Part 8
Trowa opened his eyes, greeting the new day as birds chirped outside. He noted that Quatre was still nestled close to him. Smiling gently, he slipped out of bed, dressing for the new day. He had just finished cleaning his teeth when he heard Quatre yawn. He turned around, and was met with the endearing sight of Quatre stretching and yawning, clean blond hair tussled. He was only wearing one of Trowa's old shirts, which to Trowa made the vision that much more perfect.
"Good morning," Trowa said. Quatre yawned again in reply. Trowa smiled as Quatre climbed out of bed and tiptoed out to his own room, flashing long bare legs as he went. When he returned he was fully dressed, always a disappointment to Trowa.
They walked downstairs and ate breakfast without incident. Then, it was off to the school room for endless lessons. Trowa for the most part, enjoyed his lessons, though it was unnerving to think that the entire Barton fortune would one day be in his uncertain and certainly unworthy hands.
Quatre was the one to rescue him, unconsciously of course. Quatre occupied much of their tutor's attention by asking question after question. Mr. Edwards was of course at his most crusty, and constantly corrected Quatre's pronunciation, which the blond boy mostly ignored.
At lunch, Quatre fairly flew out of his chair and out the door. Mr. Edwards sighed. He looked at Trowa.
"Master Trowa, if I might have a word..." he said. Trowa nodded, fighting back the urge to run as Quatre had. "Quatre must learn to speak properly if he wishes to accompany you to the opera on Friday. He sounds like he was just scraped out of the gutter."
Trowa frowned deeply. "I think Quatre's accent is charming... and he has only recently joined us. He has not been here a full day. Give him time."
"I am giving him time," Mr Edwards said. "I am giving him until Friday." Trowa sighed and walked out the door, where he was promptly pounced on by Quatre. He managed a smile as he fought to calm his racing heart.
"Wha's an opera?" Quatre demanded eagerly. "Is there music?" Trowa smiled again, a bit more naturally this time.
"Yes. An opera is a story told with music, normally in a foreign language. There is a lot of singing. I think you'll like it. We'll need to dress up."
"An' what's ol' crusty goin' on about th' way I talk? I canna see anythin' wrong with it." Quatre pouted a moment.
"Quatre, there will be many people from high society there and... while I think you are perfect just the way you are, they will look down on you for the accent. I'm afraid we don't have a lot of time, either. The opera is in three days."
Quatre frowned. " 'ow am I to learn?" he asked.
"There are two ways, the boring way and the fun way. I will show you the fun way. Come," Trowa said, leading Quatre to the dining room. He ordered one meal, and when it was delivered, he placed it in front of him.
"Wha' are ya doin'?" Quatre asked, for he was quite hungry. Trowa cut a bit of meat and stabbed it with his fork.
"You must say 'what are you doing'," Trowa chided gently. Quatre repeated it carefully, and was rewarded by a bit of meat. He blinked, chewing thoughtfully.
"Ye be bribin' me like a wee doggie," he complained. Trowa repeated his words correctly. Quatre repeated the words, and was rewarded with more of the food. Lunch took half an hour, but Trowa thought he'd finally managed to correct his accent.
After lunch there were more lessons, and Quatre spoke blithely with his normal accent. Trowa felt as if he would be spending many meals feeding Quatre. He didn't mind, because it gave them an excuse to converse and besides, there was something decidedly erotic about feeding Quatre...
The evening once again found them in the library, looking through books and listening to the gramophone. Quatre fell asleep in the middle of the book he was reading, and once again Trowa brought him upstairs. At Quatre's room he hesitated, knowing the blond boy would wake up when he realised he was alone. With a smile, he brought Quatre to his own room and undressed him, slipping him into his own bed.
He undressed himself and slipped into bed, keeping a slight distance from Quatre. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. During the night, Quatre wormed closer to Trowa, and by morning, he was nestled up to Trowa.
Trowa didn't comment, though he did smile to himself whenever he thought about it. The next night, he slept with an arm around Quatre. The day after that was filled with preparations for the opera, namely getting Quatre the proper clothing. Quatre complained about the clothes, but Trowa assured him he looked splendid.
Later in the evening, while in the Library, Quatre found a beautiful old violin. Hoping to make music as the great ones did, he immediately put bow to strings, giving off a rather unmusical squawk. Trowa smiled and walked over to Quatre, standing behind him.
"It needs to be tuned, the strings are loose," Trowa said gently, taking the violin away. Quatre watched as Trowa carefully tuned it, and smiled slightly. Trowa handed the violin back, and carefully placed Quatre's fingers on the strings. He walked Quatre through playing it, then sat back to watch Quatre's efforts.
He learns so quickly, Trowa mused to himself. Through his eyelashes, Quatre watched Trowa, suppressing a smile as he saw how much pleasure Trowa derived from his playing. One day, he would be great.
As they returned to their rooms, Trowa expected Quatre to sleep in his own room, but Quatre arrived in his nightshirt just as he was drifting off. He realised at the moment that Quatre nestled beside him that he needed the blond boy's presence just as much as Quatre needed his.
And tomorrow, they would go to the opera.
TBC...