “It’s nothing.”  He replied.

“I can see right through that lie.”  Peter said, taking hold of Quatre’s hand.

Quatre looked into his eyes again, and all his fears disappeared.  “As I’m sure you know, I was a Gundam pilot.”

“Yes.”  Peter nodded.

“The deaths of my enemies always weigh heavily upon my heart.”  Quatre replied.

Peter stood, pulling Quatre out of his seat.  “Come on, let’s find someplace a little more private.  Then you can tell me all about
it.”  Peter said.

Quatre nodded silently, thinking that maybe if he talked about his problems he would feel better.

They ended up in Peter’s hotel room.  He poured his heart out to the slightly older man, telling him of all he had done during the
war.  He told him of Trowa, and the way his heart had broken when Trowa didn’t love him in return.

Quatre didn’t know why he talked so much, why he confessed all his feelings to this stranger.  There was just something about
Peter that attracted him.  He wasn’t sure anymore if it was because of his resemblance to Trowa or not.  When he was finished
speaking, he looked up at Peter, who was sitting beside him on a small sofa.

“You are the most amazing person I’ve ever met, Quatre.”  Peter said.

Quatre blushed.  He had never received such a compliment.  “I'm not that amazing.”  He replied, averting his eyes away from

“Yes you are.  You wear your heart on your sleeve.  You care more about others than you do for yourself.  I’d say that makes
you pretty amazing.  Not to mention how gorgeous you are.”  Peter said, running his hand along Quatre’s cheek.

Peter’s touch sent shivers up Quatre’s spine.  He looked up at him, and a feeling overwhelmed him.  He didn’t know if it was
Peter’s great looks, or because of the alcohol he had consumed that night, but he just felt he had to do something.  Quatre wove
his fingers through Peter’s short brown hair and pulled him down to him, pressing his lips against Peter’s in a short but
passionate kiss.

When they pulled away from each other, Peter was looking at him with a look of shock in his eyes.  Quatre was concerned.  
“Did I do something wrong?”  He asked.

Peter smiled.  “No, of course not.  I was just surprised, that’s all.  Pleasantly surprised.”  He replied.

Without another word, Peter pulled Quatre in for another kiss, this one much longer.  Peter’s tongue brushed against his teeth
and he opened them, wanting this more than anything.  He needed the contact, needed to feel that he was wanted.

Before he knew it, he was lying on Peter’s bed, most of his clothing gone.  Peter hovered over him, his lips still firmly attached
to Quatre’s, their tongues intertwined in a seductive dance.  

Quatre divested Peter of his clothes, all the while never breaking contact with his lips.  Now the two of them were both only in
their boxers, nothing between them but some thin fabric.  The need for release was growing.  The throbbing of his erect penis,
constricted by the cloth restraints of his boxers, a nearly unbearable feeling.

Peter pulled away from him, looking over him as he lay there on the bed.  Quatre felt embarrassed by the attention, by the
feelings that Peter brought up in him.  He took a long look at Peter, trying to imprint every detail of his muscular body into his
mind.  He knew that this was probably the only time they would be together, since he would be leaving for his own home after
they concluded their business deal.  Quatre wanted to remember this, his first time.  He never wanted to forget.

Peter ran his hands along Quatre’s chest, making the younger boy feel as if he could melt at his very touch.  “Are you sure you
want this?”  Peter whispered as he nibbled Quatre’s earlobe.

“Yes, please.”  He murmured.  Quatre gave in to what Peter was doing to him.  And soon he became lost in a sea of ecstasy,
lost in the pleasure that Peter gave him.


Quatre opened his eyes, feeling the warmth of a body against his.  Beside him lay Peter, his arms wrapped around Quatre’s
body.  He looked so peaceful, so content as he slept, that Quatre didn’t want to disturb him.

Quatre got out of the bed, carefully sliding out of Peter’s embrace.  He didn’t want to wake him.  Quatre quickly found his
clothes and put them on.

He walked over to the desk and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen.  He wrote a note,  “Dear Peter, last night was wonderful
and I hope to see you again someday.  I apologize for my hasty departure, but I knew that if I had stayed, it would have just
been so much more difficult for me to leave later.”  He then signed his name, and left the note on the pillow beside Peter’s head.

Then, he left, taking one last look at Peter before closing the door behind him.  As he walked through the hallway, looking for
the elevator, he thought of the previous night.

Quatre had never experienced anything so wonderful in his life.  He never knew that he could ever feel so much pleasure.  He
smiled, thinking of the way Peter had opened him up to new experiences, of how gentle he had been considering it was Quatre’s
first time.

He hoped that someday they would meet again, although he knew it wasn’t likely.  They lived too far apart for anything to come
of their one night together.  Peter lived on Earth, while Quatre lived on the colonies.  Quatre was resigned to the fact that this
was the only time they would have together, and he knew he would treasure the memory.


Trowa sat alone in the darkness, wondering how he could have let this happen.  How could he have let Quatre leave?  How
could he have just thrown away everything he loved?

But he knew the answer to that.  He was afraid, afraid of being hurt again.  He was afraid of his feelings.  Trowa was ashamed
of his past, of what he had gone through as a child and as a pilot.

The memories washed over him, and it was as if he was reliving it.  Everything was so clear, so vivid in his mind.  But he didn’t
want to remember.  He had been striving for most of his life to forget all that pain, all the agony he felt for so long.

When Quatre had expressed his love, he just didn’t know how to react, how to express his own emotions.  And he did the only
thing he could think of, he ran.  He just left Quatre standing there, knowing that Quatre would think the worst.

Trowa had broken Quatre’s heart, had destroyed any hope of happiness he once had in his life.  With Quatre gone, Trowa was
alone again, alone without love, without being needed by anyone.  

It was too late to do anything.  It had been too late the second he left that room, without so much as an explanation as to why he
couldn’t love him.  He wished he could go back and change things.  He wished he could take Quatre in his arms and tell him that
he did love him.  But it was too late, far too late for any of that.

Quatre was gone, had been for months, and he was never going to come back.  He could only hope that Quatre would one day
forgive him for breaking his heart.  Maybe Quatre would find someone that truly deserved him, someone that could express their
love the way Trowa couldn’t.

To Be Continued . . .