Cigarette Juice Box
Chapter 1: Of Angels and Demons
Disclaimer: I don't own Weiß
WARNING! This fanfic has many pairings and some chapters may contain explicit scenes. Mainly Chapter one and Chapter five, but I have provided warnings for these chapters.
Chapter one contains a lot of rape, angst and violence.
Alright Omi... Suck it up. You got yourself into this and no one's going to help you out of it. Cerulean eyes focused, one by one on the men surrounding him. Each one he'd seen many times and knew each well. Each one of them twisted and brushed from society without a second thought by those who labeled them 'freaks'. It wasn't the first appearance that they had made that had cast this impression on him. Each of them looked normal, to all purposes, and each showed perfect ability to mimic normal activity just like Omi himself had learned to do. It was their long-term actions against the human race. Each was enabled with extraordinary powers which could have been used to help the world. However, it seemed that all any of them truly wanted to do was put the world in the same agony that the world had forced on them. The blonde boy glanced to each one, slowly working around the circle. There was Brad, a tall American with the gift of foresight. His short-cropped black hair and square glasses gave him the appearance of a hard-working businessman. He stood almost a head above the rest of them, but Omi looked him straight in the light brown eyes as he dangled a few feet above the ground with limited access to his limbs. A short boy, about a year younger than Omi himself, was the cause of the constriction. Nagi had the traditional look of many Asians. He was short and small-boned with glossy, dark hair, however his eyes always stared silently, reflecting a solemn, cool bitterness that struck a nerve in Omi. His own image in those eyes shook him at times, but now the steel gaze was locked on him from a distance, keeping him from the full shock of it. The young boy was standing apart from the group, eyelids lowered so that the deep blue shone through by only a sliver, hair shifting against his pale face in chocolate locks as though ruffled by the wind. The air itself was calm, but the tingling aura holding Omi in place was proof enough of the boy's near-unlimited telekinesis.
Then there was Schuldich, a red-haired German with a biting temper. His cat-like jade eyes gleamed in the darkness, reflecting against the silver light of the snow at his feet. He stood with his arms dangling at his sides, long and gracefully lazy, showing the very image of a tomcat in that stance with one hip thrust outward and his shoulders rolled back as the personification of confidence. With heavy probes pressing deep into his brain, Omi could never forget his presence. The mind-reader had taken his power to such a severe extent that at times he almost seemed overcome by it. Omi had seen it happen once or twice. Those piercing eyes would fog over and it would feel as though Schuldich would mentally stumble. However, now there was no trace of instability. He stared with a wide grin set into his face, allowing the tickling probes to search for any thought that would give Omi's intentions away. The boy knew that if any move were to be made, a silent command would be given to the last of the group to lay deep into Omi's skin with cold metal. Farfarello was always stuffed full of knives and needles to exact his orders, or revenge, in the most painful ways possible. He was the silent type, not saying anything unless it was to his hated Kami. Now he stood in the snow with his arms bare, save the linen wraps covering his many gashes, holding a single dagger and no obvious expression, save the permanent pout placed on full lips. A single golden eye shone against his pale skin and from under hair almost as white as the powder falling heavily from the sky. The relation caused Omi to shiver heavier, still.
No darts, no knives, left the crossbow behind, too... shit. He was completely aware of the thoughts running through his head, leading directly to the jade eyes boring into him, body and soul. Omi knew that a single malformed word could be his downfall, but death now was nearly inevitable. He hung limp and stared past thin layers of glass into chestnut orbs that only reflected his own gaze back to him. The blonde boy grit his teeth, unable to find any action to take. He ran his nimble tongue along his cheeks to be doubly sure that he'd left all forms of protection behind and nearly cursed out loud. One seventeen year-old boy against four nearly invincible men… there really was no hope of escape.
The clouds above him hung thick, blocking the moon's light. Burdening snow bit at his bare cheeks, making them bright pink and his scarf hung nearly undone around his neck doing nothing whatsoever to block the bitter cold. If only Yohji had come along, but Omi hadn't woken him for fear that he'd be upset. His second thought was of Ken, sleeping soundly in his bed and Aya at the cafe with Aya-chan. He bit his lip. All of Weiß was safe at home, sleeping or eating a late meal with family...
Save Omi.
Omi who had left hoping to take a late jog to tire him of the energy still pumping through his veins. Little did he know that he'd find Schwarz waiting for him just as he passed the park. Now he dangled above the cement and rocks with little to no hope of escape. Each breath came shallow, escaping as a white puff, soundless and warm in the winter air. He parted his lips to speak, smooth tenor voice barely a whisper. "Weiß will come for me."
"Weiß will not come," Brad corrected, Schuldich's nasal baritone imprinting it into his brain with the doubtless knowledge that it would be a prophesy that would not be left unrealized. Omi could feel the surety echoing from all sides of Schwarz, but no matter how hopeless the situation seemed, he could not allow himself to lose hope. Hope was the only thing he had left. He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted, only to find the slit jade eyes staring cockily back at him through his eyelids. How he wanted to wipe the smirk from those lips...
/So do it./ Mocking baritone chortled. Even with closed eyes, Omi could see –no, feel-- him smile. Excitement was welling up into those jade irises as the boy strained against Nagi's forces in hopes of weakening them. His body remained limp, despite him calling on his rapidly dwindling will to tear himself free. Schuldich gave another laugh, the sound sending a wave of distaste over Omi's spine. /You can't, can you? Poor boy... poor kitten.../
Cerulean eyes reopened, now staring deep into the same jade orbs where Crawford's own had been before. He parted his lips, weakly demanding, "What do you want with me? Estet thinks you're dead. Everyone does... so you don't have orders to do this." Omi paused a moment to glance to the American now to his left. "So why?"
Cold, ghostly hands gripped his face, forcing him to turn his cerulean gaze back to the German who merely smiled and waved his finger. "Tisk tisk. It's rude to not look at someone when you're talking." He pet the boy once, lovingly and then adjusted his bandanna. "Weiß is the reason that we are suffering this pointless existence. Had it not been for all of you we would have been immortal now. Though the cost for immortality was too ironically high. So we found another way to get what we want without dying in the process." He nodded to the silent boy standing outside the circle.
Nagi didn't step forward, but he continued in that bitter, whispering voice. "You took away the last thing that kept us happy. It was the last string to our reasoning. We had no purpose until we found something by chance."
Farfarello approached. He was usually a man of few words, but when he spoke it was well thought through and nearly perfectly phrased. He ran square-fingered hands through Omi's blonde locks. He was such a beautiful creature, this Kitten of Schuldich's, almost perfect in its simplicity; a cherubim forever smiling with those immaculate lips. The white-haired man pet him for a long while, looking into cerulean eyes before coming to the conclusion that this beautiful piece of art had to be tarnished by them, and Kami could only mourn for its loss. He didn't smile (as he was tempted to at times), but instead pulled back to speak. " 'Each shall drink o' the shell o' immortality' 't said, 'ahn' personify their souls within 't.'"
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Brad give Schuldich a solemn nod. The German pulled the boy into his warm arms, holding him in a caring way, an illusion of an apology. He buried his face in golden hair, inhaling the sweet fragrance of shampoo. Omi couldn't fight against Nagi's walls alone, much less as Schuldich's strong embrace as well, so he stood, confused in the man's arms and lingered in the fragrance of fading cologne and musk, hovering as a marker of the man's identity. It was pleasant, almost intoxicating to Omi, but what was more was the breath in his hair and the whisper sending pleasurable chills down his spine. "Kitten," he said as he caressed the boy's back and soft hair, "You're perfect, you know. In every way you're perfect. You live your life to the fullest without reservation. You, the one who will always be a child." He paused, deciding to say no more on the topic. "You're going to pay for your sins." Omi was confused for a moment, not quite sure what he meant by all of this. "You're going to pay for your sins and Weiß's with your body..." Schuldich ran an experienced finger up his spine to the delicate white throat where the finger resided, resting on the vein pumping with adrenaline, "and your blood." Omi remained confused, leaning into Schuldich's embrace. Then he felt his own hands picking lightly at the button on his jeans.
Omi gasped and his body fought to jerk away. Still the fingers plucked numbly at the metal. "No..." He whispered, barely grasping the situation. The zipper clicked down the track and he raised his voice. "No, please! What did I do? Don't do this, please!" He felt his hands slide beneath the waistline of his pants and pull them down around the ankles. It must have been a sight, watching a flushed, freezing boy scream for help while his hands worked diligently to free himself of his clothes. Omi was already dizzy, stress catching up to him in own great swoop. He stepped out of his jeans and pulled off the converse shoes as well as his long socks. Slowly, it seemed. Everything was taking so long and all Omi could think as he screamed out at them was how he wished that he'd not been so foolish, wished and prayed that someone would find him here, naked in the snow but the frozen jungle gym and chase Schwarz off, but he knew very well that foolishness had brought him to his almost certain demise.
Farfarello was closest now and he drew close, knife in hand. It glittered in the dim white light that seemed to emanate from the crumpled snow beneath his feet. The thick jacket and shirt would take far too long to get off of his body, the Irishman had decided. He pulled the young boy to him face first and drew the knife hard against his back to slice through the coat and shirt beneath. Still, it seemed, the layers had not been thick enough to block the blade from skin and Omi's throat opened, tearing a scream out of him and throwing it into the hair as a high-pitched plea. Meanwhile Farfarello violently fought to pull off the coat and blood- drenched wool shirt. He screamed and pulled at the aura moving his body to help peel the clothing from his skin with no response but to be kicked to the ground clad in nothing but the striped blue scarf hanging limp around his pale neck.
The snow stuck cold and wet to his bare body, causing the heavy bouts of shivering to intensify. His teeth chattered together violently, his bones replying in an echoing clatter from beneath the cover of skin and muscle. He felt himself pulled off the ground to sit between the warm legs of a stranger. Omi clung to the long hands and pressed against the warmth without thought. Apparently when such things were involved, Nagi had no complaint to Omi's movement. The blonde boy turned to face the man and buried his face in his jacket. He shushed him, petting snow-darkened blonde hair gently with a smile gracing onto his lips. "Hush..." he whispered, "It doesn't have to hurt with me, Kitten..." Cerulean eyes shot up to meet cold, cat-like jade and he shook his head, suddenly terrified and sickened.
Again his body acted without question and pulled itself forward to follow the implied command. Omi made to scream in protest, but his mouth merely hung open silently. Oh Kami... not now... don't do this to me now. Don't leave me like this... He clamped his mouth shut as his hands busied themselves with unbuttoning Schuldich's pants. Since the jeans were tight, the button pulled free with ease and Omi was surprised to find that Schuldich wasn't wearing any undergarments. /of course not, Kitten/ Schuldich replied with a mental chuckle/It would have slowed down the process./ To this Omi sent the older man the prominent feeling of disgust, but then something touched his tongue. Omi wanted so bad to pull back and scream for help, but his body reacted differently, the deliberate movements of his tongue and throat as his head bobbed up and down was, much to Omi's chagrin, driving his body to react positively. Again, Schuldich laughed, this time distantly as he was openly concentrating on the blonde's ministrations. /That's not how it looks like you feel.../ Then the voice was gone, replaced by his own moans as he drew in a sudden breath.
That's not me... I'm not doing any of this... Omi began to try to convince himself. He could feel his tongue run along the length and swallow in time to create a certain rhythm and it disgusted him that, had this been another situation, he'd be enjoying it. He felt as though he were going insane, absolutely crazed. The world had turned upside-down and Omi was in the middle of it, incapable of controlling even his own reactions. Suddenly he felt the length thrust back, almost gagging him as it did so and his hands immediately went to Schuldich's hips to hold them firmly on the ground. Schuldich was hot, throbbing beneath Omi's tongue as he lapped up the small amount of liquid oozing from the tip. Still Schuldich pushed up on him and soon he could feel urging hands push against the back of his head, long, sculpted fingers weaved through blonde locks. Schuldich pushed both down and up at the same moment, fighting to get closer to the boy kneeling on his elbows before him and Omi's teeth ran along over sensitive skin.
A separate heat had approached, trained fingers brushing lightly at the peach fuzz along his buttocks. He attempted to push it out of his mind, but they became more insistent as they circled just beside the crevice and between his legs where they twirled past each other and began back up to stroke the soft skin once more. Each stroke sent the image of bared skin directly to his mind and Omi couldn't help but feel his body sensitize itself so that he could even feel the light breeze brush against the coarse, dark hair and on his cold back. Now warmth was pressing into him, but his actions continued just the same, though Omi could feel himself harden slightly even against his screaming urges and curses. It had to be Crawford, his wide hips almost doubling Omi's own. It couldn't possibly be Farfarello by the gentile touches and caresses and Nagi couldn't mirror the size. Brad pressed into him harder, more insistently and Omi realized that the skin was bare beneath his touch.
His attention was brought back suddenly to Schuldich as he drew dangerously close to climax. He was hot, almost searing now as he pushed, desperate to feel something harder and fuller. Omi's body leaned in, swallowing the entire length of him now and it nearly gagged him, but something forced the urge back. Still he continued running his tongue along it, occasionally scraping his teeth against the skin and contracting the muscles in his throat in an experienced fashion. Schuldich now pushed into his mind, sending image after image of what Omi had been doing. His flushed, cold cheeks pressing lightly against the flesh of the German's legs and cerulean eyes almost screaming as they sobbed onto the freezing snow. Then, as his walls further deteriorated there was a flood of feeling, the flesh against him and the tongue massaging the hard appendage with such practice that Omi felt his stomach tighten further, the wind brushing against more of his unwanted erection each second. Then there came the tumble of thoughts, pouring out in a frantic, unorganized manner. None coherent, just urging, begging for more, begging and pleading to feel the precious release and Omi knew that it drew near even as he fought to pull away.
He jumped suddenly, pain tearing through his thighs and lower back in electric blue shocks and Omi screamed, despite the thickening walls surrounding him from his it. He howled and cried harder, feeling the flesh tear and pour out hot liquid. Crawford pulled back and tore in suddenly again, pounding hard at something within him, but now prepared, cold hands tightened on his throat to cut off the wail. It hurt, more than anything had in the world. It hurt more than when he had been poisoned, more than when he'd nearly been crushed by Nagi's tremendous power, more than when he'd laid dying in the junkyard. Brad was huge, roughly twice the size of Omi in height and width, but this exaggerated obvious reality. He could feel his hips pushed out to accommodate the intrusion and felt as though they would crack and they moaned in warning at him, thoroughly muffled by his screaming muscles. Still his head bobbed in rhythm, but Schuldich had fallen back into the former state of lesser pleasure. Omi could feel his fingers claw into Schuldich's hips as the hot liquid poured down his legs onto the snow. The boy glanced with foggy eyes between his arms to see the scarlet blood pooling between his knees. And again he jolted forward, gaze torn away as he was filled with the same indescribable agony.
Crawford pounded harder and harder as time continued, forcing himself in fully as Omi's blood to streamed in gushes onto the snow, melting it into crimson pools. His hard hands pulled against him, forcing him backwards all the way until he hit the man's hips. He pulled faster and more insistent, thus speeding up the rhythm of his mouth. He was jostled back and forth, each time faster than the first and soon Schuldich's hands pushed against his head with fingers entwined in golden hair. He thus skipped a beat with Brad, the pounding falling off just enough to invigorate the man further.
Omi felt as though he was suffocating, pressed on both on front and behind with Schuldich's walls breaking down once more. The boy braced himself, tongue twirling on the head before swallowing it once more. Everything came flooding into his head much faster than before, the sight of himself writing on the ground, flushed and bleeding becoming more and more erotic each moment as he sweat with effort and concentration. The welts on his back threatened to break and bleed once more as he saw himself arch his back and beat into the man behind him. He looked up at Schuldich with tear-filled blue eyes and the man fell, gushing hot, delicious elixir into Omi's mouth, which his tongue lapped up without hesitation and his parched throat welcomed. His head continued to bob as he watched the German arch up with a gasp and pulled his arms out to support himself. His chest rose and fell so heavily it could be clearly seen beneath his double-breasted jacket. Finally he fell limp in the snow and Omi's jolting, grievous body worked to button and zip Schuldich's pants.
The German pulled away, leaning on a tree to regain his composure and walls and Omi fell face-first into the cold, sticky snow. It clung to his face and to his bright red hands as Brad pushed harder and further into him. Each thrust drew out an uncontrolled scream as it became more painful with the throbbing of his length growing. Omi clenched his fists in the snow, trying to keep from screaming. His pelvis would crack before too long and Omi would surely die beneath Farfarello. He sobbed heavily into the snow, biting his bleeding, chapped lips. It was becoming harder to contain himself, but his body was slipping into its own control. Either way, he couldn't move and he couldn't fight with the pain trailing up his back and leaving electric blue and red splotches before his eyes.
He bled freely, dripping onto the ground now bare of snow. Inside he knew that he was raw, bruised at least with far too little room to fit the American. Still the man forced himself completely in, drawing the pleasure higher and higher each second. Then there was warmth in front of him and he cringed. Omi had learned to be afraid of such things, but this time he was gently lifted and placed onto folded legs. Omi blinked back tears and gripped hard onto the woollen slacks. Nagi ran comforting fingers through his tangled, wet hair. He brushed away the snow and cum without hesitation. Omi was grateful for his presence and pulled in as much warmth into himself as possible, all the while biting back the horrendous pain shaking his body. He soaked Nagi's slacks with tears and pulled at the hems with orchid fingers, slowly turning purple in the bitter chill. Still Nagi stroked him, soothing and easing as much of the torment as possible.
Furiously Brad pressed into him, gasping for air and Omi knew that the agony would soon be over. He eased up as he felt the new warmth pour into him with the expectations of Brad's retreat, but it continued pouring, filling him over to spread with the blood on the ground, and Brad kept thrusting harder than before until he tore heavily at Omi's insides and he felt himself audibly creak to break under the tremendous force. Finally he slowed, eased up and pulled away, staggering and Omi was more than thankful. Still, he fell down into his own blood if only to breathe freely. No one made a move to approach as Nagi continued to stroke the boy's hair and touch his brow occasionally.
Nagi leaned in, whispering lightly into his ear, almost too timid to hear above the pounding of blood surging into Omi's ears and out just as quickly. "We can rest for now... I'm tired, too..." Then he pulled back up only to run hands as small as Omi's own down his back to wipe away the scarlet blood. /He's in your head, Kitten./ Schuldich explained at Omi's confusion. /He's got to be with what we've got to do. We can't have you dying on us.../ Omi shuddered and clung to Nagi's thighs. /Besides, you've still got Farfarello to deal with./
Farfarello...Omi thought to himself, fogged, sapphire eyes opening just enough to see the Irishman waiting not far off, single golden eye gleaming with anxiety. He remained with the same passive expression, save that wild orb. Omi shook his head suddenly and cried harder against Nagi's lap. The boy pet him, shushed him lightly before Schuldich caught his eye and forced him to stop, only able to caress him to silence. Once he had calmed enough, Omi closed his eyes, feigning sleep in hopes of keeping the Irishman from forcing himself into him one way or the other. Schuldich cooed to him/It seems like Farfarello's almost ready, Kitten You'd better wake up and take his orders./
Nagi helped him up to his knees and whispered once more into his ear, "I can do it for you if you want me to, but I don't know how long I can keep you going." Omi could see the pain in those slate eyes as well and he knew that he'd been with him the entire time through Schuldich. For a moment he hesitated, not wanting to brave anything alone, but not wanting to put anyone else through pain when they had tried to help him as much as possible. He uncertainly shook his head and Nagi nodded, standing to watch Omi off.
Omi fell to his numb hands and knees and reluctantly started towards Farfarello. The cold snow fell heavily on his back, chilling it as it touched. It seemed to freeze the blood to his back immediately on contact. He slugged through the thick sheet covering through ground. Each crawling inch he bore the substance past his wrists, stinging the unfeeling ligaments as they creaked against each other. He had a great fear for the expressionless man waiting at the end of his trek. Farfarello's pale skin had been left untinged by the snow, gleaming and free of the goose flesh permanently staining Omi's own skin. He seemed so completely oblivious of his surroundings, not touched by any force save his own. Then Omi found himself completely in front of him, having reached the end of his long journey. He shook heavily now with fear, almost as hard as he'd been shivering from the cold now numbing his body. Omi swallowed and reached forward with orchid fingers, pulling inexperienced at the metal button.
He had gotten it free and pulled nervously at the zipper when a hard, square fingered hand grasped the roots of his hair, pulling him completely off the ground to stare, transfixed at the single molten gold orb. Omi dangled helplessly, almost unable to move from certain pain covering his entire body so he clenched his teeth, only to hear the Irishman speak, unfamiliar accent lilting on his lazy tongue. "With yer teeth." He hoisted the boy higher and flung him heavily onto the ground with his face deep in the no longer pristine snow.
"Maybe we should have gotten the Playboy." Schuldich said to Brad, but there was a grunt and the German let it go. Yohji... With thin, trembling arms Omi pulled himself up, thus drawing a bit of an appreciative purr from Schuldich a few feet off. I'll do this because... because you shouldn't have to... Again he found himself moving forward on his hands and knees, Not after everything that you've been through... He stumbled, but then he was in front of the man again and so pulled himself from his hands and cast a glance to Nagi who merely stared back blankly at him, that aura having stilled to leave him as nothing more than a silent doll, glass eyes relentlessly staring out to the world without any sign of recognition. Omi slowly returned his gaze to the job at hand and Omi gripped the hems of Farfarello's jeans. Me? I deserve this.
The button and zipper had both been replaced, it seemed, when he had been finding his way back on hands and knees. Now Omi worked with all his might to undo it again with a nimble, but tired, tongue. The metal clicked against his teeth, sending copper sparks through his jaw to jumpstart his lethargic brain, but still he kept on until finally the button slipped from its hole and lay open to reveal another inch of a scar continuing from the Irishman's stomach. Omi lipped the zipper tab into place between his teeth and pulled gently down so as not to catch himself on it, much less Farfarello. Though, Omi wondered distantly against the omnipresent screaming of his mind, if the man wouldn't enjoy it. Once zipper had been drawn all the way down, Omi pulled down a bit on the line of the jeans to loosen them. /Kitten/ that mental voice called in what would seem to be a whisper/Go a bit further else he'll have you pull the damned thing out with your tongue./ The boy almost shuddered, but did as he was told and inched the fabric down until it mostly revealed the limb.
He swallowed nervously, suddenly wishing that Nagi were helping him with this. "Kami, don't leave me now..." he whispered in litany, tongue about to touch the pale skin. He stopped, feeling the harsh fingers gripping his scalp once more, only now the vicious, square nails dug in ruthlessly. Omi opened his mouth to draw in a silent gasp and was immediately torn away form the jeans to which he desperately clung. Again he dangled from the ground, eyes clenched shut in pain. He could feel the angry breath blow on his face as Farfarello's heart rate quickened.
He leaned in, closer now until his scarred lips nearly touched the crumpled angel's face. He remained perfect, despite the wounds lining his spine, and praying to Kami would heighten his chances of survival. Kami loved his children, but Farfarello wasn't about to let this one go… no… not this perfect angel. So to face Kami, he would become a god, himself, one way or another. It would be his choices and actions alone that would define the flourish or defeat of this creature. It would be his actions that would turn child to adult without regards, just as Kami's own would. But it didn't seem as though this boy's beloved Kami was listening to his pleas… and it would be his angel that would suffer due to his negligence. Schwarz would be this angel's god. No one else. "Kami..." He laughed in fury, snowy brows furrowed heavily over a single golden eye and eye patch across from it. "'E 'asn't come fer ye... just as e's never come fer me..." He gave a feral growl and threw the boy to the ground, ignoring the warning calls from the rest of the company.
There was no hesitation. Once Omi had hit the ground, he'd been pulled up only a bit and had Farfarello push savagely into him, beating at the breaking skin and muscle within him. He let out a scream, much louder and much more hoarse than before. Omi felt Farfarello inside of him, the hatred in his harshness pushed against him, letting him know the extent of Farfarello's jealousy and fury… his fury towards someone like Omi: someone who had seemed innocent but withheld its faith through and through, and Farfarello was killing it. Killing him. Every stab ripped another scream until he could only open his mouth and give out air. His voice had left but still the pain continued. It burned hot and bitter cold in contradiction, tearing at his back with heavy fingernails and biting at his sides with small needles. Omi jolted forward into the snow and still the Irishman continued. Tunnel vision had ensued, drawing him in deeper and deeper as the pain heightened with Farfarello's hate and pleasure. He reached back with weak arms and dug his nails into what skin he could find in hopes of drawing the man away, but still he kept on, but now with creaking laughter. Omi's heart was sinking and burning in the heat of anger filling him, but he could still feel the cold piercing his skin along with those needles and nails dragging along his back, all the while pulling up skin and drawing deep welts of blood. He could feel the wounds reopen and draw deeper within until all the pain had taken over his entire shaking form.
He dug with dirty fingernails into the hard ground and bit his bleeding lips, unable to feel them any more than the rest of his body. White spots filled what was left of his vision and he rose up to buck the man off in a final, weak attempt to escape but only succeeded in pushing himself up to the sheath. His eyes widened and his mouth hung open as he allowed himself to fall to the ground with a few sloppily strung together thoughts. If this is the price I pay for living happily... forgive me. The heat beating within him was almost unbearable and as bitter as the cold. It was thick and pushing at the limits of his body, but once it was over he could still only feel the pain and his vision completely blacked out. Omi only heard the final sentence as Farfarello gazed into unseeing, glass eyes. "Fukin' angel. Kami was never watchin' ye..."
For a while he felt himself carried by warm arms and he knew that his body could only hang limp to bask in it. He had no control over his body now, not because of ghostly hands, but because of the lingering lethargy sinking into his bones. He could distantly feel the bobbing as his holder walked as well as the brush of warm lips against his brow. Then the illusion was gone and he lay on the ground once more, naked and unable to shiver any longer. The body almost missed the ringing of the doorbell on the other side of the wall, but when the door opened, he most certainly heard it.
There were hot hands on his bare shoulders, scorching his skin as they shook him but he was unable to open his eyes or call out in fear of pain. "Yohji! Oh, God... Yohji help me!" The familiar voice paused and there was the distant sound of shuffling within. "It's Omi!" The deep tenor rang with concern welling deep within it.
Omi? The boy thought distantly, only conscious of the heat as it drew away. Am I Omi? I'd almost forgotten... There was a gasp, but Omi could only hang limp. "Omittchi!" Again something shook him. The larger section of heat seemed almost unbearable against his freezing skin. "Oh, God... Ken, grab the blanket on the couch, we've got to get him inside!" Then the fire surrounded him, pulling him harder against it as it filled his nose with a scent he'd known long ago. Has it been that long...? The lingering tobacco mixed with cologne and shampoo was nearly intoxicating now, but even more so was the personal musk hanging around him and the heat gripping behind his knees and across his bloodied back.
He was rushed somewhere, though now the turns Omi could hardly recall. He flame pulled away, replaced by something giving and soft to the touch. Swollen fingers twitched and pulled it tightly to him then the heat was against him again, pushing into his back to keep him warm. Omi's parched lips parted slightly, trying to form a word Omi didn't know and leaned into it as much as he could. "Omi... please... don't do this to me now..." Gruff baritone muttered, wrapping arms around him to hold him secure to his chest. "You can't die..."
Die? I'm not going to die... I just want to go to sleep. The boy thought distantly, unaware of how much blood he'd truly lost only hours before. "Ken, call Aya. Have him get here as fast as possible." Then the man drew away, only to part the blankets and allow another intoxicating wave of heat to enter. Omi could feel the tiny pinpricks ease painfully into his fingers. Feeling was slowly coming back, working its way up his arms and legs and finally to his back where he felt a painful sting where bare skin pressed against bare skin. He wanted to jump away, afraid of such contact. Who was this person? He knew, but he couldn't tell and still his body merely twitched and shuddered in response.
The strong arms rolled him over, taking small hands into large ones and massaging feeling back into the fingers and palms. "Wake up, please... don't go into relapse... oh God, no..." Omi shook terribly now and he couldn't tell if he was shivering or something far more serious. In fact the only reason he knew he was shaking was the movement of the other against him. All balance had been eliminated and with his eyes still frozen shut, Omi couldn't budge the lids. The heat surrounded him now, holding him as still as possible and still allowing the boy to breathe. At once he stopped, lapsing into a light shiver once more.
"Omittchi..." The voice whispered into his cold, wet hair. "Thank God you're still alive..." He placed a hand gently on Omi's back, tracing the lines of the gashes and cuts, taking great care not to touch the deepest, lying just parallel of his spine. Omi slowly relaxed, taking note that this stranger wasn't making a move to do anything more but warm him. However, the entanglement of their bare legs made him wonder for a moment why he trusted this man so much without recalling who he was. The boy pushed the thought away and nuzzled a bit against the man's chest and he could feel him smile in his hair, but Omi still couldn't move anything properly to smile back.
There he sat, cradled in a womb of comforting heat and surrouned by blissful silence until there came a sudden bang of the door against the wall and instinctively Omi's eyes snapped open, despite the frost still freezing his eyelashes. Everything was unfocused, but at least now he could place pointless names to blurry faces. A red-haired man strode in angrily, his orange sweater standing out hard against the white walls. Omi couldn't tell eye colour at this point, but distantly he knew the violet depths would be concerned and furious. This had to be Aya, but others called him something else. Omi decided not to strain himself. "Yohji, what happened?" The man demanded, but no one spoke. The man holding him merely shook his head and Omi knew that he would be the one named 'Yohji.' Still no face came to him in the fogged depths of his mind to match the name.
In strode a younger man, still older than himself, and a few inches shorter than Aya. His chocolate brown hair was mussed and blurry brown brows creased upwards heavily into his forehead. "We don't really know... but..." He shook his head and held up his hands in a 'we couldn't help it' gesture. "He's torn up really badly. And that's not the end of it." He pulled out what seemed to be a piece of paper from which he read. "Immortality isn't worth it..." He handed it over to the red-haired man and ran a hand through his hair. This had to be Ken, Omi realized with a start. Things were beginning to come back to him but still no face came from the depths to identify this 'Yohji,' but he knew that whoever it was, he could be trusted if he was a friend of Weiß. "What do you think it means?" At this Omi slid his eyes closed, the fog beginning to give him a headache.
Aya didn't reply for a long while. Then he sighed and said, "I don't know. There is only one thing I can think, but it couldn't be."
"But it had to have been Schwarz," Ken retorted suddenly. "Who else wants immortality, Aya? Schrient has been dead since the incident at Hirofumi's. If it's not Schwarz, who is it?"
Schwarz... Omi thought, memory returning to him. All the pain washed back into his bones and muscle until he whimpered and clung to Yohji. The man shushed him and pet his wet, blonde hair. Had he just realized what he'd gotten away from? He could have been killed; he could have had to take all of that over again because of a tiny mistake. He could have been a slave to them until they decided to take their plans further. Discoloured fingers clenched against Yohji's toned arms and he held the boy more securely.
Aya amazingly had been keeping his temper, though Omi could tell that it was rising. "Someone else. Schwarz is dead and we can't keep blaming our problems on them."
Again Ken wasted the energy to argue the matter. It had been a long, hard night, it seemed, for Ken was the only one with the vital energy to argue with Aya. "Then how do you explain this? How did we make it out of there alive if they didn't, too? You've seen what Nagi can do, why wouldn't he use his powers to get Schwarz out of the collapse?"
"Besides," The man above Omi replied. His voice purred against the boy's head, but the man spoke sincerely. "We denied them their immortality, why wouldn't they come back for their revenge?" The man sighed and rested his head down once more, stroking Omi's cold, wet hair. It was much as Schuldich had, but much more tender and guiltlessly enjoyable. "I just wonder why they gave him back..." Suddenly full of resolve the man pulled away from Omi, who reached out in a plea to call him back. Omi opened his eyes just long enough to see the blonde man shrug on a bathrobe and a picture clicked in his mind. Oh... Yohji. But why...? His mind trailed off, not able to hold a string together for long. "Ken, keep him warm," Omi heard the man call from the doorway, "I'm going to start a bath..." Then he was gone.
A weight settled on the bed and Omi knew it was Ken, but still he opened his eyes to the best of his ability. He parted chapped lips, working his throat until he could speak. When the voice emerged it was quiet at best, a cracking whisper. "I... I thought they were dead, too." He swallowed and attempted to focus his eyes. "But it was... Schwarz. They're alive. They said that they would have preferred Yotan..."
Aya's smooth voice sounded in, standing next to Ken once more. "They would have preferred him for what?" Omi lay back down on the pillow, eyeing them carefully with the memories of before running through his mind, taunting him by triggering the remaining injuries into a twinging pain.
"They though that... they could use us for..." He coughed a bit and shivered, almost overtaken by the thoughts now and the imaginary chill winter air. He mentally cursed himself. Don't think about it now, just tell them. It's important not to hurt yourself with it just now so... All the screaming and begging returned to him in flashes, the shame he held standing nude in the snow. Then there was the unbearable pain that still screamed inside him. "They needed a sacrifice. They found another way to become immortal." Omi wanted his tears to flow now to ease the lump in his throat, but they would not come.
"So why didn't they take Yohji?" Aya prodded. For a moment Omi didn't answer, still trying to figure it out himself, but once he saw Ken flush and elbow the red-haired man in the ribs, he came to the same conclusion.
So what if it's embarrassing, I've got nothing to hide from the world now... They couldn't have taken any of them, then... Omi parted parched lips, creaking whisper returning. "I think they needed a virgin..." A flash of apprehension crossed Aya's face, but left just as quickly, unnoticed by either in the room. Omi supposed it was obvious now what had happened, what with the blood leaking down his legs and the shameful bareness of his body. He considered his words then continued. "They made me do… horrible things...but..." An image entered his head, small arms carrying him with certainty, bobbing up and down as they walked. The warmth and then... "...Someone brought me back. I don't remember who it was... I never saw." His brows furrowed as he replaced his gaze on the knitting of the sheets. He opened his mouth to continue, but Yohji had walked through the door again and he immediately shut it, not wanting him to know fully what happened yet.
The blonde man cast a green gaze around the room and immediately suspected that they'd been speaking without him. However, he shrugged and hoped Omi would tell him in good time. For now, he approached the bed and hefted the boy into his arms and held his cold body to him, only blocked by the soft blanket Omi clung to. He glanced seriously to the boy, finding that this wasn't the best time to be joking with him due to the fogged cerulean gaze resting transfixed on his face. "You okay?" Omi nodded and Yohji gave a weak smile as he carried him two doors down the hall into the bathroom.
As they walked, or as he was carried, Omi leaned in to the familiar scent he'd just recently recognized and fiddled with the soft fabric of the blanket, noting the scent, he found that it was Yohji's own. It was his favourite, Omi noted as he glanced at the lily-like flowers crocheted on the corners, the one that Yohji himself would skin if they used. A bit of warmth bubbled up in Omi's chest, but immediately left as he was placed coldly on the toilet seat. He watched with blurry eyes as Yohji turned and shut the door. Unease welled up where the warmth of protection had once been. No, I'm trapped again. I can't get out now... No, no I can't think like this... Omi attempted to correct himself. This isn't Schwarz. Yohji wouldn't do anything to hurt me. He's part of Weiß just like me... Omi smashed the feeling down into the depths of his mind.
"Can I?" Yohji asked, motioning to the blanket wrapped securely around him. The young boy gave him an unsure nod, but allowed him to pull the blanket to his waist to get a full view of the damage. The cuts were indeed shallow, but still they refused to stop bleeding. The scarlet had stained onto his blanket, but Yohji couldn't care less now. He ran two fingers along the cuts then worked their way to the jagged gashes caused by dull, ripping instruments. The starting point curved then drew back skin to wrinkle in sheets at the end. Yohji surmised them to be from fingernails and bit his lip. "I'm guessing this was Farfarello's doing?" He received a nod and he winced as he pulled away the excess skin. Omi didn't move, surely hardly able to feel it amidst the pain he must be having elsewhere. That is if they did what Yohji suspected. He swallowed, not something he usually did in the wake of nervousness, but he decided to give it a whirl. "Omittchi... did they rape you?"
The boy practically shrank in his own skin, but Yohji knew it to be true and almost immediately became angry. Still he took a breath and circled around to look Omi in the eye. He was serious, stern, almost professional had it not been for the concern deep in those gold-flecked depths. "So you're hurting pretty bad then." Omi seemed to get even smaller and Yohji shook his head and pulled the boy into a careful hug. "I understand, Omittchi. Maybe not completely, but I understand." He closed his eyes and held on to the boy a bit more firmly. He blinked away the tears forming in the back of his eyes. "It happened to me, too. Not with Schwarz, but it happened..."
He pulled away and stood. "Either way... we need to get you clean and warm... at least as much as we can." Immediately he pulled the sheet away, dunking Omi into the lukewarm water who screeched and nearly began cursing. Yohji knew he would have if he'd had more voice. "Don't worry about it, Omittchi... you're just too cold to tell the difference." He knelt by the edge of the tub once the boy had sunk in to his nose. Yohji reached across the tub to grab a bar of soap and motioned for Omi to turn. He obeyed without question and slumped facing the wall as Yohji lathered the soap and rubbed him down with it. "You know, Omittchi, this isn't your fault."
"Yes it is," the boy retorted, his voice nearly as deep as Yohji's own from the scratches he bore on the chords. "I never should have left home. I should have never been born… my parents didn't want me, after all... and even if I was I shouldn't have been so stupid."
Yohji's brows furrowed over green eyes and he rubbed harder on the cuts. "Are you joking? No matter what anyone did, there would have been no way to get out of the situation. It's not because you're stupid. You're certainly the hardest working member of Weiß, a genius hacker and the head of operations since Persia was killed." Yohji knew this to be a touchy subject, but if something had to hit him it was this. "Why would Kritiker leave an idiot in charge of Weiß's operations?"
The boy leaned forward to rest his head on the tiled wall. "That may as well have been my fault, too. Every time anything's happened it's because I'm too weak to handle a situation. I'm too stupid to realize that I'm a hazard to Weiß all together. Father got killed because of me, Ouka was killed because of me and I may as well die because of me, too."
Green eyes narrowed further and Yohji dropped the soap into the tub to stand. He slipped out of the black silk robe and climbed into the tub, forcing Omi to lean against the back. "None of that was your fault, Omi." Yohji was sure to use his true name rather than any of the nicknames he had if only to make a point. "Ouka died because of Schwarz, your father died because of Takatori. Everything that happened is their fault not ours."
"I'm a Takatori, too Yohji. I may as well kill myself and save you all the grief!" He was immediately slammed against the wall of the tub, but he grit his teeth so as not to cry out. "I'm just as much to blame as the rest of my family, why doesn't Weiß kill me? I deserve it, I've killed just as many people as any of them so I deserve to die with them, don't you think? I'm just as guilty as they are."
Yohji's face was contorted into a sneer. "You don't know what it's like to feel guilty, Omi. You have no idea what it's like to be at fault for something. Try joining the police and having to explain to someone that your mistakes cost their loved one's life. Try that for a day and then say you're just like your family because you won't be. Takatori killed for power and we kill those who endanger society. You don't and if you deserve to die, so do I because I sure as hell have hurt far more innocent people than you. Don't you dare say that you're to blame or all of this is your fault because you weren't being punished for it."
"So why did they have to take me?" Omi pleaded, sobbing silently without tears. "Why did they have to use me?"
"Because they like toying with virgins who are smart enough to save themselves for someone special rather than fuck any ape on the streets." Yohji blurted out, not sure how he knew that this is what Omi meant.
The boy closed his eyes and looked away for a moment. "I would have... I would have had I known that it would save me from them." He turned back, eyes filled with a hazy determination. "I would have begged out on the streets for it had it only kept me from facing that."
"And you would have gotten the same thing. Only then would I see you as a fool because you'd be just like me." He pointed at himself with a thumb before slipping his hand back down into the water. "I did that. I begged for it everywhere, I wore as little clothing as possible and strutted the streets looking for a quick lay to spare me of my virginity. You know what happened? I was raped. That's right, but I wasn't saved. I lay there in the streets until the police found me almost dead. That could have been you and then I would see you as a fool." He propped himself up and pulled his hair back to tie it into a ragged ponytail with slippery, wet hands. "As it is, I respect you for who you are and who you've become."
Omi looked up at the tall, nude form of Yohji hovering above him. "Still... it would have been better than being forced to comply."
The older man rolled his eyes and dropped back onto his hands and knees, staring Omi dead in the eye with an angry smirk. "You just don't get it do you?" He shook his head at the boy. "You could have been killed Omi." Yohji's expression transformed, now sad and wandering. "You're lucky that Farfarello didn't tear you apart..." He reared up and pulled Omi along with him, holding him in a fierce embrace. A shudder came over him and Yohji felt the hot tears stream down his face. "Aya wouldn't let me go. He didn't want me causing more trouble than needed..." Baritone voice wavering Yohji kept on. "When I found you gone last night, I felt like I was dying, but still I wasn't allowed to do anything but sit and wait for any news."
Omi turned away, too depressed to care any longer about the nudity. His entire body hurt, save the warm circle of Yohji's arms. "What's wrong with you?" It was amazing how much like Nagi the boy sounded in this state of self-loathing and bitterness. "Don't you know that everything I touch dies? After all, Kami's not going to help, no matter how loud I scream."
Melancholy hung in the air until Yohji pulled back, green eyes stern and lips pulled taught in a frown. "Omi, stop this right now." He gripped slim shoulders firmly, but not hard enough to bruise. "Don't you see me? I was shit before you came along. I was a no good player who cared more about where I would get my next lay more than my next meal. I didn't know a damned thing about joy or anything. But I saw you and I got to know you. I found out that through all the things you lived through and everything that you saw and forgot and learned again, you still smiled every day without reservation. Don't you dare go saying that you're not worth anything more than dirty cash because you're dead wrong. Money isn't worth shit when it comes to you, Omi."
Orchid fingers caressed his face, brushing away the wisps of wavy blonde hair that had escaped the ponytail. Omi's legs, which had slid beneath Yohji long before, now settled between his legs. His back had been firmly pressed against the wall of the tub, but now free of Yohji's grip, Omi pulled him forward. He could feel the hot breath escape his lips to brush against Omi's own. "Show me, Yotan..." He whispered as he pressed his small form against Yohji's bare skin. "Prove it to me... I want to be cared for, I want to know that someone in the world loves me for what I am." Don't let me hurt anymore... don't make me think. I'm a whore, Yohji... prove it to me now... "Do anything you want..." He placed tiny kisses along Yohji's collarbone and along his shoulder, drawing a few gasps from the older man. Omi drew back and wrapped his arms around Yohji to pull him into an underwater embrace. He could feel their legs tangling and he whispered lightly into Yohji's pierced ear, "Don't treat me like a child anymore."
Yohji almost gave in, but immediately pulled away once his action had been caught. He stood in the water, leaving Omi beneath him still broken and bloodied. His brows furrowed realizing he'd almost made a grave mistake. Only cheap whores would use this as an opportunity... "How can I help it," the man replied with burning green eyes, "when you're acting so much like one?" He stepped out of the tub and replaced his silk robe without hesitation. He opened the door, but before he left he said to the boy, "Come out when you've got your head on straight."
The door clicked shut and Omi sunk deeper into the water, knowing he had made a big mistake. He strained, with the waterline to his nose, to hear the conversation outside the door.
"What did he do?" Ken insisted, arms open wide. "You seem a bit too upset for the answer to be 'nothing'"
"No kidding I'm upset!" The older man fumed pacing through the hallway. "He wants something that I can't bring myself to give him. He tried to get me to have sex with him, Ken." Yohji explained angrily. Aya had already left, it seemed, to meet up with Aya-chan and explain the situation. "I can't. It's not about the laws anymore or my morals, it's about him. Even if his birthday had come and gone, I still couldn't do it. His body wouldn't be able to take it if I wanted to, Ken."
Ken crossed his arms and sighed. "You've got to wait, Yohji. Just wait until morning. Then you can explain to him why you've got to be this way." He leaned against the wall of the hallway to watch Yohji stalk back and forth. "Keep to the plan."
"It's not just that. How is he going to take everything if he finds out after he was raped by a bunch of men? He's going to hate me for the rest of his life and I'll never be able to forgive myself. How can I tell him that I'm absolutely in love with him when all he's ever seen of me is the snotty playboy who only cares about sex, booze and smokes?" He stopped and ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Shit, I'm not his type at all." He picked up his feet, resuming his pace once more. "First of all, I'm a guy. We know for sure that Omi likes women to some extent. Second of all, I'm six years older. Third, I'm a smoker, a drinker, I'm said to have many partners at once..." He tallied then shook his head. "But that was before Omi. That was before everything."
Ken placed two steady hands to stop him. "Like I said, wait until morning. He'll have himself straightened out and he'll be eighteen. We'll still have his party and hand out presents, just like we planned and you'll talk to him after dinner. You've got to keep everything normal, Yohji."
Calm and collected, Kudou... calm and collected... He sighed and nodded. "He'll be four, Ken. His birthday is on a leap year..." Yohji received a 'yeah, so?' glare from the younger boy and nodded. "Okay, you're right... but it just gets on my nerves that he would toy with me like that. I'm not a wind up doll for babies to play with! I'll make my own choices, I'll do my own thing just as long as some kid doesn't push my buttons!" He belted out as an after thought, relieving the frustration tugging at his chest.
"Yohji?"
The man rounded on the figure and immediately wished he hadn't. "What?" Omi stood, leaning almost completely on the frame of the door. In his hands he clenched the embroidered blanket to his chest until only his neck and shoulders were visible. He looked up at Yohji with overly bright, angry eyes.
"I'm sorry you feel that way." Omi spat and stumbled to the next room and fumbled with the doorknob until it opened, then locked himself in.
Yohji ran a long-fingered hand through his mussed hair and slid down the wall. "Ken," He muttered, "I fucked up again, didn't I?" He watched the younger man nod and clap a hand on his shoulder before striding away. Blonde hair falling into his green eyes, Yohji sneered. It always turns out like this, doesn't it? You screw up and then you have to pay your debt twenty times over. I decided to wait a long time ago, didn't I? When was it? Was it when Omi fell for Ouka? He shook his head, placing a hand on his brow, pondering. It was before that, but I had to keep my exterior. I couldn't let Weiß know about any of it. It would be a danger to anything happening and nothing would ever get done. I'd be kept from missions pairings with Omi to keep me out of trouble... but even though I kept my image, kept up the playboy routine, I never stayed the night with women. Not after I had made my decision. But then Ken figured it out. "Don't you have any women to say goodbye to?" He'd asked me before we went off to kill Takatori. How could I reply with Omi standing right beside me, looking so longingly up as Aya spoke to Sakura?
But Ken and I are in the same boat now, aren't we? He told me the smart thing. Let it pass. Too bad I'm not very good at controlling my feelings. In fact I couldn't even let Asuka go. That's how I ran into trouble. Neu. She had the same face, the same eyes... but they were so cruel. I wanted to fix everything, I wanted to make it right. It had been the one thing that I had wished for so long and so I tried to let Omi go. To do so, I killed the one I had known as Asuka only to hear her call out another man's name before she died. I was overcome by grief. How was I supposed to know what to do? So I've waited still, holding on to the guilt that I killed my last love and all I can wonder is if I'll do it to Omi, too. That's why I hold back, isn't it? He shook his head and pulled himself to stand. There was no use thinking about it, he had to explain a few things, whether Omi hated him for it or not. "Better to be hated for a reason..." Yohji muttered and headed directly to his room.
He pulled on his comfortable clothes, deciding that there was no use in impressing people. The T-shirt clung just a little, as did the faded Levis. Still they were impressively comfortable whether they looked the best on him or not. He pulled back his hair into a fresh ponytail and set off. Omi would be in the room between Yohji's and the bath. It was just a few steps away but still Yohji stared at it for quite a bit of time, trying to phrase words that he knew he'd never end up saying. He inhaled. Here it goes... He knocked three times and received no answer. He leaned in against the door to listen within, only to hear a sniffle of Omi crying. Yohji's brows knit together and he knocked again. "Omittchi? Can I talk to you?"
Immediately the boy cried out "No!" in a great sob. "You don't have to comfort a child."
Yohji's heart sank and he allowed his hand to slip down to his side. "That's not what I meant... If you would just let me explain..."
"There's nothing to explain!" The tenor voice seemed muffled now, turned from the door. "I understand perfectly." Omi's cries were apparent, shaking his voice into uncontrollable peaks and valleys all the while jumbling the words and slurring them together.
Yohji jiggled the handle, now angry as well as desperate. Finding it still locked he called out again. "Omittchi, let me in. There are things that I need to say." The silence held and Yohji sighed. "I'm going to talk to you whether you let me in or I pick the lock."
"Don't you think you've said enough?" Came the dim reply. Omi was losing his regained sense at a rapid pace and it became apparent to Yohji that if someone didn't talk to him Omi might take things to a drastic level. The man nodded to himself and fished out the lock pick which he'd left in his pocket a while back. With a flick of the wrist the door was opened to reveal a pyjama-clad boy, bruised and battered by the day's events, staring transfixed from his pillow through swollen cerulean eyes. Apparently Yohji's words had finally been enough to draw the last tears from the boy's eyes and Yohji couldn't help the pang of guilt in his chest.
"Look, Yohji, you didn't have to help me. Things would have been a lot better had you and Ken just left me out there." Frost bitten, swollen fingers picked at the fabric of Yohji's blanket as it was still wrapped around him. "Then you wouldn't have to take care of me anymore."
The older man closed the door and re-locked it. In a few strides he was on the bed, sitting next to his sobbing companion. "I don't take care of you because I have to," Yohji explained slowly so that it could sink in. "I do it because I want to." He sighed and ran his fingers through tangled blonde bangs. Bags had already formed beneath green eyes from the day's stress, but he left them alone. "And I don't... think of you as a child."
"Like hell you don't!" Omi snapped, remembering Yohji's words from minutes before. It wasn't often that Omi cursed, so Yohji almost took to the urge to look at him sideways. "That surely isn't what you told Ken."
Yohji shook his head. "You must have selective hearing. I said a lot of things that definitely didn't say that." He was shaking by now with anxiety and wished to no ends that he could light up a cigarette. However, the rules in Omi's room were plainly stated and final: no smokes, no drinks, and no double sleeping. "I'm not saying that I didn't say it, but you don't know the whole story. To me, to the rest of Weiß you are the youngest brother and you will always be a 'kid' but not in the way that you're a child. It's sort of a nickname, I guess. We use it a lot when you're not around." He scratched his head, knowing that the explanation sounded ridiculous. However strange it must have seemed, it was the truth.
There was a sniffle from the boy as he rolled over. "So... you won't have me because of my age, is that right?"
"No, Omittchi!" The man stood and strode to the other side of the bed, kneeling to stare straight into those teary blue eyes. "I got upset before because I don't want to be lusted for. Not by you. I would give all of it up if only..." Yohji shook his head, firmly insistent in the belief that to hope would be foolish. Instead he turned his back on the boy to stare out the window at the oncoming dawn.
"Yohji?" The boy called, but received no answer. "No, Yotan what were you going to say?" Omi's heart had nearly stopped when Yohji had turned away. Now butterflies beat angrily at his stomach and up his throat until he felt as though he could hardly breathe. Using nearly limp arms, he pulled himself up to ease off the bed, but ended up falling to the floor in a crumpled heap. The older man spun, allowing a second's glance at the wide, worried expression crossing his face with his mouth hung open.
The older man hurriedly checked for bruises and breaks with long-fingered hands. Finding none of either he leaned back on his heels and sighed. "Don't do that."
Omi gave a weak grin. "But Yohji, what were you about to say?" Discoloured appendages reached out to brush the older man's hand where he placed his own and squeezed as best he could.
Green eyes darted up at the touch to meet cerulean. He eased up and wrapped his own fingers around the hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but glanced out the window with a smile, muttering, "Wait until the morning..." Then he let out the breath he hadn't known he's been holding and said, "I'd give it all up if only you'd learn to love me."
Nagi watched from afar, cobalt eyes piercing the smile of the angel's face when he nodded and wrapped slim arms around the older man. Even through the bitterness, he couldn't help but smile. He'd released the angel and given up immortality, but it was all worth it. He would win the angel's heart and keep it secure next to his own. "Omi, repay the favour for me; teach me how to love without regards, without bitterness and without pain." He then placed his hands in his pockets and strode away into the dawn, only to return to claim his prize.