"The Breath of God"

part 3

a Weib Kreuz fic by Mirrordance

don't own anyone.

Plot: When Ken dies, an angel gives him the chance to take over someone else's body to live again…

Ken's P.O.V.

      I dressed up, and tried to forget the fact that I would be having the opportunity to look at someone else's body.  Maybe I should have asked Mr. Angel Guy to be a woman for a day after all, but that would have been very complicated.

      I strolled down to breakfast, to be met with yet another disapproving expression from Ran Fujimiya.

      "What?"

      "Aren't you supposed to be dressed for school?" asked Mother Hen, looking at the casual clothes I found in Omi's cabinet. 

      Oh, no.  Not school.  I'll be encountering tons of people that Omi knows that I don't.  Plus, I wouldn't want to spend eight hours of my day on Physics and Chemistry and what-not.

      "Thought I'd take a break today" I replied.

      "Thought wrong" he snapped, "dress up."

      "No!" I said indignantly, "I'm not feeling…um…very well today"

      "Dress up" he said again, stepping away from the stove where he was cooking breakfast to move menacingly towards me.

      Yoji grabbed him by the elbow from where he was seated by the table and got to his feet.

      "Listen, Omi" he said quietly, and Ran turned away and back to his cooking, as if he found the foreseeable pep talk disgusting.

      "Ken's dead," he said flatly, catching me a little off-guard.  "That doesn't mean the rest of us have to die with him.  You're supposed to be used to that death-thing by now.  Let me remind you.  A few days ago you stole my fucking cigarettes and got caught smoking in school.  You also got caught cutting class, and your teachers have told me you've not been very attentive, which is very new to them.  They're lenient because they know you're a good guy.  But if you keep this up…"

      He let the sentence hang, knowing I/Omi would be aware of the consequences. 

      But it was for a different reason that I trudged up the steps to change my clothes.

      I was bothered by the fact that Omi was not paying attention to his schoolwork because I had died.  And if he's not going to straighten things out for himself, then at least for a day, I would be able to.

      I sat through English Lit with a preoccupied mind.  We just finished a pre-calculus test and Omi was going to be very, very disappointed with the results when I give him his body back.  At least it was in multiple choice, so my guesses had a 25% chance of being right.

      The teacher--lost his name--was talking about Publius Virgilius Maro and the grandeur of Rome, along which he had lost me too.

      I flipped through Omi's English Lit notebook, finding myself deeply endeared by this side of my friend that I've never thought to pay attention to before.  Granted, he was neat as heck, but this notebook was terrible.

      It was obvious which topics he was interested in and which ones bored the shit out of him.  There was this funny cartoon at the corner of his notebook about a stick-figure slipping on a banana peel.  It moved if you flipped at the corners real fast.  There were also some pretty unprofessional scrawls of Pikachu and particularly detailed drawings of landscapes.  These were things I found in topics like outlines and sentence structures.  With topics like the Iliad, for example, the notes were clean and precise.

      I pulled myself away from my thoughts for awhile to copy notes; Omi would have hated to miss the lecture on Virgil's epic.  I was just turning to a new, fresh page when my clumsy hands--not lost, despite my change in body--fumbled again and I accidentally turned to the last pages of the notebook.

      I ran my hands reverently across the fervent writing; he must have been scrawling so furiously that he created ridges and marks staining the other pages, as if afraid that he would lose his thread of thought.

      I chuckled to myself.  Yoji was wrong, this morning.  Omi is never attentive in class, judging by his doodles and written works.  It's just that he hasn't been acting as well as he usually does. 

      It made me feel vaguely voyeuristic, but I couldn't seem to help myself, as I started to read through his work, most of which were short stories and clips of unfinished ones.

      The first was a comedy.  The character made me laugh, reminding me of Yoji.  It was about a playboy, who gave an engagement gift to his girlfriend.  It was a family heirloom that went only to the brides.  The two broke up, and the story was about the trials he went through to get it back, so he could marry someone else, as the woman refuses to return it.  He hounds her, and they eventually fall in love again.

      I'd make Yoji read it, if I were Omi.  Like a warning, a prophecy of his possible future as a teetering bachelor.

      The next one was a little bittersweet.  It was about a young man who was so much like Ran that I hesitated a little, before continuing.  He was losing his sister to cancer, and went on a road trip, looking for the devil so they could have a deal.  In the end, he found a peace within himself, and with God.

      Hm.  Compelling read, but wouldn't make Ran a very happy man.  I guess a great part of literature really was drawn from real life.  It made me wonder about what Omi would write about me.

      After flipping through a whole lot of random and unfinished scribble, I finally found my…well, it wasn't a story.  It was a dedication, of sorts. Postmortem.  It irked me a bit that he didn't find me interesting enough to write about when I was alive!

      Trivial, I know, but I haven't been able to help myself lately.

      I've heard from somewhere that when a person dies--

      I don't think I want to see the rest of this.

      --they don't die all at once, but in bits and pieces.  Sadly, I've found out the truth of this first-hand. 

      Back at the shop, we seem to have an astounding amount more of supplies than usual.  Say, for example, we have more pots now than we've ever had before, seeing as no one falls down anymore to ruin them and drop them.  More fertilizer and soil supplements too, for the same reasons.  And more gentians (after the funeral, that is), because he isn't around anymore to steal some and take them to his apartment. 

      We hang all four of our aprons in a set of hooks lining one wall.  Every time we work, one will always be left behind.  The same could be said of our gloves, and the mugs in our kitchen. 

      I don't hear that annoying ball bouncing around on the floor and the walls anymore, nor the animated chatter of children, as they no longer have any reason to come by the shop, now that Ken-niichan is gone. 

      His body died that night, but he's been dying inside me again and again and again ever since, and I keep wondering when it will ever stop, if at all.  I keep wondering when he will die completely.  I keep wondering when all that he ever was would stop popping in at odd places and reminding me of what I had lost.

      It ended there.

      Damn you, Omi.  I wish you just wrote some obscene stuff in your notebooks, like regular guys.  Or better yet, phone numbers of sexy girls in class--I hear, and know, you have your pick of them.  But then again, it wouldn't be you, would it?

      The bell rang to signal the end of classes.

      It was lunchtime, and I suddenly found myself surrounded by a cheer that I wasn't part of.  I felt detached, already.  Like an observer.  Like a ghost.

      But how could that be? I was alive, here inside Omi.  He's alive.  No one should ever feel the kind of loneliness that I read in that notebook.  No one, least of all my friend.

      Now if I could just make his life a little more interesting.

      I strolled into the lunch area on the school grounds with a mission.

      Ran Fujimiya-style, I added an arrogance to my walk, a proud tilt to my chin and a determined glint in my eye.  And emulating Yoji Kudo, epicure of women, I smiled slyly at every passing lady, the results of which were very pleasing.

      I grabbed my things and casually sauntered over to a table full of pretty girls.  It's really weird, how hard it was chatting up girls in my own body, and this was being a breeze.  I guess I wasn't thinking of rejection anymore, nor failure since I will only stay a day in here.

      "Is this seat taken?" I asked, putting a bright smile on my face.  I knew for a fact that Omi had a brilliant smile.  Sincere, with genuine affection in his eyes.  It makes a guy like me soften, so it could probably melt a girl's heart.

      "It's yours, Omi!" they chorused, though the grins they gave me/Omi were a little hesitant.

      "What's the matter?" I asked them.

      Their eyes shifted this way and that, until the young lady who appeared to be the outspoken one replied.

      "It's just that you've never paid us any attention before," she said, "and especially not…lately"

      "Not that we're complaining!" one of them chimed in.

      "You're very pleasant company!" another added.

      I smiled.  Yes, Omi really was, if he only bothered to give girls the time of day.  For him it was work first, then the team and the shop.  Then there was Ouka, his only love who had died.  And there was also the mess over his family.  I've never met a more burdened guy.  He needs a little distraction, and I have a feeling that's what I'm here for, instead of replacing him.

      I came home later than Omi would have on a school day.  Yoji and Ran were already working, and were eyeing me with some annoyance.

      I went straight for the rack, which held two aprons, and placed my apron on (instead of Omi's, as is proper) before I could think.

      "What are you doing?" I heard Yoji hiss at me.  I turned, surprised to find the rage in his eyes.  I couldn't understand it.

      "It's an apron, I'm using it" I told him indignantly.  What was wrong with this guy? Earlier, he was telling me they had to move on because I was dead.  Now he won't let me touch anything.

      I never thought I'd be fighting with anyone because I was dead and I wanted to be forgotten--no, not really.  I just wanted people to move on, and this guy was refusing to budge, apart from playing the hypocrite and lecturing me/Omi earlier.

      Thankfully, Ran played referee before we could do anything stupid.  He nodded for Yoji to go attend to a customer.  I recognized her at once; she was a single mother, a widow, by the name of Cherry.  Her boy Eric was a member of my team.  Mother was without child now, and looked as beautiful as ever, despite the uncertain look on her face.

      "May I help you?" I heard Yoji ask in a restrained voice.

      "Actually, I was looking for Ken" she replied, craning her neck to look around. 

      I watched Yoji stiffen.  "He's not here"
      Cherry chuckled softly.  "Where is he hiding? My son and I have been out of town for a few days, and Eric told me there wasn't any soccer practice today.  He looked really sad and couldn't tell me why.  I don't like seeing my boy unhappy, and I just wanted to talk to Ken if Eric had any trouble with the kids today.  Eric is very sensitive, and he used to be worse, before Ken got him into playing with the neighborhood team.  If he's off-duty, I'm sure he wouldn't mind seeing me for just one minute--"

      I waited for Yoji to tell her I was dead.  But he didn't say a thing.  I waited for him to tell the lady that people died all the time, you should tell your son that, it's a fact of life, he'd have to get used to it.  I waited for him to sound like the man I had encountered this morning; stern, brutal in truth.  But he didn't say one bloody thing, and I couldn't understand why.

      "He passed away while you were gone," Ran told her quietly, "it was an accident in that new construction site.  Some curious kids got careless and he aided them…" his voice trailed off.

      Cherry was just about as stunned as I was at the alibi Kritiker had fixed up for me.  Well, Ken Hidaka.  Hero.  How about that? I was condemned in a game-fixing scandal.  I wonder who thought about this little shot at redeeming my name?

      "I see," Cherry said, when she was finally able to find her voice.  "For how long now?"
      "The funeral was last week" said Ran curtly, "anything else we can help you with?"
      She pushed her hair behind the ears, suddenly uneasy.  "Do you need an extra hand around here? I mean, I see how hectic it gets.  With just three of you left--"
      "We don't need any help, lady," said Yoji, "but thanks"

      "He helped me too" Cherry said, "it's the least I could offer"

      I couldn't believe I was hanging around for this.  Masochist, that's what I was.  I enjoyed the pain.  Or maybe it was nice to see that the things I did around here counted for something after all.

      Cherry tucked her hair behind her ears as she spoke.  "Well.  I guess…I might as well get going.  But…I would like to visit his grave, if you could give me directions…?"

      "It's a forty-minute drive from the city," replied Yoji, sounding preoccupied, "look for the grave where all the gentians are.  It's hard to miss"

      She paused, before leaving.  "If you have anymore of those, I'd like some…"

      Cherry left after Ran handed her a bouquet and she paid for them, and I found myself staring at Yoji, who seemed to have suddenly poured his heart out to his work.

      What happened to him since this morning to make him suddenly behave this way?

      I stared at my handiwork on Omi's wall.

      It was a planner on a calendar on a white board that I bought at the mall today.  This way, when I leave Omi's body, he would be able to know about the 'appointments' I've arranged for him. 

      I was proud to have set up dates for every Friday and Saturday night of the month with every pretty and intelligent girl I found the time to speak with.  And knowing Omi, though he might not remember how he ever had the dates to begin with, he would be much too polite to cancel out.

      So.  What have I done with my day as Omi Tsukiyono? I flunked some quizzes, and generally made a gigolo of myself so he could be distracted for the next month or so.  Normal enough, I'd say.  Omi needs a little normality in his life.  I, for example, was a pretty average high school student.  Got my share of school spirit, the girls, the grades.  It was a very, very, satisfying experience.

      I looked at the clock on Omi's wall.  It was eleven p.m.  I hadn't thought I'd take that long to post a calendar and write down Omi's dates on them.

      I chuckled, amused with myself and how clever I was.  This Friday, Omi would be going to a club with a girl named Laissa.  I know he likes dancing, and is good at it.  The next evening, to a movie premiere with an heiress.  The next week, to a book fair.  After that, a concert…it went on and on. 

      I was just settling for bed, ready to wake up in limbo again after leaving Omi's body, when I heard some thumps from downstairs that immediately got me alert.

      With caution, I walked out of Omi's room and took the stairs down to the ground floor, where I found a drunken Yoji just coming into the building.

      He looked at me and gave me a goofy smile.  "Up late on a school night?" I watched him uncertainly as he settled into the couch, looking beat.

      "You drove like this?" I asked, angry that he endangered himself and others he may have run over.

      He didn't reply at first, and looked up at the stairs.  I knew why; Ran had heard the sounds too, and had looked at what was going on, but must have retreated away, not wanting to be seen.

      "Well?" I pressed.

      "Don't be so uptight" he teased, taking another gulp from the near-empty bottle of vodka in his hand.  "Nothing happened"

      Where do you start with this guy?!

      "Why are you doing this to yourself?" I asked, annoyed.  Very, very, very annoyed.

      He seemed to consider it for a few moments, looking almost chastened and sober.  Then he just chuckled.

      "Dunno"

      I ran my hands over my hair in frustration.  And just when I didn't think he was going to say anything more, he pushed his sunglasses up higher over his nose and started saying things that I hadn't wanted to hear, as much as I hadn't wanted to read Omi's writing.  But still did.

      "You remember one of the last things he said, Omi?" he asked me, though apparently wasn't expecting nor desiring a reply.  "He said, 'You are not going to die because of me.'  That's what he said.  But he did"

      "Excuse me?"

      "Selfish bastard," Yoji downed the last of his drink, "he died because of us.  Selfish, selfish bastard.  Didn't want the guilt, so he left it to us instead."
      It was fragmentary.  I couldn't understand him completely.

      "I heard those shots," he continued, "I knew he wasn't going to make it.  I saw his face.  I can still see the decision on his face.  I can see him fall, and remember how he felt when I caught him.  Someone had to catch him, Omi.  I knew you and Ran could handle those men, but someone had to catch Ken, the selfish bastard"

      "I don't know what to say," I told him.

      He nodded, understanding.

      "You know what's worse?" he asked me in a hoarse voice.

      Yoji was a very, very, very bad drunk.  Some guys shut up or sleep or throw up.  Yoji talks.  Yoji seldom talks seriously but when he's drunk he talks and I have a feeling he might find that much, much worse than the other options.

      "What's worse?" I asked warily.

      "I met his girlfriend today" he blurted out.

      My eyes must have popped out of my head.  Thankfully, Yoji interpreted this as surprise to unsuspecting little Omi that Ken-kun had a girlfriend.  Besides, who would think of the truth?

      "Yup, he had a girl," Yoji drawled, "Ken's still a kid, you know.  I ended up disrupting that romance.  Well, anyway, that's a different story.  Bottom-line is, they never ended up together because she left for Australia.  Ken's young and he had a life ahead of him.  The girl he loves comes back, only to find him dead.  Things were just shaping up for him, when he died.  It's just a waste, that's all."

      So that's what got him troubled.  Now it's got me troubled too.  Yuriko came back for me, but I'm dead now.  It's too late, like adding insult to injury.  What a waste.  My whole life, filled with missed opportunities.

      "It should have been me," whispered Yoji, "it always should have been me, but then it never is.  All I can ever do is watch"

      I stared at him, his hands slackening and the bottle falling to the floor, unbroken but sounding in a thud.  He had fallen asleep.

      He was speaking about his lovely Asuka, and that other girl.  It's not his fault, but like everyone in this team he's very masochistic.  Always blaming ourselves.  I was starting to see the errors, again, much too late.  But only for me.  Only for me.  My friends get to have a chance at rectifying that.

      I grabbed a blanket from Omi's room, encountering Ran along the way.  He was looking both displeased and worried at the same time; I always wondered how he could convey so many emotions despite his seemingly blasé expression.

      "He shouldn't have been driving drunk," he said flatly.

      "I told him so too," I said, and Ran just nodded and walked away.  I headed back to Yoji, who was sleeping soundly.  I draped the blanket over him.

      "You're going to have a killer hangover tomorrow, Yoji," I told him with a sigh, "but that's okay.  I'm going to be you next."