Ch.2: Past, Revisited
Sweet, sweet silence met his ears as he awakened, slowly, ever so slowly. For a
moment, he thought he could hear birds singing and smell the fragrance of flowers outside,
and he didn't want to move, almost wishing that it had been real. He inhaled softly, and
the clear air was riddled with smells so strange to his nose now, the smell of clean sheets,
unused, a touch dusty, the smell of ancient books that he could just picture in his mind,
sitting on a forgotten shelf as his hand reached up to grab one by the spine and pull it
down, flipping it open, endorsing himself in the strange world of fantasy, of fiction, of
life itself. Everything could be accessed by books, the writings of old, the history, the
terror, the joy and happiness, it could all be in just one little flop-backed book, yellow
and beyond reading. His mind slowly drifted towards sleep again, and for once he didn't
struggle, just accepted it, and slowly it claimed him, sucking him into oblivion, and he
knew no more.
He awakened again to the afternoon, his eyes opened at the first touches of
consciousness. His mind began to click the gears inside, and his mind began to work more
smoothly than it had been in the past year. His head, for once, was clear as it had been
when he was still working in the Wei?,?as the computer technician of the group/family they
were. Wei? had been his family, and he accepted it, having no family himself that he could
go to...at least, no honest family. He didn't consider the Takatoris to be his family, and
he never would again. They had abandoned him, and that was what their fault was. They
died. He lived. That was the end of that. But now, his mind turned to alert him of the
fresh, crisp surroundings that he had muddled in earlier. This certainly wasn't his room;
his room smelled like the dried blood that crusted the floor, tainted the walls, smeared
everywhere and over everything. He shivered at the thought, but he realized that however
outwardly clean it might look, he was never going into that room again. Only if he had to.
Only if it was a life or death decision, nothing else. But this room was clean, unstained
by what had happened in HIS room, and he liked it. Turning his head rather painfully to the
side, he spotted the other bed, unoccupied and still kept neatly, and the nightstand that
stood between the two. There was a book on it. Curiosity got the better of him, and he
reached out to slide it off the table-
-and immediately uttered a sharp yelp of pain as it pierced into his arm, his left
one. He let it drop down to the soft bed, and reached his right arm over it. He leaned
slightly over it, wincing, but he grasped the spine of the book and dragged it off the edge
of the table. Whoever had brought him here, dressed him gently, and put him to bed had
obviously left this here to his benefit, for there was a note attached to the top, a bright
pink sticky note that blazed back at him like some star. He blinked for a moment and stared
at it, then saw the addressee, his name. He took the note off of the black bound book and
brought it closer down to his eyes so he could read it in the fading light of the afternoon.
It said:
Omi,
Sorry I left before you woke up. I couldn't sneak anything out of the cafeteria
during breakfast, so on the other table on the other side of the bed, there's a large cup of
water with another pitcher full (don't pour it unless you know you won't drop it) and some
biscuits I brought from home. Sorry, that's all I had. The only other edibles I brought
were candy, and I didn't quite think that'd settle well on an empty stomach. The book is to
relieve boredom. If you finish this one, there's a stack in the drawer to continue reading
with. See you at the end of class, or as soon as I can return.
Your roommate
There was nothing else penned, so Omi did as he was told, and drank half the cup of water.
He propped himself up comfortably between 2 pillows, and finally was able to look at the
cover of the book. It was plain black leather, with 5 gold letters printed at the top, in
English. But Omi didn't have to know English to know what it meant; it was on another dozen
books he had seen in bookstores before. It read "Diary". The blonde picked up a biscuit,
and snuggled in the blankets before turning the first page to begin. It was worn, and there
was a dedication on the first page:
[Maybe you won't be so annoyed at me. Keep this so I can read it later. GS.]
He frowned a little at the dedication, because the initials seemed familiar, but he shrugged
it off and turned the page. It was filled with scripty, flowery kanji that was at least
legible, unlike some of the writing he had encountered before. Like Youji's, he thought
with a smile. His writing was the worst. He looked on, and realized with a puzzled start
that all the entries were addressed to him. It started off with a date, and he realized
that this was some time ago, when he hadn't joined Wei? yet, still in grade school.
[Omi,
I can't believe it! My teacher is so stupid, so incredibly dumb that words cannot
even begin to explain how idiotic she is! She purposefully tricked all of us, us poor
innocent students who have followed every rule and every project that she's had the gall to
dole out! At least, the main body of us. There are slackers in every class, including
ours, and we don't like the slackers anyways. A few weeks ago, all of us were puzzled in
the reason behind Mrs. Nagisa's abrupt stop in practically all the homework in the
classroom, encouraging us to sleep better, while all this time, she was planning something!
Well, perhaps it wasn't her who planned it in the first place, but she could have at least
warned us ahead of time!
It came as just a *little* surprise when we heard the intercom click on and the
principal's voice say, "I hope all classes are studying for your individual finals that are
due tomorrow." Needless to say, the homeroom class of 2-A was in an uproar. I was so
furious that I only vaguely realized that all the nearby tables had floating pencil boxes
and paper.
I hate her! With every fiber of my being, I HATE HER!
Finals? At the final few precious school days that we actually should be
celebrating our entering junior high? Never. I'm not studying for ANYTHING, and I mean I
don't CARE ANYMORE. I AM NOT STUDYING WHEN IT IS THIS TIME OF THE YEAR.]
"So, you've found my note and diary, hmm?" Omi looked up at the speaker, his senses
marred and starting to blur as his face turned as white as the sheets. Both of them just
stared at each other for a moment, blue meeting blue, and wariness flashed behind their
eyes. The blonde gripped the sheets and the book tightly, and his eyes broke the gaze for a
moment to glance back down at the end of the page, which had just a few squiggles of kanji
left.
[THE UNSTUDYING NAGI NAOE]
His eyes flashed back up, and he faced defiance with anger and equal defiance. The emotion
swirled around them, the air singing with the tension that clinched between then, sharp and
grating as they just stared. Then, slowly, Omi's hand strayed to the pocket where his last,
smallest set of darts were hidden, but his hand only grasped air. There were no pouch of
them, and panic began to rise in him, suffocating his senses.
Nagi saw the hand that groped for the pouch of darts that he had seen so many times,
always out to kill him. Never before, though, did time stand so still, and he didn't break
eye contact with him when he reached down, lifted one edge of the comforter, and drew out
the pouch of darts. He watched as Omi's eyes grew wide in horror, thinking of an attack,
but then startle-ment when he held it out towards him. The older's face went livid with
unspoken surprise, and both of them thought of the compromise, the spoken agreement between
the 2 companies of assassins. Memories began to squeeze past the crowded mind that Nagi had
at that moment, and Schwartz and Wei? had come to terms with the agreement, and the
unsteady compromise that all of them tried hard to contribute to and make happen.
Schuldich had taken over the Koneko No Sume Ie, and everyone had pitched in with new
suggestions, improvements, and just generally helping out with manual labor when they had
the chance or free time to visit. A steady conversation was always kep going, never on
slight topics such as their pasts and fighting, but instead on what they knew on flowers.
Debates ensued before, as he remembered, more funny than serious, and the hostility in his
eyes faded as he thought of the irony of the 2 teams, now working to support each other.
Omi thought of something in Ken's last letter to him. He remembered that he had
said something about a funny comedy debate between Crawford and Youji, staged about
something about the cattaleya, a flower in which was Youji's image flower, if he remembered
correctly. The soccer player had copied it all down as they said it, and it was surprising
how rationally funny the leader of Schwartz could get in a desperate argument. Ken even
went further and said that Aya was actually chuckling, finally some new improvement on
getting their stoic leader out of his closed up, bottle-tight shell. Ken had also said that
in the very end, when Youji won, he had seen Crawford smile. Not a sadistic smirk, but an
actual, genuine smile. That, in itself, was a gift. At least things were well back home.
Gradually the hostility faded, and Omi's eyes welled up in relief that Nagi wasn't
going to hurt him. His fingers shook as he received the leather pouch full of darts, and
took them in 2 hands, shaking. His fingers lightly brushed against Nagi's, and it occurred
to him that this boy, this teenager with brown bangs and blue eyes, was real. It wasn't an
illusion, not a dream, not some hallucination, but an actual person standing in front of
him. He was solid, not a ghost, not a figment of imagination, not just a wraith but an
actual REAL PERSON, a person familiar, a person he could run to for help, which he so
desperately needed...Uncharted, he threw himself into the younger boy's arms, feeling the
arms that supported him tense up, then relax as he realized it was just a hug. He felt the
walls inside him crack and splinter, the barriers split wide open, and the tears gushed
forth in a wave of pain, finally released. The book fell from Omi's hands, as well as the
pouch of darts onto his lap as he murmured his name, over and over until he was drunk with
it. "Nagi...Nagi...Nagi..."
Nagi didn't know what to expect when Omi threw himself at him, an attach, what...?
But the bag of darts was on top of the book, the book on his lap, which he wouldn't be able
to reach in time even if he did let go. Nagi would've gotten there first, and lifted the
pouch up high where he couldn't reach it. But the elder didn't make any move to retrieve
it, so he just let it be. He tensed up when he slammed into him, knocking him back several
steps, but then the tears came, and he turned sympathetic eyes towards the mop of blonde
hair fondly, and reached out and stroked the soft top, feeling it run through his fingers.
Tears of pain, sadness, bitterness, all of the school he had been in for the past year came
pouring out, and he just sobbed brokenly in Nagi's arms. Nagi didn't hear the knock on the
door until it opened, then he chanced a look back, and saw it was Mikhail. The Russian
mouthed to him silently that dinner was to be served soon. Nagi looked down at the crying
boy in his arms and winced a little. He mouthed back "Just a few minutes, go without me".
Mikhail shrugged, and backed out warily. Nagi obviously still intimidated everyone. After
a little while, Omi quieted, and finally lifted himself out of Nagi's arms, tired and
exhausted. He reached up a hand, and faltered as it almost touched Nagi's cheek, but
settled for the shoulder. Both just stared at each other.
Then came a strange question.
"Nagi, are you real?"
"Hai. Why?"
Omi shook his head back and forth vehemently. "Listen, Nagi."
"I'm listening."
Omi raised his head, blue eyes wide with unspoken fear for him, concerned and
anxious. "Nagi, you've got to get out of here! It's a prison!"
"Why should I do that? I can't leave you, now that I've claimed you."
Omi took the piece of information as nothing. "They do stuff here! The teachers
are too afraid to tell the police, so it goes unnoticed!" Then, on a much softer, something
akin to a hurt tone, Nagi heard Omi whisper, "Do you know what they did to me?"
Nagi tread with caution with his words. He could feel something wrong; the air was
singing with apprehension again, and he didn't like it. Slowly, letting the words roll off
his tongue languidly, he asked back, "What did they do to you, Omi?"
Omi's eyes came up, filled with sadness and something like acceptance. There were
no tears as he said the next words, and Nagi wondered where that kind of courage came from.
Those words made Nagi want to shake his head in denial, saying there was no such thing, but
that would be lying if he said so.
"They took away my virginity, Nagi. They raped me."
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \
Author's note:
Aren't I mean? I mean, what person in the right mind would do such a thing to poor
Omi? I'm such a murderer...This chapter was done rather quickly, so please excuse all the
times I didn't describe, blah blah blah. I hope Siva_chan has posted her new fanfic,
because I want to read it...
I already have the rest of my stories all planned out, some are new, some have good
describing, some don't, it depends on the story. They will all go with this storyline, one
way or the other, but I won't put them up until I'm finished here. I seem to have something
for 3 chapter stories, and that's probably what this one's gonna end up being: a 3 chapter
story just like "Let's Call It A Day".
Andrea Weiling
Sweet, sweet silence met his ears as he awakened, slowly, ever so slowly. For a
moment, he thought he could hear birds singing and smell the fragrance of flowers outside,
and he didn't want to move, almost wishing that it had been real. He inhaled softly, and
the clear air was riddled with smells so strange to his nose now, the smell of clean sheets,
unused, a touch dusty, the smell of ancient books that he could just picture in his mind,
sitting on a forgotten shelf as his hand reached up to grab one by the spine and pull it
down, flipping it open, endorsing himself in the strange world of fantasy, of fiction, of
life itself. Everything could be accessed by books, the writings of old, the history, the
terror, the joy and happiness, it could all be in just one little flop-backed book, yellow
and beyond reading. His mind slowly drifted towards sleep again, and for once he didn't
struggle, just accepted it, and slowly it claimed him, sucking him into oblivion, and he
knew no more.
He awakened again to the afternoon, his eyes opened at the first touches of
consciousness. His mind began to click the gears inside, and his mind began to work more
smoothly than it had been in the past year. His head, for once, was clear as it had been
when he was still working in the Wei?,?as the computer technician of the group/family they
were. Wei? had been his family, and he accepted it, having no family himself that he could
go to...at least, no honest family. He didn't consider the Takatoris to be his family, and
he never would again. They had abandoned him, and that was what their fault was. They
died. He lived. That was the end of that. But now, his mind turned to alert him of the
fresh, crisp surroundings that he had muddled in earlier. This certainly wasn't his room;
his room smelled like the dried blood that crusted the floor, tainted the walls, smeared
everywhere and over everything. He shivered at the thought, but he realized that however
outwardly clean it might look, he was never going into that room again. Only if he had to.
Only if it was a life or death decision, nothing else. But this room was clean, unstained
by what had happened in HIS room, and he liked it. Turning his head rather painfully to the
side, he spotted the other bed, unoccupied and still kept neatly, and the nightstand that
stood between the two. There was a book on it. Curiosity got the better of him, and he
reached out to slide it off the table-
-and immediately uttered a sharp yelp of pain as it pierced into his arm, his left
one. He let it drop down to the soft bed, and reached his right arm over it. He leaned
slightly over it, wincing, but he grasped the spine of the book and dragged it off the edge
of the table. Whoever had brought him here, dressed him gently, and put him to bed had
obviously left this here to his benefit, for there was a note attached to the top, a bright
pink sticky note that blazed back at him like some star. He blinked for a moment and stared
at it, then saw the addressee, his name. He took the note off of the black bound book and
brought it closer down to his eyes so he could read it in the fading light of the afternoon.
It said:
Omi,
Sorry I left before you woke up. I couldn't sneak anything out of the cafeteria
during breakfast, so on the other table on the other side of the bed, there's a large cup of
water with another pitcher full (don't pour it unless you know you won't drop it) and some
biscuits I brought from home. Sorry, that's all I had. The only other edibles I brought
were candy, and I didn't quite think that'd settle well on an empty stomach. The book is to
relieve boredom. If you finish this one, there's a stack in the drawer to continue reading
with. See you at the end of class, or as soon as I can return.
Your roommate
There was nothing else penned, so Omi did as he was told, and drank half the cup of water.
He propped himself up comfortably between 2 pillows, and finally was able to look at the
cover of the book. It was plain black leather, with 5 gold letters printed at the top, in
English. But Omi didn't have to know English to know what it meant; it was on another dozen
books he had seen in bookstores before. It read "Diary". The blonde picked up a biscuit,
and snuggled in the blankets before turning the first page to begin. It was worn, and there
was a dedication on the first page:
[Maybe you won't be so annoyed at me. Keep this so I can read it later. GS.]
He frowned a little at the dedication, because the initials seemed familiar, but he shrugged
it off and turned the page. It was filled with scripty, flowery kanji that was at least
legible, unlike some of the writing he had encountered before. Like Youji's, he thought
with a smile. His writing was the worst. He looked on, and realized with a puzzled start
that all the entries were addressed to him. It started off with a date, and he realized
that this was some time ago, when he hadn't joined Wei? yet, still in grade school.
[Omi,
I can't believe it! My teacher is so stupid, so incredibly dumb that words cannot
even begin to explain how idiotic she is! She purposefully tricked all of us, us poor
innocent students who have followed every rule and every project that she's had the gall to
dole out! At least, the main body of us. There are slackers in every class, including
ours, and we don't like the slackers anyways. A few weeks ago, all of us were puzzled in
the reason behind Mrs. Nagisa's abrupt stop in practically all the homework in the
classroom, encouraging us to sleep better, while all this time, she was planning something!
Well, perhaps it wasn't her who planned it in the first place, but she could have at least
warned us ahead of time!
It came as just a *little* surprise when we heard the intercom click on and the
principal's voice say, "I hope all classes are studying for your individual finals that are
due tomorrow." Needless to say, the homeroom class of 2-A was in an uproar. I was so
furious that I only vaguely realized that all the nearby tables had floating pencil boxes
and paper.
I hate her! With every fiber of my being, I HATE HER!
Finals? At the final few precious school days that we actually should be
celebrating our entering junior high? Never. I'm not studying for ANYTHING, and I mean I
don't CARE ANYMORE. I AM NOT STUDYING WHEN IT IS THIS TIME OF THE YEAR.]
"So, you've found my note and diary, hmm?" Omi looked up at the speaker, his senses
marred and starting to blur as his face turned as white as the sheets. Both of them just
stared at each other for a moment, blue meeting blue, and wariness flashed behind their
eyes. The blonde gripped the sheets and the book tightly, and his eyes broke the gaze for a
moment to glance back down at the end of the page, which had just a few squiggles of kanji
left.
[THE UNSTUDYING NAGI NAOE]
His eyes flashed back up, and he faced defiance with anger and equal defiance. The emotion
swirled around them, the air singing with the tension that clinched between then, sharp and
grating as they just stared. Then, slowly, Omi's hand strayed to the pocket where his last,
smallest set of darts were hidden, but his hand only grasped air. There were no pouch of
them, and panic began to rise in him, suffocating his senses.
Nagi saw the hand that groped for the pouch of darts that he had seen so many times,
always out to kill him. Never before, though, did time stand so still, and he didn't break
eye contact with him when he reached down, lifted one edge of the comforter, and drew out
the pouch of darts. He watched as Omi's eyes grew wide in horror, thinking of an attack,
but then startle-ment when he held it out towards him. The older's face went livid with
unspoken surprise, and both of them thought of the compromise, the spoken agreement between
the 2 companies of assassins. Memories began to squeeze past the crowded mind that Nagi had
at that moment, and Schwartz and Wei? had come to terms with the agreement, and the
unsteady compromise that all of them tried hard to contribute to and make happen.
Schuldich had taken over the Koneko No Sume Ie, and everyone had pitched in with new
suggestions, improvements, and just generally helping out with manual labor when they had
the chance or free time to visit. A steady conversation was always kep going, never on
slight topics such as their pasts and fighting, but instead on what they knew on flowers.
Debates ensued before, as he remembered, more funny than serious, and the hostility in his
eyes faded as he thought of the irony of the 2 teams, now working to support each other.
Omi thought of something in Ken's last letter to him. He remembered that he had
said something about a funny comedy debate between Crawford and Youji, staged about
something about the cattaleya, a flower in which was Youji's image flower, if he remembered
correctly. The soccer player had copied it all down as they said it, and it was surprising
how rationally funny the leader of Schwartz could get in a desperate argument. Ken even
went further and said that Aya was actually chuckling, finally some new improvement on
getting their stoic leader out of his closed up, bottle-tight shell. Ken had also said that
in the very end, when Youji won, he had seen Crawford smile. Not a sadistic smirk, but an
actual, genuine smile. That, in itself, was a gift. At least things were well back home.
Gradually the hostility faded, and Omi's eyes welled up in relief that Nagi wasn't
going to hurt him. His fingers shook as he received the leather pouch full of darts, and
took them in 2 hands, shaking. His fingers lightly brushed against Nagi's, and it occurred
to him that this boy, this teenager with brown bangs and blue eyes, was real. It wasn't an
illusion, not a dream, not some hallucination, but an actual person standing in front of
him. He was solid, not a ghost, not a figment of imagination, not just a wraith but an
actual REAL PERSON, a person familiar, a person he could run to for help, which he so
desperately needed...Uncharted, he threw himself into the younger boy's arms, feeling the
arms that supported him tense up, then relax as he realized it was just a hug. He felt the
walls inside him crack and splinter, the barriers split wide open, and the tears gushed
forth in a wave of pain, finally released. The book fell from Omi's hands, as well as the
pouch of darts onto his lap as he murmured his name, over and over until he was drunk with
it. "Nagi...Nagi...Nagi..."
Nagi didn't know what to expect when Omi threw himself at him, an attach, what...?
But the bag of darts was on top of the book, the book on his lap, which he wouldn't be able
to reach in time even if he did let go. Nagi would've gotten there first, and lifted the
pouch up high where he couldn't reach it. But the elder didn't make any move to retrieve
it, so he just let it be. He tensed up when he slammed into him, knocking him back several
steps, but then the tears came, and he turned sympathetic eyes towards the mop of blonde
hair fondly, and reached out and stroked the soft top, feeling it run through his fingers.
Tears of pain, sadness, bitterness, all of the school he had been in for the past year came
pouring out, and he just sobbed brokenly in Nagi's arms. Nagi didn't hear the knock on the
door until it opened, then he chanced a look back, and saw it was Mikhail. The Russian
mouthed to him silently that dinner was to be served soon. Nagi looked down at the crying
boy in his arms and winced a little. He mouthed back "Just a few minutes, go without me".
Mikhail shrugged, and backed out warily. Nagi obviously still intimidated everyone. After
a little while, Omi quieted, and finally lifted himself out of Nagi's arms, tired and
exhausted. He reached up a hand, and faltered as it almost touched Nagi's cheek, but
settled for the shoulder. Both just stared at each other.
Then came a strange question.
"Nagi, are you real?"
"Hai. Why?"
Omi shook his head back and forth vehemently. "Listen, Nagi."
"I'm listening."
Omi raised his head, blue eyes wide with unspoken fear for him, concerned and
anxious. "Nagi, you've got to get out of here! It's a prison!"
"Why should I do that? I can't leave you, now that I've claimed you."
Omi took the piece of information as nothing. "They do stuff here! The teachers
are too afraid to tell the police, so it goes unnoticed!" Then, on a much softer, something
akin to a hurt tone, Nagi heard Omi whisper, "Do you know what they did to me?"
Nagi tread with caution with his words. He could feel something wrong; the air was
singing with apprehension again, and he didn't like it. Slowly, letting the words roll off
his tongue languidly, he asked back, "What did they do to you, Omi?"
Omi's eyes came up, filled with sadness and something like acceptance. There were
no tears as he said the next words, and Nagi wondered where that kind of courage came from.
Those words made Nagi want to shake his head in denial, saying there was no such thing, but
that would be lying if he said so.
"They took away my virginity, Nagi. They raped me."
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \
Author's note:
Aren't I mean? I mean, what person in the right mind would do such a thing to poor
Omi? I'm such a murderer...This chapter was done rather quickly, so please excuse all the
times I didn't describe, blah blah blah. I hope Siva_chan has posted her new fanfic,
because I want to read it...
I already have the rest of my stories all planned out, some are new, some have good
describing, some don't, it depends on the story. They will all go with this storyline, one
way or the other, but I won't put them up until I'm finished here. I seem to have something
for 3 chapter stories, and that's probably what this one's gonna end up being: a 3 chapter
story just like "Let's Call It A Day".
Andrea Weiling
