Ken sighed as he watered the flowers. It was seven-fifty. The shop would open in ten minutes. He'd be buried under
a deluge of wide-eyed teenagers. Aya, calm as ever, was carefully arranging his precious
and very expensive ikebana. Yohji was sitting at the table in the back, doing the bookkeeping. Omi smiled as
he tossed together bright bouquets of fresh wildflowers. And Ken sprayed the roses, his hand shaking slightly
with dread.
Really, why couldn't more of them have crushes on Omi instead? At least he was their age. Casting a glance at him,
Ken couldn't guess why any girl wouldn't fawn all over him. He was easily the most accessible and friendly
member of Weiss. With that unruly blond mop and backwards hat, he was the picture of innocence.
Of course, Omi was far from innocent. They all were.
Ken shrugged at the roses and continued to water them. "You know what I mean?" he asked them, not really
expecting an answer.
"No, what do you mean, Ken-kun?"
Ken jumped about a foot in the air and dropped the spritzer bottle. The contents spilled on the floor.
Trying not to catch Aya's steely glare, he grabbed the nearby mop and wiped the fertilizer-water mixture from
the tile before it began to stink too much. "Just talking to the roses, Omi. They like it a lot, you know." He smiled.
Omi laughed, a high, musical sound to Ken's ears. "Of course! Everyone knows that!" He lowered his voice a bit.
"Even Aya-kun mutters at his ikebana. He thinks no one notices, but I hear him." He grinned at Ken, blowing
away the rain cloud that had been hovering over his head for the past half-hour.
"Omi, Ken. Get to your stations. We're opening." Aya's baritone voice penetrated the air like one of Omi's arrows.
Omi hopped over to his area and Ken picked up the fallen bottle. Steeling himself for the entourage of the many girls,
he finished spraying the roses and moved on to chrysanthemums.
Yohji unlocked the door and was practically bowled over by the usual crowd of teenage gawkers. He just suavely
brushed the dust off his black shirt and enjoyed the attention a good dozen girls were all too happy to give. "Now,
all of you girls who are over 18."
Ken stopped listening there because he too was surrounded by a crowd of very attractive girls. They all wore
similar uniforms and had hiked their skirts up to varying heights. He could smell the hairspray-he could always
tell who had spent time on their hair and makeup. Some girls went to the length of false eyelashes and great deals
of blush. Ken didn't really go for that type. They looked they just stepped off the cover of a magazine. Not fresh or
sweet. They didn't really interest Ken.
None of these girls interested Ken.
Girls didn't interest Ken.
It wasn't that he didn't like them. He certainly enjoyed their company. Some of his best friends in high school,
before he dropped out, were the girls on the female soccer team. They were stimulating conversation. He'd gotten
into countless arguments over the best brand of cleats and the best way for a goalie to catch a ball with one very
kind black-haired girl.
He smiled, thinking of Kyoko. She'd been his friend for a long time, since elementary school. Since he left to play for
J-League, they found it harder to stay in touch, and when he was thrown out, he lost all contact whatsoever with her.
"I really should call her," he said to no one in particular.
One of the girls squealed. "Ken-kun's going to call me!" It was just then that he realized that, while being lost in his
own head, one of the girls had slipped her phone number towards him.
Ken paled, then blushed. "No, Sakuya, I, um." He looked at her. She looked back at him with shining, hopeful eyes.
"I mean, uh." He sweatdropped. "What time will you be home?"
~*~
Ken set the phone in its cradle. Glaring at it, he hoped to set it on fire. Alas, he had no such luck.
He hoped he'd never have to make a call like that again. It had been awful. Painful was a better word to describe it.
First he'd talked to Sakuya's parents, who had been extremely curious as to why a twenty-year-old man was
calling their daughter. Ken tried to keep his voice calm as he explained to the very obviously worried mother that he
was merely her friend. But the mother would hear none of this. Finally he sighed and asked to speak with Sakuya.
Begrudgingly, the mother agreed, but the conversation with Sakuya was extremely uncomfortable and after about fifteen
seconds of silence Ken made up an excuse to leave-Omi needed his help in the kitchen. Omi, who had happened to
walk into the living room when Ken said this, had to stifle giggles as Ken apologized to Sakuya for leaving so soon and
hung up.
"You know, Ken-kun, lying doesn't solve any problems. It just creates more," Omi said sagely in between fits of laughter.
"Besides, why would I want your help in the kitchen? Everyone knows I'm a better cook than you." He smiled, and Ken
caught a slight twinkle in Omi's earnest blue eyes.
"Only because no one will give me a chance! That fire only happened once.and the fish was still edible." Ken vividly
remembered the kitchen after he'd tried to cook dinner for the other three. "But I guess the noodles were ruined."
"Ken-kun, they were black and when you threw them out they scattered ash on the floor." Omi went to the kitchen.
"Oi, you want anything?"
"Hm.apple juice would be good." He lay along the couch with his feet on a blue pillow. Relaxing completely, he felt
the vertebrae in his back creak in several places. He groaned. It felt painful, but the cracking released tension as well.
"Erg.ooh."
"Make yourself comfortable, Ken-kun." Omi chuckled as he set Ken's juice on the table-under a coaster, of course-and
plopped into the beige La-Z-Boy to the right of Ken's head.
"I should think I would. After all, it is my house."
"Actually, it's Aya-kun's, seeing as how he does all of the work. I think he's dusting in our bedrooms right now."
Omi sipped his Juicy-Juice.
Ken stared disbelievingly for a second, then leapt up from the couch, spilling his juice all over the fine Corinthian leather.
"Aw, shit.Aya's gonna kill me.whatever, Omi, I gotta go, can you take care of this for me?" Without waiting for an
answer, Ken dashed up the stairs, muttering to himself.
Omi watched him go, then got some paper towels and began to clean up the couch. *Urk.Aya-kun won't be very
happy.but I guess that's our Ken-kun.charmingly klutzy.* Omi lingered on that thought for a second, smiling lightly,
and continued the pointless task of attempting to clean the sofa. Stains stuck out so nastily on the white cushion.
~*~
a deluge of wide-eyed teenagers. Aya, calm as ever, was carefully arranging his precious
and very expensive ikebana. Yohji was sitting at the table in the back, doing the bookkeeping. Omi smiled as
he tossed together bright bouquets of fresh wildflowers. And Ken sprayed the roses, his hand shaking slightly
with dread.
Really, why couldn't more of them have crushes on Omi instead? At least he was their age. Casting a glance at him,
Ken couldn't guess why any girl wouldn't fawn all over him. He was easily the most accessible and friendly
member of Weiss. With that unruly blond mop and backwards hat, he was the picture of innocence.
Of course, Omi was far from innocent. They all were.
Ken shrugged at the roses and continued to water them. "You know what I mean?" he asked them, not really
expecting an answer.
"No, what do you mean, Ken-kun?"
Ken jumped about a foot in the air and dropped the spritzer bottle. The contents spilled on the floor.
Trying not to catch Aya's steely glare, he grabbed the nearby mop and wiped the fertilizer-water mixture from
the tile before it began to stink too much. "Just talking to the roses, Omi. They like it a lot, you know." He smiled.
Omi laughed, a high, musical sound to Ken's ears. "Of course! Everyone knows that!" He lowered his voice a bit.
"Even Aya-kun mutters at his ikebana. He thinks no one notices, but I hear him." He grinned at Ken, blowing
away the rain cloud that had been hovering over his head for the past half-hour.
"Omi, Ken. Get to your stations. We're opening." Aya's baritone voice penetrated the air like one of Omi's arrows.
Omi hopped over to his area and Ken picked up the fallen bottle. Steeling himself for the entourage of the many girls,
he finished spraying the roses and moved on to chrysanthemums.
Yohji unlocked the door and was practically bowled over by the usual crowd of teenage gawkers. He just suavely
brushed the dust off his black shirt and enjoyed the attention a good dozen girls were all too happy to give. "Now,
all of you girls who are over 18."
Ken stopped listening there because he too was surrounded by a crowd of very attractive girls. They all wore
similar uniforms and had hiked their skirts up to varying heights. He could smell the hairspray-he could always
tell who had spent time on their hair and makeup. Some girls went to the length of false eyelashes and great deals
of blush. Ken didn't really go for that type. They looked they just stepped off the cover of a magazine. Not fresh or
sweet. They didn't really interest Ken.
None of these girls interested Ken.
Girls didn't interest Ken.
It wasn't that he didn't like them. He certainly enjoyed their company. Some of his best friends in high school,
before he dropped out, were the girls on the female soccer team. They were stimulating conversation. He'd gotten
into countless arguments over the best brand of cleats and the best way for a goalie to catch a ball with one very
kind black-haired girl.
He smiled, thinking of Kyoko. She'd been his friend for a long time, since elementary school. Since he left to play for
J-League, they found it harder to stay in touch, and when he was thrown out, he lost all contact whatsoever with her.
"I really should call her," he said to no one in particular.
One of the girls squealed. "Ken-kun's going to call me!" It was just then that he realized that, while being lost in his
own head, one of the girls had slipped her phone number towards him.
Ken paled, then blushed. "No, Sakuya, I, um." He looked at her. She looked back at him with shining, hopeful eyes.
"I mean, uh." He sweatdropped. "What time will you be home?"
~*~
Ken set the phone in its cradle. Glaring at it, he hoped to set it on fire. Alas, he had no such luck.
He hoped he'd never have to make a call like that again. It had been awful. Painful was a better word to describe it.
First he'd talked to Sakuya's parents, who had been extremely curious as to why a twenty-year-old man was
calling their daughter. Ken tried to keep his voice calm as he explained to the very obviously worried mother that he
was merely her friend. But the mother would hear none of this. Finally he sighed and asked to speak with Sakuya.
Begrudgingly, the mother agreed, but the conversation with Sakuya was extremely uncomfortable and after about fifteen
seconds of silence Ken made up an excuse to leave-Omi needed his help in the kitchen. Omi, who had happened to
walk into the living room when Ken said this, had to stifle giggles as Ken apologized to Sakuya for leaving so soon and
hung up.
"You know, Ken-kun, lying doesn't solve any problems. It just creates more," Omi said sagely in between fits of laughter.
"Besides, why would I want your help in the kitchen? Everyone knows I'm a better cook than you." He smiled, and Ken
caught a slight twinkle in Omi's earnest blue eyes.
"Only because no one will give me a chance! That fire only happened once.and the fish was still edible." Ken vividly
remembered the kitchen after he'd tried to cook dinner for the other three. "But I guess the noodles were ruined."
"Ken-kun, they were black and when you threw them out they scattered ash on the floor." Omi went to the kitchen.
"Oi, you want anything?"
"Hm.apple juice would be good." He lay along the couch with his feet on a blue pillow. Relaxing completely, he felt
the vertebrae in his back creak in several places. He groaned. It felt painful, but the cracking released tension as well.
"Erg.ooh."
"Make yourself comfortable, Ken-kun." Omi chuckled as he set Ken's juice on the table-under a coaster, of course-and
plopped into the beige La-Z-Boy to the right of Ken's head.
"I should think I would. After all, it is my house."
"Actually, it's Aya-kun's, seeing as how he does all of the work. I think he's dusting in our bedrooms right now."
Omi sipped his Juicy-Juice.
Ken stared disbelievingly for a second, then leapt up from the couch, spilling his juice all over the fine Corinthian leather.
"Aw, shit.Aya's gonna kill me.whatever, Omi, I gotta go, can you take care of this for me?" Without waiting for an
answer, Ken dashed up the stairs, muttering to himself.
Omi watched him go, then got some paper towels and began to clean up the couch. *Urk.Aya-kun won't be very
happy.but I guess that's our Ken-kun.charmingly klutzy.* Omi lingered on that thought for a second, smiling lightly,
and continued the pointless task of attempting to clean the sofa. Stains stuck out so nastily on the white cushion.
~*~