He loved watching him sleep...he was so peaceful.
The serene picture he made, lying there on his bed
brought a smile to Balinese's lips...perhaps
his mother should have named him Shizuka instead
of Omi. He lay on his side, his hand resting on
his pillow next to his face...his sad face, Youji noted, his smile fading.
Golden strands of hair swayed gently, moved by
him warm breath. Balinese knelt before his
bed, and bruhed a few soft strands away from his
face. Careful not to wake him, he traced his finger
across him cheekbone...he's lost weight, he told himself, angrily.
To say Youji hated himself would be the
understatement of the year. Utterly despised,
loathed, detested--these adjectives draw us
much closer to this man's feelings toward himself.

**FLASHBACK**
"I give up," he had told him in a quiet voice.
"Excuse me?" he asked, not sure if he had heard correctly.
"I give up," he repeated, looking at the ground
in defeat as he spoke. "You keep telling me you
don't love me--I don't want to believe it, but I
guess it's true. After all, why would you lie to
me? So, I'm giving up. I release you, Youji--forever."

He couldn't move. He couldn't think. He couldn't speak.
Giving up? Why was he giving up? He can't
do that! He loved him! He needed him! But this
was what he wanted, wasn't it? Wasn't it?!

He looked up into his confused eyes, trying
to hide the tears in him own as he smiled a
very genuine and very sweet smile. "Have a nice day, Youji. You'll have a friend
in me if you ever need one."With that, he planted a warm kiss on his
cheek, and walked away.
**END FLASHBACK**

Youji's heart literally ached at the remembrance
of that sweet, sweet smile he had donned just for
him. It was like a breath of fresh air and a cold slap
in the face at the same time. The smile was what did
him in. It woke him up. It told him exactly how much Omi truly loved him.
This was the least he could do.
Reaching into his jacket, Balinese pulled out a
book. He held it hesitantly for a moment, unsure whether or not to part with it.
This is right, he told himself. He needs to know.
Careful not to wake the slumbering boy, he placed
the book and a thornless-rose on him pillow and
under him hand. Gently leaning over him, he tenderly
kissed Omi's temple--something he hadn't done in
far too long. He felt him shutter slightly under his lips,
and pulled the covers up hig him to warm him.
Before departing, he whispered in him hair, "I love
you, Omi. More than you'll ever know."

Omi moaned softly, suddenly feeling very warm
and comfortable. "Youji-kun?" he mumbled in
a state of somnambulism. Him eyes slowly openedand looked around the room.
Nothing."Must have been dreaming..." Omi spoke softly,
still half asleep. He subconsciously held the rose
that had been placed under his hand. He smiled
as it's scent gently fanned his face.
"Wait a second..." Omi forced his eyes open,
and stared at the rose and the book, not fully
comprehending what they were for a momentor two. He sat up quickly.
"Youji?" he asked, looking around for
the older man. He clutched the rose as he
stumbled to his open window. Looking outside
hopefully, he was disappointed to be met only
by the gaze of the moon...nothing else.
"Youji-kun..." he whispered brokenly. The tears
he cried weren't the first ones he'd cried today--he had
wept a good portion of the evening after his encounter
with Youji. His head told him to move on...get
over him...get a life...get a new guy. But his heart urged him to never give up.
Today had been the first day he had listened to his
head instead of his heart, and it hurt like nothing he had ever felt before.
"I release you, Youji--forever."
The words played over and over in his head. Part of
him hated himself for saying them, but part of him told
him it was for the best. Wiping away hot tears, the
tired Omi returned to his bed, and once again spotted
the book on his pillow. In his rush to the window, he
hadn't really paid much attention to it.
What was it anyway? It was definitely from Youji,
he was sure of that. Who, but him would climb into his
bedroom leaving roses? Omi scowled, hoping the book
wasn't something harsh--like "How To Get Over Your
Boyfriend," or "Ten Steps To Overcoming Infatuation."
He picked it up from his pillow and ran his fingers
down the front, admiring the craftsmanship. The book
was leather--the expensive kind-- its musky smell
drifted up to Omi and he breathed deep of it.
Turning on a lamp beside him bed, Omi squinted to
read the text printed on the cover. A confused look
came over him features as him fingers traced the goldletters on the front.
Dream Journal. Dream Journal? Omi wondered. Why would he
give me this? Maybe it wasn't from Youji
after all. Opening the front cover, and glancing
over the handwritten pages struck that idea. It was
clearly Youji's handwriting. Still openly confused,
Omi opened the book, hoping to figure out what he was up to.
The inscription on the inside cover was transcribed
in a loving and controlled penmanship...the writing
of a teacher, or close friend.
It read: "July 16th, 1988. To my favourite
little boy. Sweet dreams, Youji, and don't forget me."

No name followed the inscription, sparking
curiosity in Omi. He turned to the first page,
his gaze falling upon the first journal entry. Thime
he found the careful scribblings of a child's first
attempts at hiragana.
"My mom said my dreams are the
key to my soul--what that means, I can't say. Maybe one day, I'll
understand, but until that day, this journal will be my new best friend."

The journal entries went on to describe a typical
child's dreams. Of carefree adventures through
mysterious lands and dangerous extremes. Of
dragons and knights. Of super heroes and
damsels in distress. Of distant lands where
nobody ever died...especially parents.
Even though the entries where clearly written
by the hand of a little boy, Omi was startled
at the maturity reflected in the words he read.
More so, he was startled by the image of
sadness and unsatisfaction with life that arose
from Youji's journal. Brief mentions of his
life at the orphanage were made here and there,
and the portrayal given of Youji's early "home"
(if that's what you could call it) made anger rise in
Omi's heart...followed shortly by compassion.
Had it really been so hard on him? Had he always
carried this air of sadness? Poor thing...
The entries continued. Youji's words matured
as he grew, and Omi could almost hear the
coldness in his voice. He no longer spoke of
adventures, or of a brighter future. It seems that
those dreams had been crushed. The young boy
had cratered. His nights were practically dreamless
now, thus not many entries had been recorded
during this time. But the dreams that were
recorded, however, could hardly be called dreams.
Never in his life had Omi experienced the type of
nightmares described in this simple leather bound
book. He prayed fervently that he never would.
Tears fell unnoticed from his eyes as he read
through every horrific detail during a very dark period of Youji's life.
But one entry fell in stark contrast with the others.

"An angel visited me tonight-- or maybe he was a prince.
His beauty was beyond words, but somehow I could see his face.
I couldn't seem to focus on his features, like his identity was
being hidden from me. He stayed with me for a long time, stroking
my hair. Before he left he kissed my forehead and whispered,
'Everything is going to be all right, Youji-kun. I'm here now.' He
called me 'Youji-kun'...as if we were lovers? Who is this
boy? And if he's really 'here now', then why do I still feel alone?"

Omi's fingers traced over the hastily written
words, which contained the most emotion
Youji had revealed in his journal as of yet.
He had dreamed of him. Of Omi.
He remembered him mentioning the dreams
before their... break up, but hadn't
remembered the exchange until now. What a surprising revelation.
The entries continued, and the coldness in Youji's voice vanished only when he
spoke of his angel, whom he called "Koibito."
He'd grown to cherish the boy who graced him
in his dreams...perhaps he even loved him. But
affections could only run so far with a figment
of his imagination...a fact that made the growing
man increasingly bitter. Wasn't there anyone out there who could love him?

Omi smiled through his tears at the first
mentions of Asuka, and surprisingly--of
himself. Was it Omi's imagination, or did the entries reflect
amusement rather than aggravation with him?
Confusion entered Youji's entries soon
after. His koibito appeared to him now in
tears, begging for his love. He asked him over and over
why he didn't remember him, confusing the young
man beyond words. He admitted openly in
the journal that he felt like a piece of him was missing. Indeed, it was.
Omi was in his journal several times over the
next few days. Frustrations had arisen in Youji
when he felt attracted to him, but felt bound to the
man in his dreams who cried out for him
endlessly. He was torn between two men...only
to find out soon that they were in actuality the same person.
The coldness in his words seemed to fade a bit after
he found this out. He had someone
who cared for him now, and Youji didn't fail to
articulate exactly how much he loved Omi, his
koibito. His nights were now spent dreaming of
him, and of their future. He had hope for a future now. But then things changed.

"How can I be so selfish? Omi just found out about his family today. I don't want him to cry.. I want to hold him and protect him.... but... I can't ask him to stay. He doesn't need me like I need him. He needs a family... "

That was the last journal entry.
Omi closed the book slowly. He finally had his answer.-----

He loved watching him sleep. Wavy strands of
hair fell over Youji's eyes, hiding them from
him loving gaze. Bombay knelt before him,
and bruhed a few silky strands away from hisface.
He pulled out a book...a special book a certain
black attired man had given him. He hesitated briefly,
running his fingers once more over the smooth
leather covers that practically contained Youji'slife.
Careful not to wake him, he placed the book
and a white rose with a ribbon
tied around it on his pillow. Gently leaning over
him, he tenderly kissed Youji's temple--
something he hadn't done in far too long. He
felt him shutter slightly under him lips, and pulled
the covers up higher to warm him.Before departing, he whispered in his hair, "I
love you, Youji-kun. I'll never give up."
Youji's eyes opened to see his curtains
swaying slightly from the breeze that issued
in from the open window. Funny, he didn't remember leaving that window open...
He smiled when he saw the book and the rose. He knew now. Sitting up in his bed,
Youji picked up the book and pressed the rose between its pages so that he could
keep it forever. He placed the book under
his pillow, where he had kept it for 11 years...
ever since his mother had given it to him.
After a second thought, he retrieved the book from under the pillow, and opened
up to the last entry. It was time for a new one.
Sitting back against his pillow, he began to
write. The words had no bitterness, or coldness. Only love.

"An angel visited me tonight-- or maybe he was a prince..."