Title: Nobody
Author: Gina Lin
Genre: Sap, Angst Pairing: Omi/Yohji, Aya/Ken, implied Anime: Weiss Kreuz Warnings: Abused Omi flashbacks, /aw!/ Shounen-ai, Language Rating: PG-13 Archived: S_E Updates
(AN: Okay, all you people of FF.net who were begging me to write a Yohji/Omi fic, here it is!)
Summary: Omi wonders where he belongs after he finds out about his past.
"I'm Tsukiyono Omi!" he sobbed in his nightmare. The blows kept raining on his back, his arms, his buttocks, and his legs. He felt his ribs crack, but he stubbornly protected his stomach, his head by curling up in a protective ball. He prayed to pass out. He eventually did, almost gratefully.
He usually woke up then.
Honeyed hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. He reached up with a shaking hand and pushed it back, and the movement sent a small shock of pain across his ribcage.
He slowly lowered his arm so as not to incur more pain. Someone, Ken, he thought fuzzily, had given him a pain pill before he fell asleep. He turned his head slowly to look at the luminous clock face. 4:00 a.m. It had worn off.
He heard footsteps in the hallway. Had he cried out? The dreams were nightly, but he didn't think he'd cried out. He strained, listening.
"Who's there?" he called out. The fear in his voice embarrassed him.
Fumbling at the doorknob. "Omittichi? Are you awake, sweetheart*?"
The door opened. A lanky form was silhouetted in the doorway. The dim light in the room glinted on sunglasses that had been pushed up into shoulder- length wavy blond-brown hair. A bright red midriff baring tank top under a see-through black silk shirt, and dangerously low-slung black bellbottoms adorned Yohji's greyhound lean body. He'd been out.
"Hai, Yotan," said Omi, quietly, turning his head. "Just coming home?"
"Yep," said the tall man easily in his drawling tenor. "Mustn't disappoint my loyal fans." He winked suggestively.
"You need something, sweetheart? As long as I'm up, I don't mind."
"Well, if it's not too much trouble, I need another pain pill," Omi admitted in a defeated tone. "And some water, please," he added.
Assassins were supposed to be tough, but he knew he'd never get back to sleep without the lulling affect of the medication on his numerous bruises and slowly healing broken ribs.
"Sure thing," said Yohji. "I'll get it. I thought Ken-ken was taking better care of you. I might have to run up and drag his lazy ass outta bed."
"Well, I'm sure he would have checked on me before long," Omi defended his friend. But he almost smiled at the thought of Yohji Koudo calling anyone else "lazy".
"You hurting pretty bad, kid?" asked Yohji, coming over and sitting on the bed to peer at him. "Must be, to make you cry like that. You're a pretty tough kid."
Omi's face flamed. "I wasn't crying," he said quietly, looking away.
"I heard you when I walked by, that's why I checked on you," said Yohji, folding his arms resolutely. "Don't worry, I won't tell Aya." He grinned, his teeth glinting in the dimness of the room.
He reached over to turn on the bedside light, and looked through the things on the table until he found the right bottle.
"There's water in the pitcher there," said Omi. "Ken-kun left it."
"Our Ken-ken is a regular mother hen," said Yohji.
Omi slowly attempted to sit up. His injuries were healing well, but the soreness in his ribs was worse after waking. The stiffness would be there long after they healed.
To his surprise, a long, strong arm reached around his shoulders and carefully pulled him upright.
"Here," said Yohji, tapping his chin with the other hand. "Open up."
Omi mindlessly submitted, opening his mouth like a baby robin receiving a worm. The usual protestations about being "babied" by the older members of Weiss were pushed aside by pain, tiredness and the sheer comfort of physical contact.
A glass of water was held to his lips and he reached up a hand to help guide the tilt into his mouth. Dimly, he realized that he had put his hand over the other man's when he paused to breathe between sips.
"Doumo, Yohji-kun," whispered the younger man, not looking up.
Yohji shifted the glass to the other hand, and reached back to set it on the nightstand, not moving his supporting arm from around Omi's shoulders.
"Need anything else?" he asked near Omi's ear. His breath tickled Omi's ear and made him unconsciously squirm as he shook his head slightly.
Yohji chuckled softly as he felt the movement. He ever so gently tightened his arm around Omi.
"Relax, Omittchi, I don't take advantage of the injured," he joked.
"Nani?" asked Omi, jerking a bit in surprise.
"Be still, you'll hurt yourself," said Yohji, with mock sternness.
Omi mentally shrugged, the pain pill starting to work it's magic on his aches. The promise of relief was making him relax already.
"I hear your nightmares, Omi," the tall man said sadly into Omi's ear after a few moments.
"Saaa?" asked Omi, trying to keep his eyes open. He was beginning to sag against Yohji's chest. Yohji reached up and petted his hair.
"That's why I went out tonight. I'm such a coward, Omi," he whispered. "I hear you cry out every night and I couldn't bear it anymore. I'm sorry."
"Yoh-ji?" said the blond man in faint surprise. He dimly realized he was being rocked gently.
"I'm so sorry, Omi-chan." He felt as much as heard the other man's voice rumble in his chest.
"I'm not good at this," Yohji went on. "Aya, he can pretend to ignore it. Ken he's good at this taking care of people stuff. I'm useless at it."
"S'all right," slurred Omi, now leaning fully into the embrace. "Sis nice."
"We didn't take very good care of you, Omi-chan," Yohji said to him tightly.
"Aya-kun hates me," said Omi in a choked voice.
"No," Omi felt the slow head movement of denial above him. "He'll get over it. Give him time. You know how single minded he is."
"I'm NOT a Takatori," said Omi with subdued belligerence.
"It doesn't matter," said Yohji comfortingly.
"I'm not like them," said Omi fuzzily. Yohji looked down. Omi's blond head was lolling against his chest.
"I'm going to lay you down," he said into Omi's ear.
He bent over to gently lay the younger man down on the bed. As he went to slide his arm out from under him, Omi whimpered at the sudden loss of warm contact.
"Did I hurt you?" Yohji asked anxiously, peering at the fading bruises on the youth's arms and shoulders that showed around his loose T-shirt.
"Onegai," Omi whispered, only half-aware. "Don't go." His hand reflexively fisted in the diaphanous black shirt, wrinkling it. A distant part of Yohji's mind registered the unknowing abuse of the delicate fabric. Then he shrugged.
"All right, bishounen, have it your way," he said affectionately.
He kept his arms wrapped around the slight form and sighed, resting his head against Omi's on his pillow. God only knew he'd spent nights less comfortable for worse reasons. And with less attractive bedmates. He grinned sleepily to himself at the thought. He toed off his black Italian half boots and heard them drop to the floor, then pulled the coverlet over the two of them.
At six o'clock, Ken was up rattling in the kitchen, being his usual annoyingly-too-cheerful-in-the-morning self.
"Quit whistling or I'll gag you with an oven mitt, baka," groused Aya in a morning-deep voice, nursing his first cup of coffee.
"Aren't we bitchy?' said Ken, stirring eggs on the stove. He continued to whistle tunelessly, causing Aya to draw down his arched brows in a glower over his violet eyes.
"Quiet, or die," growled Aya.
"Eggs are ready," chirped Ken, ignoring him.
He dished them out onto separate plates, and plopped one unceremoniously in front of the scarlet haired man.
"Eat up, we're first shift this morning."
"Good thing, that lazy ass Koudo crawled in about 4:00 this morning."
"Yohji went out finally, huh?" asked Ken ingenuously.
Aya simply glared at him.
"I mean, he hasn't done that since.uh, well, you know," Ken trailed off, suddenly very interested in his eggs.
Aya sipped his coffee without responding.
Ken put down his chopsticks and sighed. "Aya, it's not his fault, he can't help who his parents were. He didn't even know!"
"I know," said Aya, expressionlessly, staring into his coffee.
"Then quit treating him like shit!" exploded Ken, half rising from his chair, fists clenched.
Aya looked up. "Don't tell me how to act," he said in a hard, level tone. He rose soundlessly from the table and left with his coffee.
Ken sighed loudly. "Don't be such a bastard, Aya," he said to the empty room.
He shoveled the rest of his breakfast in half-heartedly, then went to make a tray to take to Omi's room.
Balancing it carefully, he went down the hallway, passing Yohji's door, going on to Omi's.
"Omittichi," he called out pleasantly. "I have your breakfast!"
He gave a perfunctory knock on the door with his hand, almost overbalancing the tray when he shifted hands. Tea slopped a bit over the side of the cup, occupying his attention for a moment.
He looked up. Crash!
Yohji jumped straight up in bed at the clatter of crockery and metal to the wood floor.
"Jeezus!" he exclaimed, running his hand hastily through messy honey brown waves. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack!"
"Y-Yohji!" stuttered Ken, pointing. "What are you doing here?"
"I was sleeping until you woke me by breaking dishes on the floor," said Yohji, scowling at him. "Wouldn't an alarm clock be cheaper?"
"What are you doing in Omi's bed?" blurted out Ken, now with his hands on his hips in a challenging stance.
"What I said, dumbass, sleeping," said Yohji, looking down at his soiled, wrinkled attire. He sighed, envisioning the dry cleaning bill.
He looked up into wide teal eyes. "What do you think I am, some sort of shota-kon hentai?" he ground out.
"God I need a cigarette," he added as an afterthought. He patted his pockets. Nothing. "Dammit," he swore half-heartedly.
"I'm not jailbait," said a sleepy voice next to him.
"You are too," said Ken.
"I am not," said Omi, struggling to rise up on his elbow. "I'm 17, almost 18, and the age of consent is 16 in most countries."
"Oh," said Ken, dumbly. "Really?"
"Who said anyone was consenting to anything?" said Yohji irritably.
"I'm not a kid," said Omi stubbornly, trying to sit up.
"Lay down, baka," said Yohji to Omi, wishing he could make a dash to his room next door for a cigarette.
"I'm only two years younger than Ken," Omi frowned, gasping, finally slowly sitting up in bed.
"Well, it's just the way you look," Ken tried to explain, making Omi's frown turn to a full-fledged glare of death.
Yohji rolled his eyes. "That was sooo helpful, Ken," he muttered. His brain was starting to hurt from nicotine deprivation.
"We just all feel bad because we didn't, well, protect you," said Ken, after a pause.
Ken looked down and then knelt, beginning to pick up the broken shards of china and glass, sitting them on the tray. "I'll have to bring up a broom later," he muttered to himself.
"It wasn't your fault," Omi said, after watching him a moment.
Ken hissed as a sliver of glass sliced his forefinger. He winced, pulling out the small shard and sucking on the finger.
"Bandages are in the bathroom cabinet," said Omi.
"I know," said Ken. He stood and went to the door.
"I'll bring you up another tray," he called as he left.
"I don't know why you stayed with me last night," said Omi quietly to Yohji, after Ken had left.
"You asked me," said Yohji. Omi raised his brows in surprise.
Yohji held up his hands defensively. "Hey it wasn't like that," he protested.
"I know," said Omi. "I guess I was pretty out of it. But I know you'd never do anything like that. Even if I wanted you to."
"What?" asked Yohji, shaking his head a little. Only two hours of sleep was making him hallucinate.
"Never mind," said Omi, sighing loudly. "Thanks for staying."
"What are you saying, Omittichi?" said Yodhi, brow wrinkling. God it was hard to think without the dual stimulus of nicotine and caffeine.
Omi rested his chin in his hands. Yohji could see the remnants of various bruises under his fair golden skin. Dark circles were under his large blue eyes, and Omi absently scratched at faint light brown stubble on his chin.
A sudden realization that Omi wasn't a 14 year-old anymore hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks. And where did he get the idea that he was innocent? He was a trained assassin, just like all of them. He'd just survived having the shit beat out of him by Takatori's goons with a golf club, for hell's sake. He might be tougher than any of them, really.
"I like guys, Yohji," said Omi finally. "I mean, rather than girls."
"Shit," thought Yohji, "now I really need a cigarette."
"Hm," said Yohji, in what he hoped was a neutral listening tone.
"Well," said Yohji, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence. "How do you know that?"
Omi rolled his eyes. "Because a person just knows," he said, his tone implying that Yohji was being dense.
"Have you, I mean, uh.?" asked Yohji, acutely wishing he was somewhere else at the moment. He had a vague idea that maybe Omi looked to him in sort of an older brother fashion, but he had no scripts for this sort of situation.
"You mean done it with a guy?" asked Omi, hitting the nail so squarely on the head that Yohji flinched.
Without waiting for Yohji to respond, he said, "I've done some fooling around, is all," he said hesitantly.
"You don't have to look so relieved," said Omi after looking at the other man's face, with sort of a wry smile.
"Was I?" asked Yohji innocently, and failing, of course.
"You're okay with this?" asked Omi seriously. He searched Yohji's face anxiously.
"Me?" asked Yohji nonchalantly. "None of my business, Omittichi."
"You're gonna have to stop calling me that," groaned Omi, pulling on his hair.
"Besides," Yohji continued, swallowing. "I may be a lot of things, but I'm not a hypocrite."
Omi's eyes widened. "Yotan?" he squeaked.
"Say anything to Aya or Ken and I'll garrote you," said Yohji, looking nervously around. He felt his wrinkled pockets again for the missing cigarettes.
"But, but," said Omi, sputtering. "You're always with girls!"
"How do you know?" said Yohji, raising an eyebrow.
"Because you always come home and tell us." Omi trailed off, his eyes widening again. "Oooh."
"I see men and women," said Yohji quietly. "But I don't want to freak out Ken and Aya, okay?"
Omi laughed, rocking back on the bed.
"What's so funny?" asked Yohji gruffly.
"Aya and Ken have been banging each other for months," said Omi, rolling over on his back. "Itai," he said, holding his ribs, "Oh that hurts."
"Saaaaaa!" said Yohji in astonishment. "Aya?"
Omi bit his lip in pain or amusement, Yohji couldn't tell. "Yeah, Mr. Ice man is the biggest uke ever!" he giggled.
" 'Oh take me! Ken, please, baby, I can't wait!'" Omi deepened his voice and did a passing imitation of the red-haired swordsman.
Yohji burst out laughing. "What?" he exclaimed incredulously.
"Oh, actually, I think they trade off," said Omi waving a hand. "But I've almost caught them at it more than once. Ken is so unbelievably noisy, you know."
"Hm, where have I been?" asked Yohji, cradling his chin in his hand.
"I don't know, where have you been?" asked Omi, looking at him intently.
Yohji looked back at him. "I am gone a lot," he finally said.
"Yeah," agreed Omi. "I could have really used your help a time or two, Yotan," he said in a regret-tinged voice.
"I told you, I'm no good at this comfort stuff," said Yohji, gruffly, looking away.
"I don't know, you did pretty well last night," said Omi, putting a hand on his arm.
"And thanks, you were right about the nightmares," added Omi softly.
"You gonna be okay?" asked Yohji, turning to look at Omi. His bleary green eyes softened with concern.
"I should be asking you that," said Omi. "You had what, two hours of sleep last night? You look terrible, Yotan." He reached up and patted Yohji on the shoulder.
"I have afternoon shift at the shop," said Yohji, "If I go to bed now, I can get a few hours of sleep in. Don't worry."
"I kept you up, I'm sorry," said Omi, ducking his head apologetically.
"Omi," said Yojhi, "I don't do that many nice things, so quit trying to make me feel stupid that I did it, okay?
"I think you're very nice," said Omi earnestly, leaning forward and giving Yohji the full effect of his huge brilliant blue eyes.
Yohji stared. He resisted an urge to lean forward and plant a fervent kiss on two sleep pale lips. He mentally shook himself.
"I need to get a shower," he mumbled. "And please God, a cigarette."
"Here," said Omi," reaching over and fishing around in his bedside table drawer. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and handed them to the stunned man.
"Omi?"
"I tried it, but it made me sick," explained Omi. "You can have them."
"I should quit," said Yohji, sticking a twig of tobacco in his mouth and slapping his pockets for a lighter.
Omi opened his hand and revealed a lighter. "You'll need this too."
He grinned impishly. "Want me to light you up?" he asked.
"No, I can kill myself just fine on my own," said Yohji around the cigarette in his lips, taking the lighter and flicking it. He inhaled deeply and gratefully.
"Thanks kid."
Omi frowned. "Call me kid again, and I'll French you," he warned.
Yohji snickered. "Okay, KID," he teased.
Omi glared and suddenly pushed Yohji down on the bed, pulled the cigarette roughly from his mouth and attacked his lips avidly.
"Mpmph," said a very surprised Yodji, arms flailing. After a few microseconds of resistance, he relented to the decidedly pleasant experience of being kissed by Omi.
Omi picked up his head briefly in triumph. "Told you," he said, smirking. Then he winced. "Oh, fuck, I think I hurt myself," he groaned, putting a hand to his side.
"After that, I really need my cigarette back," said Yohji hoarsely, capturing the stick from Omi's other hand.
Omi looked up. "Don't tease me," he said, still gently rubbing his side.
"I wasn't kidding. Who taught you to do that, k..Omi?" he asked.
"I told you, I've been fooling around," said Omi.
"With who, a vacuum cleaner?" joked Yohji. He looked at Omi's expression again. "Okay, no teasing. Sorry."
"You're the only one who doesn't hate me now," said Omi suddenly, curling protectively over his side and lying down on the bed. His shaggy sandy blond hair obscured his face, but Yohji knew he was upset from his posture.
"Omi, nobody hates you."
"Aya acts like I have a disease," he said in a muffled voice.
"Aya has terminal stick up the ass about the Takatoris," said Yohji. "Can you blame him? Once he pulls it out, he'll come round. He'll realize you're the same Omi you always were. Things will be the same as always."
"I kept telling him," said Omi, in a flat, almost inaudible voice.
"What, sweetheart?" asked Yohji, drawing closer to hear.
"I kept telling him I'm not Takatori Mamoru," said Omi in the same tone.
"Who, Omi?"
"That man," said Omi, shuddering. "He kept hitting me, no matter what I said, it didn't matter."
"Omi, sweetheart," said Yohji, his voice catching. He curled up behind Omi and wrapped his long arms around him.
"I dream about it every night," said Omi, his voice now clogged with tears.
"I'm afraid to go to sleep, Yohji."
"Then come to my room, sweetheart. I'm right next door."
"Yohji?" asked Omi, sniffling and turning his head to see if Yohji was serious.
"I promise, we'll just sleep, okay, Omittichi?" murmured Yodji against his hair. "But don't lie in this bed and cry by yourself. You're breaking my poor heart. I can't sleep anyway, when I hear you screaming and sobbing in here."
Omi nodded, wiping his face. "I'll come," he said simply. "We'll just sleep?"
"Well, at least until you're all better, Omi-koi," purred Yohji, and gently kissed his ear. "Then, who knows?"
The End
*This really is one of Yohji's pet names for Omi in the series. ^_^
Author: Gina Lin
Genre: Sap, Angst Pairing: Omi/Yohji, Aya/Ken, implied Anime: Weiss Kreuz Warnings: Abused Omi flashbacks, /aw!/ Shounen-ai, Language Rating: PG-13 Archived: S_E Updates
(AN: Okay, all you people of FF.net who were begging me to write a Yohji/Omi fic, here it is!)
Summary: Omi wonders where he belongs after he finds out about his past.
"I'm Tsukiyono Omi!" he sobbed in his nightmare. The blows kept raining on his back, his arms, his buttocks, and his legs. He felt his ribs crack, but he stubbornly protected his stomach, his head by curling up in a protective ball. He prayed to pass out. He eventually did, almost gratefully.
He usually woke up then.
Honeyed hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. He reached up with a shaking hand and pushed it back, and the movement sent a small shock of pain across his ribcage.
He slowly lowered his arm so as not to incur more pain. Someone, Ken, he thought fuzzily, had given him a pain pill before he fell asleep. He turned his head slowly to look at the luminous clock face. 4:00 a.m. It had worn off.
He heard footsteps in the hallway. Had he cried out? The dreams were nightly, but he didn't think he'd cried out. He strained, listening.
"Who's there?" he called out. The fear in his voice embarrassed him.
Fumbling at the doorknob. "Omittichi? Are you awake, sweetheart*?"
The door opened. A lanky form was silhouetted in the doorway. The dim light in the room glinted on sunglasses that had been pushed up into shoulder- length wavy blond-brown hair. A bright red midriff baring tank top under a see-through black silk shirt, and dangerously low-slung black bellbottoms adorned Yohji's greyhound lean body. He'd been out.
"Hai, Yotan," said Omi, quietly, turning his head. "Just coming home?"
"Yep," said the tall man easily in his drawling tenor. "Mustn't disappoint my loyal fans." He winked suggestively.
"You need something, sweetheart? As long as I'm up, I don't mind."
"Well, if it's not too much trouble, I need another pain pill," Omi admitted in a defeated tone. "And some water, please," he added.
Assassins were supposed to be tough, but he knew he'd never get back to sleep without the lulling affect of the medication on his numerous bruises and slowly healing broken ribs.
"Sure thing," said Yohji. "I'll get it. I thought Ken-ken was taking better care of you. I might have to run up and drag his lazy ass outta bed."
"Well, I'm sure he would have checked on me before long," Omi defended his friend. But he almost smiled at the thought of Yohji Koudo calling anyone else "lazy".
"You hurting pretty bad, kid?" asked Yohji, coming over and sitting on the bed to peer at him. "Must be, to make you cry like that. You're a pretty tough kid."
Omi's face flamed. "I wasn't crying," he said quietly, looking away.
"I heard you when I walked by, that's why I checked on you," said Yohji, folding his arms resolutely. "Don't worry, I won't tell Aya." He grinned, his teeth glinting in the dimness of the room.
He reached over to turn on the bedside light, and looked through the things on the table until he found the right bottle.
"There's water in the pitcher there," said Omi. "Ken-kun left it."
"Our Ken-ken is a regular mother hen," said Yohji.
Omi slowly attempted to sit up. His injuries were healing well, but the soreness in his ribs was worse after waking. The stiffness would be there long after they healed.
To his surprise, a long, strong arm reached around his shoulders and carefully pulled him upright.
"Here," said Yohji, tapping his chin with the other hand. "Open up."
Omi mindlessly submitted, opening his mouth like a baby robin receiving a worm. The usual protestations about being "babied" by the older members of Weiss were pushed aside by pain, tiredness and the sheer comfort of physical contact.
A glass of water was held to his lips and he reached up a hand to help guide the tilt into his mouth. Dimly, he realized that he had put his hand over the other man's when he paused to breathe between sips.
"Doumo, Yohji-kun," whispered the younger man, not looking up.
Yohji shifted the glass to the other hand, and reached back to set it on the nightstand, not moving his supporting arm from around Omi's shoulders.
"Need anything else?" he asked near Omi's ear. His breath tickled Omi's ear and made him unconsciously squirm as he shook his head slightly.
Yohji chuckled softly as he felt the movement. He ever so gently tightened his arm around Omi.
"Relax, Omittchi, I don't take advantage of the injured," he joked.
"Nani?" asked Omi, jerking a bit in surprise.
"Be still, you'll hurt yourself," said Yohji, with mock sternness.
Omi mentally shrugged, the pain pill starting to work it's magic on his aches. The promise of relief was making him relax already.
"I hear your nightmares, Omi," the tall man said sadly into Omi's ear after a few moments.
"Saaa?" asked Omi, trying to keep his eyes open. He was beginning to sag against Yohji's chest. Yohji reached up and petted his hair.
"That's why I went out tonight. I'm such a coward, Omi," he whispered. "I hear you cry out every night and I couldn't bear it anymore. I'm sorry."
"Yoh-ji?" said the blond man in faint surprise. He dimly realized he was being rocked gently.
"I'm so sorry, Omi-chan." He felt as much as heard the other man's voice rumble in his chest.
"I'm not good at this," Yohji went on. "Aya, he can pretend to ignore it. Ken he's good at this taking care of people stuff. I'm useless at it."
"S'all right," slurred Omi, now leaning fully into the embrace. "Sis nice."
"We didn't take very good care of you, Omi-chan," Yohji said to him tightly.
"Aya-kun hates me," said Omi in a choked voice.
"No," Omi felt the slow head movement of denial above him. "He'll get over it. Give him time. You know how single minded he is."
"I'm NOT a Takatori," said Omi with subdued belligerence.
"It doesn't matter," said Yohji comfortingly.
"I'm not like them," said Omi fuzzily. Yohji looked down. Omi's blond head was lolling against his chest.
"I'm going to lay you down," he said into Omi's ear.
He bent over to gently lay the younger man down on the bed. As he went to slide his arm out from under him, Omi whimpered at the sudden loss of warm contact.
"Did I hurt you?" Yohji asked anxiously, peering at the fading bruises on the youth's arms and shoulders that showed around his loose T-shirt.
"Onegai," Omi whispered, only half-aware. "Don't go." His hand reflexively fisted in the diaphanous black shirt, wrinkling it. A distant part of Yohji's mind registered the unknowing abuse of the delicate fabric. Then he shrugged.
"All right, bishounen, have it your way," he said affectionately.
He kept his arms wrapped around the slight form and sighed, resting his head against Omi's on his pillow. God only knew he'd spent nights less comfortable for worse reasons. And with less attractive bedmates. He grinned sleepily to himself at the thought. He toed off his black Italian half boots and heard them drop to the floor, then pulled the coverlet over the two of them.
At six o'clock, Ken was up rattling in the kitchen, being his usual annoyingly-too-cheerful-in-the-morning self.
"Quit whistling or I'll gag you with an oven mitt, baka," groused Aya in a morning-deep voice, nursing his first cup of coffee.
"Aren't we bitchy?' said Ken, stirring eggs on the stove. He continued to whistle tunelessly, causing Aya to draw down his arched brows in a glower over his violet eyes.
"Quiet, or die," growled Aya.
"Eggs are ready," chirped Ken, ignoring him.
He dished them out onto separate plates, and plopped one unceremoniously in front of the scarlet haired man.
"Eat up, we're first shift this morning."
"Good thing, that lazy ass Koudo crawled in about 4:00 this morning."
"Yohji went out finally, huh?" asked Ken ingenuously.
Aya simply glared at him.
"I mean, he hasn't done that since.uh, well, you know," Ken trailed off, suddenly very interested in his eggs.
Aya sipped his coffee without responding.
Ken put down his chopsticks and sighed. "Aya, it's not his fault, he can't help who his parents were. He didn't even know!"
"I know," said Aya, expressionlessly, staring into his coffee.
"Then quit treating him like shit!" exploded Ken, half rising from his chair, fists clenched.
Aya looked up. "Don't tell me how to act," he said in a hard, level tone. He rose soundlessly from the table and left with his coffee.
Ken sighed loudly. "Don't be such a bastard, Aya," he said to the empty room.
He shoveled the rest of his breakfast in half-heartedly, then went to make a tray to take to Omi's room.
Balancing it carefully, he went down the hallway, passing Yohji's door, going on to Omi's.
"Omittichi," he called out pleasantly. "I have your breakfast!"
He gave a perfunctory knock on the door with his hand, almost overbalancing the tray when he shifted hands. Tea slopped a bit over the side of the cup, occupying his attention for a moment.
He looked up. Crash!
Yohji jumped straight up in bed at the clatter of crockery and metal to the wood floor.
"Jeezus!" he exclaimed, running his hand hastily through messy honey brown waves. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack!"
"Y-Yohji!" stuttered Ken, pointing. "What are you doing here?"
"I was sleeping until you woke me by breaking dishes on the floor," said Yohji, scowling at him. "Wouldn't an alarm clock be cheaper?"
"What are you doing in Omi's bed?" blurted out Ken, now with his hands on his hips in a challenging stance.
"What I said, dumbass, sleeping," said Yohji, looking down at his soiled, wrinkled attire. He sighed, envisioning the dry cleaning bill.
He looked up into wide teal eyes. "What do you think I am, some sort of shota-kon hentai?" he ground out.
"God I need a cigarette," he added as an afterthought. He patted his pockets. Nothing. "Dammit," he swore half-heartedly.
"I'm not jailbait," said a sleepy voice next to him.
"You are too," said Ken.
"I am not," said Omi, struggling to rise up on his elbow. "I'm 17, almost 18, and the age of consent is 16 in most countries."
"Oh," said Ken, dumbly. "Really?"
"Who said anyone was consenting to anything?" said Yohji irritably.
"I'm not a kid," said Omi stubbornly, trying to sit up.
"Lay down, baka," said Yohji to Omi, wishing he could make a dash to his room next door for a cigarette.
"I'm only two years younger than Ken," Omi frowned, gasping, finally slowly sitting up in bed.
"Well, it's just the way you look," Ken tried to explain, making Omi's frown turn to a full-fledged glare of death.
Yohji rolled his eyes. "That was sooo helpful, Ken," he muttered. His brain was starting to hurt from nicotine deprivation.
"We just all feel bad because we didn't, well, protect you," said Ken, after a pause.
Ken looked down and then knelt, beginning to pick up the broken shards of china and glass, sitting them on the tray. "I'll have to bring up a broom later," he muttered to himself.
"It wasn't your fault," Omi said, after watching him a moment.
Ken hissed as a sliver of glass sliced his forefinger. He winced, pulling out the small shard and sucking on the finger.
"Bandages are in the bathroom cabinet," said Omi.
"I know," said Ken. He stood and went to the door.
"I'll bring you up another tray," he called as he left.
"I don't know why you stayed with me last night," said Omi quietly to Yohji, after Ken had left.
"You asked me," said Yohji. Omi raised his brows in surprise.
Yohji held up his hands defensively. "Hey it wasn't like that," he protested.
"I know," said Omi. "I guess I was pretty out of it. But I know you'd never do anything like that. Even if I wanted you to."
"What?" asked Yohji, shaking his head a little. Only two hours of sleep was making him hallucinate.
"Never mind," said Omi, sighing loudly. "Thanks for staying."
"What are you saying, Omittichi?" said Yodhi, brow wrinkling. God it was hard to think without the dual stimulus of nicotine and caffeine.
Omi rested his chin in his hands. Yohji could see the remnants of various bruises under his fair golden skin. Dark circles were under his large blue eyes, and Omi absently scratched at faint light brown stubble on his chin.
A sudden realization that Omi wasn't a 14 year-old anymore hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks. And where did he get the idea that he was innocent? He was a trained assassin, just like all of them. He'd just survived having the shit beat out of him by Takatori's goons with a golf club, for hell's sake. He might be tougher than any of them, really.
"I like guys, Yohji," said Omi finally. "I mean, rather than girls."
"Shit," thought Yohji, "now I really need a cigarette."
"Hm," said Yohji, in what he hoped was a neutral listening tone.
"Well," said Yohji, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence. "How do you know that?"
Omi rolled his eyes. "Because a person just knows," he said, his tone implying that Yohji was being dense.
"Have you, I mean, uh.?" asked Yohji, acutely wishing he was somewhere else at the moment. He had a vague idea that maybe Omi looked to him in sort of an older brother fashion, but he had no scripts for this sort of situation.
"You mean done it with a guy?" asked Omi, hitting the nail so squarely on the head that Yohji flinched.
Without waiting for Yohji to respond, he said, "I've done some fooling around, is all," he said hesitantly.
"You don't have to look so relieved," said Omi after looking at the other man's face, with sort of a wry smile.
"Was I?" asked Yohji innocently, and failing, of course.
"You're okay with this?" asked Omi seriously. He searched Yohji's face anxiously.
"Me?" asked Yohji nonchalantly. "None of my business, Omittichi."
"You're gonna have to stop calling me that," groaned Omi, pulling on his hair.
"Besides," Yohji continued, swallowing. "I may be a lot of things, but I'm not a hypocrite."
Omi's eyes widened. "Yotan?" he squeaked.
"Say anything to Aya or Ken and I'll garrote you," said Yohji, looking nervously around. He felt his wrinkled pockets again for the missing cigarettes.
"But, but," said Omi, sputtering. "You're always with girls!"
"How do you know?" said Yohji, raising an eyebrow.
"Because you always come home and tell us." Omi trailed off, his eyes widening again. "Oooh."
"I see men and women," said Yohji quietly. "But I don't want to freak out Ken and Aya, okay?"
Omi laughed, rocking back on the bed.
"What's so funny?" asked Yohji gruffly.
"Aya and Ken have been banging each other for months," said Omi, rolling over on his back. "Itai," he said, holding his ribs, "Oh that hurts."
"Saaaaaa!" said Yohji in astonishment. "Aya?"
Omi bit his lip in pain or amusement, Yohji couldn't tell. "Yeah, Mr. Ice man is the biggest uke ever!" he giggled.
" 'Oh take me! Ken, please, baby, I can't wait!'" Omi deepened his voice and did a passing imitation of the red-haired swordsman.
Yohji burst out laughing. "What?" he exclaimed incredulously.
"Oh, actually, I think they trade off," said Omi waving a hand. "But I've almost caught them at it more than once. Ken is so unbelievably noisy, you know."
"Hm, where have I been?" asked Yohji, cradling his chin in his hand.
"I don't know, where have you been?" asked Omi, looking at him intently.
Yohji looked back at him. "I am gone a lot," he finally said.
"Yeah," agreed Omi. "I could have really used your help a time or two, Yotan," he said in a regret-tinged voice.
"I told you, I'm no good at this comfort stuff," said Yohji, gruffly, looking away.
"I don't know, you did pretty well last night," said Omi, putting a hand on his arm.
"And thanks, you were right about the nightmares," added Omi softly.
"You gonna be okay?" asked Yohji, turning to look at Omi. His bleary green eyes softened with concern.
"I should be asking you that," said Omi. "You had what, two hours of sleep last night? You look terrible, Yotan." He reached up and patted Yohji on the shoulder.
"I have afternoon shift at the shop," said Yohji, "If I go to bed now, I can get a few hours of sleep in. Don't worry."
"I kept you up, I'm sorry," said Omi, ducking his head apologetically.
"Omi," said Yojhi, "I don't do that many nice things, so quit trying to make me feel stupid that I did it, okay?
"I think you're very nice," said Omi earnestly, leaning forward and giving Yohji the full effect of his huge brilliant blue eyes.
Yohji stared. He resisted an urge to lean forward and plant a fervent kiss on two sleep pale lips. He mentally shook himself.
"I need to get a shower," he mumbled. "And please God, a cigarette."
"Here," said Omi," reaching over and fishing around in his bedside table drawer. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and handed them to the stunned man.
"Omi?"
"I tried it, but it made me sick," explained Omi. "You can have them."
"I should quit," said Yohji, sticking a twig of tobacco in his mouth and slapping his pockets for a lighter.
Omi opened his hand and revealed a lighter. "You'll need this too."
He grinned impishly. "Want me to light you up?" he asked.
"No, I can kill myself just fine on my own," said Yohji around the cigarette in his lips, taking the lighter and flicking it. He inhaled deeply and gratefully.
"Thanks kid."
Omi frowned. "Call me kid again, and I'll French you," he warned.
Yohji snickered. "Okay, KID," he teased.
Omi glared and suddenly pushed Yohji down on the bed, pulled the cigarette roughly from his mouth and attacked his lips avidly.
"Mpmph," said a very surprised Yodji, arms flailing. After a few microseconds of resistance, he relented to the decidedly pleasant experience of being kissed by Omi.
Omi picked up his head briefly in triumph. "Told you," he said, smirking. Then he winced. "Oh, fuck, I think I hurt myself," he groaned, putting a hand to his side.
"After that, I really need my cigarette back," said Yohji hoarsely, capturing the stick from Omi's other hand.
Omi looked up. "Don't tease me," he said, still gently rubbing his side.
"I wasn't kidding. Who taught you to do that, k..Omi?" he asked.
"I told you, I've been fooling around," said Omi.
"With who, a vacuum cleaner?" joked Yohji. He looked at Omi's expression again. "Okay, no teasing. Sorry."
"You're the only one who doesn't hate me now," said Omi suddenly, curling protectively over his side and lying down on the bed. His shaggy sandy blond hair obscured his face, but Yohji knew he was upset from his posture.
"Omi, nobody hates you."
"Aya acts like I have a disease," he said in a muffled voice.
"Aya has terminal stick up the ass about the Takatoris," said Yohji. "Can you blame him? Once he pulls it out, he'll come round. He'll realize you're the same Omi you always were. Things will be the same as always."
"I kept telling him," said Omi, in a flat, almost inaudible voice.
"What, sweetheart?" asked Yohji, drawing closer to hear.
"I kept telling him I'm not Takatori Mamoru," said Omi in the same tone.
"Who, Omi?"
"That man," said Omi, shuddering. "He kept hitting me, no matter what I said, it didn't matter."
"Omi, sweetheart," said Yohji, his voice catching. He curled up behind Omi and wrapped his long arms around him.
"I dream about it every night," said Omi, his voice now clogged with tears.
"I'm afraid to go to sleep, Yohji."
"Then come to my room, sweetheart. I'm right next door."
"Yohji?" asked Omi, sniffling and turning his head to see if Yohji was serious.
"I promise, we'll just sleep, okay, Omittichi?" murmured Yodji against his hair. "But don't lie in this bed and cry by yourself. You're breaking my poor heart. I can't sleep anyway, when I hear you screaming and sobbing in here."
Omi nodded, wiping his face. "I'll come," he said simply. "We'll just sleep?"
"Well, at least until you're all better, Omi-koi," purred Yohji, and gently kissed his ear. "Then, who knows?"
The End
*This really is one of Yohji's pet names for Omi in the series. ^_^