Is
this happy, Dori? *grins* This is the happy fic I
kinda promised you. Hope it worked.
Usual
notes so you know what,s going on:
*this*
is emphasis, or what you usually see in italics.
/
/this/ / is thoughts and memories.
########
living in close
quarters
Lying awake
at what must be either almost
*This*
flowershop was a poor substitute for that one. *This* flowershop wasn’t
only a poor substitute for a shop and a home, it was
also a sad excuse for a trailer, as far as Youji was concerned. The privacy
levels were about similar to living in a twelve-foot cell with about thirty
other inmates and no stall around the toilet.
But at least
cells *had* toilets and you didn’t have to throw on a coat and troop out
into the night in the middle of a snowstorm in pajama bottoms to search for a
public restroom. And you were lucky to find one halfway decent, *if*, that is,
you found one at all. And *then*, after all that, you had to put up with the
curious looks tossed in your direction for wandering around in pjs in the first
place. It was a wonder none of them had been stopped or arrested yet. Or mistaken for a loony.
After the
first week, they were very careful where they parked the damn thing. After the
second week, they had settled into some kind of an order. After the
second-and-a-half week they were ready to kill each other *and* Birman *and*
Manx, for putting them through this. After the third week, they were ready to
kill *themselves* if it would end this misery. And after that, they had all
taken to staying out and away from the trailer, or camper, or whatever Birman
wanted to call the dumb thing. *Now* they only had problems at night, when
everyone was back ‘home’, and free to get into each other’s
way as much as humanly possible.
Throughout
all that, Omi had probably suffered the least. He liked human contact, and he
liked having the others around. Especially now that he was
studying over the net instead of going to school. Ken probably followed
a close second. Depressed after leaving his precious soccer team rugrats
behind, he was glad to have the others around to keep him from moping about it.
Youji, on the other hand, liked and needed his privacy. He hated not being able
to bring anyone home. It was harder to get girls when you had to dance the
dance at their place *every* time. You should at least be able to *offer*,
right? Aya was very likely suffering the most. Aya had been a wreck for the
first two weeks. Aya had kicked them *all* out several times, and when that
didn’t work, he had himself disappeared for hours on end until his need
for solitude was appeased and he could tolerate them without needing to slice
them into itty-bitty squares.
Thinking of
Aya made Youji grin. He had, for once, managed to acquisition the couch before
the redhead. Usually Aya laid claim and staked it out before the others could
even *think* about going to sleep, therefore ensuring it was his for the night.
Unless Ken got into a grumpy, grouchy, that’s-not-fair-when-is-it-my-turn
mood and tipped him out of it. Which did nothing for the peace of the
now-cramped household and usually meant *Youji* got the couch. It was an easy
thing to be stretched out across it and ‘fast asleep’ before the
other two were done yelling at each other. Before Ken finished sulking and Aya
finished being indignant and offended. Omi didn’t like confrontation. Omi
would go to incredible lengths to keep the level of hostility down and keep the
arguments to a minimum. As a result, the poor kid had yet to experience the
dubitable comfort of sleeping off the floor.
Smirking
into the darkness, Youji let his green eyes slide sideways to the coffee table.
A can of beer sat there, or, more accurately, half a can and two empty ones.
Even with the drinking he was wide-awake, and if he kept it up, he’d soon
have a need to go trudging outside in his shorts to borrow a bathroom. Not a
good idea. He was pretty sure it was snowing out.
So instead
of drowning his insomnia in alcohol, Youji lay awake and smoked. Watched the wisps and tendrils floating off the end of his
cigarette dance against the low ceiling. Remembered how many times he
had banged his head ducking in the even lower doorway and again on his way out.
Wondered how long it would take him to hypnotize himself into slumber, lying
there and thinking and watching the patterns of cigarette smoke. Wasn’t
it weird how Aya didn’t even stir as the smell of tobacco permeated the
air, despite all of his bitching about it when he was awake? How he
didn’t wake and snap at Youji to turn it out? Or suddenly get up and
fling a window open, despite the winter chill, then turn to glare at him,
challenging him to protest.
None of them
ever did. None except Ken, when he was being even stupider than he usually was.
Youji and Omi never whispered a word about the cold air being worse than the
smell of stale smoke. They just got up and put on their coats and sat around in
their living room/bedroom/kitchen/dining room in gloves and scarves until Aya
got over it or got chilled and closed the window himself.
Stretching
and resettling himself, Youji wondered if maybe he *should* open a window, just
a crack, just so it would look like he was making an effort at maintaining the
oxygen levels in the trailer in case Aya *did* wake up, coughing and pissed
off. Because even Youji had to admit the place was too small for all of them to
have things their way even half the time.
In fact, the
place was almost too small for them to all sleep comfortably. Omi was, as
usual, curled up in front, sleeping with his head in the passenger seat and his
feet by the steering wheel. He was the only one short enough to be comfortable
there. Youji just hoped he didn’t kick the brake off by mistake one of
these nights. Ken, banned from the front seat after almost doing exactly that,
was tucked into the small space between armchair and coffee table, his
sock-clad feet sticking out from under his quilt and just visible around the
end of the table, the rest of him hidden behind it. Aya took up the last
available floor-space--or the last space large enough to sleep in--stretched
out on his stomach by the door, pale arms wrapped about the pillow under his
head. Didn’t the draft blowing in under the door wake him? Didn’t
it bother him? But then, Aya was a creature of ice and cold himself,
wasn’t he?
Well, maybe
not. Even puffing on his cigarette and reaching for the beer--despite what it
might do to his bladder--and *not* caring what was going on in his head, Youji
couldn’t justify that thought to himself. Aya was only cold and ice on
the outside. He *knew* that much. Inside . . . . Well,
not that Aya ever let his armor down enough to allow so much as a peek at what
he might be thinking or feeling *inside*. But that armor wasn’t as strong
as Aya apparently believed, or had convinced himself
to believe it was. Youji knew because sometimes it cracked and he could see,
providing he squinted hard enough and the light was just right, what Aya must
have been *before*. What he might still be *now*, under the coat and without
the sword and without all that Shi-Ne bullshit and I-am-just-a-murderer
nonsense.
He had seen
it every time their path had crossed Takatori’s. He had seen it *after*
that supposed ‘last mission’, when they’d all rushed out onto
the roof to find Aya standing amongst the flames, not seeing them. Not seeing
anything. Very obviously waiting for something to stop hurting, when it just as
obviously *wasn’t* going to stop for a long while yet. He’d seen it
in those brief moments when the past overlapped the present and Aya would get
that distant, pained, almost scared expression in his eyes. And then he would
duck his head, or look away, and it would be gone, as if that rare second or
two of softness had never been.
Most of the
time, though, it took a great deal of spilled blood--usually Aya’s
own--before the shields came down and there was nothing but the hurt and the regrets
and the fear. Nothing there but all that vulnerability that Aya was killing
himself trying to hide.
It was a
vulnerability that Youji wanted to protect him from, just the way he wanted to
protect Ken from whatever fed the bloodlust that was becoming more apparent by
the mission. By the day. The way he wanted to protect
Omi from the guilt and the memories concerning his bloodlines and certain
Takatori. He, at least, was getting better. While Ken was starting to go a
little funny on missions and Aya was spending more and more time alone. Growing more and more withdrawn. And Youji
. . . .
He smiled
ruefully as he glanced back at the cans on the table. He, Youji, was getting
reacquainted with an old friend. An old demon. For
him, he guessed, it was probably a good thing that he was being forced into
living like this, because he couldn’t drink half as much as his mind and
body and memories sometimes insisted he needed to.
Guilt. Guilt ate
you alive from the inside out. It made you wake up in the middle on the night
or in the wee hours of the morning with an ache in your gut that even breakfast
and bugging Omi couldn’t dispel.
And for some
odd reason, he hadn’t ever realized that the others, though he knew full
well about *their* demons and problems, suffered from the same malady that he
did: nightmares.
The first
had been Omi’s. Had woken him screaming the second or
third night into their ‘road trip’. At a
point when, thankfully, they’d all still been hyped over the whole
‘on the road’ thing. When Ken had still been singing
car-songs as they drove and Aya still participated in conversations--sort of.
They had still been sympathetic, at that point. Or maybe it was because it was
*Omi*, the baby of the family. For whatever reason, Omi’s nightmare had been
met with kindness. With Ken making him tea and Youji talking to him and Aya
blinking with drowsy concern as he folded his legs to give Omi room to sit at
the other end of the couch.
The second
had been Youji’s, a scant four or five days
after that. Nerves were straining, but the desire to maintain peace was
stronger. His waking up and managing to sock Ken in the process was met with
stoic, tactful silence. The others had allowed him the dignity of pretending no
one had noticed as he soothed himself with a beer.
Ken had been
third, waking them all up with an *entire* screamed *sentence*, for crissakes.
Three weeks and two days into their stay in the trailer. No one had much time
for sympathy anymore. No one had sufficient levels of *sanity* for sympathy any
more. Ken’s nightmare was met with a chucked pillow from Youji, a
muttered curse from Aya, who promptly turned over and went back to sleep--on
the floor, for once!--and a soft complaining, "Ken-kun!" from Omi,
who pulled his pillow over his head and also went back to sleep.
Aya had yet
to wake screaming. Aya just woke most nights with a soft gasp and a frantic
searching of all and any shadows. He didn’t even need to get a glass of
water like Omi did. Or maybe he had to, but didn’t want to have to run
about outside in his jammies in the middle of winter. Omi just did that funny
I-have-to-go-to-the-bathroom dance as he struggled into this shoes and took off
at a dead run, to return minutes later, flushed and chilled.
Aya sat in
the dark and gasped for breath instead, and pretended Youji wasn’t awake
to know. Or maybe he didn’t realize Youji was awake and watching him and
shivering at the thought of anything that could scare someone *that* badly.
Maybe for those minutes when Aya was busy clutching at blankets and shaking he
wasn’t even *seeing* the insides of the trailer, but something else
altogether.
Youji blamed
it on the way he bottled everything up. Holding things in like that was bound
to make them worse. Holding things in *always* made them worse. But of course,
Aya couldn’t see that. Aya couldn’t see beyond the perception that
any show of emotion, except anger, was a weakness. And it wasn’t as if he
didn’t try his damnedest to quell *that* one as well.
What drove
Youji nuts was that he couldn’t help Aya the way
he did the other two. It wasn’t as if Aya would be open to a hug the way
Omi was, or to advice and a night on the town the way Ken was. As if he would
be open to *anything* that meant he had to admit to needing help in the first
place.
But what if Youji
didn’t want to help Aya in the same way he helped Ken and Omi? What if he wanted…more than that. Wanted to *be* more to Aya
than that. Than just a friend? Chances were, that either indicated insanity or certain death. How
like him to always want what he couldn’t have.
The way
he’d wanted Asuka back. The way he’d wanted it so badly that he had
convinced himself he *did* have her back. That Neu *was* Asuka. The way he’d wanted it and her so very, very badly that
he’d been willing to believe everything she told him and willing to
betray Aya and Aya’s trust. That he’d been very, very
willing to throw away their friendship.
And while he
was sure now that he was seeing signs of Aya maybe, maybe--please let it be
what I think, what I *want*, it to be--reciprocating whatever the hell it was
that he himself was feeling, he couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t
just him convincing himself again. He couldn’t be sure it wasn’t
just another mirage that would fade so soon as he
tried to touch it.
~#~
He
wasn’t sure when he fell asleep. Only that when he woke
it was to the unmistakable, unwelcome feeling of having to relieve himself.
Grumbling, cursing the beer, Youji reached for a sweater. Noticed
as he pulled it on that he’d burnt a hole into the fabric of his T-shirt.
Oops. Smoking in bed. He should really try to knock
that bad habit if he was gonna be falling asleep while he was at it. His shoes
were easy enough to find, having been kicked off and dumped right beside the
couch. His coat… Oh, screw the coat! He had to go! And *bad*!!!
Youji
bounced to his feet and promptly tripped over Ken, managed to control the
sudden, spiteful urge to kick him, and bolted for the door. Hmm.
It *had* snowed last night. There was a layer of white over the sidewalk, still
smooth and untouched. Untrampled. By tonight, it would
be a muddy brown sludge.
Okay, maybe
not *untouched*. There were a couple of sets of footprints leading towards the
twenty-four hour a day convenience store whose bathroom they had politely asked
to borrow the night before, when they’d parked the van in the lot next to
it. Oh, well. It was still clean and white and untouched enough that Youji took
pleasure in tramping trough it. He’d have taken even *more* pleasure in
it if it didn’t have to be so damned *cold*!!
Thankfully,
the shop was well heated and quickly melted the flakes gathered in his hair and
the snow that had managed to sneak into his shoes. *Un*thankfully,
the bathroom was occupied. Omi. Damn it, Omi *always*
got to the bathroom first. What did the kid *do*? Set an alarm clock? *And* he
was *showering*. Already. At--pause to check
watch--barely seven in the morning! Great!
And, as
always, Aya was also already there, towel over one shoulder, shampoo and soap
in hand. Very obviously waiting *his* turn to shower, too. Oh, goddammit!!
Youji wasn’t happy about this! His *bladder* wasn’t happy about
this!! Man, he *really* had to *go*!!!
"Um,
Aya? Can I get in ahead of you? Please? I won’t be a second! I
swear it!!" Hissed through gritted teeth as he fought
not to wet himself then and there. Aya didn’t even look at him,
didn’t even raise his gaze from the line of ants trooping tirelessly
across the floor. A wavering line of small, black ants.
Aya just shook his head a little.
"Please?
Please? It’ll take me half a minute! Okay, two seconds! Please,
Aya?"
"No."
Soft, barely audible refusal.
"C’mon!
What’ve you got to lose? A deal, then? Huh? I
take your shift for all of today?" Spark of interest. Aya considered it.
"No."
"Please?
Okay, all of today and all of tomorrow. That’s gotta be worth it, right?
For *two* lousy *seconds*!!!! Please, Aya? Huh? Whaddaya say?" Youji
fought the urge to dance back and forth.
"I’ve
already been waiting for twenty minutes." Aya said, looking up now. Violet eyes still hazy with sleep but also very firmly refusing
Youji’s request. He looked cold and paler than usual in a dark
charcoal sweater and black pants. His hair bright against the
darkness of rumpled clothing and the white of alabaster skin. If his
bladder wasn’t protesting so painfully, Youji might have been willing to
give up and leave Aya in peace on account of sheer prettiness alone. As it was
. . . .
"C’mon,
Aya. Look at how we’re cramped together like sardines!
You’ve gotta make allowances if you want us all to be able to get
along."
"So do
you." Good point.
"But
I’m gonna *die* if I don’t get to a bathroom soon." Youji
whined. Aya looked up, gave him an appraising look. And
shrugged.
"More
space for the rest of us."
"Uh?" Was that a
*joke*? Actually, it was just as likely that Aya meant it. Or that he was now
getting irritated enough to be sarcastic.
"Yeah,
but you’d miss me." No reply. Aya was busy studying the ants again.
"Admit it, you would."
"Go
away, Youji."
"*Go
away*? Where would I go? You want me to find a hydrant or something? I’ve
gotta get *in* there!!! Please Aya, let me go first!! Please, please,
please?"
"No."
"C’mon.
Strike a deal. Anything. Anything at
all." Flash of violet eyes.
"No."
"Come
o~n!!! Have a heart! I’m practically *begging* here!!!" Well, no. He
*was* begging, and begging shamelessly. He had to go so bad it was practically
a pain now. "Come on, Aya. I have to get in there more urgently than you
do, and *you’re* planning to have a *shower*."
"So?"
"So I
should get in first."
"Why?"
"Why? I
just *explained* why!!!" Youji wailed, really bouncing now. God, he was
gonna wet his pants in a second.
"Leave
me alone, Youji."
"No.
Let me go first."
"No."
"Come
on. What do you want me to do? Huh? Anything, c’mon.
What do you want? I’ll let you have the couch for a month! I’ll
swear off the couch! You can have it for the rest of this damn trip, if you
want."
"Youji." Low warning.
"Stop
being such a jerk, Aya."
It was
getting ugly. Youji felt it going from an argument and becoming a spat. Soon it
would be a fight. If there was anything *none* of them had patience for anymore
it was waiting their turn for the bathroom. Aya wasn’t even leaning
against the wall anymore. He was upright and with his weight back on one foot
in what looked like a very familiar pose to Youji. Very reminiscent of the way
Aya looked just before he gutted someone.
Before he
could, though, the door jangled and Ken rushed in, shivering, wearing shorts
and a T-shirt and unlaced sneakers. He stood there with his arms wrapped about
himself and took one look at the line before groaning, "Ma~n!!! I’ve
*really* gotta *go*!!"
Oblivious to
their presence outside the door and very likely of their mounting desperation,
Omi started to cheerfully hum a tune.
Ken bounced
from foot to foot, either to warm himself, or because he was in a similar state
as Youji. "Um, Youji, Aya, can *I* go first, please? Please?"
~#~
They were in
a bad mood. Every single one of them. Omi had the
radio on. Was sitting in the front seat listening to it, ignoring the others
the way Aya did when he was around. Ken was sulking, bouncing that stupid ball
around the limited space available to them because it was too cold to play
outside. And Youji just sat on the couch, face buried in a magazine, pretending
that he wasn’t slowly going crazy. It was like some strange form of
torture, being trapped in here with Omi’s sad, depressing music and the
incessant thump of Ken’s soccer ball.
Sat there
pretending he didn’t notice any of the small, irrelevant habits that had
become more and more irritating by the day. The way Omi
tapped the dashboard in time to the music, the way Ken had that stupid
children’s rhyme going under his breath, chanting it to the beat of that
stupid ball bouncing from floor to foot to knee to head. Pretending to be *not*
worried about Aya, who’d disappeared soon after the bathroom argument. Very likely without a bite to eat. Jeez. Youji thought this
might be what it felt like to be someone’s mother.
/ /What am I *thinking*? I must be going crazy./ / he griped to
himself, rumpling the glossy pages as he angrily flicked through the magazine,
not seeing the words, or the pictures, or even the girls.
But no, he
wasn’t going crazy. He knew he wasn’t. He was…genuinely concerned
for Aya’s health and his well being. Even if Aya
didn’t give half a rat’s ass about himself or maybe any of the
others.
/ /Now
that’s not a fair assessment, is it, Youji?/ /
That naggy voice in his head insisted. That annoying, naggy
voice that didn’t even have the decency to let him slag his teammates in
peace. But, okay. It *wasn’t* a fair assessment. He knew Aya cared
enough about them to go out of his way to ensure their survival. He knew there
were many times when Aya had come back for them when it would have been so much
easier to just walk away. When walking away would have, maybe, granted him the
freedom he longed for. Freedom from killing, from being
death’s henchman. Unless, of course, Aya cared more about what
happened to them than he did about himself. Because despite
his shields of arrogance and pride, Youji could see that his sense of
self-worth had been twisted down to almost nothing.
/ /I
don’t deserve love. I’m just a murderer./
/
And somehow,
despite that, he could perceive Omi and Ken and maybe even Youji as deserving
happiness. Even if they were just as much murderers as he was. Even if Omi had
been killing for longer than he had and Ken took more pleasure in it than was
probably healthy. Even if Youji couldn’t bring himself to care very much
about lost lives anymore. Not so long as his family was safe.
And how
*couldn’t* Youji worry about him when he was who knew where, *without*
his coat, and maybe in trouble? Just as he couldn’t help but worry about
Omi and his depression at having to stop school so they could all hide out and
be safe. When Omi not finishing school was one of the greatest instances of
waste Youji had even seen. A waste of a bright, sharp brain,
a quick, creative mind. Even worse because Omi
wasn’t pushed along by any hunger for power, for wealth or prestige.
Because Omi had it within him to put all that brilliance to
good use. They should have just handed baby Omi a degree on his way out
of nursery school, Youji figured.
But then, he
didn’t worry for Omi in the same way he did for Aya. He didn’t feel
that same painful ache when he saw Omi looking morosely out the window as he
did when it was Aya. With Omi and with Ken, it was a desire to protect, to keep
his brothers and his friends safe. To keep them from harm.
With Aya it was…a desire to take the hurt onto himself.
To hold and touch. To…posses. To--…
Youji
smacked himself in the head with his magazine to dispel the thoughts. Okay.
Maybe he was insane. Maybe he *was* losing it. That was what probably came of
being forced to spend so much time in so little space with three other *guys*.
Man, if only someone had forced *Manx* into this little madhouse as well.
*That* would have kept his brain along the paths it was *meant* to follow.
*That* would have kept him from thinking about Aya, of all people, and worrying
over whether or not he was freezing to death out there, with the snow falling
again.
~#~
Late
afternoon: Omi had departed somewhere to find batteries for his Discman after Youji
had snapped and yelled at him to turn the music *off*, Goddammit, not *down*.
And Ken had seconded the notion, until Youji had turned on him too, and told
him to go play outside if he absolutely *had* to be bouncing that damn ball
around. Before he broke something and Aya and Omi *both* got on their cases,
because once Aya was on a roll bitching about something, no one within sight
was spared.
Ken had
yelled that he lived there, too, and Youji could go out and get fucked if he
didn’t like it, so there! Nyah! To which Youji had replied that at least
he *could*, so nyah nyah! Which had only irritated Ken enough
to almost form a reply, then give up and throw a punch instead. The
impact of which had resulted in a nice shiner darkening on Youji’s face.
Of course, that couldn’t go without retaliation, and Youji had grabbed
his soccer ball and tried to microwave it. Which would have put him in his
place but wasn’t very easy to do with Ken fighting to get it back the
entire time. And in the end Ken *had* got his ball back, proclaimed Youji an
asshole *and* a prick, nyah nyah *nyah*, and stormed off to cool his head or
kill something. Both of which would have similar effects. I.e., a much calmer,
level headed Kenken, when he returned later this evening.
And in the
meantime, Youji had the trailer to himself and it was great. He could just
*feel* the silence creeping into him through his pores, soothing the raw frayed
ends of his temper. There was only one thing bothering him now,
and that where the hell Aya had gotten to. He hoped he was okay. He hoped he
wasn’t sliding any further into depression. It seemed every time Aya
disappeared he came back a little more withdrawn. As if being here in
Which
brought him to another question. Another problem.
That of privacy. Ken’s messes were starting to
gradually claim the interior of the already cramped trailer and Youji only gave
it a couple more weeks before the growing pile of *stuff* staged a hostile take
over. Omi was a bit better, but the vestiges of his research were also
scattered about. Small piles of paper and photos and disks.
Youji’s mess usually consisted of a few beer cans and an overflowing
ashtray. Aya--Well, no one who didn’t already know a fourth lived there
would have guessed it. Aya left almost no sign of his residence. Maybe the
occasional book resting face down on the coffee table or in the armchair in
that way that was guaranteed to break the spine.
With such
limited levels of privacy, how could Youji ever hope to have a chance to get
closer to Aya? Especially when it was so likely they were already all *too*
close. Because he highly suspected that whatever Aya felt for him, he wouldn’t
want to advertise it. He suspected Aya would gladly kill himself rather have it
known that he was--gasp!--having a relationship with--gasp, again!--Kudou
Youji, of all people.
Because Aya
was trying to hide it by being even more standoffish than usual. Because he was even more stubbornly impassive when talking to Youji
than he was when talking to Omi or Ken. Because every now and then,
despite there not being enough room in the trailer for him to maintain the
carefully guarded perimeter of his personal space, he would accept a touch from
Youji. Even when Ken and Omi were making him bristle from
irritation and annoyance. *Especially* when Ken and Omi were making him
bristle from indignation.
"Youji?" Youji
looked up. Aya. Standing there pale from cold and
shivering, shaking snow off his sweater as he looked about, rubbing his hands
together. Hmm. The idiot had forgotten his gloves,
too.
"Hi
Aya."
Aya was
still looking around.
"Ken
and Omi are out."
"It’s
almost dark."
"Yeah.
They’ll be back soon."
"Oh."
"But
not *that* soon."
After all,
it might be a good long while before he had the space and the silence and the
privacy to try and make this move again. To try and speak the words that were threatening to catch in his throat.
"We
have enough time."
Aya blinked,
gave him a curious look as he stood there shivering in snow-dampened clothes
and wind-chilled skin. "Time?" Youji nodded.
"Enough
to warm you up, anyway."
~tbc