Ch. 3: 3 days of heaven

Omi,

Is it just me, or are you happier these past few days? Today, you insisted you
wanted to go to class, and I let you go. But just as a precaution, I asked Mikhail to keep
an eye out for you, whatever classes he has with you or the classes his Claimed has with
you. It is early into class this morning, and as I write this, the class is quiet, only the
sounds of pen and pencil scratching is heard. Even the teacher is silent as we copy down
the notes. But I will take some time to write a bit. I know you will be reading this soon,
since you have done nothing but read in these past few days, bedridden. You have asked me
for all the volumes, and all of them, all 12 of them, are piled by your desk. I almost
laughed out loud when you offered to type them up for me. No, Omi, that will not be
necessary. I don't need my diary entries typed. Somehow, I feel that makes them
unauthentic, because anyone could write that. But in my own handwriting, I feel that it is
more right, more...true to be me.

It has been 3 days since I came here, claimed you, and you moved in with me in my
assigned bedroom. I don't think the teachers needed any more persuading than I gave them to
let you have the other bed in the classroom. The thing is, the teachers are so scared of
me already because I beat Them up. I guess the others are afraid of something in the past,
something to do with Them. But whatever it is, I don't think it is worse than having to be
an assassin and kill other people. Nothing is worse than that, in my opinion. How did I
ever come to be in Schwartz, anyways? I certainly didn't deserve such a fate.

But to describe these past few days' routine, it is easy. I wake up earlier than
you, make sure that you're still sleeping, and go to the cafeteria. I am always one of the
first ones there, so I get first pick. The shrively-old looking lunch lady has now learned
better than to say 'no' to giving me an extra portion of breakfast. I brought one up for
you every morning, because by then everyone was awake, and in the halls and shouting. That
meant you were awake as well. I know that assassins are paid to be light sleepers. As I
watched you in the morning, your eyes would always light up in that same fashion, that
brightness that just warmed my heart. But unlike the times before, you didn't talk as much.
Your eyes held this...wariness and vagueness that it didn't have before. Those eyes could
freeze me, and I couldn't help but do what you wanted, no matter what the situation. I
found myself smiling sometimes when I saw you munch away at your food, and always was
mesmerized when the sun shooting its rays through your hair, making it seem more brilliant
than it already was...

Wait. Was I actually romantic there?

That's not the worse, though. The worst is when I change your bandages. I can't
help my quivering hands or the fact that my blood rises to my (yes, I know) unnaturally pale
cheeks (not as pale as Aya/Ran's). It's so uncanny, as my hands shake, and I have to hide
my burning face from you by looking down. No, I can't resist. Last morning, when you
gently touched my shoulder and asked me what was wrong, I could only look down and mutter,
"Nothing." Secretly, I hoped that you thought it was just a mannerism for me, and thought
that I usually didn't bandage up other people. I knew that probably, if this had been the
past, you would have smiled and chatted as the other people of Wei? changed your bandages,
but now you just sit on the edge of the bed, solemn and unspeaking and unsmiling, and I
can't help but worry about this state of emotional health. What is this feeling, this
feeling that makes me flush and stutter at your single-most touch, and fall hopelessly...
wait, did I just write "fall"?

Oh, Omi. You and that angelic self that you are. Have I fallen in love with you?

It must be a new entry for the Guiness Book of Records: a stoic, cold-hearted young
man falling for a now-equally silent teenager who used to talk and smile? It's impossible,
but somehow that has become the gist of this story, the story of my life. But if I had to
describe these past few days, I would have described in just 6 words: 3 days of heaven on
Earth.

As he closed the leather-bound book, he heard something shuffling behind him.
Instincts kicked in, and he turned his head back a little to see the boy behind him
organizing the papers on his desk. Nothing special, until he kept on watching and the boy
lifted his head to look at him. In an instant, Nagi knew that something was going to
happen, if not had happened already. It was the look that told him that something was
wrong, that he was going to experience something he didn't quite want to experience. The
look, even though it had come from one of Their Claimed, it showed a warning of upcoming
danger. That was bad. The gaze broke, and the boy looked down at his papers. In an
instant, making sure that he saw, the boy behind him purposefully tipped a slip of paper
over the edge of his desk to land near his foot. He glanced a bit suspiciously back at the
boy, who did not reply nor turn his head up to meet his eyes. He reached down and picked up
the note. The message was simple.

Do not expect to see your Claim by the end of class, Nagi.

Fear gripped him, but as he looked back again, the whining bell rang, signaling the end of
class. For a moment he just sat there, deliberating what to do, when he thought he might be
able to pick up something from the messenger. The boy was just picking up his backpack,
but as Nagi peered into his face, he realized that the abashed face above him was saying
something: "I'm sorry". The boy then shuffled to the door in a curious, humbling way, not
looking back to see if he had caught the message. At the door, the large bulky for of the
leader of Them blocked the doorway, and the older boy grappled the boy's thin shoulders
roughly. Nagi watched in sick disgust as the boy was forced to sit down in the closest
chair, while the member of Them leaned down and whispered something in his ear in a caring
way. The boy shuddered. Slowly the boy registered the question, and nodded. The older boy
smiled wanly, and locked eyes with Nagi for a moment before he prodded the Claim out of
class and He walk out the door. Nagi stared in rapid fascination for a moment, then reality
and realization struck him at the same time, and he dashed out the door.

As he skidded down the hall, weaving a mind-boggling path through students and
teachers and books and paper-filled bags, his thoughts whirled close the edge of panic. A
scream that echoed through the hall, demanding many of the student's attentions. But it was
not swayed, and for a moment Nagi wanted to scream at them "What's wrong! Aren't you
concerned?" But the didn't do anything, just went about their business. It was like it was
everyday occurrence, and for a moment, Nagi realized that it just might be a regular
occurrence, So many question, starting with "What if...?" ranted through his head, carving
a path of confusion, making his thoughts jumble up. In an attempt to clear out his mind, a
voice spoke into his mind, telling him what to do. If I get there before class is out, I
might be able to save Omi from whatever they have in store for them. At this thought, his
feet moved a little quicker, but it seemed that the students were blocking him, barring him
from entrance. In a frustrated attempt to clear the lot of them, he raised the air currents
to sweep them off his feet. Soon the hallway was crowded with floating students, lifted
kicking and screaming in the air. Nagi lifted them up to a good height to where he could
walk under them, and scampered under them in a frenzied rush. He hooked his hand around
the corner of the next turn in the hallway, and opened the door to Omi's homeroom at the
same time.

The scene made him freeze momentarily.

Omi was held, crushed, against the wall's far corner, away from the door as bodies
were pushed against him to make sure he didn't struggle. For once in a long time, he was
struggling, even though he knew it was futile. Nagi's anger burned stronger than ever as he
heard the strangled voice cry out his name in between syllables of 'help'. He was
obviously half-conscious at this time, but Nagi felt a pang of guilt for not coming sooner.
As he looked around, he realized that Omi had obviously done his own share of damage
beforehand already. Several classmates were struggling against the darts that pinned them
in place, with no avail. The brunette knew those would hold, and the only way to get them
out was to ask Omi or to rip your clothes. Still other classmates were lying comatose on
the floor, in the clear area that had been once occupied by the teacher's desk. The burdens
ome desk had been shoved to one side, and pinned to the wall was Mikhail, tawny brown hair
hiding his eyes, blue eyes fixed on moving the desk from shoving him against the wall any
longer. A small stream of blood trickled from his upper lip, and he sported several bruises
in random places, already starting to turn black. Another scream sliced the air, cutting
through sound, and turning his attention to the corner once again. Nagi almost screamed
himself as Zuranpic latched his fingers on the waistband of Omi's pants and began to tug
them down-

-and the last straw broke in Nagi's memory, the last barriet that held back his
powers was broken. Raw energy, the energy he had been storing for so long finally burst out
of him, uncontrolled except for his hands that gripped the wind tightly in both hands from
the open window, making it bend to his will of power. It twisted and turned, trying to
escape, but Nagi held fast, and soon made it do what he wanted it to do. It lifted desks
off of shivering, shaking students that had been hiding under the desks, and sent pencils
sharpening towards Them. As his eyes saw a sheen of red, the older boys just barely ducked
out the way of a barrage of randomly flying objects. As They scattered, he threw another
barrage at them, this time pinning most to the walls with scissors, jauntily thrown pencils
and books that dented the walls, and desks that crashed into the whitewashed walls and made
permanent cracks as they jutted right through the walls and hung many feet above the ground.
They just stood, shakily, their legs against the wall and their hands pressed against the
cold floor, so icy.

Cold, and hard. Just like his resolve.

He lifted his hand, just as a soft, timid one touched his arm. He turned his eyes
to look at the person, his demeanor still like an animal, uncontrollable and unpredictable.
But the eyes he met froze him, large and blue, and slowly something went between their
eyes, an unspoken message. Nagi lowered his hand, and the color came back to his cheeks,
and his eyes went back to their normal blank façade. Omi sighed relief, but when met with
Nagi's questioning eyes, all he said was, "I don't want another death on my hands."

"Are you hurt?", Nagi threw the boys haphazardly out of the door and looked at Omi.
The older shook his head and pointed the poor Russian pinned to the wall. "Mikhail first,
Momma Nagi." When Nagi mentally began to protest, Omi just smiled at the look of mock-tense
in his eyes and stood back. The teacher was taken from her sanctuary (screaming her lungs
off) and flung out the door. The desk itself moved itself 2 feet away. Omi and Nagi both
caught the oldest boy as he fell, and laid him on the desk. Mikhail sat himself up and
looked purposefully at Nagi, thoughtfully for a moment, then spoke.

"Knew you were different when I first saw you."

"Damn right I ain't."

Nagi looked intently at Mikhail for a moment after saying his part, then all 3 burst
out in chuckles. They hobbled their way to the nurse's office, pushed several already
injured boys (courtesy of Nagi) out of their way, and settled on the cots. Even against
Omi's protests, he got a cot, and Nagi left them to their own premises, and hoped that
nothing would happen like this again. He had been out of control for that few seconds that
They were attacked, and he didn't want to lose that sanity just yet. As Omi said, he didn't
want another death on his hands.

* * *

No one saw the small shuffling figure as he exited the classroom, holding a thick
leather-bound book in his hand. Gold letters flashed in the sun, and the number 13 was
imprinted on the spine. As he rounded the corner, he clutched the book to his chest to
prevent it from getting damaged on the floor. A large, chubby hand reached out and grabbed
his shoulder. Immediately panic seized him, but then saw a large face swimming above him,
and relaxed about 3 hairs. The boy was shoved against the wall, and held at swordpoint (not
literally!) and questioned.

"Did you get it?"

The boy hesitantly held out the book. The hand holding him snatched it, and the boy
did the best to slink away. But before he did, a hand grabbed the back of his collar, and
he was pulled back. Hot, smelly breath was pounded at his face, and his stomach revolted
with nausea. He dared not move a muscle as the smirking face bore down on him. "Good job",
it said, and he turned his face away as Zuranpic gently ran his hands up his thin thighs.
Then he was gone, and knocked to the ground. He watched the bulky figure leave him in the
dust, and cursed himself for shuffling the note.

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Author's note:

Finally, another chapter done. I was going to make this chapter longer, but I guess
not. I put the rest in the next chapter. Enjoy, minna. Now, I have to study for my
Chinese finals, so please be patient. I am sorry this chapter is so long, but dwell on this
one, because I won't be writing for a little while.

Andrea Weiling