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"Ready to go?" Trowa asked.
Quatre smiled, nodding, "Yes." His eyes fixed on the man before him.
It had been four months since he'd seen this person—four long, grueling months of missing him and running his pens dry while crossing out each day that passed by on his calendar. Now, here he was as if Quatre had manifested him out of his obsessive daydreams. Trowa’s strong arms crossed over his chest, the setting sun picking up the subtle hints of amber in his long sweeping fringe that still maddeningly concealed one of his green eyes. He could still make out its jade hue beneath the hair, peeking out at him like a hidden gem, beckoning him to come closer.
But something other than his favorite green eyes caught Quatre's attention, and he peeked over Trowa's shoulder, looking closer at Trowa's choice of vehicle. "I never thought I'd be dealing with helmet hair tonight," he quipped, a hint of embarrassment creeping onto his flushed cheeks, thinking back to the half hour he spent fussing in front of the mirror, trying to tame the unruly cowlick that had mysteriously emerged during the day.
Trowa uncrossed his arms, rising to his full height, momentarily turning his attention to the motorcycle, then back to him. "It's cute you think I'd rent a car. You'll be fine," Trowa smirked, handing him a black biker's helmet.
Quatre's cheeks heated, instantly looking down at the helmet in his hands, hoping Trowa didn't catch him blushing. He'd never tire of how this man could catch him off guard, even in his smallest sentiments. Before he could raise the helmet, something dropped into his line of view, dangling close to his face. It tapped him from the nose before he could register what he was looking at.
"And, of course, we don't want you to forget these." Trowa mused. Quatre's eyes widened in surprise, focusing on the thing that hung from Trowa's hooked finger.
His goggles!
"Trowa!" Quatre gasped, "You went all the way to my house to get them?"
Trowa just shrugged, "It wasn't all me. I had help."
Quatre grabbed the goggles, his fingertips naturally tracing the shape of the frames as he thought about their history and meaning. It had been a while since he'd worn them, but it didn't matter. His goggles would always be a reminder of who he was and where he came from.
As Quatre's attention shifted, he noticed the movement from the corner of his eye.
Trowa had already settled onto the motorcycle, prepared to embark on their adventure. Intrigued, Quatre approached him with anticipation, his voice tinged with curiosity. "So, Trowa, where exactly are we headed?"
Trowa locked eyes with Quatre sending a thrill down his spine.
"Do you trust me?" Trowa asked, his voice steady and unwavering.
Before Quatre could answer, the motorcycle's engine sprang to life, its powerful roar resonating in the surroundings, drowning out his response. Once the engine lulled, he spoke again, with more determination of his faith in the man.
"Yes, of course.”
Trowa's lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. "Then hop on," he said, gesturing towards the empty seat behind him. He held out a hand, inviting Quatre to embark on their adventure.
Quatre quickly secured the goggles and slid the helmet over his head, fitting like a glove. Then he accepted his date's hand, allowing him to stabilize himself while hoasting up on the two-wheeled vehicle.
Once on, his body sank into the seat, pressing closer to Trowa, inviting him to wrap his arms around the man's waist for security. The black leather of Trowa's jacket was a bit stiff, but it didn't stop Quatre from enjoying the intimate contact with his date.
As Trowa rode along the Pacific Coast Highway, or as the locals say, the PCH, he could sense Trowa's impatience as he weaved through the traffic. It could have been worse; they could have been battling gridlock. They finally hit a red light, and Quatre loudly spoke so Trowa could hear, "Are we there yet?"
But Trowa didn't have time to respond as the light turned green while he sped them down the twisty road. Defeated, Quatre rested his head on Trowa's back, observing the ocean from afar. The sun was so close to setting, melting the entire horizon into a spectacle of amber and coral.
Finally, they slowed, its engine softly purring as they veered onto a dirt road that led to a quaint little establishment. The building adorned colorful graffiti over all its outside walls, adding a touch of urban artistry. A flickering pink neon sign hung above the entrance, illuminating the words "Malibu Seafood."
Once they parked and rid themselves of their helmets, Quatre inhaled the salty, damp breeze mixed with the restaurant's pungent garlic aroma and freshly made bread. "From the looks of it, you wouldn't know that this is supposedly the best in town," Trowa stated, pocketing his hands in his black jeans.
"Well, it does smell delicious!" Quatre replied, unsure what to do with himself.
Why was he so nervous?
This was Trowa!
Except, Trowa had never traveled specifically to meet up with him before. Sure, he had mentioned something about work sending him when he called about coming into town, but Quatre learned from Duo right before Trowa arrived that he actually took a few days off.
It wasn't too surprising. Quatre had been in Los Angeles for four long months. His business deals kept prolonging in the extensions, extending his stay, unsure when he would return home. It wasn't the worst place to get stuck in. He had rented a beautiful Malibu seaside estate with a private beach entrance with an infinity pool overlooking the ocean. The house was tempting, but the owner kept refusing his multiple offers. No matter. He had already started looking to buy land elsewhere along the coast. He just hoped Trowa wouldn't mind vacationing here from time to time.
Instead of trying to hold the man's hand or linking arms with him, they walked side by side in unison to the line that formed outside the entrance door.
It took a while for them to get through the line, and all the while, Quatre voiced his frustrations on the stall of his project here in LA.
By the time they placed their order, night had fallen. Thankfully the food came quickly, and they found a vacant picnic bench overlooking the beautiful view of the dark, almost pitch-black ocean if the full moon didn't illuminate it.
There wasn't much talk between the two hungry men, and they ate in comfortable silence, savoring the flavors and the fresh fish.
"I have to admit." Quatre softly interrupted their silence. "I'm not much of a fish person. As you know, it's a delicacy in the Colonies, so I never could get used to the flavor when we had it on a rare occasion; but this... this was really good, nothing like I remember having."
Trowa looked at him, amused. "The Colonies get dehydrated fish when it's shipped, which is then prepared for rehydration in food-safe chemicals once sold. It's no wonder you didn't like it. You weren't tasting the true flavors of the fish. Here, the restaurant owners go out every morning to catch all of their seafood for the day."
Quatre looked at him puzzled, "How do you know all that?"
A gentle smile graced Trowa's features as he tidied up the plates, then placed them on the red tray. "I used to work in a kitchen before joining the circus."
"Really? Why haven't you told me this before?" Quatre's voice carried a mix of surprise and curiosity.
Trowa's response was accompanied by a casual shrug, his composure unfazed. His calm and collected demeanor remained intact as he explained, "I guess we've just never had the opportunity to talk about it," his tone relaxed and unhurried.
"I guess not." Quatre nodded, then asked, "So, how did you become a fish connoisseur?" Quatre raised a playful eyebrow.
Trowa inhaled deeply, contemplating his words, but stood instead. "That's a story for a later date."
"Are you sure?" Quatre questioned, standing while grabbing their cups as Trowa headed over to the garbage can with the tray of trash.
Trowa looked over his shoulder, "Yep. That story is not a mood I want to set for where I wanna take you next."
Quatre instantly grasped the intention behind Trowa's words and respected his request. Without questioning further, he swiftly disposed of their drinks and joined Trowa as they made their way to where they had parked their vehicle, anticipating the next chapter of their adventure.
It wasn't long before they reached their destination. There was hardly anyone on the PCH as they pulled onto a side road with a large sign welcoming guests to Zuma Beach.
Once they were parked again, Quatre secured his helmet next to Trowa's on the bike's handles, but this time instead of taking off his goggles, he pulled them down, wrapping around his neck, dangling like a necklace.
They walked side by side on the sand, along the foreshore, dodging the higher waves occasionally. Quatre wanted to hold Trowa's hand. Hell, they'd had held hands before, kissed even! So, why was this so hard, like it was their first date all over again?
Had he been gone too long?
Four months did feel like an eternity.
When he left, their romantic relationship wasn't relatively new, but for them, it may well have been since they had been slow-moving with their hectic work schedules.
He wanted to respect Trowa's boundaries, so he mimicked Trowa's hands and placed his own in his pockets.
As they strolled along, Quatre was captivated by the soothing melody of the waves gently caressing the shore, their rhythmic ebb and flow easing any residual tension he had. He tilted his head upward, gazing at the expansive night sky. The stars twinkled with a faint shimmer, their brilliance slightly dimmed by the luminosity of the full moon.
Amidst the celestial tapestry, he noticed the ever-so-faint glimmer of colonies and the distant sparkle of stars. Although Mars and Venus stood out the most, their radiant presence added a mystique to the nocturnal canvas.
At that moment, Quatre felt a profound connection to the vastness of the universe and couldn't help but long for home. "Do you miss space?" His voice resonated softly as if afraid to disturb the moment's tranquility.
Trowa stopped walking, tilting his head to the sky, and inhaled deeply, responding in a low whisper, "Sometimes. You?"
Quatre stopped, redirecting his focus towards Trowa, his fingers gently threading through his tousled blonde locks. A contemplative expression graced his features as he attempted to articulate his feelings. "It's difficult to put into words. It's a mix of longing and contentment," he replied thoughtfully. After a brief pause, Quatre poised a different question. "Would you ever consider living in space again?"
Trowa stepped closer, his gaze fixed on Quatre's eyes. "Only if it's something you want," he responded, his voice reassuring.
Quatre's response caught in his throat momentarily, and a mixture of surprise and warmth flooded him. He never truly realized the depth of Trowa's commitment until now.
Though, he should have known already since Trowa had flown halfway around the world to Los Angeles to see him. "I... I see," Quatre managed to utter, his voice filled with this newfound understanding.
Trowa, now just millimeters apart from him, uttered nothing in return. He could feel his hot breath and hear his beating heart as Trowa tilted his hand upward with his index finger, brushing a few strands of blonde locks away from his face, gently caressing the tips with his fingers. "Quatre..." He whispered.
Quatre swallowed and licked his lips, knowing what was to come.
"Quatre... I... I think this is a good place to sit." Trowa stated.
WHAT?! That was not at ALL what he thought Trowa was going to say!
But he diligently sat beside Trowa, digging his hands in the frigid sand.
Frustration swelled within Quatre, weary of the ambiguous path they had been treading. It was time for them to seek clarity. "Trowa?" Quatre's voice resonated with determination, laced with a sense of urgency. The time for evasiveness had passed; he was now prepared to address the matter directly.
Silence hung before Quatre posed the question weighing heavily on his heart. "What do you envision for the future?" His voice trembled slightly, a mix of hope and anxiety intermingling in his words while he stared at the handsome man before him.
As Trowa locked eyes with Quatre, his gaze mirrored the seriousness and warmth reflected in Quatre's expression. Trowa took a deep breath, his touch gentle as he reached for Quatre's fingers nestled in the sand. His caress was soft, yet it sent a surge of electric anticipation coursing through Quatre's body.
"I’m not the type to plan out everything for the future. What I do see… and what I want is you in it. I’m committed to you, Quatre. That’s all I know.”
The gentle touch of their fingers intertwining in the sand sent a reassuring warmth coursing through his veins.
"Oh, Trowa," Quatre whispered, throwing an arm around Trowa's neck, bringing Trowa in for a deep and passionate kiss while their fingers still interlocked.
After spending a while in each other's embrace, Quatre needed to catch his breath. He gently leaned his forehead against Trowa's, their closeness bringing a sense of solace and connection. Exhaling softly, Quatre whispered his first confession of many, many more, "I love you, Trowa."
Quatre's heart swelled with delight as he felt a gentle smile form against his cheek, accompanied by the soft words that escaped Trowa's lips, brimming with quiet assurance. "I know."
A radiant smile illuminated Quatre's face as he held Trowa closer, their foreheads still touching. The world around them faded into insignificance as their love enveloped them, wrapping them in a blissful embrace as they sat there, bringing Trowa to his lips once more, making out under the moonlit sky on the most perfect date Quatre could ever ask for.
