"Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast"
by Lachesis Fatali
Look, I can write pointless fluff too! And it's not just pointless fluff, it's pointless, Weiss Kreuz, *Christmas* fluff. Dedicated to Kira, because she's the one who coerced (::ahem:: threatened) me into writing this. Enjoy.
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"Why, I've seen as many as six impossible things before breakfast!"
-Lewis Carroll, "Through the Looking Glass"
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It was warm.
That was the first thing he noticed. The warmth hung about him like a hazy sense of well being, the kind of fairy-tale contentment you feel at the words "And they lived happily ever after" before drifting off to sleep. The blond-gold head beneath the massive covers of the bed stirred, blinking blearily at it's surroundings for a few moments before consciousness called it quits, and he burrowed back under the covers, a dreamy smile of contentment on his face. There was nothing quite like the feeling of waking on a cold December morning surrounded by layers of quilted blanket, with the radiator by your bedside engulfing the room in waves of almost liquid warmth-
Quite suddenly the head shot of again, and by the puzzled and acutely awake expression on its face, was most likely there to stay. Ignoring the "bobble" of the nightcap that dangled over his face, Omi reached out quizzically and placed a hand on the ancient metal radiator... only to draw it back a second later with a small yelp, cradling his scorched fingers in his unwounded hand. And then he grinned.
"I don't believe it," he murmured, completely to himself. "Impossible."
The flower shop, as a whole, was remarkably resistant to change. When they had first moved into the quaint, somewhat old-fashioned building, Kritiker had outfitted it with some of the latest technological advancements: infer-red security, the cable link-up to Persia, Omi's custom-designed computer. But some of the very basic systems of the old building had been left intact, much to the dismay and annoyance of its inhabitants. Water pressure in the shower was deceptively strong, until someone downstairs turned on the washer or a hose to water the flowers, at which point it slowed to a trickle at best. The plumbing always knew the most advantageous point of time to spring a leak. And Omi's personal opinion was that the electrical wiring could have possibly been installed by a colorblind three-year-old.
But the crowning glory of these technological disasters was the building's old water-heater. It was a massive machine, large, round, and squat, probably weighing close to a small elephant holding a sports car. Even Omi had been baffled at the system of pipes and tubes that connected to it, and had prayed to God that the old behemoth would remain in working condition. With no such luck. With a stutter and a cough, the thing had given out around the end of October, and the flower shop was plunged into bitter cold. Great for the electric bill: they no longer needed to run the refrigeration system to keep the flowers fresh. But bad for the workers who tended those flowers.
Aya, not one overly fond of spending money, never even had a chance to start his "Important funds, not to be wasted on trivialities speech" when Yohji had volunteered to fix it. He had explained, in his lilting tone with a cursory wave of his cigarette, that the building he had worked in as a PI had the same problem with it's heating, and give him a few days or so and he'd have this one fixed up, good as new.
That had been two months ago, give or take "a few days". And all attempts to talk Aya into hiring someone to come in and take a look at it had ended in rather noncommittal glares. Cold did not seem to bother the redhead, who existed solely upon his own sullen, internal energy. Nor, unfortunately, did the sudden climate change reach Yohji, who persisted to wear his crop tops around the house, answering Omi and Ken's complaints about the cold nights with lewd comments about getting a few girls to warm them up. And when all else failed, an attempt to fix the heater themselves had ended only in scalded fingers and bruised egos. So all the two youngest Weiss members could do was glare, and mutter to themselves as they added several extra covers to their beds.
Covers, which now, were almost too warm. Omi smiled blissfully, kicking off the top layer of blankets with relief. Well, he'd lost the bet with Ken (he had assumed the stupid old thing would *never* get fixed) but right then, he hardly cared. They had heat. Warm, miraculous, heat. They should celebrate or something. Close shop and declare it a holiday. First glancing at the clock (6:30; about normal wake-up time), Omi reached over the various paraphernalia on his night table to the small desk calendar, grabbing a random pen to mark the day as the first time in months he had woken up comfortably warm. Then, he paused, staring at the small rip-off-a-day date. December 25. Underneath which, written in smaller letters, was a quote.
"Why, I've seen as many as six impossible things before breakfast," he read to himself, sighing. Christmas. Usually synonymous with happiness, good cheer, and hope. For florists, it was more like hell in a handbasket. Literally. Like all major holidays, whenever someone forgot to buy a gift for someone else, their thought process defaulted to one thing: flowers. Easy, cheap, versatile, they were the perfect last minute gift for almost anyone. Which meant as soon as the store opened, they would be swamped with businessmen and boyfriends, husbands and schoolgirls. Granted, they closed early, but after the horrible morning rush, even Omi was usually too tired to do anything in the way of celebrating, instead shuffling into to his freezing cold bed and wearily drifting off to sleep.
Well, at least it wouldn't be freezing cold anymore. But that still didn't take away from the air of doom that seemed to surround the day. Omi glanced down at the scrap of paper again, eyes lingering on the quote. Or maybe... the repair of the hot-water heater was a good omen. Maybe this Christmas was destined for great things. Impossible things. He glanced idly out the window, blissfully lost in daydreams. Maybe-
It was snowing.
He blinked, and stared outside again. This was wrong. All wrong. First, he had awakened warm. And now it was snowing. On Christmas morning. In Tokyo. It *never* snowed in Tokyo. Granted, temperatures went down far below freezing, and the mass inhabitants of the large city shivered fitfully October through February, but it didn't *snow*. At least not real snow, like the large, fluffy flakes that were currently spiraling down from the sky, coating everything outside in a faint sheen of silver. It was almost like one of those foreign Christmas specials, with the thick (obviously fake) cotton flakes, covering the ground in a soft, inviting blanket. He couldn't remember the last time it had snowed at all, let along on Christmas morning. It was impossible.
Slowly, a smile spread over his face, as he glanced over at his clock again. That was *two* impossible things before breakfast.
All he needed was four more.
It was the work of a moment for him to shed his flannel pajamas and, after a brief struggle with the drawers of his dresser, pull on a mismatched but comfortably broken in pair of clothes. Thanks to the newly resurrected water-heater (and the addition of his corduroy pants), the toasty, hazy feeling of warmth he had awakened to stayed with him as he made his way down the stairs into the flower shop, fully expecting to be berated for coming down so late on one of the busiest days of the year (save Valentines... god, he didn't even want to think about that right now. So he prepared himself to leap headfirst into the flurry of work, bounding down the last few steps while still attempting to tie a bow in his work apron, when he was greeted with an empty shop.
Not for the first time that day, he blinked uncertainly.
The empty was amended to an "almost empty" in his mind when he caught sight of Aya-chan busily taking down his painstakingly placed decorations in the shop, her blue hair tied back into a practical braid. Though none of the other flower shop employs (well, except Aya-chan now) had ever really been into celebrating Christmas, Omi usually decorated the shop anyway, justifying it to Aya as pleasing the customers. He did so each year with determined enthusiasm, though most of the available decorations were tawdry, synthetics things, like plastic wreaths that looked like demented pipe cleaners or yards of fake garland which shed their needles all over the shop. The be-damned Christmas lighting took nearly all his technological skills to keep in working order. And even Omi had to admit it didn't look very festive: it just made a lot of extra work for them.
But that still didn't explain why Aya-chan was taking them down. Or, for that matter, why there was no one else in the shop. Or why it was snowing. Or why Yohji finally got off his ass and fixed the water heater.
"Aya-chan, what's going one," he questioned, still fiddling with the strings on the back of his apron. The girl spun around at the sound of her name, arms full of prickly plastic garland, and beamed at him.
"Omi, you're finally up! The guys wanted to wake you, but I said no, let him sleep it is a holiday after, but you know how they are about all that," she chatted merrily, continuing to unwind the garland into her arms. "Would you mind picking up a few of the poinsettia's and taking them downstairs for me?"
Dutifully confused, Omi reached down and grabbed two of the flowerpots, still watching the girl quizzically over the red blossoms. "Um, I might be missing something, but isn't the shop supposed to be open today?"
Aya grinned at him and draped the now completely taken-down garland around his neck, causing him to stagger slightly under it's weight. "I convinced Ran to let you guys have the day off."
"What?!" The shock in his voice must have been almost comical, because the girl chuckled softly as she busied herself with removing several wreaths from various ledges around the room. All Omi could do was stare at her in shock. Aya - Mr. Money is Everything, Capitalism is the Savior of the Eastern World, No Souls are Saved After 7:00 am, The Job is Not Just a Cover-Up, It is Life - Fujiyama had given them the day off. On Christmas. The relatively concrete world Omi resided in was in danger of crashing down at it's foundations, even as he mentally added another check to his mental list of "Impossible things that happened before breakfast". This day definitely had potential.
For giving him repeated heart attacks, if nothing anything else.
"You convinced him to let us loaf around on one of the busiest money-making days of the year?!" he managed to force out, staggering again as Aya-chan carelessly dropped two of the discarded wreaths around his neck, swinging the rest onto her arms.
"Yes," the girl said, a slightly smug undertone to her voice. "Don't look so surprised. He's really a big softie." At Omi's dubious look, she amended, "On the inside, at least."
"Maybe for you." Despite himself, Omi smiled. He had the day off. It was snowing. And if, perchance, he went outside to build a snowman, it would be warm when he can back in. If life could get any better, he'd have to say the next step would be to have the sky start raining creampuffs and peace on earth being granted with goodwill to all. Aya-chan seemed to take his silence as relative acceptance, since she smiled again, and began delicately hanging the rest of the discarded ornaments onto the trail of garland around his shoulder.
All at once, he did a double take. Or possibly a triple take, with the way things were going. "And um, on another note, why am I being decked out like a Christmas tree?"
The girl gave him a 'ask no questions, mortal' look she seemed to have almost inherited from her brother. "You'll find out as soon as we take these things downstairs." The remainder of the ornaments she hefted into her own arms, her slight frame hidden beneath the excessive holiday gaudiness. "We're going to have a *real* Christmas the year, Omi-kun."
And with those puzzling words, she disappeared downstairs, leaving the basement door open behind her.
Omi shook his head in mute amazement, and followed trustingly behind. He edged his way through the door, carefully walking down the precarious spiral staircase while balancing the poinsettias, garland, and various other decorations. And when he reached the bottom, he chanced to look up. And then stopped. And stared. Gaped, even. If he were not already speechless in mute amazement from the day's events, he would definitely have gone so then.
A silent "Number 4" was added in his mind.
It was note quite up to Martha Stewart standards. In fact, as decorating went, it was far from perfect. Or stylish. Or even tasteful, for that matter. But somehow, someone with a semblance of holiday spirit and cheer, had *decorated* their basement.
Actually, he wasn't so sure if the Centerfold of the holiday issue of "Playboy" tacked on the wall could be considered a decoration, but at least Yohji had tried. Omi blushed discretely and resumed gazing in stupefied awe around the room.
Crepe paper chains were tacked to the ceiling, having the hastily done, homemade look of failed family craft projects. Candy-canes had been carelessly hooked onto a few of the larger chain loops, causing the whole network of them to sag precariously low in some places. Tinsel had been carelessly strewn around the room in a way that implied that person who had placed it there had no concept of what it was for, nor how hard it would be to clean up (Aya, most likely). The two normally generic looking sofa's had been draped with two colored afghans, one hideous looking plaid flannel, the other a comfortable worm green polar fleece. A discarded box seemed to contain a myriad of other decorations, still yet to be put up. Stacked carelessly under the spiral stair were a few hastily wrapped packages in shimmering paper. And of course, there were flowers everywhere. Holly (stapled?!) in every available corner, red and white roses tucked onto the corner of one of the tables, a frame of wintergreen around both his computer monitor and the blank television screen, plus a few odd sprigs spaced around the ceiling.
He could have fainted right there. As it was, he swayed slightly, tottering under the weight of his holiday burden, eyes impossibly wide and feeling lightheaded.
"Here, Ommitchi, let me get some of that." Suddenly, the real world came back into focus, and Yohji was at his side. Miraculously without a cigarette, the man deftly plucked the two poinsettias from Omi's grasp, turning his head slightly and calling over his shoulder, "Ne, Aya, how're the light's comin'?"
"Kisama," Aya snapped. The red-haired man sat on the sofa, hopelessly tangled in a string of holiday lighting, a felt Santa heat perched awry on his head. He looked for all the world like a disgruntled and very homicidal Santa's elf.
Yohji rolled his eye's at Omi, ignoring his still dazed look, and leapt over the back of the sofa to Aya's aid, carelessly thrusting the plants aside. "Honestly, member of Weiss and can't even be trusted to put up Christmas lights..."
"This was not part of my training," was the biting response, and their bickering continued on the background as Omi practically soaked in the decorations, the warmth of the normally cool, damp basement, the pure *impossibility* of the moment.
A few seconds later, his mind tried to kick in on it's already severely taxed back-up systems. "What... who..."
Aya-chan's gaze was soft. "Mostly Yohji, Ken and I, though Ran tried to help. He was never very good at it," she confided in him, suddenly smirking across the room to where Yohji was still attempting to untangle her older brother, cursing un-helpfully. "But he means well."
"Course he does," Yohji interrupted, as he smiled and gave a condescending pat to Aya's head, to which the man responded with a glare that promised instant death as soon as he was freed from his festive holiday prison. "And we're not done yet. Ken's gone out for some junk food and stuff, because like hell am I letting any of *you* cook. And we don't have a tree, but nothin' we could do on such short notice..."
Yohji's voice continued on, blending into the seamlessly surreal fabric of the day. It was too perfect; too real to be a dream, and too fairy-tale like for him to actually take it at face value. It was a day that you remembered for the rest of your life, not in specific details, but in a feeling, a sensation of contentment and warmth, of the prickle of garland around his neck still and the thinly veiled insults flying in the background as Aya and Yohji both continued wrestling with the lights. Omi was practically filled to capacity with enough joy, pleasant surprise and happiness for several years. He didn't think he could take anything more.
It was that moment that Ken chose to come through the backdoor, letting in a gust of cold air with him, along with a fair amount of snow. The boy shivered and shrugged off his coat, hanging it carelessly on the rack as he walked into the room. And with him, in his arms, was a tree. A brilliant, pungent scented, honest to goodness pine tree, a good foot taller than he, still sprinkled with the morning's snow. Omi's eyes widened. Five. Five, absolutely astoundingly impossible things. It was prefect, fleshed out entirely not a bare or uneven spot on any branch, the kind you saw on the front of a "Batter Home's and Gardens", the kind you took pictures of and admired in photo albums and spent years trying to duplicate.
"Man, it's cold outside," Ken's voice barely registered in his thoughts. "The rest of the groceries are out in the car, and-" The boy suddenly noticed Omi's stunned look, and totally misinterpreted it. "It's not to tall or anything, is it? I mean, I just saw it when I was driving back home, and I figured, what the hell, it's *Christmas* and I-"
Omi couldn't stop himself. He flung himself into Ken's already crowded arms, ignoring the prick of the tree's needles in his hair and pressing his cheek the smooth, warm flannel of his shirt. The boy jumped slightly, transferring one arm to wrap around Omi, the other to support the now tilting tree. "It's perfect, Ken-kun," he whispered, his voice low and wavering and almost spilling over with unbridled joy. "Perfect."
"I'm... glad you like it," Ken responded, a little bewildered and breathless but unmistakably smiling. Omi smiled in return, hugging him tightly again before slowly pulling away, trying not to get tangled in the pine tree as he did so.
"WAIT!" Aya-chan's voice rang out, immediately halting all motion in the room. Aya, just seconds away from being freed, growled as Yohji's hands stilled, but curiously looked towards his sister, as did Ken and Omi, half-extricated from each other and the prickly pine branches. The girl took a deep breath, and then smiled sweetly, pointing to the ceiling above them.
Omi glanced up curiously... and blinked at the small, holly-related plant with it's waxy white berries. No mistaking it. They were florists, after all.
"Mistletoe," the girl finished, a decidedly mischievous lilt to her voice. "You two can be the first to try it out."
"Oh for the love of-" spluttered Ken, turning a molted shade of red, as Omi let out a small 'eep' sound, clutching tightly to Ken's arms almost in reflex. "Why'd you even put that up? We're all guys!"
"Come on, Ken-kun. If you don't, it's bad luck for the rest of the year." Aya-chan winked at them, causing Ken to blush more, and Omi to begin wondering if the girl hadn't been planning this...
"And none of us need that," encouraged Yohji, allowing the last of the tangled lighting to drop to the ground at Aya's feet with a lazy smile. "Go on."
"But - I mean, Omi," stuttered Ken incoherently.
"It's okay, I don't mind." he protested, a little to quickly to be tactful.
"You sure?"
"You wouldn't have let me do it," Yohji cut in, an exaggerated pout on his face.
"You're not Ken," Omi retorted, then did another double take (or was he on his quadruple for the day? He'd lost count), blinking up into Ken's mildly confused and slightly smiling face.
"So I'm special?" he asked, brown eyes almost impossibly warm.
"God, this is like a really crappy shoujo shonen-ai manga," Yohji complained, glancing sideways at the still grinning Aya-chan. "Of which you not doubt have several thousand."
"What?!" questioned Aya thunderously, glaring at his sister, who giggled nervously.
And that's when Omi rolled his eyes and kissed Ken. Number six was added to the tally in the part of his mind that was still working on auto-pilot, which then tried to record the sensation for later analysis. Then gave up. It was like impossibility and gingerbread and several candy-canes stolen from the impromptu decorating, mixed with pine and cinnamon and the surprising cold clean scent of snow. And they both had to look incredibly stupid, what with Ken still holding the pine tree (whose branches were starting to get really annoying) and the fake garland and decorations still draped around Omi's neck, but he couldn't summon the desire to care. And then Ken's other arm was around him, and a faint suggestion of logic perked up in his mind that said if nothing was holding the tree then-
In a remarkable feat of physics, the Christmas tree balanced for several moments on it's own before crashing to the ground with dignified grace, the sound resounding through the small basement with the subtlety of a sonic boom.
Everyone blinked.
And in another remarkable feat of physics, Omi and Ken were suddenly across the room from one another, Ken distractedly trying to pull the Christmas tree, Omi blushing profusely and attempting to avoid Yohji's all-too-perceptive gaze. The blond haired man winked at him, then turned to Aya-chan, who had a dreamily shoujo look on her face. "I don't think you were old enough to watch that," he commented to the girl, smirking as he rose from the sofa to help a flustered and still blushing Ken with righting the tree.
Aya crossed his arms over his chest and gazed disapprovingly at his sister. "I know you weren't old enough to watch that," he affirmed. She merely shrugged, grinning up at him.
"But they're so cute, oni-san." Omi blushed again, almost to the point of wanting to duck behind the sofa and hide. Once more, he wondered whether this entire day had been real or just some figment of his imagination (in the case of the latter, he would have preferred to edit out the last few comments, so he was quite certain it was real). Aya-chan chuckled at his wide-eyed, star-stuck look, giving him her own conspiratory wink as she hugged him herself. "That was my Christmas gift to you," the girl whispered, with a meaningful look in her hazel eyes. "Don't waste it."
He blinked, then glanced across the room at Ken, who caught his gaze and blushed, turning away to work on the now standing tree with a distracted look. Omi grinned to himself, the warmth and snow and the feeling of soft flannel and Ken and the prick of fresh pine into one another as he rose to go help his friend with putting up the ornaments.
After all, if six impossible things could happen before breakfast, who knew what was in store for the rest of the day?
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by Lachesis Fatali
Look, I can write pointless fluff too! And it's not just pointless fluff, it's pointless, Weiss Kreuz, *Christmas* fluff. Dedicated to Kira, because she's the one who coerced (::ahem:: threatened) me into writing this. Enjoy.
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"Why, I've seen as many as six impossible things before breakfast!"
-Lewis Carroll, "Through the Looking Glass"
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It was warm.
That was the first thing he noticed. The warmth hung about him like a hazy sense of well being, the kind of fairy-tale contentment you feel at the words "And they lived happily ever after" before drifting off to sleep. The blond-gold head beneath the massive covers of the bed stirred, blinking blearily at it's surroundings for a few moments before consciousness called it quits, and he burrowed back under the covers, a dreamy smile of contentment on his face. There was nothing quite like the feeling of waking on a cold December morning surrounded by layers of quilted blanket, with the radiator by your bedside engulfing the room in waves of almost liquid warmth-
Quite suddenly the head shot of again, and by the puzzled and acutely awake expression on its face, was most likely there to stay. Ignoring the "bobble" of the nightcap that dangled over his face, Omi reached out quizzically and placed a hand on the ancient metal radiator... only to draw it back a second later with a small yelp, cradling his scorched fingers in his unwounded hand. And then he grinned.
"I don't believe it," he murmured, completely to himself. "Impossible."
The flower shop, as a whole, was remarkably resistant to change. When they had first moved into the quaint, somewhat old-fashioned building, Kritiker had outfitted it with some of the latest technological advancements: infer-red security, the cable link-up to Persia, Omi's custom-designed computer. But some of the very basic systems of the old building had been left intact, much to the dismay and annoyance of its inhabitants. Water pressure in the shower was deceptively strong, until someone downstairs turned on the washer or a hose to water the flowers, at which point it slowed to a trickle at best. The plumbing always knew the most advantageous point of time to spring a leak. And Omi's personal opinion was that the electrical wiring could have possibly been installed by a colorblind three-year-old.
But the crowning glory of these technological disasters was the building's old water-heater. It was a massive machine, large, round, and squat, probably weighing close to a small elephant holding a sports car. Even Omi had been baffled at the system of pipes and tubes that connected to it, and had prayed to God that the old behemoth would remain in working condition. With no such luck. With a stutter and a cough, the thing had given out around the end of October, and the flower shop was plunged into bitter cold. Great for the electric bill: they no longer needed to run the refrigeration system to keep the flowers fresh. But bad for the workers who tended those flowers.
Aya, not one overly fond of spending money, never even had a chance to start his "Important funds, not to be wasted on trivialities speech" when Yohji had volunteered to fix it. He had explained, in his lilting tone with a cursory wave of his cigarette, that the building he had worked in as a PI had the same problem with it's heating, and give him a few days or so and he'd have this one fixed up, good as new.
That had been two months ago, give or take "a few days". And all attempts to talk Aya into hiring someone to come in and take a look at it had ended in rather noncommittal glares. Cold did not seem to bother the redhead, who existed solely upon his own sullen, internal energy. Nor, unfortunately, did the sudden climate change reach Yohji, who persisted to wear his crop tops around the house, answering Omi and Ken's complaints about the cold nights with lewd comments about getting a few girls to warm them up. And when all else failed, an attempt to fix the heater themselves had ended only in scalded fingers and bruised egos. So all the two youngest Weiss members could do was glare, and mutter to themselves as they added several extra covers to their beds.
Covers, which now, were almost too warm. Omi smiled blissfully, kicking off the top layer of blankets with relief. Well, he'd lost the bet with Ken (he had assumed the stupid old thing would *never* get fixed) but right then, he hardly cared. They had heat. Warm, miraculous, heat. They should celebrate or something. Close shop and declare it a holiday. First glancing at the clock (6:30; about normal wake-up time), Omi reached over the various paraphernalia on his night table to the small desk calendar, grabbing a random pen to mark the day as the first time in months he had woken up comfortably warm. Then, he paused, staring at the small rip-off-a-day date. December 25. Underneath which, written in smaller letters, was a quote.
"Why, I've seen as many as six impossible things before breakfast," he read to himself, sighing. Christmas. Usually synonymous with happiness, good cheer, and hope. For florists, it was more like hell in a handbasket. Literally. Like all major holidays, whenever someone forgot to buy a gift for someone else, their thought process defaulted to one thing: flowers. Easy, cheap, versatile, they were the perfect last minute gift for almost anyone. Which meant as soon as the store opened, they would be swamped with businessmen and boyfriends, husbands and schoolgirls. Granted, they closed early, but after the horrible morning rush, even Omi was usually too tired to do anything in the way of celebrating, instead shuffling into to his freezing cold bed and wearily drifting off to sleep.
Well, at least it wouldn't be freezing cold anymore. But that still didn't take away from the air of doom that seemed to surround the day. Omi glanced down at the scrap of paper again, eyes lingering on the quote. Or maybe... the repair of the hot-water heater was a good omen. Maybe this Christmas was destined for great things. Impossible things. He glanced idly out the window, blissfully lost in daydreams. Maybe-
It was snowing.
He blinked, and stared outside again. This was wrong. All wrong. First, he had awakened warm. And now it was snowing. On Christmas morning. In Tokyo. It *never* snowed in Tokyo. Granted, temperatures went down far below freezing, and the mass inhabitants of the large city shivered fitfully October through February, but it didn't *snow*. At least not real snow, like the large, fluffy flakes that were currently spiraling down from the sky, coating everything outside in a faint sheen of silver. It was almost like one of those foreign Christmas specials, with the thick (obviously fake) cotton flakes, covering the ground in a soft, inviting blanket. He couldn't remember the last time it had snowed at all, let along on Christmas morning. It was impossible.
Slowly, a smile spread over his face, as he glanced over at his clock again. That was *two* impossible things before breakfast.
All he needed was four more.
It was the work of a moment for him to shed his flannel pajamas and, after a brief struggle with the drawers of his dresser, pull on a mismatched but comfortably broken in pair of clothes. Thanks to the newly resurrected water-heater (and the addition of his corduroy pants), the toasty, hazy feeling of warmth he had awakened to stayed with him as he made his way down the stairs into the flower shop, fully expecting to be berated for coming down so late on one of the busiest days of the year (save Valentines... god, he didn't even want to think about that right now. So he prepared himself to leap headfirst into the flurry of work, bounding down the last few steps while still attempting to tie a bow in his work apron, when he was greeted with an empty shop.
Not for the first time that day, he blinked uncertainly.
The empty was amended to an "almost empty" in his mind when he caught sight of Aya-chan busily taking down his painstakingly placed decorations in the shop, her blue hair tied back into a practical braid. Though none of the other flower shop employs (well, except Aya-chan now) had ever really been into celebrating Christmas, Omi usually decorated the shop anyway, justifying it to Aya as pleasing the customers. He did so each year with determined enthusiasm, though most of the available decorations were tawdry, synthetics things, like plastic wreaths that looked like demented pipe cleaners or yards of fake garland which shed their needles all over the shop. The be-damned Christmas lighting took nearly all his technological skills to keep in working order. And even Omi had to admit it didn't look very festive: it just made a lot of extra work for them.
But that still didn't explain why Aya-chan was taking them down. Or, for that matter, why there was no one else in the shop. Or why it was snowing. Or why Yohji finally got off his ass and fixed the water heater.
"Aya-chan, what's going one," he questioned, still fiddling with the strings on the back of his apron. The girl spun around at the sound of her name, arms full of prickly plastic garland, and beamed at him.
"Omi, you're finally up! The guys wanted to wake you, but I said no, let him sleep it is a holiday after, but you know how they are about all that," she chatted merrily, continuing to unwind the garland into her arms. "Would you mind picking up a few of the poinsettia's and taking them downstairs for me?"
Dutifully confused, Omi reached down and grabbed two of the flowerpots, still watching the girl quizzically over the red blossoms. "Um, I might be missing something, but isn't the shop supposed to be open today?"
Aya grinned at him and draped the now completely taken-down garland around his neck, causing him to stagger slightly under it's weight. "I convinced Ran to let you guys have the day off."
"What?!" The shock in his voice must have been almost comical, because the girl chuckled softly as she busied herself with removing several wreaths from various ledges around the room. All Omi could do was stare at her in shock. Aya - Mr. Money is Everything, Capitalism is the Savior of the Eastern World, No Souls are Saved After 7:00 am, The Job is Not Just a Cover-Up, It is Life - Fujiyama had given them the day off. On Christmas. The relatively concrete world Omi resided in was in danger of crashing down at it's foundations, even as he mentally added another check to his mental list of "Impossible things that happened before breakfast". This day definitely had potential.
For giving him repeated heart attacks, if nothing anything else.
"You convinced him to let us loaf around on one of the busiest money-making days of the year?!" he managed to force out, staggering again as Aya-chan carelessly dropped two of the discarded wreaths around his neck, swinging the rest onto her arms.
"Yes," the girl said, a slightly smug undertone to her voice. "Don't look so surprised. He's really a big softie." At Omi's dubious look, she amended, "On the inside, at least."
"Maybe for you." Despite himself, Omi smiled. He had the day off. It was snowing. And if, perchance, he went outside to build a snowman, it would be warm when he can back in. If life could get any better, he'd have to say the next step would be to have the sky start raining creampuffs and peace on earth being granted with goodwill to all. Aya-chan seemed to take his silence as relative acceptance, since she smiled again, and began delicately hanging the rest of the discarded ornaments onto the trail of garland around his shoulder.
All at once, he did a double take. Or possibly a triple take, with the way things were going. "And um, on another note, why am I being decked out like a Christmas tree?"
The girl gave him a 'ask no questions, mortal' look she seemed to have almost inherited from her brother. "You'll find out as soon as we take these things downstairs." The remainder of the ornaments she hefted into her own arms, her slight frame hidden beneath the excessive holiday gaudiness. "We're going to have a *real* Christmas the year, Omi-kun."
And with those puzzling words, she disappeared downstairs, leaving the basement door open behind her.
Omi shook his head in mute amazement, and followed trustingly behind. He edged his way through the door, carefully walking down the precarious spiral staircase while balancing the poinsettias, garland, and various other decorations. And when he reached the bottom, he chanced to look up. And then stopped. And stared. Gaped, even. If he were not already speechless in mute amazement from the day's events, he would definitely have gone so then.
A silent "Number 4" was added in his mind.
It was note quite up to Martha Stewart standards. In fact, as decorating went, it was far from perfect. Or stylish. Or even tasteful, for that matter. But somehow, someone with a semblance of holiday spirit and cheer, had *decorated* their basement.
Actually, he wasn't so sure if the Centerfold of the holiday issue of "Playboy" tacked on the wall could be considered a decoration, but at least Yohji had tried. Omi blushed discretely and resumed gazing in stupefied awe around the room.
Crepe paper chains were tacked to the ceiling, having the hastily done, homemade look of failed family craft projects. Candy-canes had been carelessly hooked onto a few of the larger chain loops, causing the whole network of them to sag precariously low in some places. Tinsel had been carelessly strewn around the room in a way that implied that person who had placed it there had no concept of what it was for, nor how hard it would be to clean up (Aya, most likely). The two normally generic looking sofa's had been draped with two colored afghans, one hideous looking plaid flannel, the other a comfortable worm green polar fleece. A discarded box seemed to contain a myriad of other decorations, still yet to be put up. Stacked carelessly under the spiral stair were a few hastily wrapped packages in shimmering paper. And of course, there were flowers everywhere. Holly (stapled?!) in every available corner, red and white roses tucked onto the corner of one of the tables, a frame of wintergreen around both his computer monitor and the blank television screen, plus a few odd sprigs spaced around the ceiling.
He could have fainted right there. As it was, he swayed slightly, tottering under the weight of his holiday burden, eyes impossibly wide and feeling lightheaded.
"Here, Ommitchi, let me get some of that." Suddenly, the real world came back into focus, and Yohji was at his side. Miraculously without a cigarette, the man deftly plucked the two poinsettias from Omi's grasp, turning his head slightly and calling over his shoulder, "Ne, Aya, how're the light's comin'?"
"Kisama," Aya snapped. The red-haired man sat on the sofa, hopelessly tangled in a string of holiday lighting, a felt Santa heat perched awry on his head. He looked for all the world like a disgruntled and very homicidal Santa's elf.
Yohji rolled his eye's at Omi, ignoring his still dazed look, and leapt over the back of the sofa to Aya's aid, carelessly thrusting the plants aside. "Honestly, member of Weiss and can't even be trusted to put up Christmas lights..."
"This was not part of my training," was the biting response, and their bickering continued on the background as Omi practically soaked in the decorations, the warmth of the normally cool, damp basement, the pure *impossibility* of the moment.
A few seconds later, his mind tried to kick in on it's already severely taxed back-up systems. "What... who..."
Aya-chan's gaze was soft. "Mostly Yohji, Ken and I, though Ran tried to help. He was never very good at it," she confided in him, suddenly smirking across the room to where Yohji was still attempting to untangle her older brother, cursing un-helpfully. "But he means well."
"Course he does," Yohji interrupted, as he smiled and gave a condescending pat to Aya's head, to which the man responded with a glare that promised instant death as soon as he was freed from his festive holiday prison. "And we're not done yet. Ken's gone out for some junk food and stuff, because like hell am I letting any of *you* cook. And we don't have a tree, but nothin' we could do on such short notice..."
Yohji's voice continued on, blending into the seamlessly surreal fabric of the day. It was too perfect; too real to be a dream, and too fairy-tale like for him to actually take it at face value. It was a day that you remembered for the rest of your life, not in specific details, but in a feeling, a sensation of contentment and warmth, of the prickle of garland around his neck still and the thinly veiled insults flying in the background as Aya and Yohji both continued wrestling with the lights. Omi was practically filled to capacity with enough joy, pleasant surprise and happiness for several years. He didn't think he could take anything more.
It was that moment that Ken chose to come through the backdoor, letting in a gust of cold air with him, along with a fair amount of snow. The boy shivered and shrugged off his coat, hanging it carelessly on the rack as he walked into the room. And with him, in his arms, was a tree. A brilliant, pungent scented, honest to goodness pine tree, a good foot taller than he, still sprinkled with the morning's snow. Omi's eyes widened. Five. Five, absolutely astoundingly impossible things. It was prefect, fleshed out entirely not a bare or uneven spot on any branch, the kind you saw on the front of a "Batter Home's and Gardens", the kind you took pictures of and admired in photo albums and spent years trying to duplicate.
"Man, it's cold outside," Ken's voice barely registered in his thoughts. "The rest of the groceries are out in the car, and-" The boy suddenly noticed Omi's stunned look, and totally misinterpreted it. "It's not to tall or anything, is it? I mean, I just saw it when I was driving back home, and I figured, what the hell, it's *Christmas* and I-"
Omi couldn't stop himself. He flung himself into Ken's already crowded arms, ignoring the prick of the tree's needles in his hair and pressing his cheek the smooth, warm flannel of his shirt. The boy jumped slightly, transferring one arm to wrap around Omi, the other to support the now tilting tree. "It's perfect, Ken-kun," he whispered, his voice low and wavering and almost spilling over with unbridled joy. "Perfect."
"I'm... glad you like it," Ken responded, a little bewildered and breathless but unmistakably smiling. Omi smiled in return, hugging him tightly again before slowly pulling away, trying not to get tangled in the pine tree as he did so.
"WAIT!" Aya-chan's voice rang out, immediately halting all motion in the room. Aya, just seconds away from being freed, growled as Yohji's hands stilled, but curiously looked towards his sister, as did Ken and Omi, half-extricated from each other and the prickly pine branches. The girl took a deep breath, and then smiled sweetly, pointing to the ceiling above them.
Omi glanced up curiously... and blinked at the small, holly-related plant with it's waxy white berries. No mistaking it. They were florists, after all.
"Mistletoe," the girl finished, a decidedly mischievous lilt to her voice. "You two can be the first to try it out."
"Oh for the love of-" spluttered Ken, turning a molted shade of red, as Omi let out a small 'eep' sound, clutching tightly to Ken's arms almost in reflex. "Why'd you even put that up? We're all guys!"
"Come on, Ken-kun. If you don't, it's bad luck for the rest of the year." Aya-chan winked at them, causing Ken to blush more, and Omi to begin wondering if the girl hadn't been planning this...
"And none of us need that," encouraged Yohji, allowing the last of the tangled lighting to drop to the ground at Aya's feet with a lazy smile. "Go on."
"But - I mean, Omi," stuttered Ken incoherently.
"It's okay, I don't mind." he protested, a little to quickly to be tactful.
"You sure?"
"You wouldn't have let me do it," Yohji cut in, an exaggerated pout on his face.
"You're not Ken," Omi retorted, then did another double take (or was he on his quadruple for the day? He'd lost count), blinking up into Ken's mildly confused and slightly smiling face.
"So I'm special?" he asked, brown eyes almost impossibly warm.
"God, this is like a really crappy shoujo shonen-ai manga," Yohji complained, glancing sideways at the still grinning Aya-chan. "Of which you not doubt have several thousand."
"What?!" questioned Aya thunderously, glaring at his sister, who giggled nervously.
And that's when Omi rolled his eyes and kissed Ken. Number six was added to the tally in the part of his mind that was still working on auto-pilot, which then tried to record the sensation for later analysis. Then gave up. It was like impossibility and gingerbread and several candy-canes stolen from the impromptu decorating, mixed with pine and cinnamon and the surprising cold clean scent of snow. And they both had to look incredibly stupid, what with Ken still holding the pine tree (whose branches were starting to get really annoying) and the fake garland and decorations still draped around Omi's neck, but he couldn't summon the desire to care. And then Ken's other arm was around him, and a faint suggestion of logic perked up in his mind that said if nothing was holding the tree then-
In a remarkable feat of physics, the Christmas tree balanced for several moments on it's own before crashing to the ground with dignified grace, the sound resounding through the small basement with the subtlety of a sonic boom.
Everyone blinked.
And in another remarkable feat of physics, Omi and Ken were suddenly across the room from one another, Ken distractedly trying to pull the Christmas tree, Omi blushing profusely and attempting to avoid Yohji's all-too-perceptive gaze. The blond haired man winked at him, then turned to Aya-chan, who had a dreamily shoujo look on her face. "I don't think you were old enough to watch that," he commented to the girl, smirking as he rose from the sofa to help a flustered and still blushing Ken with righting the tree.
Aya crossed his arms over his chest and gazed disapprovingly at his sister. "I know you weren't old enough to watch that," he affirmed. She merely shrugged, grinning up at him.
"But they're so cute, oni-san." Omi blushed again, almost to the point of wanting to duck behind the sofa and hide. Once more, he wondered whether this entire day had been real or just some figment of his imagination (in the case of the latter, he would have preferred to edit out the last few comments, so he was quite certain it was real). Aya-chan chuckled at his wide-eyed, star-stuck look, giving him her own conspiratory wink as she hugged him herself. "That was my Christmas gift to you," the girl whispered, with a meaningful look in her hazel eyes. "Don't waste it."
He blinked, then glanced across the room at Ken, who caught his gaze and blushed, turning away to work on the now standing tree with a distracted look. Omi grinned to himself, the warmth and snow and the feeling of soft flannel and Ken and the prick of fresh pine into one another as he rose to go help his friend with putting up the ornaments.
After all, if six impossible things could happen before breakfast, who knew what was in store for the rest of the day?
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