Warnings: shounen-ai (Ken+Omi), long sentences, and it's my first Weiß fic so watch out ^^;
The Best-Laid Plans of Mice and Men
(Yohji: Heheheh...)
"Kick it to me!" pleaded a young redheaded boy who couldn't have been more than eight years old. He exclaimed and jumped out of the way as the combined efforts of three other boys whose ages added up to something like 27 sent the soccerball hurtling in a vague path that brought it dangerously near the pooy boy's face. Luckily, a pair of experienced albeit sweaty hands snatched the projectile from the air, preventing any permanent damage... for the moment. "Arigato, Ken-'niki!" the small child exclaimed, glomping onto the ex-J-leaguer's grass-stained shorts. The florist in question grinned as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, at the same time glancing up at the clear blue sky. He still had a while before his shift, but he knew he'd welcome the air-conditioning as soon as possible.
As the little boy attached to his leg showed no sign of letting him go, Ken tossed his equally grass-stained soccerball back into the fray. Thankfully, he was released, and a second later the so-called game returned to its usual chaos. For most of the time, the kids all crowded around the ball, not allowing much in the way of progress in one direction or the other. So, Ken would steal the ball away and get it started heading towards one of the pairs of trees they had designated a goal, dissolving the clot of over-enthusiastic kickers. It was a temporary solution, but what could you do? They were, after all, having a lot of fun.
Yohji leaned on the counter at the Koneko, so he was on eye level with a rather attractive brunette who apparently fit his incredibly high standard of "only those18 years of age and older." They appeared deep in conversation, the woman's flowers forgotten, and judging by her smile and the look in the older florist's eyes, Omi had a feeling he knew what was coming. He glanced breifly back at the African Violets he was watering before checking again on their lone customer's fate. With one hand, Yohji pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead, leaning in conspirationally towards the woman. Omi turned away and looked out a side window, sighing at the pause in conversation that marked the sealing of whatever date plan the flirtatious Yohji had set up. His mind wandered, trying to find the shape of that cloud or-
CRASH! ...figure out how much replacing the window would cost while thanking God that no flowers had been harmed in the making of this chaos. The small florist sighed again in desperation.
"Ken-kun!" Omi exclaimed without so much as turning around. "That's the third time this MONTH!"
"Sumimasen, Omi-kun..." Ken said, leaning in through the broken window. After the exertion of youth soccer and running across a busy street after a certain round object, it was difficult to tell the sweatdrops from genuine sweat. Omi turned towards the shattered front window, one hand on his hips and the other waving at a broom and dustpan in the corner. "Demo, all those kids are waiting on me..." Ken did his best to appeal to Omi's not-mad-about-the-window-and-a-good-friend side. "Please?"
"OK, OK, but hurry... your shift's coming up anyway. I'll take care of the glass..." Omi gave in to his friend, appreciating at least that it *might* have been the fault of someone besides Ken... He grabbed the broom and began to clean up, comforting himself with the thought that Ken now owed him one... or maybe eighty-one... as the athlete jogged back across the street to his charges.
"How sweet! Cleaning up while he goes off to play... you'll make a perfect housewife, Omi-kun," remarked Yohji, who had apparently been watching the whole performance from his position leaning against the far wall. His "customer" had departed unnoticed a while ago. The playboy winked over his shades as he lit a cigarette. Omi, knowing better than to dignify such observations with a comment, stared out the "open" window at the area where Ken was entertaining his "team" by bouncing the ball on his head as many times as he could without dropping it. Taking a long drag on the cigarette and blowing the smoke towards the ceiling, Yohji continued, "Enjoying the view?"
Omi continued to sweep up the glass, glaring but still refusing to look at Yohji. Ken was still going, his eyes wide and shining as he carefully judged the direction of the ball and moved accordingly, the hot sun sending a few salty droplets sliding down the smooth, tanned skin of his face and neck and into his shirt. The boys clustered around him looked on in awe.
"Be a sport, Omi... I know you're jealous, but you don't have to glare at the poor kids..." Suddenly, Yohji was behind him, his left arm (cigarette in hand) around Omi's shoulders. "I'm sure Ken will play with you later... maybe he'll bring his soccer balls." Omi's face took on the pigmentation of Aya's hair, and he resisted the urge to hit Yohji with the broomstick then and there. Yohji, satisfied for the moment, slinked back towards the basement door, removing his apron and waving to the still-crimson teen. "My work here is done, he called around his smoke, looking back at Omi as he reached for the door- and ran smack into a pale-skinned someone with blood-red hair and a glare that put ice to shame. "Aya-kun!" he greeted, eyes arcing in feigned delight.
"Yohji-kun," the fourth and final fearsome florist fired back flatly. Yohji tried to slip past him, but Aya turned around and continued, "Smoking inside, and during your shift, no doubt." At the blond's protest he added, "Put it out or take it outside, Yohji." Rolling his eyes, the disgruntled man headed for the front door, letting Ken step past him to come in before leaving the Koneko. Aya made a note to replace the window as he tied on his apron over his uniform orange sweater, figuring that Omi had handled punishment from Ken's apologetic looks. The althletic assassin dashed downstairs to clean up and grab some clothes that did not contain enough chlorophyll to rival the contents of the shop.
Tsukiyono Omi had recovered from the initial shock and was now brooding over Yohji's latest suggestion witha vengeance. *It would serve him right if Ken and I did-* he shook his head quickly as if hoping to shake his thoughts into proper order. He threw away the last bits of shattered glass as a freshened Ken all but bounced over to greet a middle-aged womand and her two young children. *I wish someone, something would get Yohji to back off,* Omi thought ruefully, folding his apron as waving to the others as he went to his idea of how one should spend the weekend- his computer.
~~~~A day or three pass here~~~~
The mission had gone more or less smoothly. Omisupposed it was cause for raised spirits, but he couldn't help but turn his head as Aya and Ken cleaned blood from their weapons. Yohji stood a few meters away, finishing up a noose around the main target's neck.
"Finished, Balinese?" Abyssinian inquired, resheathing his sword.
"So impatient... can't I have a _little_ fun?" the wire-wielding kitten joked, walking back to the others and indicating a finished job. "Let's get outta here... last place we wanna end up is the doghouse (for getting to work late)." Aya ignored the joke as always; Ken hadn't been paying attention. He stared pityingly at Omi, but also in awe.
*He can live through this and still hate the sight of blood... after spilling so much... amazing,* Ken thought. Aya nodded to himeself, probably tracing similar ideas. Yohji's mind, noting only Ken's stare, had fallen right back into the gutter as usual, but a slightly more purposeful stare from the katana-bearing Aya silenced him. Aya coughed, bringing everyone back to the present. "What was that about getting out of here, Balinese?"
~~~~
Around a half an hour later, the Weiß were back at the flower shop, tending to the few minor injuries Aya and Ken had sustained. Not surprisingly, Yohji had gone right to sleep and could sporadically be heard snoring through the open doorway. Aya, winding a bandage around his upper left arm, wondered if the tired blond had left the rest of them any extra pillows. He stood up and stretched, yawning in an almost scarily cute manner before leaving in serach of a shirt. Omi finished bathing the cuts on Ken's back, involuntarily wondering what inance advice Yohji would have to offer them if he were awake. Almost smugly, the seventeen-year-old traced his fingers over his friend's bare skin, half-daring the oldest member to walk in. Hidaka Ken shivered, forgetting for a moment his surroundings. Finally, he remembered himself, albeit groggily.
"O-Omi-kun, whaaa-" Ken yawned midsentence. Omi half-blushed, also too tired to think clearly. In that moment, as he searched for a response, it came to him: the perfect plan. He could have his revenge on Yohji! It wouldn't even require preparation... he could try it tomorrow! Now all that was left was to explain it to Ken, and... Omi smiled.
"Ken-kun, I have an idea."
----------------------------------------------
The other half's coming as soon as I can type it, I promise! As always, reviews are encouraging... especially since it's my first new fic in a long time, and my first Weiß fic.
~Neko4~
January 2002
The Best-Laid Plans of Mice and Men
(Yohji: Heheheh...)
"Kick it to me!" pleaded a young redheaded boy who couldn't have been more than eight years old. He exclaimed and jumped out of the way as the combined efforts of three other boys whose ages added up to something like 27 sent the soccerball hurtling in a vague path that brought it dangerously near the pooy boy's face. Luckily, a pair of experienced albeit sweaty hands snatched the projectile from the air, preventing any permanent damage... for the moment. "Arigato, Ken-'niki!" the small child exclaimed, glomping onto the ex-J-leaguer's grass-stained shorts. The florist in question grinned as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, at the same time glancing up at the clear blue sky. He still had a while before his shift, but he knew he'd welcome the air-conditioning as soon as possible.
As the little boy attached to his leg showed no sign of letting him go, Ken tossed his equally grass-stained soccerball back into the fray. Thankfully, he was released, and a second later the so-called game returned to its usual chaos. For most of the time, the kids all crowded around the ball, not allowing much in the way of progress in one direction or the other. So, Ken would steal the ball away and get it started heading towards one of the pairs of trees they had designated a goal, dissolving the clot of over-enthusiastic kickers. It was a temporary solution, but what could you do? They were, after all, having a lot of fun.
Yohji leaned on the counter at the Koneko, so he was on eye level with a rather attractive brunette who apparently fit his incredibly high standard of "only those18 years of age and older." They appeared deep in conversation, the woman's flowers forgotten, and judging by her smile and the look in the older florist's eyes, Omi had a feeling he knew what was coming. He glanced breifly back at the African Violets he was watering before checking again on their lone customer's fate. With one hand, Yohji pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead, leaning in conspirationally towards the woman. Omi turned away and looked out a side window, sighing at the pause in conversation that marked the sealing of whatever date plan the flirtatious Yohji had set up. His mind wandered, trying to find the shape of that cloud or-
CRASH! ...figure out how much replacing the window would cost while thanking God that no flowers had been harmed in the making of this chaos. The small florist sighed again in desperation.
"Ken-kun!" Omi exclaimed without so much as turning around. "That's the third time this MONTH!"
"Sumimasen, Omi-kun..." Ken said, leaning in through the broken window. After the exertion of youth soccer and running across a busy street after a certain round object, it was difficult to tell the sweatdrops from genuine sweat. Omi turned towards the shattered front window, one hand on his hips and the other waving at a broom and dustpan in the corner. "Demo, all those kids are waiting on me..." Ken did his best to appeal to Omi's not-mad-about-the-window-and-a-good-friend side. "Please?"
"OK, OK, but hurry... your shift's coming up anyway. I'll take care of the glass..." Omi gave in to his friend, appreciating at least that it *might* have been the fault of someone besides Ken... He grabbed the broom and began to clean up, comforting himself with the thought that Ken now owed him one... or maybe eighty-one... as the athlete jogged back across the street to his charges.
"How sweet! Cleaning up while he goes off to play... you'll make a perfect housewife, Omi-kun," remarked Yohji, who had apparently been watching the whole performance from his position leaning against the far wall. His "customer" had departed unnoticed a while ago. The playboy winked over his shades as he lit a cigarette. Omi, knowing better than to dignify such observations with a comment, stared out the "open" window at the area where Ken was entertaining his "team" by bouncing the ball on his head as many times as he could without dropping it. Taking a long drag on the cigarette and blowing the smoke towards the ceiling, Yohji continued, "Enjoying the view?"
Omi continued to sweep up the glass, glaring but still refusing to look at Yohji. Ken was still going, his eyes wide and shining as he carefully judged the direction of the ball and moved accordingly, the hot sun sending a few salty droplets sliding down the smooth, tanned skin of his face and neck and into his shirt. The boys clustered around him looked on in awe.
"Be a sport, Omi... I know you're jealous, but you don't have to glare at the poor kids..." Suddenly, Yohji was behind him, his left arm (cigarette in hand) around Omi's shoulders. "I'm sure Ken will play with you later... maybe he'll bring his soccer balls." Omi's face took on the pigmentation of Aya's hair, and he resisted the urge to hit Yohji with the broomstick then and there. Yohji, satisfied for the moment, slinked back towards the basement door, removing his apron and waving to the still-crimson teen. "My work here is done, he called around his smoke, looking back at Omi as he reached for the door- and ran smack into a pale-skinned someone with blood-red hair and a glare that put ice to shame. "Aya-kun!" he greeted, eyes arcing in feigned delight.
"Yohji-kun," the fourth and final fearsome florist fired back flatly. Yohji tried to slip past him, but Aya turned around and continued, "Smoking inside, and during your shift, no doubt." At the blond's protest he added, "Put it out or take it outside, Yohji." Rolling his eyes, the disgruntled man headed for the front door, letting Ken step past him to come in before leaving the Koneko. Aya made a note to replace the window as he tied on his apron over his uniform orange sweater, figuring that Omi had handled punishment from Ken's apologetic looks. The althletic assassin dashed downstairs to clean up and grab some clothes that did not contain enough chlorophyll to rival the contents of the shop.
Tsukiyono Omi had recovered from the initial shock and was now brooding over Yohji's latest suggestion witha vengeance. *It would serve him right if Ken and I did-* he shook his head quickly as if hoping to shake his thoughts into proper order. He threw away the last bits of shattered glass as a freshened Ken all but bounced over to greet a middle-aged womand and her two young children. *I wish someone, something would get Yohji to back off,* Omi thought ruefully, folding his apron as waving to the others as he went to his idea of how one should spend the weekend- his computer.
~~~~A day or three pass here~~~~
The mission had gone more or less smoothly. Omisupposed it was cause for raised spirits, but he couldn't help but turn his head as Aya and Ken cleaned blood from their weapons. Yohji stood a few meters away, finishing up a noose around the main target's neck.
"Finished, Balinese?" Abyssinian inquired, resheathing his sword.
"So impatient... can't I have a _little_ fun?" the wire-wielding kitten joked, walking back to the others and indicating a finished job. "Let's get outta here... last place we wanna end up is the doghouse (for getting to work late)." Aya ignored the joke as always; Ken hadn't been paying attention. He stared pityingly at Omi, but also in awe.
*He can live through this and still hate the sight of blood... after spilling so much... amazing,* Ken thought. Aya nodded to himeself, probably tracing similar ideas. Yohji's mind, noting only Ken's stare, had fallen right back into the gutter as usual, but a slightly more purposeful stare from the katana-bearing Aya silenced him. Aya coughed, bringing everyone back to the present. "What was that about getting out of here, Balinese?"
~~~~
Around a half an hour later, the Weiß were back at the flower shop, tending to the few minor injuries Aya and Ken had sustained. Not surprisingly, Yohji had gone right to sleep and could sporadically be heard snoring through the open doorway. Aya, winding a bandage around his upper left arm, wondered if the tired blond had left the rest of them any extra pillows. He stood up and stretched, yawning in an almost scarily cute manner before leaving in serach of a shirt. Omi finished bathing the cuts on Ken's back, involuntarily wondering what inance advice Yohji would have to offer them if he were awake. Almost smugly, the seventeen-year-old traced his fingers over his friend's bare skin, half-daring the oldest member to walk in. Hidaka Ken shivered, forgetting for a moment his surroundings. Finally, he remembered himself, albeit groggily.
"O-Omi-kun, whaaa-" Ken yawned midsentence. Omi half-blushed, also too tired to think clearly. In that moment, as he searched for a response, it came to him: the perfect plan. He could have his revenge on Yohji! It wouldn't even require preparation... he could try it tomorrow! Now all that was left was to explain it to Ken, and... Omi smiled.
"Ken-kun, I have an idea."
----------------------------------------------
The other half's coming as soon as I can type it, I promise! As always, reviews are encouraging... especially since it's my first new fic in a long time, and my first Weiß fic.
~Neko4~
January 2002
