ARG! Sorry about the delay here! I was busy moving, and now that I'm finally moved in I have NO JOB! Usually, that would equate more free time, but I'm sort of needing one, so a great deal of effort goes into finding a new one. That and my boyfriend has that Black and White game. -sighs- It's too goddamned addictive, I missed this thing when I wasn't living with him. Okay-dokay. Here we go again!
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Once again, it was shaping up to be one of those days. Omi could taste the anger in the air, breezing in from all directions. Or maybe that was just the memory of traces of blood on his tongue from the night before. Things weren't as pleasant as he'd like to pretend they were.
He brushed sticky bangs out of his face with the only clean bit of his forearm left. Today was his day for a turn in the kitchen. Somehow or another, every other bit had been cleaned and patched excepting the most disgusting bits. Those apparently had been left for him. The absolutely vile cabinets watched him, leering beneath their thick coverage of insect feces and the caked on grunge of ages. Just his luck, there hadn't been any of the elbow-high rubber gloves left today, all claimed by someone less in need of them than he. The only remaining pair available for his usage had enough holes in it too strain soup with. You'd never want to put something EDIBLE through those tattered, grimy hand sheaths, but it was the concept, the concept he was getting at. Something he couldn't get anyone else to grasp a great deal of the time.
One of his knuckles brushed against the filthy cupboard's inner walls, a streak of unidentifiable muck left across the back of his hand. Gods, who the fuck knew what sorts of nasty, horrible shit it contained! He threw the sponge to the ground and stomped up and down on it, went to run his hands under scalding hot water again. Those damned tears were back, prickling beneath his closed eyelids. None of this was worth bawling about, wailing like some sort of stupid woman.
It wasn't as if he hadn't been issued an apology in the morning. It's not like they hadn't had bouts of rough sex before. Not after a fight though. That in itself scared him. Ken wasn't supposed to scare him. That was the whole point of being in love with someone. Ken was supposed to be the one safe person left at the end of a day full of enemies and brushes with death and random frightening things. He wasn't supposed to be upset about that. He felt like crying because he was mad about having to clean those filthy cabinets. That had to be it.
If Omi wanted to, he could push up his sleeve and look at the hand shaped bruises wringing his upper arms, brands of ownership on his shoulders, more on his hips. Teeth imprints even, if he could actually crane his head about to such an angle that they'd be visible. If he actually wanted to look at them and be reminded again, that is. And damn it all if those tears hadn't just escaped from his eyes.
"You crying?"
Omi tried not to choke on his heart as it made a frenzied leap up into his throat. He whirled around to face the unexpected interloper.
"Ken! No, I'm not crying." He immediately denied it as he scrubbed hastily at the tears he knew had to be visible on his cheeks. "What are you doing here? I thought you were out nailing on new siding." He hands felt uncomfortably hot and rough against his face, still heated from the water.
"I sorta smashed my thumb with a hammer." Ken held up his hand, already a distinct purplish-blue color. "That can wait though. What's wrong?" That old concern was back, the kind that actually seemed genuine instead of carefully constructed and false.
Sniffing, Omi switched the water over to cold, something they at least had in ready supply in this house. "Put your hand under the tap for a few minutes, get the dirt off your skin too, so I can see how badly it's damaged." He left the room, not so much as to do something productive, but as a chance for the blotchy redness to fade from his face, a chance for the hem of his shirt to absorb the last of the tears, a chance to calm down.
When he returned a few moments, later, Ken was holding his hand up in front of his face. "I can twitch my thumb." He announced. "I'm sure when it's slightly less painful, not to mention swollen, I'll have my full range of motion back. I guess I just smashed up some non-lethal tissue cells." He turned, arm twisted behind him so he could put it back under the faucet.
"Are you okay?" Ken leans back against the counter.
"Shouldn't I be asking you the same thing? Do you want me to take over for you for a bit while the swelling goes down?" Omi refused the uninjured, proffered hand, not quite ready to resume casual physical contact for a few more minutes.
"You're certainly jumpy today. What's wrong?" Ken restated his previous question, ignoring Omi's offer to switch places.
"Nothing. Nothing at all. Just would have preferred to have been saddled with other activities for today." He retrieved the sponge from the floor, setting it on the edge of the sink.
"You're still mad about last night." It wasn't presented in the form of a question.
Omi looked away. "'M not mad at all. I'll be in the living room. Let me know when you're done with the sink, so I can go back to cleaning." He made his escape before things could start up again.
Youji was already occupying the couch.
"Aren't you supposed to be doing something constructive right now?" Omi snapped.
"Nothing in particular comes to mind. I'm taking a nice little break. Why? Do you need the couch in the worst sort of way?" Youji shifted his legs off the adjoining cushions so he only took up one seat. "I'd be willing to share, but there's no way in hell you're dragging me into an upright position for at least ten more minutes."
Sighing, Omi flumped down on the two remaining seat cushions.
"Who's hogging the couch now?" Youji poked him in the side, startling a surprised giggle out of Omi.
He pushed Youji away. "Stop that." The sudden grin faded.
"Gods! Not you too now? Can't anyone be happy around this damned house! You're all conspiring to make me a chronic depression case, aren't you? You all resent me because I'm in a good mood, don't you?" Youji feigned indignation. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be, you know, cleaning things in the kitchen? Or something like that?"
"Ken's using the sink right now."
"What is he 'using' the sink for?" Youji tried to assuage his ennui while the opportunity presented itself. At least Omi would still speak in complete sentences. Not that he was bitter...
"He hit his thumb with a hammer and- hey! Why is that funny?" Omi frowned.
Gasping for breath, Youji shook his head. "He smashed up his thumb with a hammer! How is that not funny? I wish I could have seen the look on his face as he realized he'd missed the nail."
"You've got a very bizarre sense of humor." Omi crossed his arms, slouching down.
"Why aren't you happy? Is there really some sort of conspiracy between you all? Ken would have had to think it up, of course, because you're not that mean, and Aya wouldn't conspire with anyone unless he felt it absolutely and irrevocably necessary." Youji rambled on, attempting to bring cheer and amusement in the only way he was really capable of doing so.
"What are you supposed to be up to today?" Omi looked up from underneath his bangs. "Whatever it is, I'll not only trade you, but I'll also take over your cooking nights for the next two weeks."
"Let me guess, you're the one who got stuck doing the kitchen cabinets? I wondered who'd have to actually touch that foul mess. You'd have to take over a hell of a lot more than two weeks to get me to even look at that nasty crap." He crossed his arms behind his head, taking on a carefully manufactured pose of insouciance. "Unless, of course, you're willing to make a bigger trade?"
"Will it degrade me and cause me to put aside my basic human dignities?"
Youji scratched his head. "I don't think so."
"I'm all for it then, as long as I don't have to go back into that kitchen and pick up the sponge again!"
"I'm supposed to go out in the cold and rake up all those damp, cold, heavy masses of leaves and wrestle them into compost bags for a start. Pointless physical labor disagrees with me. Also supposed to set up more appointments for various electricians to look at our wiring again. You can do all those, and my dish washing and my cooking for the next three and a half weeks."
"Is that all?" Omi stuck his hand in Youji's face. "Let's shake on it and call it a done deal."
Not even waiting for any further conversation, Omi headed for the cold out of doors, ready to be anywhere cleaning. He found a somewhat decrepit rake lying on the ground next to a bag of yard waste bags. A little further along, there was a pile of leaves with a Youji-shaped indent in the whole sodden pile surrounded by hastily kicked up foliage. He guessed Youji found out the fun way that damp leaves aren't very comfortable; worm ridden is more like it. If any worms even survived the cold. It was the concept that counted...
In the background the sporadic pounding started up again as Ken went back to nailing down siding in total disregard for his already once maimed thumb. Omi tried not to internally cringe every time he heard the final large smash. It was a tad disconcerting, to imagine having to watch that happen to your own hand. Painful to think about.
Omi looked at the upright yard waste bag, looked at the damp pile of leaves. He wondered if he was supposed to use the rake like a shovel, scoop up the leaves and dump them into the bag. "Stop falling off!" It was never a good sign, to find yourself shouting at leaves, but they simply wouldn't stay on the rake.
"Turn the bag on its side and push the leaves into it." Ken took the rake from him to demonstrate.
Omi had another one of those 'ready to swallow his tongue out of complete and utter shock' moments. "Why must you always sneak up behind me like that?" He realized belatedly that he hadn't actually heard any hammering for a while now; Ken had probably been standing there the whole time, watching him make an idiot of himself.
"Look, just push the leaves into the bag. Like this." Ken demonstrated, using his most patient voice.
Frowning, Omi took the rake back. "I'm not stupid. I've just never done this before. It's not as if we've ever lived somewhere with trees before." He threw himself into it, hoping Ken would go away.
Ken didn't. Not immediately, that is. He stood around for a few minutes, looking puzzled before going back to the house, picking up more siding from the stack on the lawn as he went.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Yes, nothing much happened. I know that! I did write it after all ^_-. Things are still being set up. Give me a break! Fanfictions are there so you don't HAVE to have a real plot beforehand. You know the drill, so e-mail me already! akainobaka@mchsi.com or darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com
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Once again, it was shaping up to be one of those days. Omi could taste the anger in the air, breezing in from all directions. Or maybe that was just the memory of traces of blood on his tongue from the night before. Things weren't as pleasant as he'd like to pretend they were.
He brushed sticky bangs out of his face with the only clean bit of his forearm left. Today was his day for a turn in the kitchen. Somehow or another, every other bit had been cleaned and patched excepting the most disgusting bits. Those apparently had been left for him. The absolutely vile cabinets watched him, leering beneath their thick coverage of insect feces and the caked on grunge of ages. Just his luck, there hadn't been any of the elbow-high rubber gloves left today, all claimed by someone less in need of them than he. The only remaining pair available for his usage had enough holes in it too strain soup with. You'd never want to put something EDIBLE through those tattered, grimy hand sheaths, but it was the concept, the concept he was getting at. Something he couldn't get anyone else to grasp a great deal of the time.
One of his knuckles brushed against the filthy cupboard's inner walls, a streak of unidentifiable muck left across the back of his hand. Gods, who the fuck knew what sorts of nasty, horrible shit it contained! He threw the sponge to the ground and stomped up and down on it, went to run his hands under scalding hot water again. Those damned tears were back, prickling beneath his closed eyelids. None of this was worth bawling about, wailing like some sort of stupid woman.
It wasn't as if he hadn't been issued an apology in the morning. It's not like they hadn't had bouts of rough sex before. Not after a fight though. That in itself scared him. Ken wasn't supposed to scare him. That was the whole point of being in love with someone. Ken was supposed to be the one safe person left at the end of a day full of enemies and brushes with death and random frightening things. He wasn't supposed to be upset about that. He felt like crying because he was mad about having to clean those filthy cabinets. That had to be it.
If Omi wanted to, he could push up his sleeve and look at the hand shaped bruises wringing his upper arms, brands of ownership on his shoulders, more on his hips. Teeth imprints even, if he could actually crane his head about to such an angle that they'd be visible. If he actually wanted to look at them and be reminded again, that is. And damn it all if those tears hadn't just escaped from his eyes.
"You crying?"
Omi tried not to choke on his heart as it made a frenzied leap up into his throat. He whirled around to face the unexpected interloper.
"Ken! No, I'm not crying." He immediately denied it as he scrubbed hastily at the tears he knew had to be visible on his cheeks. "What are you doing here? I thought you were out nailing on new siding." He hands felt uncomfortably hot and rough against his face, still heated from the water.
"I sorta smashed my thumb with a hammer." Ken held up his hand, already a distinct purplish-blue color. "That can wait though. What's wrong?" That old concern was back, the kind that actually seemed genuine instead of carefully constructed and false.
Sniffing, Omi switched the water over to cold, something they at least had in ready supply in this house. "Put your hand under the tap for a few minutes, get the dirt off your skin too, so I can see how badly it's damaged." He left the room, not so much as to do something productive, but as a chance for the blotchy redness to fade from his face, a chance for the hem of his shirt to absorb the last of the tears, a chance to calm down.
When he returned a few moments, later, Ken was holding his hand up in front of his face. "I can twitch my thumb." He announced. "I'm sure when it's slightly less painful, not to mention swollen, I'll have my full range of motion back. I guess I just smashed up some non-lethal tissue cells." He turned, arm twisted behind him so he could put it back under the faucet.
"Are you okay?" Ken leans back against the counter.
"Shouldn't I be asking you the same thing? Do you want me to take over for you for a bit while the swelling goes down?" Omi refused the uninjured, proffered hand, not quite ready to resume casual physical contact for a few more minutes.
"You're certainly jumpy today. What's wrong?" Ken restated his previous question, ignoring Omi's offer to switch places.
"Nothing. Nothing at all. Just would have preferred to have been saddled with other activities for today." He retrieved the sponge from the floor, setting it on the edge of the sink.
"You're still mad about last night." It wasn't presented in the form of a question.
Omi looked away. "'M not mad at all. I'll be in the living room. Let me know when you're done with the sink, so I can go back to cleaning." He made his escape before things could start up again.
Youji was already occupying the couch.
"Aren't you supposed to be doing something constructive right now?" Omi snapped.
"Nothing in particular comes to mind. I'm taking a nice little break. Why? Do you need the couch in the worst sort of way?" Youji shifted his legs off the adjoining cushions so he only took up one seat. "I'd be willing to share, but there's no way in hell you're dragging me into an upright position for at least ten more minutes."
Sighing, Omi flumped down on the two remaining seat cushions.
"Who's hogging the couch now?" Youji poked him in the side, startling a surprised giggle out of Omi.
He pushed Youji away. "Stop that." The sudden grin faded.
"Gods! Not you too now? Can't anyone be happy around this damned house! You're all conspiring to make me a chronic depression case, aren't you? You all resent me because I'm in a good mood, don't you?" Youji feigned indignation. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be, you know, cleaning things in the kitchen? Or something like that?"
"Ken's using the sink right now."
"What is he 'using' the sink for?" Youji tried to assuage his ennui while the opportunity presented itself. At least Omi would still speak in complete sentences. Not that he was bitter...
"He hit his thumb with a hammer and- hey! Why is that funny?" Omi frowned.
Gasping for breath, Youji shook his head. "He smashed up his thumb with a hammer! How is that not funny? I wish I could have seen the look on his face as he realized he'd missed the nail."
"You've got a very bizarre sense of humor." Omi crossed his arms, slouching down.
"Why aren't you happy? Is there really some sort of conspiracy between you all? Ken would have had to think it up, of course, because you're not that mean, and Aya wouldn't conspire with anyone unless he felt it absolutely and irrevocably necessary." Youji rambled on, attempting to bring cheer and amusement in the only way he was really capable of doing so.
"What are you supposed to be up to today?" Omi looked up from underneath his bangs. "Whatever it is, I'll not only trade you, but I'll also take over your cooking nights for the next two weeks."
"Let me guess, you're the one who got stuck doing the kitchen cabinets? I wondered who'd have to actually touch that foul mess. You'd have to take over a hell of a lot more than two weeks to get me to even look at that nasty crap." He crossed his arms behind his head, taking on a carefully manufactured pose of insouciance. "Unless, of course, you're willing to make a bigger trade?"
"Will it degrade me and cause me to put aside my basic human dignities?"
Youji scratched his head. "I don't think so."
"I'm all for it then, as long as I don't have to go back into that kitchen and pick up the sponge again!"
"I'm supposed to go out in the cold and rake up all those damp, cold, heavy masses of leaves and wrestle them into compost bags for a start. Pointless physical labor disagrees with me. Also supposed to set up more appointments for various electricians to look at our wiring again. You can do all those, and my dish washing and my cooking for the next three and a half weeks."
"Is that all?" Omi stuck his hand in Youji's face. "Let's shake on it and call it a done deal."
Not even waiting for any further conversation, Omi headed for the cold out of doors, ready to be anywhere cleaning. He found a somewhat decrepit rake lying on the ground next to a bag of yard waste bags. A little further along, there was a pile of leaves with a Youji-shaped indent in the whole sodden pile surrounded by hastily kicked up foliage. He guessed Youji found out the fun way that damp leaves aren't very comfortable; worm ridden is more like it. If any worms even survived the cold. It was the concept that counted...
In the background the sporadic pounding started up again as Ken went back to nailing down siding in total disregard for his already once maimed thumb. Omi tried not to internally cringe every time he heard the final large smash. It was a tad disconcerting, to imagine having to watch that happen to your own hand. Painful to think about.
Omi looked at the upright yard waste bag, looked at the damp pile of leaves. He wondered if he was supposed to use the rake like a shovel, scoop up the leaves and dump them into the bag. "Stop falling off!" It was never a good sign, to find yourself shouting at leaves, but they simply wouldn't stay on the rake.
"Turn the bag on its side and push the leaves into it." Ken took the rake from him to demonstrate.
Omi had another one of those 'ready to swallow his tongue out of complete and utter shock' moments. "Why must you always sneak up behind me like that?" He realized belatedly that he hadn't actually heard any hammering for a while now; Ken had probably been standing there the whole time, watching him make an idiot of himself.
"Look, just push the leaves into the bag. Like this." Ken demonstrated, using his most patient voice.
Frowning, Omi took the rake back. "I'm not stupid. I've just never done this before. It's not as if we've ever lived somewhere with trees before." He threw himself into it, hoping Ken would go away.
Ken didn't. Not immediately, that is. He stood around for a few minutes, looking puzzled before going back to the house, picking up more siding from the stack on the lawn as he went.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Yes, nothing much happened. I know that! I did write it after all ^_-. Things are still being set up. Give me a break! Fanfictions are there so you don't HAVE to have a real plot beforehand. You know the drill, so e-mail me already! akainobaka@mchsi.com or darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com