A/N: I tried, man, I tried. Writing these characters is like running through a minefield of accidental mischaracterizations, except you don't realize when you've made a wrong move.

Obviously, nobody keeps score of the amount of times that Raimundo and Omi forget that they are friends while sparring. Looking back on it, however, it felt like someone should have.

It was almost exactly identical to the feeling that Omi had while struggling against Chase Young; he knew that they were meant to be opponents, but he could not shake the longing to fight alongside him instead. The antagonism felt natural, but allegiance felt so right in comparison. He began to believe that Raimundo felt similarly. They wouldn't lie to themselves (there would be no point to) about how wonderfully scrapped up the two would get, or how hard they laughed at times when they were much too tired to do anything otherwise. Or, admittedly, how enjoyable it was.

After Raimundo had asserted himself as leader of the team, as a Shoku warrior, there was an air of intimidation that Omi could not resist meeting and verbally punching in the stomach. Interestingly enough, though, it didn't seem forced or hostile like how it had before. Their banter became less volatile and more light-hearted. Eventually, it felt as if Omi didn't feel the same envy that he secretly believed would constantly plague his mind.

Which, in all honesty, made sense.

Raimundo deserved the title of Shoku Warrior, deserved the responsibilities of a Xiaolin leader. There were too many factors proving this.

The Brazilian boy took on the responsibilities of a leader. He felt himself responsible for their failures and indulged deeply in their victories. He may not have known that he was the one to lead them to victory, but he certainly did now. At least, he knew that he'd have to. Raimundo never took the responsibility because he wanted to, even if it had a big factor in proving himself, but because he felt as if he truly needed to. Quietly waiting for his teammates to retreat to their cubicles, Omi pondered if that was what separated them from each other. Omi wanted so badly to take on responsibility, to prove himself, and it just came so naturally to Raimundo. It was hard to tell if either one was bad.

Omi had constantly attempted to prove himself. To take on a burden such as being a leader would only fuel that fire. Everyone had it, of course, but it seemed unbelievably strong in him.

He briefly remembered a time where he would always put his friend's skills down out of spite and jealousy, a time that he was not presently proud of. Where he had been responsible for the neglect of recognition and well-deserved praise, or, at the very least, a strong promoter of it. Omi remembered when he would hurt his friend's feelings out of his own insecurities; he thought, well, if he was seen as better than the best, who at the time was Raimundo, everyone else would see him as the best! And they would praise and love him instead of Raimundo. And they would not leave him.

But that was then.

And this is now.

Perhaps he'd grown up since then. And when Raimundo wasn't a leader or a Shoku warrior, when Omi wasn't attempting to prove himself or mulling through his head his own moral compass and what it entailed, they were the absolute best of friends. Perhaps a bit vitriolic, but all in good, generally non-threatening fun.

Perhaps it was the leader sort of mindset that plagued Raimundo's nights so frequently. It only started as simple nightmares, but they eventually got to be so horrible that he'd even developed bags under his eyes. What the night terrors involved, Omi had no idea of. Of course, this didn't stop him from pressing for information. Both were too stubborn to come to a conclusion, but Omi came to realize that he was spending quite a bit of time sitting in Raimundo's cubicle at night just before both went to sleep.

He would figure out what was bothering their leader, he decided a long while ago. Thus far, he'd had no luck, but he was never one to give up a challenge. Well, sometimes he was, but not usually.

That night in particular was no different.

"What's your deal?! I can sleep perfectly. Just leave me alone."

Alright, so maybe it wasn't Raimundo's fault that he'd snapped. Many nights with less than four hours of sleep did that to a person. He'd become tired, angry, bitter, and everything in between, just as anyone would when they'd be afraid to shut their eyes at the cause of imaginary horrors. This didn't make the blatant pushing away of Omi's concerns any less hurtful and the yellow-skinned boy flinched, looking away and shrinking back a bit more than he normally would have. The Brazilian's face softened and his darted around the room, looking for something to say. Eventually, he sighed.

"Fine! Fine. Don't look at me like that. See? Going to sleep, right now. Just…don't watch me, dude." Raimundo attempted to chuckle, but it only came out as a groan. A few silent minutes passed as Raimundo felt strangely safe, so much more secure than he'd been in a considerably large number of nights. His eyes dropped as he drifted off more quickly than he had in a long while. Quietly, Omi rested his head on his hand, eyelids drooping and glazing over his best friend's form, finally speaking when Raimundo's breathing regulated and he was completely asleep.

"I shall make no promises."