I felt I should finish the second chapter and post the first and second chapters all at the same time, so people would see that it wasn't ALL about Ken and Omi. This also, is somewhat bleak, but HEY! I'm just setting things up here. Can't have a story without any problems. Who wants to read about happy people sitting around eating candy, getting drunk and being disgustingly wealthy!?
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Youji wouldn't go so far as to refer to it as a companionable quiet. A wordless truce perhaps. Neither had anything to say to the other and both were comfortable with that stalemate. As comfortable as any two partially sane people could be, sitting side by side, watching a blank TV screen.
"They're being awfully quite." Youji's voice grated across the silence. He couldn't help it. That noiseless ringing had finally started up in his ears. Everyone had a breaking point in most given situations, Youji's just happened to arrive a few minutes ahead of schedule.
"And?" Aya lifted one shoulder.
"And, what if something bad is happening? What if Ken has lost his mind and he's up there eating chunks of Omi's lifeless body, gnawing away at Omi's rubbery flesh."
Another raised shoulder. "You do realize the likelihood of that happening faces the odds of zero in a googolplex."
Youji laughed. "Googolplex. What the hell am I supposed to say in reply to any sentence featuring the word 'Googolplex'?"
"You just suggested Ken might be upstairs eating someone's flesh..." Aya huffed, deciding he'd given all the response really required. He went back to his contemplation of the curvaceous, black television screen. Someday he planned on buying a television and taking it apart. It was a mystery what that dark glass concealed from the layman's eyes.
"I'm going to check on them." Youji announced, five minutes later. He patted Aya on the head as he passed by. Aya decided to let it slide.
The wooden boards were chilly underneath Youji's bare feet. Smooth, waxed floors lasted only partway down the final hallway upstairs, turning into rough, stripped floorboards. Aya had tried to get all of the flooring fixed up, but his leg hadn't held up to all the activity.
Tapping fingertips on their shut door. "Any survivors?" He decided to take the light-hearted approach. If something truly wrong had happened, one of the two should have come stomping down the stairs some time ago. He hoped. It was too quite for any sort of make-up sex to be going on. That may or may not be a sign for the worst.
"I can't hear you through the wood. Come in." Omi's voice hailed him from behind the gateway to what just might be hell.
Somewhat reassured, Youji turned the doorknob, peering into the dim room. Omi was hunched over one of Ken's hands, both of them sitting on the unmade bed, cast into highly contrasted shadow and orange by the bedside oil lamps.
"This might be an odd question, but what exactly ARE you doing?" Seeing no signs of lingering resentment, Youji plopped down on the bed, making himself comfortable.
"You're shaking the bed. I'm trying to pick splinters out of Ken's hand." Omi blew mussed bangs out of his eyes with an upward puff of breath, smiling somewhat absently. A pause. "That should be the last of them." He untangled his legs from the upper layers of blankets and padded quietly into the bathroom after brushing a kiss across Ken's poor hand; rummaging around in the first-aid kit on the counter.
Keeping on eye on the open bathroom door to his right, Youji leaned over. "Should I understand it that you were unable to come up with a adequate 'let's just be friends' speech?"
Ken looked up; bit his lip. "Youji, I'm so fucked. I am SO fucked. This isn't how things were supposed to finish up." Youji had trouble hearing Ken's muted whisper. They both avoided eye contact as Omi bounced back to sit on the edge of the bed.
"Well, I've got a certain someone downstairs who'll probably be wondering why I've been gone for so long." Youji offered the first excuse he could come up with. In all actuality, he supposed Aya was still in the exact same spot, contemplating the secret messages hidden inside the inert television. He got like that sometimes...
Ken made a few discreet "save me, please" faces. Youji gave his shoulder a squeeze, tousled the kid's hair in passing and made his escape. Unhappy relationship-type situations that didn't involve him directly made him somewhat squeamish.
Youji wished he had someone around he could make senseless bets with. Aya was still staring off into the distance, not a single hair had shifted to a different position. Twenty some minutes without moving. Damn, but he really could have had some fun with in-house bets like that.
"You dead?" Youji poked Aya in the arm. He half expected Aya to tip over and lie motionless on his side. Instead Aya blinked and looked up.
"Good news and bad news." Tucking hair behind his ears, Youji slumped down on the couch, leaning against Aya. "Good new: No bloodshed. I think Omi's happy again. Bad News: Steadily standing relationship. Ken's the opposite of happy." Youji waited for a reply, letting his bleary eyes close. "'M tired. How about you?"
Aya abruptly stood up, putting Youji off balance as his support went out from under him. Amethyst eyes stared at him for a moment before looking away. Youji watched hindered, retreating legs from his upside-down vantage point on the couch. Not another one of these episodes. "Remind me to avoid moody people from now on." He smacked his forehead, talking to the air. "Well shit, if I wanted to do that, I'd have to up and move away."
- - - -
He was going to be crippled. No one had said anything to confirm this new belief of his, but as far as Aya was concerned, it was a certainty. His leg was never going to heal, as it should have. He'd be limping around for the rest of his life, like some sort of aged person. Useless. He might as well work on his fucking cooking skills while he was at it, because for all the good he'd be doing in a few months' time, he might as well be a goddamned housewife.
There was no way in hell he'd ever be able to hurtle from one rooftop to another, chasing down a targeted criminal, no way he could leap back from a knife blade, come crashing down out of nowhere, a malevolent angel with a bloodthirsty blade.
Lying on his side, legs curled up to his chest under the blankets, his muscles screamed out, asking for relief. Limited range of motion. Limited range of usefulness. There were so many things he couldn't do now. Useless. A waste of air, a waste of anyone's time.
"I really don't need another bout of depression from you right now. Not if I have to be trying to keep Ken and Omi from spontaneously combusting at the same time." The mattress dipped down as Youji sat down cross-legged on his side of the bed. He placed his palm against Aya's curved spine. "I'm not going to get a reply out of you, am I?"
Silence reigned once again. This time it wasn't a comfortable one of understanding and contentment. Youji took his hand back; remained staring at the red hair spread upon the sky blue pillow. "I don't really understand what the problem is. I have a few guesses, but I'm assuming you're not in the mood to talk and validate any of those.
"One of my theories suggests you're perhaps feeling a little out of sorts. You should know that you're doing everything far outside your current range of capability. You're being BEYOND helpful, and that in itself is making your leg a bit slow to heal. Maybe you're also feeling cooped up, because we haven't been taking on any jobs, because we've all been a bit paranoid and inclined to stay close to home. If it would make you feel better, tomorrow we can go out and just hang around out there in the big world, maybe walk around a bit, to give your leg some exercise."
Youji stopped. "You know, you could try fucking talking here. I'm more than willing to do everything within my power and then some to make you feel better, but I have to know what's needed here." He knew the likelihood of his actually being any help at all were slim to none. Only around Aya did he ever feel this inadequate, a separate, lesser being. He couldn't read minds, but maybe he should have been born with that ability. Then he wouldn't be letting one of the most important people in this life down. Day after day.
'Why aren't I good enough?' He went to sleep most nights wondering that very thing. He could only laugh into the face of adversity for so long before adversity picked up its katana and threatened to main him with it. If humor wasn't a way of coping with things, if attempting to help didn't make things any better, what was left? What could he honestly do, to make things better?
He curled his body against Aya's, chest to back. It was like lying with a corpse. Barely noticeable breaths, motionless, emotionless, noiseless. "Aya, I'd do anything you wanted, but I have to know what you want first. I can't- I'm not good at reading people. I have to be told what to do. Hell, I can't even buy birthday gifts without a list to pick items from."
There was a shifting of limbs as Aya pulled away, moving to the very edge of the bed. "I'm tired." He pulled his appendages in closer, going into as small a ball as he could.
Flipping onto his back, Youji wondered what his new sin might be. Had he said something wrong without meaning to, had he made the wrong facial expression at the wrong time? Had he been faulted for not having a limp of his own? What had shifted, to put him in the eternal role of wrongdoer this time?
Maybe, someone could tell him when he was at least doing the right thing. Nothing ever came through about blatant mistakes, could he at least expect a quick word of affirmation if he ever happened to do something correctly?
"What's wrong with me now, Aya? I do my best, but I can still only be this one person. Myself." There was no reply. This time he didn't even bother to hope for one.
On the other half of the bed, Aya wondered why no one could understand. Why no one would even speak the truth with him. Loosing his livelihood, his only known method of living, and people were suggesting a nice walk might make him feel better. What was he doing wrong, that no one could understand he just wanted some time alone?
"Good night, Aya." Youji watched the moon paint shifting skeleton hands across the ceiling, the branches outside dancing in unison with the shadows on the bumpy plaster.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Doesn't that just make you all warm and fuzzy, boys and girls? -laughs some more- I'm not into angst, but things are more fun when everyone is just plain old unhappy. They really are! Anyway, you like the new installments? You hate? Let me know! E-mail me at darkhunter@ijustdontcare or akainobaka@mchsi.com
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Youji wouldn't go so far as to refer to it as a companionable quiet. A wordless truce perhaps. Neither had anything to say to the other and both were comfortable with that stalemate. As comfortable as any two partially sane people could be, sitting side by side, watching a blank TV screen.
"They're being awfully quite." Youji's voice grated across the silence. He couldn't help it. That noiseless ringing had finally started up in his ears. Everyone had a breaking point in most given situations, Youji's just happened to arrive a few minutes ahead of schedule.
"And?" Aya lifted one shoulder.
"And, what if something bad is happening? What if Ken has lost his mind and he's up there eating chunks of Omi's lifeless body, gnawing away at Omi's rubbery flesh."
Another raised shoulder. "You do realize the likelihood of that happening faces the odds of zero in a googolplex."
Youji laughed. "Googolplex. What the hell am I supposed to say in reply to any sentence featuring the word 'Googolplex'?"
"You just suggested Ken might be upstairs eating someone's flesh..." Aya huffed, deciding he'd given all the response really required. He went back to his contemplation of the curvaceous, black television screen. Someday he planned on buying a television and taking it apart. It was a mystery what that dark glass concealed from the layman's eyes.
"I'm going to check on them." Youji announced, five minutes later. He patted Aya on the head as he passed by. Aya decided to let it slide.
The wooden boards were chilly underneath Youji's bare feet. Smooth, waxed floors lasted only partway down the final hallway upstairs, turning into rough, stripped floorboards. Aya had tried to get all of the flooring fixed up, but his leg hadn't held up to all the activity.
Tapping fingertips on their shut door. "Any survivors?" He decided to take the light-hearted approach. If something truly wrong had happened, one of the two should have come stomping down the stairs some time ago. He hoped. It was too quite for any sort of make-up sex to be going on. That may or may not be a sign for the worst.
"I can't hear you through the wood. Come in." Omi's voice hailed him from behind the gateway to what just might be hell.
Somewhat reassured, Youji turned the doorknob, peering into the dim room. Omi was hunched over one of Ken's hands, both of them sitting on the unmade bed, cast into highly contrasted shadow and orange by the bedside oil lamps.
"This might be an odd question, but what exactly ARE you doing?" Seeing no signs of lingering resentment, Youji plopped down on the bed, making himself comfortable.
"You're shaking the bed. I'm trying to pick splinters out of Ken's hand." Omi blew mussed bangs out of his eyes with an upward puff of breath, smiling somewhat absently. A pause. "That should be the last of them." He untangled his legs from the upper layers of blankets and padded quietly into the bathroom after brushing a kiss across Ken's poor hand; rummaging around in the first-aid kit on the counter.
Keeping on eye on the open bathroom door to his right, Youji leaned over. "Should I understand it that you were unable to come up with a adequate 'let's just be friends' speech?"
Ken looked up; bit his lip. "Youji, I'm so fucked. I am SO fucked. This isn't how things were supposed to finish up." Youji had trouble hearing Ken's muted whisper. They both avoided eye contact as Omi bounced back to sit on the edge of the bed.
"Well, I've got a certain someone downstairs who'll probably be wondering why I've been gone for so long." Youji offered the first excuse he could come up with. In all actuality, he supposed Aya was still in the exact same spot, contemplating the secret messages hidden inside the inert television. He got like that sometimes...
Ken made a few discreet "save me, please" faces. Youji gave his shoulder a squeeze, tousled the kid's hair in passing and made his escape. Unhappy relationship-type situations that didn't involve him directly made him somewhat squeamish.
Youji wished he had someone around he could make senseless bets with. Aya was still staring off into the distance, not a single hair had shifted to a different position. Twenty some minutes without moving. Damn, but he really could have had some fun with in-house bets like that.
"You dead?" Youji poked Aya in the arm. He half expected Aya to tip over and lie motionless on his side. Instead Aya blinked and looked up.
"Good news and bad news." Tucking hair behind his ears, Youji slumped down on the couch, leaning against Aya. "Good new: No bloodshed. I think Omi's happy again. Bad News: Steadily standing relationship. Ken's the opposite of happy." Youji waited for a reply, letting his bleary eyes close. "'M tired. How about you?"
Aya abruptly stood up, putting Youji off balance as his support went out from under him. Amethyst eyes stared at him for a moment before looking away. Youji watched hindered, retreating legs from his upside-down vantage point on the couch. Not another one of these episodes. "Remind me to avoid moody people from now on." He smacked his forehead, talking to the air. "Well shit, if I wanted to do that, I'd have to up and move away."
- - - -
He was going to be crippled. No one had said anything to confirm this new belief of his, but as far as Aya was concerned, it was a certainty. His leg was never going to heal, as it should have. He'd be limping around for the rest of his life, like some sort of aged person. Useless. He might as well work on his fucking cooking skills while he was at it, because for all the good he'd be doing in a few months' time, he might as well be a goddamned housewife.
There was no way in hell he'd ever be able to hurtle from one rooftop to another, chasing down a targeted criminal, no way he could leap back from a knife blade, come crashing down out of nowhere, a malevolent angel with a bloodthirsty blade.
Lying on his side, legs curled up to his chest under the blankets, his muscles screamed out, asking for relief. Limited range of motion. Limited range of usefulness. There were so many things he couldn't do now. Useless. A waste of air, a waste of anyone's time.
"I really don't need another bout of depression from you right now. Not if I have to be trying to keep Ken and Omi from spontaneously combusting at the same time." The mattress dipped down as Youji sat down cross-legged on his side of the bed. He placed his palm against Aya's curved spine. "I'm not going to get a reply out of you, am I?"
Silence reigned once again. This time it wasn't a comfortable one of understanding and contentment. Youji took his hand back; remained staring at the red hair spread upon the sky blue pillow. "I don't really understand what the problem is. I have a few guesses, but I'm assuming you're not in the mood to talk and validate any of those.
"One of my theories suggests you're perhaps feeling a little out of sorts. You should know that you're doing everything far outside your current range of capability. You're being BEYOND helpful, and that in itself is making your leg a bit slow to heal. Maybe you're also feeling cooped up, because we haven't been taking on any jobs, because we've all been a bit paranoid and inclined to stay close to home. If it would make you feel better, tomorrow we can go out and just hang around out there in the big world, maybe walk around a bit, to give your leg some exercise."
Youji stopped. "You know, you could try fucking talking here. I'm more than willing to do everything within my power and then some to make you feel better, but I have to know what's needed here." He knew the likelihood of his actually being any help at all were slim to none. Only around Aya did he ever feel this inadequate, a separate, lesser being. He couldn't read minds, but maybe he should have been born with that ability. Then he wouldn't be letting one of the most important people in this life down. Day after day.
'Why aren't I good enough?' He went to sleep most nights wondering that very thing. He could only laugh into the face of adversity for so long before adversity picked up its katana and threatened to main him with it. If humor wasn't a way of coping with things, if attempting to help didn't make things any better, what was left? What could he honestly do, to make things better?
He curled his body against Aya's, chest to back. It was like lying with a corpse. Barely noticeable breaths, motionless, emotionless, noiseless. "Aya, I'd do anything you wanted, but I have to know what you want first. I can't- I'm not good at reading people. I have to be told what to do. Hell, I can't even buy birthday gifts without a list to pick items from."
There was a shifting of limbs as Aya pulled away, moving to the very edge of the bed. "I'm tired." He pulled his appendages in closer, going into as small a ball as he could.
Flipping onto his back, Youji wondered what his new sin might be. Had he said something wrong without meaning to, had he made the wrong facial expression at the wrong time? Had he been faulted for not having a limp of his own? What had shifted, to put him in the eternal role of wrongdoer this time?
Maybe, someone could tell him when he was at least doing the right thing. Nothing ever came through about blatant mistakes, could he at least expect a quick word of affirmation if he ever happened to do something correctly?
"What's wrong with me now, Aya? I do my best, but I can still only be this one person. Myself." There was no reply. This time he didn't even bother to hope for one.
On the other half of the bed, Aya wondered why no one could understand. Why no one would even speak the truth with him. Loosing his livelihood, his only known method of living, and people were suggesting a nice walk might make him feel better. What was he doing wrong, that no one could understand he just wanted some time alone?
"Good night, Aya." Youji watched the moon paint shifting skeleton hands across the ceiling, the branches outside dancing in unison with the shadows on the bumpy plaster.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Doesn't that just make you all warm and fuzzy, boys and girls? -laughs some more- I'm not into angst, but things are more fun when everyone is just plain old unhappy. They really are! Anyway, you like the new installments? You hate? Let me know! E-mail me at darkhunter@ijustdontcare or akainobaka@mchsi.com