Maki-kaesu
"Thanks." Yoji accepted his drink from the bartender and took a sip. It was good. It was expensive. It was his treat to himself for a job well done. He'd just landed a job as security consultant for the second largest corporation in Japan. The pay, in addition to what he earned as a private detective, would put him well into the six-figure range. He was feeling rather smug.
Tucking a strand of hair behind one ear, he took another sip. It wasn't just the pay that made him happy, it was the knowledge that with his current income, he could afford to really work on his true passion: painting.
It was something he had never thought he would ever try let alone be good at, but it had turned out to be one of the best things that had ever happened to him. He had taken a painting class because his girlfriend at the time had been interested in it.
Yoji had turned out to be really talented, and had progressed at a fantastic rate. He had continued to paint even after the inevitable, and rather messy, break up and had decided some time ago that it was what he really wanted to do.
But Yoji was a man who liked to live well, and the idea of being a starving artist did not endear itself to him. So he had gone back to his other skill: detecting. It wasn't that he hated being a private detective, it did have a certain thrill that he'd never found anywhere else, but it brought back so many painful memories. . .
But now he wouldn't have to worry about all that. He could paint in his spare time, and eventually, work up a large enough portfolio to try to get an exhibit in one of the local galleries. The very idea sent a little shiver of excitement up his spine.
He lifted the glass for another drink and realized it was empty. He paused, and then signaled the bartender for another of the same. /What the hell, I'll be able to afford it now./
While he was waiting for his drink, Yoji allowed his gaze to roam across the people in the bar. It was filled with the usual assortment of business people looking for something relaxing after work and before going home; mostly haggard looking middle aged men with the occasional woman here and there.
There was a flash of something light at the other end of the bar and Yoji turned his head that way. Jade eyes locked onto the young man sitting there. His face was turned to the side, dark blonde hair cut much like Yoji's own, but slightly longer and tied back neatly, loose portions in front brushing the collar of a white dress shirt. The shirt hugged slim shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to reveal slender forearms and delicate hands.
The collar had been loosened, revealing a slender, golden column of neck. Turning slightly in his seat to observe better, Yoji silently beckoned the young man to turn around. It wasn't often these days that anyone caught his interest this way. Most of the men and women he was with nowadays were more along the lines of one night stands, usually spurred on by intoxication. It was almost, almost, more habit than anything else.
But this one. . . Yoji felt an unexpected thrill just looking from afar. /Turn around bishounen/ he thought silently.
The slender shoulders moved in what looked like a sigh and the young man turned back to his drink. As his face moved into view, Yoji forgot to breath. His brain registered two things simultaneously: /1. Beautiful! 2. I know him!/
Finally, blinking, Yoji found his voice. "Omi?"
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Omi sighed and turned back to his drink. "Heh, guess Keisuke isn't coming back. Not that I blame him. . ."
After a few moments of swirling his drink in it's cup, he raised it and took a sip, wincing slightly. The liquor was a little strong for his tastes, but Keisuke had insisted on treating him to the best in honor of his new job.
Smiling ruefully, Omi decided to leave. He wasn't one for drinking alone, when he drank at all, and it didn't look like his friend was coming back any time soon.
He'd just turned to get his jacket when a hand touched his shoulder. "Omi?" Brushing the hair out of his eyes, Omi squinted up at the source of the voice. His mouth dropped open. "Yoji-kun?!?"
The two men laughed and embraced. "How long has it been now Yoji, three years, four? You look good."
Yoji had the good grace to blush a little as he replied. "You do too bishounen. And it's been a long time. Too long."
There was a beat of silence, when neither of them knew quite what to say. Then: "So can I get you a drink Omittchi?"
Omi rolled his eyes at the old nickname, but he couldn't keep the smile off of his face as he replied, "Actually, I was just about to leave, Yotan. I'm afraid my friend ditched me."
"Ah, sou," Yoji murmured as he looked at the table Omi had indicated. Two men sat close to each other, whispering and smiling the kind of smile that is only used when the bedroom is the inevitable destination.
The lanky detective raised his eyebrows, but kept silent. "Why don't you come with me?" Omi suggested, "My apartment isn't far from here. It isn't much to look at, but it's quieter than the bar, and I'm dying to hear what you've been up to."
Yoji smiled, perhaps the most genuine smile he'd shown in a long time, "I'd love to kid. Lead the way."
Omi rolled his eyes again, grabbed his jacket and slapped some cash on the counter. "I'm hardly a kid anymore Yoji-kun," he chuckled.
"Ah, sou," Yoji sighed dramatically. "My little Omittchi is all grown up!" He reached out to ruffle the shorter man's hair, then thought better of it, and slapped him on the back instead. "So how old are you now? Twenty?"
"Twenty two, actually," Omi responded dryly, holding the door open for his companion. He affected not to notice the almost solemn look Yoji gave him as they walked down the sidewalk.
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The apartment was nice, though small. Most of the western style living room was in shades of pale amethyst, green, and amber. Looking around subtly, Yoji was struck by the fact that it * should * have seemed very feminine, but under Omi's guidance, the décor simply inspired relaxation.
Toeing off his shoes and tossing his keys on a small table by the door, Omi gestured towards the small, but comfortable looking couch, "Please, have a seat Yoji-kun. Would you like something to drink? I don't have much I'm afraid, just water, juice, and soda."
Yoji nodded absently, still taking in his surroundings. "A soda would be fine."
Omi hurried around the corner into a tiny space that served as his kitchen. He felt strangely calm. He had thought a million times about what he'd do or say if he met one of his former teammates one day, but the reality was very different from what he'd expected. He felt as though the man in his living room was a total stranger and as if he was back in the Koneko all at the same time. He had the most irrational idea that if he were to go out of the kitchen he would see Aya-kun reading solemnly on the couch, complete with orange sweater and scowl.
Yoji felt much the same. Although he had lived and worked and laughed and killed with the boy in the next room, the detective in him reminded him that there had been four years between the boy he'd known and the young man in the kitchen. Four years was a long time and offered ample opportunity for change. Who knew what Omi was really like now?
The fact that he was older had been enough of a shock. For some reason, when picturing possible future meetings, Omi had always looked just as he did when he was part of Weiss. Forever seventeen and genki. It had simply never occurred to Yoji that Omi might . . . grow up.
But grow up he had. A graceful and beautiful young man had replaced the cute, but somewhat awkward youth of the past. The extra inches in height, the longer hair, it was all so different! Yoji flushed in embarrassment,
remembering the way he'd eyed Omi earlier at the bar. He didn't bother trying to excuse his behavior; whether he'd known it was his old friend or not, the fact remained that he had been attracted to him.
Omi returned with two cans of soda just then. "You don't mind drinking from the can do you Yoji-kun? I can pour it into a glass if you like . . . "
Yoji smiled his most charming smile, "Of course I don't mind Omittchi. You should know that!"
Omi chuckled softly in response, setting two cans of the fizzy stuff on the low table in front of the seat and then lowering himself onto the soft cushions. "I couldn't be sure though . . . I mean, it's just . . . "
He lowered his head, flushing slightly. Yoji nodded sympathetically. "I know. It's been a long time. And things have changed." He gestured vaguely at Omi's lengthened hair.
The young blonde tugged at one forelock gently, "It's different, ne? Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I think I see someone else. . . "
There was an awkward silence; the only sound was the soft fizz and bubble of the soda. Both men gazed intently at their soft drink cans, as though somewhere on their shiny exteriors was a secret to how one should re- acquaint oneself with an old friend. When they finally spoke, it was at once: "Sooooo, what've you been up to?"
Nervous laughter filled the space between them. "You start, " Yoji chuckled.
"Ooookaaay, well, um, let's see, " Omi chewed on his lower lip speculatively. "After . . . after Weiss was um, disbanded, I enrolled in university. I had enough money from my years with Krikiter, and from my Grandfather so that I could have simply attended school, but I chose to get a part-time job anyway. I got work at a local branch of a computer software company. I thought it would bring in a little money and give me some experience doing something besides selling flowers and . . . well, y'know."
"Anyway, I was kinda' surprised when I got promoted. After about a year, my boss sent me to the regional vice-president. He had been watching me, and was prepared to offer me a high-paying, high-ranking job after I graduated from university. After a good deal of thought, I accepted his offer."
Omi shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his drink. "It's challenging work, and interesting. The job I'll be taking will make the best of the skills I learned in Weiss, without hurting anyone."
Yoji whistled low, "Wow . . . you've certainly been busy."
Omi flushed, smiling. "Yeah well, I've just been lucky, that's all."
"Anyway, part of the deal was that I spend a year abroad learning English. I spent most of that time at a college in the United States." Omi laughed to himself. "I really thought I knew enough English when I got there . . . I was * so * wrong! And the culture! They're so different there Yoji kun!!"
Yoji watched at his friend's face grew steadily more animated. His jewel blue eyes were bright with excitement, his lightly tanned skin glowing faintly pink. He looked . . . happy, content, all the things he should be. But despite his happiness for his young friend, Yoji felt a slight twinge of something resembling hurt in the general region of his chest.
"Yoji kun? Do you want to see the pictures? Y-you don't have to of course. I mean, if I'm boring you I, uh, I know I tend to get rather caught up when I talk about the U.S. and it's probably really dull to you . . ."
Yoji laughed. "Slow down Omi! I am not bored and I *want* to see your pictures! I just spaced out for a minute." He squeezed the boy's shoulder good-naturedly.
The next two hours were spent sifting through album after album of photos, as well as several boxes of souvenirs. Two bags of chips and a bag of Fusen fruit candies had been added to the nearly empty soda cans, and both men were turning pages and picking up postcards with their fingernails in an attempt to avoid sticky smudges.
Reaching over Omi's shoulder Yoji pointed to a specific photo, "Who are these two? They seem to be in a lot of your pictures. Were they close friends of yours while you were in the U.S.?"
Omi's face became very still, a look somewhat of nostalgia, somewhat of pain creeping into his eyes. "Aa. I was there for a little more than a year. I met them within weeks of my arrival and we stayed close the whole time."
"The guy on the left is Takuro, he's Japanese American, and his mom is from Kyoto. The girl next to him is Megan." Omi's fingers traced the edges of the picture lightly, never quite touching the image.
Yoji wondered which one was the unrequited love. Four years ago there would have been no question of it being the girl, but now . . .
Now things were different. He could admit that it might just be wishful thinking of a sort. But he had a lot of experience, it had been a looooong time since he had been wrong about a person's sexual persuasion, and it was telling him that either the boy or the girl were reasonable options.
But he wisely chose to keep his mouth shut. A moment later Omi's eyes cleared and he turned the page briskly. "Aaah! Last page! It feels like there should be more . ."
Yoji wiped his hands on his pants, nodding his head. The last page was devoted entirely to Christmas images. Omi's eyes sparkled.
"I fell in love with Christmas while I was there, " he said, "all the lights, the music, the decorations, and of course the presents!"
Yoji smiled at a particularly goofy picture of Omi with a giant red bow on his head while he held a sweater up in front of him. From the looks of things, the family Omi had stayed with had gone all out for the holidays; not an inch wasn't covered in some festive decoration.
"I try to celebrate it here, " Omi was saying, "but it isn't the same without anyone to share it with . . ."
Yoji nodded sympathetically, although he had no way to really sympathize. Suddenly Omi looked at him quizzically. "Ah, Yoji kun? Would you, ah, that is, would you like to, ano, wouldyouliketocelebrateChristmaswithme?"
The words came out all in a rush and the look in the blonde's eyes was charmingly uncertain. Even if he'd been inclined to say no, Yoji would have said yes after the pleading look being sent his way.
He grinned and rubbed the younger man's head, "Sure I will Ommittchi, although I have no idea just what that means . . . "
Omi smiled happily, ignoring the nickname. "It's not that big a deal. Just help me decorate, put up with my bad English while I sing songs, and exchange gifts with me on Christmas morning."
Suddenly a look of apprehension stole over the blonde's face. "Oh! I mean, you don't have to buy me anything! I wasn't trying to get anything from you--!"
At this Yoji laughed outright. The statement was so very Omi! He managed to reign himself in when he noticed that Omi's concern had turned into a pout of displeasure. Green eyes sparkled into blue; the expression was comfortingly that of the Omi of his past, but also strange to see on the older face.
"Aaah, gomen ne, Omi. I wasn't laughing at you, it's just that it's refreshing to be around someone who isn't self-centered for a change. Only you would be worried that I would think you were trying to get something out of me. You should know that I could never think badly of you."
Omi blushed slightly, a pleased grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Although the words had been delivered with a smile, the tone underlying them had been very serious, and it somehow made Omi feel good to know that his former teammate thought so highly of him.
A beat of silence made things awkward again for a moment before Yoji finally spoke up. "Sooo Omi, what do you want for Christmas?"
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The next few weeks flew by. Between getting used to his new job and painting and Omi's Christmas outings, Yoji fell into bed exhausted every night. Not only was there no time for bar hopping or clubbing (neither of which he did that frequently anymore anyway), the ideas never crossed his mind. Almost any spare moment was spent shopping with his young friend or thinking about what to get for him.
He had never been so uncertain about what to purchase as a gift for someone. Usually when he bought gifts they were of food or wine or flowers, and were social niceties; mere custom. He had found that buying a gift for Omi was nothing like buying a gift for his boss, or a business partner, or for that matter, a girlfriend. Four years put too large a distance between them.
The only thing that he knew for certain had remained the same about his friend was his love of computers . . . and Yoji knew nothing about what he'd like. He knew more than the average person, the demands of Weiss, but his knowledge didn't even begin to touch that of Omi. Besides, Omi had probably already gotten anything he wanted through his job.
Which left Yoji with something of a dilemma. Obviously, Omi took this celebrating Christmas thing seriously; his eyes glowed with every purchase of greenery or ribbon. Perhaps it was because the smile had so rarely reached his eyes during the days of Weiss, but Yoji longed to get something for him that would light up his eyes and make his cheeks flush with happiness the way they did when he flew through the few Christmas shops they'd been able to find.
But what was that? The detective racked his brain. There had to be something. One day, the two were meeting in the food court of a mall near to their respective businesses on lunch break and Yoji voiced the complaint that Omi was too hard to buy for. Omi laughed, then put his chin in his hand, resting his elbow on the food covered table in front of them.
"Yoji!! You know you don't actually have to get me anything! The whole point of Christmas is to be with your family and friends. Gifts are just a bonus!"
Yoji pouted, "Demo Omi~! I * want * to get you a present! It's just hard!" Growing a little more serious for a moment, Yoji mumbled around a mouthful of authentic Americanized Peking duck, "It's just been so long, y'know? I don't . . . I'm not sure what you'd like. I just don't know enough about computers, and we've only been re-acquainted for what, a month? And I know this holiday means a lot to you . . . "
Omi said nothing for a moment, contenting himself with shoveling fried rice into his mouth and washing it down with a large gulp of soft drink. Then he said, so softly it was hard to hear him in the noise of the surrounding crowd, "Ne, Yoji, really, you don't have to buy me anything. In a way, you * are * my Christmas gift."
Silence met his remark. Yoji just looked at him, chopsticks hanging out of his mouth, expression open and questioning. With a soft sigh Omi continued.
"I mean, I've made friends since . . . y'know, but it's been four years since I spoke to someone who I knew understood me. Four years since I didn't have to hide anything. Four years of wondering and worrying about you and Ken and Aya, er, Ran. You three were family and friends all rolled into one. Sometimes I just, got tired of being Tsukiyono Omi; I wanted to be Ommitchi. Sometimes, " he confessed in a bare whisper, "I even wanted to be Bombay."
The noise of the crowd had reached an even higher level; the lunch rush was at its highest point. Yoji let himself soak in Omi's words. He looked at his lunch mate, who's face was now downcast, hands clasped tightly in front of him, the knuckles white from the pressure. Yoji swallowed around the slight lump that had formed in his throat.
He put down the chopsticks in his hand and lightly touched Omi's hair to get his attention. "I'm sorry Omi. Sorry I didn't find a way to get in touch with you. Sorry you were lonely, hell, I'm sorry you ever had to be part of what we were. But I understand. I haven't had a real friend since we all split up. Mostly business partners, a few dates, but never anything serious."
Omi smiled weakly, grateful, "It's not your fault. We all agreed not to try to contact each other for two years, for safety's sake. And it's not like I tried to find you either."
A smile tugged at the blonde's lips, it quickly became a smirk, which swiftly developed into a snicker. Yoji's eyebrows shot up, questioning. "Nan da?" he mumbled.
The laughter escaped from Omi in a deep, rich wave, spurred on by the emotion of the earlier moments. He pointed weakly at Yoji's face, still laughing, wiping at his eyes with the other hand.
Yoji reached up to his face with his hands, rubbing at his forehead, nose, and cheeks. Omi only laughed all the harder. He finally got himself somewhat under control when he saw the glare Yoji was throwing his way. Restraining himself to giggles, Omi leaned across the table, eyes sparkling with humor, and wiped at the corner of Yoji's mouth. His fingers came away with a sauce covered glob of Peking duck.
Yoji's lips quivered. He cleaned off Omi's finger with a napkin, keeping his head down to hide the laughter trying to escape. "Saaaaaaaaa, Ommittchi . . . you know, I think I know what to give you for Christmas now."
"Really?" Omi grinned. Yoji smiled back, nodding, "Aa, really."
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Omi was stumped. He hadn't said anything to Yoji, but he'd been having just as difficult a time choosing a gift for his friend as Yoji had. He lay on his stomach, head resting on his hands with a manga acting as pillow, the winter rain throwing itself against the windows of his bedroom.
He lazily rubbed sock covered feet together, as though that action could inspire new thoughts, and then sighed. He had been thinking about all the things Yoji had told him about himself since they had met again and he couldn't think of anything that was helpful.
Omi propped himself up on his elbows and ticked off what he knew on his fingers: Yoji worked as a detective, he didn't date or go clubbing nearly as much as he used to, he liked to draw and paint, he * still * liked beautiful things . . .
And that was it. Nothing else seemed to offer any gift giving possibilities. But what that involved detecting could he give? And he doubted club gear would work; even if he thought it would go to good use, he wasn't sure they were close enough again to be buying each other leather clothing. Omi winced. Not that his adolescent mind hadn't picked out dozens of skimpy outfits for Yoji during their days in Weiss.
Shaking his head, Omi brought his mind back to the present and the problem at hand. What about art supplies? Omi shook his head again. He knew * nothing * about drawing and painting. How would he know what to buy? As for the category of "beautiful things", that was a rather broad category.
Getting up from his place on the bed, Omi headed for the kitchen and a cup of hot tea. He shuffled down the short hallway, his hand scratching an itch on his stomach as he went. The scratch turned into a bone popping stretch, and his shirt rode up, revealing a stomach no less defined than it had been during his days as Bombay, perhaps more so now that the last of his baby fat was gone.
Along with nightmares and memories both pleasant and horrifying, Omi had taken from his time as a vigilante a healthy paranoia. He still kept a few darts strategically placed around the apartment, and worked out regularly. He even practiced his shooting at an archery range in the city once a week. Compared to what he'd been during Weiss, Omi was hopelessly out of shape and unfit, but compared to the average citizen, he was a veritable superhuman.
Thin fingers encountered the line of an old scar that traced across his abdomen and trailed all the way down and around his hip. He'd gotten it on one of the first assignments that Weiss had been on after Aya had joined. The scar and the memory were old, but the dim recollection never failed to bring with it a trace of horror. Omi vaguely wondered if Yoji had as many scars as he did, and if he'd kept as fit as Omi had.
He certainly looked fit, Omi thought as he filled his kettle with water. Even in the dress suit he wore as a consultant, the tall brunette was stunning. Everything about him was graceful and seemingly effortless. Omi had noticed that he hardly ever smoked anymore, whether this was out of deference to Omi or for some other reason he didn't yet know. But smoking or not smoking, Yoji was physically still the beauty of Omi's teenage fantasies. Not that he hadn't fantasized about all his teammates; no one had been exempt once his hormones and preferences had kicked in.
Although he had dated both men and women, Omi had never found anyone as strikingly lovely as his former teammates. And he had to confess that whenever his arm or leg brushed against Yoji's, he felt his heartbeat increase just a bit. Omi chuckled at himself as he took the whistling kettle off the stovetop. It hadn't been so long between relationships that he was going to start hitting on his friends! It was too important to keep Yoji as a friend to jeopardize things because his hormones were feeling rowdy.
It was then, as he was pouring the hot water over the tea leaves that the idea struck him. He almost spilled the scalding liquid all over the counter and himself by jerking so suddenly. /It might work/ he thought. /I have kept it mainly because it was a gift, and although it is pretty, I could bear to part with it for Yoji. And with his artistic knowledge, he could probably appreciate it better anyway./
His mind made up, Omi smiled a huge smile. He felt better already. Finishing the preparation of his tea quickly, Omi hurried back to his manga and the heater as quickly as he could. He knew what he was giving his friend, and he was relatively certain it would be liked.
"Thanks." Yoji accepted his drink from the bartender and took a sip. It was good. It was expensive. It was his treat to himself for a job well done. He'd just landed a job as security consultant for the second largest corporation in Japan. The pay, in addition to what he earned as a private detective, would put him well into the six-figure range. He was feeling rather smug.
Tucking a strand of hair behind one ear, he took another sip. It wasn't just the pay that made him happy, it was the knowledge that with his current income, he could afford to really work on his true passion: painting.
It was something he had never thought he would ever try let alone be good at, but it had turned out to be one of the best things that had ever happened to him. He had taken a painting class because his girlfriend at the time had been interested in it.
Yoji had turned out to be really talented, and had progressed at a fantastic rate. He had continued to paint even after the inevitable, and rather messy, break up and had decided some time ago that it was what he really wanted to do.
But Yoji was a man who liked to live well, and the idea of being a starving artist did not endear itself to him. So he had gone back to his other skill: detecting. It wasn't that he hated being a private detective, it did have a certain thrill that he'd never found anywhere else, but it brought back so many painful memories. . .
But now he wouldn't have to worry about all that. He could paint in his spare time, and eventually, work up a large enough portfolio to try to get an exhibit in one of the local galleries. The very idea sent a little shiver of excitement up his spine.
He lifted the glass for another drink and realized it was empty. He paused, and then signaled the bartender for another of the same. /What the hell, I'll be able to afford it now./
While he was waiting for his drink, Yoji allowed his gaze to roam across the people in the bar. It was filled with the usual assortment of business people looking for something relaxing after work and before going home; mostly haggard looking middle aged men with the occasional woman here and there.
There was a flash of something light at the other end of the bar and Yoji turned his head that way. Jade eyes locked onto the young man sitting there. His face was turned to the side, dark blonde hair cut much like Yoji's own, but slightly longer and tied back neatly, loose portions in front brushing the collar of a white dress shirt. The shirt hugged slim shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to reveal slender forearms and delicate hands.
The collar had been loosened, revealing a slender, golden column of neck. Turning slightly in his seat to observe better, Yoji silently beckoned the young man to turn around. It wasn't often these days that anyone caught his interest this way. Most of the men and women he was with nowadays were more along the lines of one night stands, usually spurred on by intoxication. It was almost, almost, more habit than anything else.
But this one. . . Yoji felt an unexpected thrill just looking from afar. /Turn around bishounen/ he thought silently.
The slender shoulders moved in what looked like a sigh and the young man turned back to his drink. As his face moved into view, Yoji forgot to breath. His brain registered two things simultaneously: /1. Beautiful! 2. I know him!/
Finally, blinking, Yoji found his voice. "Omi?"
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Omi sighed and turned back to his drink. "Heh, guess Keisuke isn't coming back. Not that I blame him. . ."
After a few moments of swirling his drink in it's cup, he raised it and took a sip, wincing slightly. The liquor was a little strong for his tastes, but Keisuke had insisted on treating him to the best in honor of his new job.
Smiling ruefully, Omi decided to leave. He wasn't one for drinking alone, when he drank at all, and it didn't look like his friend was coming back any time soon.
He'd just turned to get his jacket when a hand touched his shoulder. "Omi?" Brushing the hair out of his eyes, Omi squinted up at the source of the voice. His mouth dropped open. "Yoji-kun?!?"
The two men laughed and embraced. "How long has it been now Yoji, three years, four? You look good."
Yoji had the good grace to blush a little as he replied. "You do too bishounen. And it's been a long time. Too long."
There was a beat of silence, when neither of them knew quite what to say. Then: "So can I get you a drink Omittchi?"
Omi rolled his eyes at the old nickname, but he couldn't keep the smile off of his face as he replied, "Actually, I was just about to leave, Yotan. I'm afraid my friend ditched me."
"Ah, sou," Yoji murmured as he looked at the table Omi had indicated. Two men sat close to each other, whispering and smiling the kind of smile that is only used when the bedroom is the inevitable destination.
The lanky detective raised his eyebrows, but kept silent. "Why don't you come with me?" Omi suggested, "My apartment isn't far from here. It isn't much to look at, but it's quieter than the bar, and I'm dying to hear what you've been up to."
Yoji smiled, perhaps the most genuine smile he'd shown in a long time, "I'd love to kid. Lead the way."
Omi rolled his eyes again, grabbed his jacket and slapped some cash on the counter. "I'm hardly a kid anymore Yoji-kun," he chuckled.
"Ah, sou," Yoji sighed dramatically. "My little Omittchi is all grown up!" He reached out to ruffle the shorter man's hair, then thought better of it, and slapped him on the back instead. "So how old are you now? Twenty?"
"Twenty two, actually," Omi responded dryly, holding the door open for his companion. He affected not to notice the almost solemn look Yoji gave him as they walked down the sidewalk.
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The apartment was nice, though small. Most of the western style living room was in shades of pale amethyst, green, and amber. Looking around subtly, Yoji was struck by the fact that it * should * have seemed very feminine, but under Omi's guidance, the décor simply inspired relaxation.
Toeing off his shoes and tossing his keys on a small table by the door, Omi gestured towards the small, but comfortable looking couch, "Please, have a seat Yoji-kun. Would you like something to drink? I don't have much I'm afraid, just water, juice, and soda."
Yoji nodded absently, still taking in his surroundings. "A soda would be fine."
Omi hurried around the corner into a tiny space that served as his kitchen. He felt strangely calm. He had thought a million times about what he'd do or say if he met one of his former teammates one day, but the reality was very different from what he'd expected. He felt as though the man in his living room was a total stranger and as if he was back in the Koneko all at the same time. He had the most irrational idea that if he were to go out of the kitchen he would see Aya-kun reading solemnly on the couch, complete with orange sweater and scowl.
Yoji felt much the same. Although he had lived and worked and laughed and killed with the boy in the next room, the detective in him reminded him that there had been four years between the boy he'd known and the young man in the kitchen. Four years was a long time and offered ample opportunity for change. Who knew what Omi was really like now?
The fact that he was older had been enough of a shock. For some reason, when picturing possible future meetings, Omi had always looked just as he did when he was part of Weiss. Forever seventeen and genki. It had simply never occurred to Yoji that Omi might . . . grow up.
But grow up he had. A graceful and beautiful young man had replaced the cute, but somewhat awkward youth of the past. The extra inches in height, the longer hair, it was all so different! Yoji flushed in embarrassment,
remembering the way he'd eyed Omi earlier at the bar. He didn't bother trying to excuse his behavior; whether he'd known it was his old friend or not, the fact remained that he had been attracted to him.
Omi returned with two cans of soda just then. "You don't mind drinking from the can do you Yoji-kun? I can pour it into a glass if you like . . . "
Yoji smiled his most charming smile, "Of course I don't mind Omittchi. You should know that!"
Omi chuckled softly in response, setting two cans of the fizzy stuff on the low table in front of the seat and then lowering himself onto the soft cushions. "I couldn't be sure though . . . I mean, it's just . . . "
He lowered his head, flushing slightly. Yoji nodded sympathetically. "I know. It's been a long time. And things have changed." He gestured vaguely at Omi's lengthened hair.
The young blonde tugged at one forelock gently, "It's different, ne? Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I think I see someone else. . . "
There was an awkward silence; the only sound was the soft fizz and bubble of the soda. Both men gazed intently at their soft drink cans, as though somewhere on their shiny exteriors was a secret to how one should re- acquaint oneself with an old friend. When they finally spoke, it was at once: "Sooooo, what've you been up to?"
Nervous laughter filled the space between them. "You start, " Yoji chuckled.
"Ooookaaay, well, um, let's see, " Omi chewed on his lower lip speculatively. "After . . . after Weiss was um, disbanded, I enrolled in university. I had enough money from my years with Krikiter, and from my Grandfather so that I could have simply attended school, but I chose to get a part-time job anyway. I got work at a local branch of a computer software company. I thought it would bring in a little money and give me some experience doing something besides selling flowers and . . . well, y'know."
"Anyway, I was kinda' surprised when I got promoted. After about a year, my boss sent me to the regional vice-president. He had been watching me, and was prepared to offer me a high-paying, high-ranking job after I graduated from university. After a good deal of thought, I accepted his offer."
Omi shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his drink. "It's challenging work, and interesting. The job I'll be taking will make the best of the skills I learned in Weiss, without hurting anyone."
Yoji whistled low, "Wow . . . you've certainly been busy."
Omi flushed, smiling. "Yeah well, I've just been lucky, that's all."
"Anyway, part of the deal was that I spend a year abroad learning English. I spent most of that time at a college in the United States." Omi laughed to himself. "I really thought I knew enough English when I got there . . . I was * so * wrong! And the culture! They're so different there Yoji kun!!"
Yoji watched at his friend's face grew steadily more animated. His jewel blue eyes were bright with excitement, his lightly tanned skin glowing faintly pink. He looked . . . happy, content, all the things he should be. But despite his happiness for his young friend, Yoji felt a slight twinge of something resembling hurt in the general region of his chest.
"Yoji kun? Do you want to see the pictures? Y-you don't have to of course. I mean, if I'm boring you I, uh, I know I tend to get rather caught up when I talk about the U.S. and it's probably really dull to you . . ."
Yoji laughed. "Slow down Omi! I am not bored and I *want* to see your pictures! I just spaced out for a minute." He squeezed the boy's shoulder good-naturedly.
The next two hours were spent sifting through album after album of photos, as well as several boxes of souvenirs. Two bags of chips and a bag of Fusen fruit candies had been added to the nearly empty soda cans, and both men were turning pages and picking up postcards with their fingernails in an attempt to avoid sticky smudges.
Reaching over Omi's shoulder Yoji pointed to a specific photo, "Who are these two? They seem to be in a lot of your pictures. Were they close friends of yours while you were in the U.S.?"
Omi's face became very still, a look somewhat of nostalgia, somewhat of pain creeping into his eyes. "Aa. I was there for a little more than a year. I met them within weeks of my arrival and we stayed close the whole time."
"The guy on the left is Takuro, he's Japanese American, and his mom is from Kyoto. The girl next to him is Megan." Omi's fingers traced the edges of the picture lightly, never quite touching the image.
Yoji wondered which one was the unrequited love. Four years ago there would have been no question of it being the girl, but now . . .
Now things were different. He could admit that it might just be wishful thinking of a sort. But he had a lot of experience, it had been a looooong time since he had been wrong about a person's sexual persuasion, and it was telling him that either the boy or the girl were reasonable options.
But he wisely chose to keep his mouth shut. A moment later Omi's eyes cleared and he turned the page briskly. "Aaah! Last page! It feels like there should be more . ."
Yoji wiped his hands on his pants, nodding his head. The last page was devoted entirely to Christmas images. Omi's eyes sparkled.
"I fell in love with Christmas while I was there, " he said, "all the lights, the music, the decorations, and of course the presents!"
Yoji smiled at a particularly goofy picture of Omi with a giant red bow on his head while he held a sweater up in front of him. From the looks of things, the family Omi had stayed with had gone all out for the holidays; not an inch wasn't covered in some festive decoration.
"I try to celebrate it here, " Omi was saying, "but it isn't the same without anyone to share it with . . ."
Yoji nodded sympathetically, although he had no way to really sympathize. Suddenly Omi looked at him quizzically. "Ah, Yoji kun? Would you, ah, that is, would you like to, ano, wouldyouliketocelebrateChristmaswithme?"
The words came out all in a rush and the look in the blonde's eyes was charmingly uncertain. Even if he'd been inclined to say no, Yoji would have said yes after the pleading look being sent his way.
He grinned and rubbed the younger man's head, "Sure I will Ommittchi, although I have no idea just what that means . . . "
Omi smiled happily, ignoring the nickname. "It's not that big a deal. Just help me decorate, put up with my bad English while I sing songs, and exchange gifts with me on Christmas morning."
Suddenly a look of apprehension stole over the blonde's face. "Oh! I mean, you don't have to buy me anything! I wasn't trying to get anything from you--!"
At this Yoji laughed outright. The statement was so very Omi! He managed to reign himself in when he noticed that Omi's concern had turned into a pout of displeasure. Green eyes sparkled into blue; the expression was comfortingly that of the Omi of his past, but also strange to see on the older face.
"Aaah, gomen ne, Omi. I wasn't laughing at you, it's just that it's refreshing to be around someone who isn't self-centered for a change. Only you would be worried that I would think you were trying to get something out of me. You should know that I could never think badly of you."
Omi blushed slightly, a pleased grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Although the words had been delivered with a smile, the tone underlying them had been very serious, and it somehow made Omi feel good to know that his former teammate thought so highly of him.
A beat of silence made things awkward again for a moment before Yoji finally spoke up. "Sooo Omi, what do you want for Christmas?"
~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~
The next few weeks flew by. Between getting used to his new job and painting and Omi's Christmas outings, Yoji fell into bed exhausted every night. Not only was there no time for bar hopping or clubbing (neither of which he did that frequently anymore anyway), the ideas never crossed his mind. Almost any spare moment was spent shopping with his young friend or thinking about what to get for him.
He had never been so uncertain about what to purchase as a gift for someone. Usually when he bought gifts they were of food or wine or flowers, and were social niceties; mere custom. He had found that buying a gift for Omi was nothing like buying a gift for his boss, or a business partner, or for that matter, a girlfriend. Four years put too large a distance between them.
The only thing that he knew for certain had remained the same about his friend was his love of computers . . . and Yoji knew nothing about what he'd like. He knew more than the average person, the demands of Weiss, but his knowledge didn't even begin to touch that of Omi. Besides, Omi had probably already gotten anything he wanted through his job.
Which left Yoji with something of a dilemma. Obviously, Omi took this celebrating Christmas thing seriously; his eyes glowed with every purchase of greenery or ribbon. Perhaps it was because the smile had so rarely reached his eyes during the days of Weiss, but Yoji longed to get something for him that would light up his eyes and make his cheeks flush with happiness the way they did when he flew through the few Christmas shops they'd been able to find.
But what was that? The detective racked his brain. There had to be something. One day, the two were meeting in the food court of a mall near to their respective businesses on lunch break and Yoji voiced the complaint that Omi was too hard to buy for. Omi laughed, then put his chin in his hand, resting his elbow on the food covered table in front of them.
"Yoji!! You know you don't actually have to get me anything! The whole point of Christmas is to be with your family and friends. Gifts are just a bonus!"
Yoji pouted, "Demo Omi~! I * want * to get you a present! It's just hard!" Growing a little more serious for a moment, Yoji mumbled around a mouthful of authentic Americanized Peking duck, "It's just been so long, y'know? I don't . . . I'm not sure what you'd like. I just don't know enough about computers, and we've only been re-acquainted for what, a month? And I know this holiday means a lot to you . . . "
Omi said nothing for a moment, contenting himself with shoveling fried rice into his mouth and washing it down with a large gulp of soft drink. Then he said, so softly it was hard to hear him in the noise of the surrounding crowd, "Ne, Yoji, really, you don't have to buy me anything. In a way, you * are * my Christmas gift."
Silence met his remark. Yoji just looked at him, chopsticks hanging out of his mouth, expression open and questioning. With a soft sigh Omi continued.
"I mean, I've made friends since . . . y'know, but it's been four years since I spoke to someone who I knew understood me. Four years since I didn't have to hide anything. Four years of wondering and worrying about you and Ken and Aya, er, Ran. You three were family and friends all rolled into one. Sometimes I just, got tired of being Tsukiyono Omi; I wanted to be Ommitchi. Sometimes, " he confessed in a bare whisper, "I even wanted to be Bombay."
The noise of the crowd had reached an even higher level; the lunch rush was at its highest point. Yoji let himself soak in Omi's words. He looked at his lunch mate, who's face was now downcast, hands clasped tightly in front of him, the knuckles white from the pressure. Yoji swallowed around the slight lump that had formed in his throat.
He put down the chopsticks in his hand and lightly touched Omi's hair to get his attention. "I'm sorry Omi. Sorry I didn't find a way to get in touch with you. Sorry you were lonely, hell, I'm sorry you ever had to be part of what we were. But I understand. I haven't had a real friend since we all split up. Mostly business partners, a few dates, but never anything serious."
Omi smiled weakly, grateful, "It's not your fault. We all agreed not to try to contact each other for two years, for safety's sake. And it's not like I tried to find you either."
A smile tugged at the blonde's lips, it quickly became a smirk, which swiftly developed into a snicker. Yoji's eyebrows shot up, questioning. "Nan da?" he mumbled.
The laughter escaped from Omi in a deep, rich wave, spurred on by the emotion of the earlier moments. He pointed weakly at Yoji's face, still laughing, wiping at his eyes with the other hand.
Yoji reached up to his face with his hands, rubbing at his forehead, nose, and cheeks. Omi only laughed all the harder. He finally got himself somewhat under control when he saw the glare Yoji was throwing his way. Restraining himself to giggles, Omi leaned across the table, eyes sparkling with humor, and wiped at the corner of Yoji's mouth. His fingers came away with a sauce covered glob of Peking duck.
Yoji's lips quivered. He cleaned off Omi's finger with a napkin, keeping his head down to hide the laughter trying to escape. "Saaaaaaaaa, Ommittchi . . . you know, I think I know what to give you for Christmas now."
"Really?" Omi grinned. Yoji smiled back, nodding, "Aa, really."
~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~
Omi was stumped. He hadn't said anything to Yoji, but he'd been having just as difficult a time choosing a gift for his friend as Yoji had. He lay on his stomach, head resting on his hands with a manga acting as pillow, the winter rain throwing itself against the windows of his bedroom.
He lazily rubbed sock covered feet together, as though that action could inspire new thoughts, and then sighed. He had been thinking about all the things Yoji had told him about himself since they had met again and he couldn't think of anything that was helpful.
Omi propped himself up on his elbows and ticked off what he knew on his fingers: Yoji worked as a detective, he didn't date or go clubbing nearly as much as he used to, he liked to draw and paint, he * still * liked beautiful things . . .
And that was it. Nothing else seemed to offer any gift giving possibilities. But what that involved detecting could he give? And he doubted club gear would work; even if he thought it would go to good use, he wasn't sure they were close enough again to be buying each other leather clothing. Omi winced. Not that his adolescent mind hadn't picked out dozens of skimpy outfits for Yoji during their days in Weiss.
Shaking his head, Omi brought his mind back to the present and the problem at hand. What about art supplies? Omi shook his head again. He knew * nothing * about drawing and painting. How would he know what to buy? As for the category of "beautiful things", that was a rather broad category.
Getting up from his place on the bed, Omi headed for the kitchen and a cup of hot tea. He shuffled down the short hallway, his hand scratching an itch on his stomach as he went. The scratch turned into a bone popping stretch, and his shirt rode up, revealing a stomach no less defined than it had been during his days as Bombay, perhaps more so now that the last of his baby fat was gone.
Along with nightmares and memories both pleasant and horrifying, Omi had taken from his time as a vigilante a healthy paranoia. He still kept a few darts strategically placed around the apartment, and worked out regularly. He even practiced his shooting at an archery range in the city once a week. Compared to what he'd been during Weiss, Omi was hopelessly out of shape and unfit, but compared to the average citizen, he was a veritable superhuman.
Thin fingers encountered the line of an old scar that traced across his abdomen and trailed all the way down and around his hip. He'd gotten it on one of the first assignments that Weiss had been on after Aya had joined. The scar and the memory were old, but the dim recollection never failed to bring with it a trace of horror. Omi vaguely wondered if Yoji had as many scars as he did, and if he'd kept as fit as Omi had.
He certainly looked fit, Omi thought as he filled his kettle with water. Even in the dress suit he wore as a consultant, the tall brunette was stunning. Everything about him was graceful and seemingly effortless. Omi had noticed that he hardly ever smoked anymore, whether this was out of deference to Omi or for some other reason he didn't yet know. But smoking or not smoking, Yoji was physically still the beauty of Omi's teenage fantasies. Not that he hadn't fantasized about all his teammates; no one had been exempt once his hormones and preferences had kicked in.
Although he had dated both men and women, Omi had never found anyone as strikingly lovely as his former teammates. And he had to confess that whenever his arm or leg brushed against Yoji's, he felt his heartbeat increase just a bit. Omi chuckled at himself as he took the whistling kettle off the stovetop. It hadn't been so long between relationships that he was going to start hitting on his friends! It was too important to keep Yoji as a friend to jeopardize things because his hormones were feeling rowdy.
It was then, as he was pouring the hot water over the tea leaves that the idea struck him. He almost spilled the scalding liquid all over the counter and himself by jerking so suddenly. /It might work/ he thought. /I have kept it mainly because it was a gift, and although it is pretty, I could bear to part with it for Yoji. And with his artistic knowledge, he could probably appreciate it better anyway./
His mind made up, Omi smiled a huge smile. He felt better already. Finishing the preparation of his tea quickly, Omi hurried back to his manga and the heater as quickly as he could. He knew what he was giving his friend, and he was relatively certain it would be liked.