/// Outside a storm was raging. Omi was seated comfortably on a large, puffy cloud when he was disturbed by a large, passion-pink… monkey? “What’s that?” he muttered. He blinked at it, his eyes un-focusing for a scant moment, then refocusing once more. “You want me to follow you?” he mumbled, disoriented. The monkey nodded vigorously, then turned away. It cast a glance over it’s furry, pink shoulder. Omi, stumbling to a stand, followed curiously, grasping for things to maintain his balance on his precarious way. “Where’re we going?” he asked blearily, staggering along. The hall wavered around him. The monkey didn’t respond, but led him to a door he didn’t remember ever seeing. The primate disappeared within. Curiously, Omi stepped after, crossing the threshold into… a beautiful world, white like the salt on a soft pretzel and glittering like crystal. “Wow…” Omi whispered. Stepping forward, he saw the monkey gesturing to a pool of some sort, glittering beautifully. He stepped closer. Blinking large eyes, he peered down into it, and was graced with the sight of his own face peering back. He moved closer, entranced…/// ~~~ Omi panicked, finding himself suddenly fighting to breathe. There seemed to be a cold substance in the way of his breath, like water. He fought to escape, but couldn’t seem to move… His head was suddenly jerked up out of the water. He gasped, staring around without comprehension as water streamed into his eyes. His vision finally chose to register what he saw after a few moments had passed. White floor tiles greeted him from his feet, and a mirror hung slightly above his head. His hands clutched the counter top, white marble, loosely. His bangs, plastered against his forehead, dripped steadily. In the reflection of the mirror he suddenly noticed the figure behind him with a bright, red head. Aya’s face was expressionless. “What the hell were you doing?” the older boy demanded. Omi, opening his mouth, abruptly coughed, harshly. Then he replied: “What do you mean?” His voice was quiet, slightly hoarse, and he was still disoriented. Aya, who had a hand wrapped in his blonde hair, abruptly let go. “We returned to find you completely drunk,” he informed the boy coolly. /Drunk…/ Memories flooded back. He had just wanted a little. But a little turned into a lot… he was trying to forget. He did not want to think about it, not now. Which was not extremely difficult, considering the fact that his head was pounding; he couldn’t think of much anything clearly. /God, how embarrassing, and for Aya to have to dunk my head in the sink…/ “Gomen,” he said, softly. He reached up and pushed his hair off of his face, ringing some of it out. “I’m really sorry,” he said again. “I…” He found he couldn’t continue. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to voice his thoughts. /Trying to forget…/ Glancing at Aya with large eyes, he saw the older youth’s gaze soften the tiniest bit, just enough so that it barely registered. “It’s okay,” he finally responded. His voice was still cold as ice. Then, without another word, he turned and left the room. Omi stared into the mirror for a long time. /At first I thought it was Ouka, but… but it *wasn’t* her/ he thought disconsolately. /You’re trying to forget what else you’re feeling… God, *I* don’t understand. How could *he*? Yeah, and as if I’d tell him anyway/ he thought, his mind-voice colored darkly with sarcasm. He tried to force all thought away. Grabbing a towel, he dried his hair some more. Then, sighing, walked back into the hall. It seemed the others were asleep. The three of them had been out late, prelims for a mission. Omi had opted to stay home and learn what he could with his faithful technology. But he had obviously *not* done what he planned. And the others were probably all dead tired, so they dropped right into bed. Leaving him alone with his thoughts yet some more. Omi wandered back to the kitchen, deciding he couldn’t sleep just yet. He was rather awake, after having his head dunked in the chilling water and all. He saw a light left on in the kitchen, and entered curiously. He blinked, and exclaimed quietly: “Aya-kun!” Aya was cleaning up. There wasn’t much left to clean; Omi had, apparently, left his almost empty, instant dinner box on the table, and there were the cast off, empty bottles of alcohol. He blushed when he saw that it was Aya cleaning up *his* mess. “You don’t have to do that,” he said quickly, rushing forward. “I’ll clean up. You’re probably tired.” He took the empty dinner box from the taller boys slender fingers. “You’re probably still disoriented,” came the uninflected, cool return. It was true; and, he had that pounding headache to boot. But he couldn’t let Aya clean up his stuff…! He blushed furiously. It was embarrassing… first being discovered completely drunk, and then watching Aya take care of what he left behind. He refused to just go to bed. “But it’s my fault,” he protested. “And you were out working. You should go to sleep.” Aya studied him for a long time. Omi could only meet his gaze for so long, because, even in his still-hazy state, a rush of feelings swarmed over him. He busied himself by wiping the table down, dropping his possibly revealing gaze. “Really,” he insisted, not wanting the older youth to scrutinize him any longer. He heard Aya shift, and then, to his relief, say: “Fine.” Omi continued cleaning the table surface as Aya’s footsteps moved to the door. But then they paused. “Omi.” Omi blinked. Aya’s tone betrayed nothing, but was habitually solemn. “Hai?” he asked, maybe a bit too brightly. “Why?” He blinked. “Nani?” he finally queried. “Why the alcohol?” came the quiet inquisition. He flushed slightly. /I don’t even know…/ but he didn’t say it, even if it was what he *wanted* to say. /I better say something quick, though/ he thought. “I… well… it was Ouka,” he finally lied. He didn’t like mentioning her, and he didn’t like lying. But in this case, he didn’t have anything else to say. He fell silent after that simple statement, hoping Aya would think he didn’t want to talk about it. The other youth sort of took the hint. But he said, abruptly: “If there is something you’re not telling us, you shouldn’t deal with it like that.” Omi blinked, the rag in his hand that he was using to wash the table top falling still. /Was that just a really good guess?/ he wondered. /Or is our aloof, cold Aya more perceptive than we all thought? Or at least more than *I* thought?/ He didn’t answer. He simply couldn’t. Aya, standing still a moment longer, finally murmured a quiet “goodnight” and left the kitchen. Omi was made to finish cleaning up alone, struggling with his thoughts. ~~~ He was standing outside on a patio-balcony. The stars gazed at him brightly; he didn’t share their joy. He was upset, even angry. /I don’t want this!/ he thought desperately. It had been a week since he got drunk. /Anything but this! It’s not natural, and it’ll be hopeless anyway./ “Damn him,” he muttered, glaring at the stars. “And… and damn me, too.” He wanted anything other than to fall in love. Over the past week it had been clear what had happened. He thought it had been love with Ouka, but… it had only been the love of a brother. He hadn’t realized it then, but somehow, within him, *something* had known to love her *only* as a sister. “But with him, it’s different,” he mumbled. /Aya… God, Aya, I love Aya! How can this be? Shouldn’t I be too young for love anyway? And it’s not like he would feel the same./ He didn’t know what to do. But already, in so short of time, it was becoming amazingly unbearable. He could no longer deny it, and was therefore accepting it, with slow, agonizing steps that left him without energy. Everything about the older boy attracted Omi to him. Something about his aloofness, the secret caring that Omi had barely glimpsed, very few times, the quiet solemnity that intrigued the boy… /it’s everything./ “I’m hopeless,” he murmured to himself, dejected. “So what do I do now? Mention it?” He almost laughed, scorning himself. “I’d make a fool of myself.” He sighed, folding his arms on the railing of the balcony and leaning his head on them, gazing at the sky and not really registering it. “And I don’t want anyone else to know anyway. I’m sure we’d both be better off if he never knew.” Despite his words, thinking about the older youth, daydreaming about telling him his feelings and learning that Aya shared them, made his cheeks flush. /I’m so confused!/ he thought. /I mean, he’s a guy…! But this… God, just thinking about him makes me giddy. What can I do now?/ ~~~ “Yohji-kun?” Omi wandered over to the tall, sleepy-looking assassin. The latter was leaning against the counter of the flower-shop. It was near closing time. Yohji glanced at him lazily, arching one eyebrow in question. Omi shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “Um… what do you do when you like someone, but you know they don’t feel the same?” he finally asked, the words tumbling out. Yohji blinked at him, and Omi felt a slight blush warm his cheeks. The taller boy laughed abruptly. “Why, Omi, you’ve discovered girls and puberty,” he commented with a grin. “Who’s the lucky girl?” Omi scowled, looking at his feet. “Cut it out,” he muttered. Yohji only laughed. “Seriously,” Omi pressed, looking back up with wide eyes. “What do you do?” Yohji’s amusement faded slightly, as he saw that Omi really *was* curious. “Well…” he thought for a minute. Then he shrugged. “Truthfully, Omi-kun, I don’t *have* that problem. I’ve never been turned down.” /He’s obviously not going to be any help./ Omi rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever,” he replied. Yohji batted his eyes with a grin, and Omi, giving a half-hearted smile back, wandered away. It been almost two weeks since his embarrassing episode. He had finally come to accept it. Now he just didn’t know what to *do* about it. The others hadn’t noticed anything was wrong. He tried to remain as bright and happy as usual, on the surface, but inside he seethed with twisting emotions, conflicting feelings. He certainly didn’t feel as happy as he appeared…. it was all a mask. “It hurts,” he whispered to himself. “Love isn’t *supposed* to hurt, is it? But I guess, if it’s one-sided, it’ll *always* be painful.” But he consoled himself with the thought that the others hadn’t noticed; he certainly didn’t want to ruin things for any of them. As he made his way to his chamber, he heard Yohji shout for Ken, yelling at him to come clean up. It was their turn. Omi wondered where Aya was. Reaching his room, he found, to his surprise, that his door was ajar. Curious, he nudged it open and stepped over the threshold. Off to the side, with arms crossed and back to the wall, was a tall, slender figure, with red, silky hair capping emotionless, ivory features. His beauty was painful to Omi’s eyes. “Aya-kun!” he finally managed, completely taken by surprise. Aya turned deep, masked eyes to his wide gaze. “What’re you doing in here?” he stammered. Aya was silent for a moment. Then: “What’s wrong, Omi?” That was all; simple and concise. But it felt like a blow to Omi’s mind. /He’s noticed!? I can’t believe it… I thought… but the others never said… why him? And why does he have to ask me, like *this*?/ He strove desperately to pretend he didn’t know what Aya was talking about. “What do you mean-” “I’m more perceptive than you think,” he cut in, his voice smooth, even, surprisingly, slightly dry. “You’ve been different for a couple of weeks now. We can’t afford to have any of us distracted on missions.” Omi’s hopes had risen with the thought that perhaps Aya was concerned. /But no,/ he thought acidly, feeling a sudden, surprising flash of anger. /Of course not. Not cold Aya./ He was startled by the violence of his emotion, but went with it. He was tired of fighting his mind. /It’s *his* fault this happened, anyway. He’s causing my pain./ “Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “It’s nothing that can be helped.” Omi started to turn away, intent on leaving again. But Aya caught him securely with his eyes, with their slight, surprised widening. It was obvious Omi’s acerbity had come through; after all, he had done nothing to prevent it. The younger boy felt an immediate pang of guilt and regret. First, for blaming Aya, and second, because he suddenly realized, with that single comment, Aya would only pry deeper. And he had brought that on himself. “I’m sorry,” he said, hastily, wanting to avoid more conversation. “I’m on edge. It’s a lot of things, really, and-” “You can tell me, Omi.” Omi blinked at the tone of Aya’s quiet voice. It was almost… compassionate? Somehow, that didn’t seem right. But… well, Aya *was* the type to have a deep caring concealed within him, that he would expose only to friends. And Omi was a fellow member of Weiss… /But friend…/ the word ate at him. /I want *more* than that. But it’s too much to ask./ “No, I can’t” he replied softly, regretfully, fixing his eyes on his feet. Could silence get him out of this one? It was his last chance. He heard Aya shift, and lifted his eyes to see him standing closer, having left his post to approach the boy. His eyes betrayed nothing. Their gazes met. Omi’s heart fluttered, emotions rising and threatening to sweep him away with their rush. He was unable to stop it. And some of that must have been relayed to his eyes, because he saw Aya’s brows contract, ever so slightly, in puzzlement. /There’s no turning back now. May as well get it over with/ he thought distantly. “Aya-kun,” he finally said, softly. “Do you really wanna know? I don’t think you do, but I can’t convince you otherwise.” /And I can’t deny you anything, Aya/ he added silently, /because to me, you’re everything./ “Hai,” came the quiet, slightly wondering response. Omi dropped his eyes and scuffed his foot against the ground. He tried to steady himself. It was hopeless. So he came right out and said it, while staring at the floor: “I love you.” Silence. Absolute, utter silence, that roared in his ears louder and harsher than any engine. He felt dizzy; emotions were strong, anxiety was stronger, and suspense threaded through those feelings. Slowly, he lifted his eyes. Aya’s face was completely unreadable. His eyes were harder than Omi believed he had ever witnessed them to be. The boy bit his lip, unconsciously taking a step back. “No,” he whispered. “Don’t… don’t look at me like that,” he whispered. Nothing, though. Only silence was the response. Omi’s heart thudded; his temples pounded. “Please,” he whispered. “Say something, Aya-kun. Anything.” Nothing. Complete disregard. It hurt worse than Omi could have imagined. He fled. ~~~ “Nani?” Omi heard Yohji’s exclamation through his closed door. His room was dark around him; he was staring at the ceiling with red-rimmed eyes. He had not slept well that night. Not well at all. He sat up, peering toward the door. Despite his injured heart, his interest was somewhat captured by the commotion outside. “What the hell do you mean? Why!?” Yohji was shouting. “I don’t know!” Ken yelled back, irritably. He heard the pounding of footsteps. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, Omi stood up and left his room. He went to the main room, peering around with tired, wide eyes; no one was there. “Where’d they go?” he muttered to himself. Peering down the other hall, he blinked. Both Ken and Yohji stood outside an open door. Aya’s room. His heart skipped a beat. Aya… could something have happened? He ran down the hall, breathless. “What’s going on?” He demanded, pushing between Ken and Yohji. They ignored him, caught up in whatever it was they were doing. “Aya-kun! What do you think you’re doing!?” Yohji demanded. “Why?” Aya was bent over a suitcase; most of his clothes were already in it. His face was expressionless, and he didn’t even look up. “Because I can’t stay here anymore.” “So you’re just gonna leave!?” Ken exclaimed. The revelation was staggering; Omi felt dizzy, and he could find no words. /He’s leaving…/ those two, solitary words brought Omi’s world down around him. He stumbled back, and his back collided with the wall. /You can’t… you can’t leave!/ he wanted to shout, desperately. /You being here might hurt me, but if you’re gone… I can’t handle it!/ “Hey, Omi-kun!” He suddenly realized Ken was addressing him with a frown. “What’s the matter? You look pale.” “I…” he finally managed to stammer. “N…nothing.” He turned away from Ken’s curious, concerned look and hurried back down the hall. /I don’t want to face this./ When he reached his room again, he flung himself down on the bed. He didn’t know what to do, and what to feel was even more of a mystery. Pain was the strongest emotion; Aya leaving, Aya hurting him. But anger danced through his mind. /Does he think he can just run away from this?/ he thought angrily. /Run from me? Does he even care?/ He buried his face in his pillow. The seconds stretched on, leaving him alone with his tortured thoughts. He knew someone would come bother him soon, though, so he simply waited, there on his bed. After five minutes passed, and the silence was broken, his emotions and thoughts were no more organized than before. The door opened behind him. He waited. “Omi-kun.” His eyes widened. The low, smooth voice that spoke his name was undeniable. He slowly rolled over onto his back and sat up. “Hai?” he whispered. He fixed his eyes on the floor. “Gomen.” Omi barked something that was mirthless; half-laugh, half-sob. “Are you really?” His voice was no more than a whisper, tight. There was no response. “Aya-kun,” he finally said, softly. He still watched the floor. “Why? Why are you doing this?” When Aya was still silent for a time, Omi finally dragged his eyes off the floor. There was a slight frown marring the tall, red-head’s features. “Because things have changed too much. And my being here tortures you; I don’t want to be responsible for that.” “So… so you think you can just leave? That leaving will *help*?” Omi’s voice rose slightly. He stood up. “Have you ever thought how it would affect *me*?” he demanded, his fists tightening into balls as he approached the figure standing in his doorway. “You’re *everything* to me! I know you don’t care about anyone else, but did you at least stop to wonder, if only for a *moment*, that leaving would hurt worse!?” “You brought this on yourself.” There was a glint of anger in his deep violet eyes. His voice was cold. “Look, I didn’t ask for it either, all right?” he snapped back. “I don’t *want* this. And I know that telling you ruined any friendship, but I can’t lie to myself.” “So you expect me to stay, with everything changed?” was the response, still quiet, still hard. “No,” he replied, taking a step forward. He now stood directly in front of the older youth. “No,” he repeated, with a gesture that was half-sharp, half-pleading. “*Nothing* has to change.” His anger suddenly died, snuffed out by the knowledge that Aya was leaving. His eyes suddenly burned. “It’s… it’s only words, and if you’re only here, I know it’ll be all right.” One tear, single and solitary, slid down his cheek. “Please,” he whispered, his voice broken. “Don’t go.” Before Aya could give any response, physical or verbal, Omi put his arms around him, clutching his shoulder and burying his face there. Aya stiffened. Omi, through his tears, waited for him to jerk away. But, to the younger boy’s surprise, he did not. He didn’t react in any way for a long moment, but simply stood there. /Aya… maybe there’s a chance/ he thought to himself, with desperate hope. /He didn’t pull away. And he was going to leave to stop me from hurting… a chance./ Omi’s tears did not last long; he was in conflict. This was probably the only time he could be with Aya like that, that close, and he wanted it to last forever. But it was also embarrassing, part of him registered. Crying like a child in front of the one he loved, and getting the older youth’s shoulder wet besides. He slowly pushed back and lifted his large eyes to Aya. In the redhead’s gaze, Omi could not read much. But his eyes were softer than before, even slightly puzzled. “Will you stay?” he whispered, his head pounding in his ears. Aya was quiet for a long time. Then he finally nodded his head. “Hai.” A soft, relieved smile curved Omi’s lips. “Arigatou.” He whispered. Then, before Aya could step back away, back into the hall, he raised himself on his toes and kissed him. It was something he had dreamed about doing. This seemed like it would be his only chance. And he had to find out, had to see if there really was a chance. It was not long; Aya did not respond in any Omi, but Omi didn’t mind. Just the feel of those lips, surprisingly soft, was enough. Aya stared down at him, surprise etched in his face. The younger assassin stepped away. “Arigatou,” he said softly, again. Then: “Aya-kun… if you liked that, you have to tell me. But if you didn’t like it, then… then you’ll not break any expectations. I don’t expect you too. But I have to try; and if you come to me, and tell me it was repulsive, that you hated it, I don’t mind. As long as you’re here.” No response. The ever-silent Aya only stood there, looked at him a moment longer, implacable, and then turned and walked away. Omi was content to leave it that way. Aya was staying, and he had gotten to be so close to him, to kiss him. It was all that mattered. ~~~ It was Omi’s turn to close up. Omi’s and Aya’s. But he was okay with it; he was content to just know Aya was around. Things were not quite the same between them, but Omi put forth a lot of effort to make it that way, not wanting to make things worse for Aya. And so, for now, they were okay. He sighed to himself as he watered the last group of plants that needed it. /About three weeks ago, I was accepting I loved a man. Now, I’m accepting that the man I love doesn’t feel the same./ But he had come to accept it, and he knew life would go on. Just without Aya’s love. “But I can’t have everything I want in life,” he murmured to himself. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard movement; Aya had entered, to help close up. Omi, not having anything to say, returned to his task. But Aya didn’t have the same sentiments, apparently, for he said: “Omi-kun.” That was all. But Omi blinked, startled by his voice. It was somehow… different. He slowly turned around. “Hai?” Aya shifted from one foot the other, and then looked away, uncharacteristically nervous. Omi blinked again curiously. “You said… the day I tried to leave, you said to tell you.” Omi frowned. “Tell me what?” he asked, not quite sure what Aya was referring to. Deep violet eyes returned to him. “If I liked it.” The young assassin’s breath caught. He didn’t know if he should response or not, but he didn’t trust his voice to be steady, so he remained silent. “I… I did.” Omi’s gaze was incomprehensive. The plastic watering can, almost empty now, feel from numb fingers with a clatter and light splash. He couldn’t speak. /“I did…”/ could it be true? Aya seemed compelled to continue, and as he did so, took a few steps forward, approaching Omi. “I mean… I think I did. I didn’t dislike it, and… and I think about it. A lot.” Aya was confused. The two words were not normally together. And he was expressing his feelings. Or at least trying to. That was even more rare. “Do you mean it?” he finally managed. It was hard to accept; he had taken Aya’s silence on the matter for disliking it, for being repulsed. And yet here he was, confessing otherwise. Aya nodded, briefly. “I don’t know if I feel how you feel,” he continued, his voice quiet. “But I was going to leave so you wouldn’t hurt, because I don’t *want* you to hurt. And you’re always there, keeping me from complete isolation by being who you are. I never realized it before, but…” When he seemed to struggle with the words, Omi cut in, gently. “You don’t have to continue,” he whispered. The knowledge that this was not a daydream, that Aya was truly there before him, saying this, was slowly dawning on. “You don’t have to,” he repeated. He was at a loss for words. Aya, reaching up, touched his cheek. The action was slightly awkward, but he did it anyway. He wiped a tear away; Omi had not realized he was crying. “Don’t cry, Omi-kun,” he whispered. Omi covered Aya’s long, slender fingers with his own. He was suddenly nervous as his eyes fixed on Aya’s lips, slightly parted. He was suddenly unsure. But Aya ended that for him; the older youth leaned forward and gently touched those lips to Omi’s. His kiss was tentative, still unsure. Omi leaned into it, kissing him with a rush of emotion, longing. A part of him still expected Aya to pull away, push back harshly. But he didn’t. Omi, after a long moment, broke the kiss, breathless. Aya’s eyes slid open. “What’s wrong?” he asked, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. Omi smiled, a small, sweet expression that curved his lips. “Nothing,” he whispered. He again leaned forward, sliding one hand behind Aya’s neck, feeling the soft brush of hair. He kissed him more deeply; this time Aya’s response was more definite, encouraging. Omi’s thought was distant. /Nothing at all./
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