Another day was wearily stretching out, leaving me bored as ever. This is certainly more evidence to back my ideology --
that I simply let my life go to whichever direction it so pleases. I've never really had a long-term schedule. It was
probably booked long ago by my que sera sera ways. I was practicing this exact disinterest of the future as I idly
watched a few birds outside, wondering if I could train them into telling me when Omi would show up in the doorway, a
helpless tangle of slender arms and heaps of books.
"I'm not Omi," Aya said, apropos of absolutely nothing.
I really could've discerned that without him pointing it out. So please excuse me while I blink repeatedly in sheer
bewilderment.
"You just said his name," Aya replied to my unspoken question. "I usually assume that one is speaking to me when that
person and I are the only ones present."
I found my temper not exactly compromising when dealing with this new, talkative Aya. "I didn't call Omi's name," I retorted
indignantly, realizing that I probably did, "because that would mean I were totally psychotic. And what's your goddamn
problem, anyway? Why should you care unless I magically morphed into your sister or if Omi transformed into a credit
card?" Babbling, as you can see, is always an indication of the accused's guilt.
"I just wanted you to get my name right."
I can't believe I'm getting this from Aya, of all people! Irrational little spots of red swam before my
eyes in fascinating disarray. "I said, I did not call you Omi, for the simple reason that I wasn't even talking to you!"
He could've easily asked me who exactly I was talking to, and embarrassed me a bit more, but he apparently decided that
he reached his word quota for the day. It's a good thing the speech embargo resurfaced, before I could do anything
stupid like actually trying to start a brawl in the flower shop. In the return of divine silence, my temper gave way to
shame. I traced down the origin of my hatred for Aya -- my childish tendency to effortless revulsion aside. I associated
these misplaced feelings to the dream I had about a month ago.
"This is not real."
I know it wasn't exactly justified. And it wasn't fair to Aya at all.
Anyway, I have healed from it, albeit incompletely. It was easy to banish the hunger of my hope -- it was frail to begin
with. My need for Omi never once faltered, and so I just accepted it, as I do many things. It was a part of me, and that
was the simple elegance of the fact. I'm still going down that road of uncertainty with naive trust in that everything will
turn out fine. I love him, and vow to love him selflessly. I convinced myself that I could conquer my own needs and my
historically ill-timed libido with (much) practice.
There was nothing wrong with simply loving him. Because romance, all those passionate kisses and sincere whispers, are only
passionate and sincere during a few select heartbeats. What I feel for Omi, this unreachably deep feeling, far transcends
that.
Something so profound, you'd think, he deserved to know. It wouldn't risk our friendship -- Omi would forgive us just about
anything... even my lust for him. It would be a terrible irony though, if he ended up hating me for loving him too much.
But that wouldn't be the case. I sometimes think it would be easier if it were, just to end all this melodrama fit to rival
a soap opera. But the truth is, Omi would probably feel obligated to respond correctly. He wouldn't want to lie, but he
wouldn't want to hurt me. I didn't want to give him extra dilemmas. Besides, our friendship is already the best thing I could
ever ask for, and I will always be more than thankful to destiny for letting me have that.
"Stop. It's disconcertingly mature."
...
Had I been saying all that aloud?! Just how short-circuited did my brain get?!
I took apart Aya's extremely minimalist sentence and analyzed it every which way. Dammit, why can't you keep your
mouth shut? Literally? What did he mean by that? Was he supporting my feelings? My abstinence? ...Was that
homophobic in nature? What exactly did my big trap blurt out loud? What does it matter, he surely got the gist of
your little impromptu romance novel!
"Aya," I began, hoping my fear was completely dissipated in my anger, though I greatly doubted the possibilities.
"I don't care how you feel. Not unless you two turn into credit cards." Just so I didn't have to guess which way to
interpret his ever-cryptic statement, I swear to everything sacred, I saw a corner of his mouth lift upwards. He had
never looked more beautiful.
He won't tell anyone. Not Omi, not even Yohji. Although I don't know why he'd want to tell Yohji. I smiled, despite
the fact that I had let my secret slip so carelessly, remembering the Aya's own "smile".
Maybe Aya was right, maybe I had matured a little. I remembered speculating on this once, a few weeks ago. I had managed
not to stuff Yako up Yohji's ass when I heard him telling a bunch of high school girls that, for my birthday, they
should write me volumes of pornography starring a blonde boy with big blue eyes. (Having heard one of them reply, "Ken
isn't blonde..." gave me infinitesimal ease. But I did praise the remaining innocence in this sick world.)
"Yohji took Yako out for a walk, right?"
"Hn." Oh, right, back to the normal conversations. That specific "Hn", by the way, was designed to mean "yes".
To explain Yohji's seeming sudden interest in animals, he had used Yako more than once upon discovering what
an effective prop the dog made when picking up women. He ultimately decided on sticking to his traditional ways once
he realized that it simply wasn't worth the trouble of hauling that chibified monster everywhere. Personally, I thought that
it wasn't like he needed the extra points himself. I admit, I may have envied Yohji's effect on people once or twice, his
smoldering looks and confidence. Aya wasn't free of my covetousness, either, what with the allure he radiated which
was lost on no one, not even on Omi. And then, of course, there's Omi, with his irresistible smile and how incredibly
sexy he didn't know he was. Basically, it gets hard not to curse my awkward nature and dull appearance. Not that those
things are truly substantial. I never got bitter about it, but I allow myself
griping privileges now and then.
"Hello, Kitty."
I yelped, startled, nearly victimizing a nearby pot. I fixed a glare on Yohji, who had somehow gotten in the store
unnoticed. Did he just call me "Kitty" or was that some odd reference to Sanrio merchandise? "Dammit, Yohji!
Don't do that again, or..." I have seriously got to find some nice, effectively acrid threats.
"Yeah, yeah. Kenken, do me a favor and tell Pretty Boy that Yako ran off and we couldn't find him."
"Idiot! You lost Yako?!" Yohji raised an eyebrow at my violent reaction, as if I was such a keeper of peace to begin with.
"Do you lose track of anything not attached to big breasts?! Oh wait, you lose those too!" I almost winced after that last
remark, not meaning to sound so harsh.
Thankfully, Yohji ignored the comment. "Shut up, Ken, I'm not as careless as you are. He's perfectly not lost in that
pet shop that's a few streets from here."
"You sold him?"
...Yohji nodded.
"Omi's gonna kill you!"
"Uh, yeah, and that's where you come along," Yohji informed me with enough certainty to piss me off. "You're going to help
me tell the kid that Yako ran off by himself. That way, no one gets hurt." Not even Omi? "We can't coexist with that
thing under the same roof. Even Aya knows it, right, Aya?"
Aya chose to display his apathetic expertise.
"Yeah. Right," Yohji supplied for him.
"So, you want me to lie to Omi?"
"He'd believe anything you say. The kid adores you."
"That's not the point." Not right now, anyway. "He loves that dog. You didn't have the courage to tell him what
you were planning to do, because you wouldn't be able to take him being angry with you." Actually, it was probably the
fact that Yohji wouldn't have been able to go through with it if Omi begged him not to. No one's immune to that, I tell
you.
I stalked off, not waiting for Yohji to defend himself against my accusations. I couldn't care less if he and Aya thought
I was overreacting, or if I was being an arrogant little shit for walking out, something only those two were permitted to
do by some unwritten law. I couldn't even care if they figured out that I had left to get Yako back.
I purchased Yako for an unjust price, just thankful I had found him on time. I let them keep him first, as I apparently
caught him in the middle of a bath, and I had to get to the shop before Omi did. I tripped twice racing home,
ergo the forming bruise on my cheekbone. I shrugged off both exhibitions of clumsiness, my only goal to reach the flower
shop on time.
Seeing Omi slumped on the floor, head buried in his hands, I berated myself for failing.
"Omi?" I shot a purposeful glare towards Yohji.
"Yako... ran away..." Omi looked up at me. "What do I tell Keichi? Ken, what... Who's going to take care of Yako?"
I knelt down beside him and gathered him in my arms, gently rocking him with as much tenderness as I could summon within
me. "Don't worry, kid. And please don't cry. I'll look for Yako, I won't give up until I find him."
"You don't. Have to do that..."
"But I don't like seeing you sad. I do have to."
Silence was with us for some time, holding us in a not unpleasant calm. And then...
"You're my best friend, Ken, I love you." It came out soft and low, but I'm sure even Aya and Yohji heard it. I heard it.
I had to get my heart to remember its basic functions. Oh, and breathing. I thought I was about to burst, swelling with so
much more emotion than I thought was the capacity to feel.
Is it so wrong to hope that Yohji -- and everyone else in the whole world -- is seeing this and is jealous? I helped
him up, telling him to straighten himself, just so we wouldn't look too much like I'd slipped him a date rape drug or
something. I helped him to his room, feeling like some sort of cheesy hero.
Soon we were on his bed, his head between my chin and collarbone. I smoothed back his hair, perpetually disheveled as it
was. I put one arm around him, protectiveness washing over me in no little amounts. We were watching a cartoon movie, which
actually held his attention. There was only one line I really heard, that came back to haunt me between mocking intervals.
Who could ever learn to love a beast?
Who indeed? ...Another beast?
"You're my best friend, Ken, I love you."
Ken, I love you.
An angel. Only an angel could love a beast.
"I'm sorry. For bursting into tears like that. I must be so weak to do that all the time."
I growled lightly as I held him tighter. "And I always tell you not to apologize. Stupid kid. If you meant it, that I'm
your best friend, then we should be able to let the other one comfort us. And you did mean it, right?"
"Of course! Of course I meant it!"
My heart kind of levitated, I think. From then on, all I could concentrate on was to stop petting Omi, which in turn
would stop the freely-released sighs from coming to his slightly-parted lips, all of which were progressively diminishing
my humbled self-control. Needless to say, the aforementioned self-control was the only thing (barely) saving Omi from
being molested right then and there. My hand buried itself deeply in thick silk, scented, melted petals, up and down in a
soothing rhythm. The temptation to feel his bare skin beneath my finger tips was excruciating, as was my love for him.
He was everything to me, and more of it each day. But proprietorship of this knowledge could never keep up with all
the corners of me that he managed to consume so that things like this would still catch me by surprise.
"You should know then, that I've had a best friend before, but no one like you. I mean, really, do you think I could've
shared this with anyone else? This feeling I have for you, it's stronger than I've ever come to know." This reminds
me of my dream. It reminded me that I shouldn't let him know exactly what I feel...
He reached up, lightly caressing the bruise on my cheek. He questioned me with his eyes, and I shook my head in reply.
He seemed to melt completely into me after I poured out (most of) my feelings. "That's it, then. That's the exact thing I feel for
you. And we shouldn't try to name it."
I was absorbed. I was his. Even, even if he'll never be mine. And even if he didn't feel the exact same way I did, it was
the closest thing to perfect that I'd probably ever be allowed to feel. He stroked the skin over my bruise again,
right before timidly brushing his lips over it for the briefest second in time. I didn't know what to do with this moment,
I knew nothing of how to prolong it, only how to savor the way an angel could fit so achingly perfect in my arms.
[[ I know, I know, I'm just prolonging the fic... I'll write something with a semblance of a plot in the next chapter, I promise! My only goal was to finish this, because for the rest of the month I'll be doing the mad dash that is . ^_^ Besides, after the last chapter, I supposed that a little fluff was in order. ^_^ ]]
