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Chapter 2. Already. This is incredibly fast for me o.o
Thanks for reading, and reviewing, to those of you who did so! ^^ I'm glad
that you all enjoyed it.
Did I mention that I actually enjoy getting flamed? I'm insane, I think,
but they're damned fun to read. So if you really don't like it, go ahead
^^; And if you have any suggestions at all, tell me those too. I want to
get better (I know there's plenty of room for improvement...)
Michi told me there wasn't enough death in chapter 1 o.O I guess I'll
rectify that later on ^^;;;
Sankyuu~!
~
My Bloody Valentine
Kudou Yohji usually did not drink in the mornings. Granted, this was mostly because he wasn't usually awake in the mornings, but on the rare occasions he did get out of bed before 10 a.m. he avoided alcohol. No use stumbling around all day drunk, ne?
Today, however...
Yohji swirled the half-empty sake bottle and poured himself another shot. Today, however.was a special day. He lifted the shot glass to his lips and gulped the harsh liquid down. It fell to his stomach and burned with the already-drunk first half of the bottle. The glass returned to the table with a soft clink, and he reached to pour another.
The quiet sound roused Omi. Dulled, pain-filled cerulean lifted to meet Yohji's eyes.
The older blonde's lips quirked, and he held out the bottle. "Want some?" he asked, voice barely even slurred.
Omi shook his head mutely and looked back down at the table, returning to the shredded pieces of paper in front of him. The ink had blurred with tears and rain, and most of the words and kanji were chopped in two... "Tokyo Stadium, 16/05/03, 7.00 P.M., Row 3, Section A, Seat 12...Seat 13..." He'd been out last night getting them...tickets to the J-League soccer finals...And then...to come home to...
"Nagi." he hissed in a quiet voice, burying his face in his hands.
"Eh?" Yohji looked up from his shot glass. "Say something, Omi-chan?"
Omi shook his head, rearranging the shreds of soccer tickets with one finger.
A loud clacking of heels on the linoleum kitchen floor made both lift their heads. Manx flipped through a folder slowly, not greeting the two men at first. Behind her, Aya leaned back against the wall, ice pack pressed to his forehead. His nose was set in a splint and covered in a thick white gauze. The bandages stood out sharply against the right half of his face, which was the same violet color of his eyes, bruised from the door Nagi had thrown at him. With a quiet groan, he peeled himself off the wall and joined his two remaining teammates at the table.
Manx raised her head finally, looking them over. Behind her, Omi caught sight of two Kritiker paramedics bearing a body bag down the stairs. A Ken- shaped body bag. He swallowed, feeling tears he thought he'd spent pricking his eyes, and crumpled up the snow of the paper shreds in a tight fist.
Sighing deeply, Manx tossed the folder onto the table. "There isn't anything I can tell you that you don't know already." She looked over the three men with a hint of sympathy in her eyes. "A direct gunshot wound to the chest...there was nothing that could be done." A moment's hesitation before taking the fourth seat at the table. "You all know...knew...there was danger. None of us expected something like, well...this."
"No shit," Yohji muttered, drinking down another shot. He reached to pour another and realized no more sake was coming from the bottle.
Manx ignored him, opening the folder slowly. "You all know that Ken was...legally...dead," she said, holding up a death certificate dated three years ago. "We'll have the body cremated...would you like the ashes?" The question was posed to the top of Omi's bowed head.
Dulled blue eyes lifted slightly. Omi gave a tiny nod, then looked back down at his tiny fist.
"Then all that's left is to move you."
"Move us?!" Yohji jumped up. "Come on, we can't just run scared...Manx!"
Manx shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's too dangerous here...if Schwarz knows where you are, more incidents like this could happen."
Omi watched a teardrop splash from his eye onto the table. No more incidents like this would happen. Schwarz's goal here was already accomplished.
Closing the folder, Manx rose to her feet. "We'll be back at 1500 hours to take you and any personal items to the temporary location." She gave a short, courteous bow, more out of habit than anything else. "Take care until then."
Aya bowed back, rising from his seat. He swayed slightly on his feet, head injuries pounding painfully. Without a glance back, Manx took her leave.
Yohji stared after her. "...Now what?" he asked.
"We'll go clean out his room." Aya pressed the ice pack a bit more firmly to his head, steadying himself against the table. "What we'll keep and what we'll dispose of."
"How fun," Yohji muttered, shoving the glass and bottle aside. "Come on, Omi-chan?"
Hunched over the table, Omi watched a few more salty tears hit the grainy wood. "Aa...I..." He nodded and rose, rubbing at his eyes with his fisted hand. "...Yes." Jamming his hand into his pocket, he loosened his grip on the ticket shreds. Most clung still to his sweaty palm. It felt oddly comforting. Trying and barely succeeding at one of his trademark genki grins, he followed his last two teammates back into the room where he'd learned just how badly Nagi had ruined his life.
* * *
Rain pounded against the windows of the Schwarz kitchen, the only noise to break the silence. The cold drops struck the glass and slithered down, like tear-streaks on skin. A thin, pale finger followed the drops down, midnight eyes dull and listless. The window reflected his drawn face, mussed hair...even the dark circles under his tired eyes. Behind him, stirring half the bowl of sugar into his coffee, Schuldig lounged lazily in his chair, as if the night hadn't been unusual in the slightest. His hair fell forward in his face, shielding his eyes and cheek from view.
In the reflection of the window, Nagi watched the kitchen door swing open and Crawford step in, rubbing his eyes painfully. It was obvious he hadn't slept any, either.
Schu raised his head at his leader's entrance. "Morning," he greeted with a sassy smirk. His hair fell back from his face, revealing a large purple and blue bruise on his cheek, bearing a shape suspiciously similar to the back of Crawford's hand.
The American returned his glasses to his face, sighing tiredly. Still, he managed to take the seat across from Schuldig with all of his usual grace. "...You two..." he finally began, taking the coffee from in front of Schuldig and, after studying the swirls of undissolved sugar drifting at the top, stood back up achingly and poured his own. He glanced back and forth between his two comrades, from the bruise on Schuldig's cheek to the back of Nagi's head. Finally his eyes froze on the telepath. "You still haven't answered me, Mastermind."
"Answered what?" Brushing his hair with his fingers, Schuldig glanced up at him indifferently. "I already told you what happened, Crawford," he said, lips forcefully turning down to hide a smile.
Crawford slammed his cup down on the table. The liquid sloshed, splashing over the wood. "Schuldig." His voice was calmer than his expression let on.
"I already told you," Schu repeated, glancing at Nagi in boredom. "Step one, Nagi kills the kitten. Step two, the Bombay-kitten needs comforting and goes running back to Nagi. You should have been able to understand that by now, Crawford. It's not a complex plan."
"It didn't work."
Turning his head to Nagi, the telepath nodded. "Only 'cause he came home early. It would've worked." He smirked, lifting his drink to his lips, oblivious of the seething Brad that looked ready to fill him with a round.
Noting the deathglare in his leader's eyes, Nagi slid away from the window, moving silently to the door. Schuldig watched him from the corner of his eye, smirk broadening over his insolent face. Crawford waited until Nagi had passed through the door to the living room before giving his telepath a matching backhanded bruise on the other cheek.
Tuning out the annoyed shouts and sarcastic responses, Nagi wove his way around the motionless body leaning against the wall. Farfarello barely lifted his head as he passed, seemingly in a deep sleep, arms and legs crossed casually to hold him up.
"What was the plan?" he asked, gold eye glittering open to stare at the spotless floor.
Nagi turned back slowly. "...You didn't hear?"
"Not all."
With a quiet sigh, Nagi took up a similar position against the opposite wall. "I killed Siberian."
"I know."
"Bombay wasn't supposed to be home." His voice quivered slightly, but held. "He was supposed to think it was someone else...and come back to me."
Farfarello finally raised his head, smiling distantly. "You can say you would kill to have him..."
"What?"
"Would you do anything for him?"
A bit surprised at the question, Nagi inclined his head. "Yes. Anything and everything."
Farfarello smiled and pulled away from the wall. "That's nice," he said, voice dreamy and vague.
"What is?"
Laughing on the edge of maniacally, Farfie wandered away from him into the kitchen, interrupting Crawford's rant to innocently ask, "Is breakfast ready yet?"
* * *
The door to Ken's room hung wide open. Omi approached it warily, torn between his duty to his dead lover and the fear of going back in to a place he never wanted to see again.
Yohji and Aya both looked up as he entered, eyes baring a hint of sympathy. "You okay, Omi-chan?" Yohji asked, neatly folding one of Ken's shirts.
"I'm okay," the littler blond responded, not okay at all. Watching Aya and Yohji detachedly, he sat down on the edge of the bed beside a growing pile of clothes. An old J-League jersey lay on the top. HIDAKA 8. Omi picked it up, gripping the worn grass-stained cloth with both hands. His sight blurred - more tears, already? - and with a soft whimper he buried his face in the shirt.
"Omi!" The bed sank under him as Yohji sat down. Two warm arms wrapped around him in a tight hug. "It's okay...it's okay..."
Jerking away from the embrace, Omi collapsed on top of the pile of clothing. "It's not!" he sobbed, his tears falling on one of Ken's motorcycle jackets. "It won't ever be and I don't see how you can just not care!"
Yohji shot a tense look up at Aya. "C'mon chibi...Don't say that to me...Omi, look at me." Omi curled deeper into himself. With an aggravated sigh, Yohji reached for him, gripping a hand on each shoulder and forcibly lifting Omi up. "You're not the only one who's lost someone special to you! We're all hurting just as much as you are!" Omi's face drooped down to the floor. Yohji shook his head, sliding a hand under his chin and lifting him to meet his eyes. "You hear me? You gotta move on. Ken'd be proud of you if you can carry on after him. You gonna make him ashamed of you?" Omi chewed his lip, looking up into Yohji's eyes but not responding. The elder blond sighed and reached for the jersey in his hands. "You keep this, okay? Aya thinks..." From the closet the redhead gave a derisive snort, "That we should give Ken's stuff away, but I think he'd want you to have that."
Omi swallowed and looked down at the shirt gripped in his hands. "...Thanks, Yohji kun," he whispered.
Yohji laughed softly. "Shouldn't be thanking me, I didn't give it to ya. Just told you to hold on to it." He offered him a small smile. "There anything else of his you want? You don't have to stay if you don't want to."
Omi stood slowly, drying his eyes with the jersey. "No...there's nothing else." He looked around. "I'll...I'll stay." He looked down at the shirt in his hands and, hesitating for barely a moment, tied it around his waist the way Ken had worn his jacket. He bent down to the floor, gathering a soccer ball and several stray articles of clothing into his arms and dumping them on the bed.
Between the three of them, it took an hour and a half to disassemble Ken's room.
~*Tsuzuku*~
Please stay for chapter 3! ~K
My Bloody Valentine
Kudou Yohji usually did not drink in the mornings. Granted, this was mostly because he wasn't usually awake in the mornings, but on the rare occasions he did get out of bed before 10 a.m. he avoided alcohol. No use stumbling around all day drunk, ne?
Today, however...
Yohji swirled the half-empty sake bottle and poured himself another shot. Today, however.was a special day. He lifted the shot glass to his lips and gulped the harsh liquid down. It fell to his stomach and burned with the already-drunk first half of the bottle. The glass returned to the table with a soft clink, and he reached to pour another.
The quiet sound roused Omi. Dulled, pain-filled cerulean lifted to meet Yohji's eyes.
The older blonde's lips quirked, and he held out the bottle. "Want some?" he asked, voice barely even slurred.
Omi shook his head mutely and looked back down at the table, returning to the shredded pieces of paper in front of him. The ink had blurred with tears and rain, and most of the words and kanji were chopped in two... "Tokyo Stadium, 16/05/03, 7.00 P.M., Row 3, Section A, Seat 12...Seat 13..." He'd been out last night getting them...tickets to the J-League soccer finals...And then...to come home to...
"Nagi." he hissed in a quiet voice, burying his face in his hands.
"Eh?" Yohji looked up from his shot glass. "Say something, Omi-chan?"
Omi shook his head, rearranging the shreds of soccer tickets with one finger.
A loud clacking of heels on the linoleum kitchen floor made both lift their heads. Manx flipped through a folder slowly, not greeting the two men at first. Behind her, Aya leaned back against the wall, ice pack pressed to his forehead. His nose was set in a splint and covered in a thick white gauze. The bandages stood out sharply against the right half of his face, which was the same violet color of his eyes, bruised from the door Nagi had thrown at him. With a quiet groan, he peeled himself off the wall and joined his two remaining teammates at the table.
Manx raised her head finally, looking them over. Behind her, Omi caught sight of two Kritiker paramedics bearing a body bag down the stairs. A Ken- shaped body bag. He swallowed, feeling tears he thought he'd spent pricking his eyes, and crumpled up the snow of the paper shreds in a tight fist.
Sighing deeply, Manx tossed the folder onto the table. "There isn't anything I can tell you that you don't know already." She looked over the three men with a hint of sympathy in her eyes. "A direct gunshot wound to the chest...there was nothing that could be done." A moment's hesitation before taking the fourth seat at the table. "You all know...knew...there was danger. None of us expected something like, well...this."
"No shit," Yohji muttered, drinking down another shot. He reached to pour another and realized no more sake was coming from the bottle.
Manx ignored him, opening the folder slowly. "You all know that Ken was...legally...dead," she said, holding up a death certificate dated three years ago. "We'll have the body cremated...would you like the ashes?" The question was posed to the top of Omi's bowed head.
Dulled blue eyes lifted slightly. Omi gave a tiny nod, then looked back down at his tiny fist.
"Then all that's left is to move you."
"Move us?!" Yohji jumped up. "Come on, we can't just run scared...Manx!"
Manx shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's too dangerous here...if Schwarz knows where you are, more incidents like this could happen."
Omi watched a teardrop splash from his eye onto the table. No more incidents like this would happen. Schwarz's goal here was already accomplished.
Closing the folder, Manx rose to her feet. "We'll be back at 1500 hours to take you and any personal items to the temporary location." She gave a short, courteous bow, more out of habit than anything else. "Take care until then."
Aya bowed back, rising from his seat. He swayed slightly on his feet, head injuries pounding painfully. Without a glance back, Manx took her leave.
Yohji stared after her. "...Now what?" he asked.
"We'll go clean out his room." Aya pressed the ice pack a bit more firmly to his head, steadying himself against the table. "What we'll keep and what we'll dispose of."
"How fun," Yohji muttered, shoving the glass and bottle aside. "Come on, Omi-chan?"
Hunched over the table, Omi watched a few more salty tears hit the grainy wood. "Aa...I..." He nodded and rose, rubbing at his eyes with his fisted hand. "...Yes." Jamming his hand into his pocket, he loosened his grip on the ticket shreds. Most clung still to his sweaty palm. It felt oddly comforting. Trying and barely succeeding at one of his trademark genki grins, he followed his last two teammates back into the room where he'd learned just how badly Nagi had ruined his life.
* * *
Rain pounded against the windows of the Schwarz kitchen, the only noise to break the silence. The cold drops struck the glass and slithered down, like tear-streaks on skin. A thin, pale finger followed the drops down, midnight eyes dull and listless. The window reflected his drawn face, mussed hair...even the dark circles under his tired eyes. Behind him, stirring half the bowl of sugar into his coffee, Schuldig lounged lazily in his chair, as if the night hadn't been unusual in the slightest. His hair fell forward in his face, shielding his eyes and cheek from view.
In the reflection of the window, Nagi watched the kitchen door swing open and Crawford step in, rubbing his eyes painfully. It was obvious he hadn't slept any, either.
Schu raised his head at his leader's entrance. "Morning," he greeted with a sassy smirk. His hair fell back from his face, revealing a large purple and blue bruise on his cheek, bearing a shape suspiciously similar to the back of Crawford's hand.
The American returned his glasses to his face, sighing tiredly. Still, he managed to take the seat across from Schuldig with all of his usual grace. "...You two..." he finally began, taking the coffee from in front of Schuldig and, after studying the swirls of undissolved sugar drifting at the top, stood back up achingly and poured his own. He glanced back and forth between his two comrades, from the bruise on Schuldig's cheek to the back of Nagi's head. Finally his eyes froze on the telepath. "You still haven't answered me, Mastermind."
"Answered what?" Brushing his hair with his fingers, Schuldig glanced up at him indifferently. "I already told you what happened, Crawford," he said, lips forcefully turning down to hide a smile.
Crawford slammed his cup down on the table. The liquid sloshed, splashing over the wood. "Schuldig." His voice was calmer than his expression let on.
"I already told you," Schu repeated, glancing at Nagi in boredom. "Step one, Nagi kills the kitten. Step two, the Bombay-kitten needs comforting and goes running back to Nagi. You should have been able to understand that by now, Crawford. It's not a complex plan."
"It didn't work."
Turning his head to Nagi, the telepath nodded. "Only 'cause he came home early. It would've worked." He smirked, lifting his drink to his lips, oblivious of the seething Brad that looked ready to fill him with a round.
Noting the deathglare in his leader's eyes, Nagi slid away from the window, moving silently to the door. Schuldig watched him from the corner of his eye, smirk broadening over his insolent face. Crawford waited until Nagi had passed through the door to the living room before giving his telepath a matching backhanded bruise on the other cheek.
Tuning out the annoyed shouts and sarcastic responses, Nagi wove his way around the motionless body leaning against the wall. Farfarello barely lifted his head as he passed, seemingly in a deep sleep, arms and legs crossed casually to hold him up.
"What was the plan?" he asked, gold eye glittering open to stare at the spotless floor.
Nagi turned back slowly. "...You didn't hear?"
"Not all."
With a quiet sigh, Nagi took up a similar position against the opposite wall. "I killed Siberian."
"I know."
"Bombay wasn't supposed to be home." His voice quivered slightly, but held. "He was supposed to think it was someone else...and come back to me."
Farfarello finally raised his head, smiling distantly. "You can say you would kill to have him..."
"What?"
"Would you do anything for him?"
A bit surprised at the question, Nagi inclined his head. "Yes. Anything and everything."
Farfarello smiled and pulled away from the wall. "That's nice," he said, voice dreamy and vague.
"What is?"
Laughing on the edge of maniacally, Farfie wandered away from him into the kitchen, interrupting Crawford's rant to innocently ask, "Is breakfast ready yet?"
* * *
The door to Ken's room hung wide open. Omi approached it warily, torn between his duty to his dead lover and the fear of going back in to a place he never wanted to see again.
Yohji and Aya both looked up as he entered, eyes baring a hint of sympathy. "You okay, Omi-chan?" Yohji asked, neatly folding one of Ken's shirts.
"I'm okay," the littler blond responded, not okay at all. Watching Aya and Yohji detachedly, he sat down on the edge of the bed beside a growing pile of clothes. An old J-League jersey lay on the top. HIDAKA 8. Omi picked it up, gripping the worn grass-stained cloth with both hands. His sight blurred - more tears, already? - and with a soft whimper he buried his face in the shirt.
"Omi!" The bed sank under him as Yohji sat down. Two warm arms wrapped around him in a tight hug. "It's okay...it's okay..."
Jerking away from the embrace, Omi collapsed on top of the pile of clothing. "It's not!" he sobbed, his tears falling on one of Ken's motorcycle jackets. "It won't ever be and I don't see how you can just not care!"
Yohji shot a tense look up at Aya. "C'mon chibi...Don't say that to me...Omi, look at me." Omi curled deeper into himself. With an aggravated sigh, Yohji reached for him, gripping a hand on each shoulder and forcibly lifting Omi up. "You're not the only one who's lost someone special to you! We're all hurting just as much as you are!" Omi's face drooped down to the floor. Yohji shook his head, sliding a hand under his chin and lifting him to meet his eyes. "You hear me? You gotta move on. Ken'd be proud of you if you can carry on after him. You gonna make him ashamed of you?" Omi chewed his lip, looking up into Yohji's eyes but not responding. The elder blond sighed and reached for the jersey in his hands. "You keep this, okay? Aya thinks..." From the closet the redhead gave a derisive snort, "That we should give Ken's stuff away, but I think he'd want you to have that."
Omi swallowed and looked down at the shirt gripped in his hands. "...Thanks, Yohji kun," he whispered.
Yohji laughed softly. "Shouldn't be thanking me, I didn't give it to ya. Just told you to hold on to it." He offered him a small smile. "There anything else of his you want? You don't have to stay if you don't want to."
Omi stood slowly, drying his eyes with the jersey. "No...there's nothing else." He looked around. "I'll...I'll stay." He looked down at the shirt in his hands and, hesitating for barely a moment, tied it around his waist the way Ken had worn his jacket. He bent down to the floor, gathering a soccer ball and several stray articles of clothing into his arms and dumping them on the bed.
Between the three of them, it took an hour and a half to disassemble Ken's room.
~*Tsuzuku*~
Please stay for chapter 3! ~K