"Off-Sides"
by s1ncer1ty
Omi couldn't believe he'd managed to fall for such a complete and utter idiot.
It seemed somehow inconceivable that someone as loud and as brash as Ken could also be equally as timid when it came to matters of the heart. Really, Ken didn't have a single romantic bone in his body -- his idea of a good time was popcorn and soda in front of his team's latest soccer broadcast, or an afternoon run in the park. But soccer bored Omi, and running only made him too tired to make any of the advances on Ken he wanted to when they finally found their way back to the flower shop, breathless and sweaty. And there was nothing romantic about sweat when, at the end of it all, their clothes were still on.
Simple hints -- hints even someone as emotionally detached as Aya could see for what they were -- had no effect on Ken. A soft brush of the fingers when passing a mug of tea between them, a hand placed strategically on his shoulder when they laughed together -- Ken was oblivious to it all. Once, Omi even brushed his lips over Ken's ear when leaning in to whisper conspiratorially about how silly Yohji looked in his recent paisley fashion disaster. Ken had merely laughed and proceeded to rub his ear, as if an insect had flown inside.
Ken was as dense as they came. And Omi was more than a little frustrated.
The direct approach was probably the only way he could ever accomplish the task of letting Ken know just how much he cared; how his smiling face was the last thing he saw in his mind before he went to sleep; how he dreamed of removing the soccer jersey Ken wore around the flower shop and brushing his lips over each and every scar earned in battle. He treasured the last vestiges of innocence Ken seemed to cling to, even if his sheer naivety was maddening. This innocence -- and seeming obliviousness to Omi's advances -- had earned him more frustrated nights of cold showers than any one person should ever experience in a lifetime.
Omi didn't relish the thought of explaining yet again to Aya or Yohji why he huddled beneath several blankets, his hair wet and lips practically blue, as he finished up each night's homework on the computer. And so, he spent the better portion of a week preparing in his mind how he was going to approach the other boy. Ken might have been dense, but Omi was jittery, and a single misplaced word could have just the opposite effect of what he'd intended.
Of course, as fate and poor planning would have it, the night he finally ventured downstairs with enough courage to carry out some half-baked plan to tell Ken just how he felt also happened to be the first night of playoffs for Ken's favorite soccer team. Omi found Ken glued to the television, completely oblivious to his presence and uttering curses at the screen.
"Come on! What the hell kind of a call was that?" Ken exclaimed, gesturing at the television, where a cluster of red- and yellow-clad oafs were circled around one of the umpires.
No, this wouldn't do at all.
Crossing the room, Omi gently settled down next to Ken, perching on the edge of the couch, fingers wrapping tightly around the cushions. "Ken-kun?"
"Oh. Hey." Ken gave Omi an instant of a smile before turning his attention back to the television. "Are you freaking blind? Maybe you should get a new goddamn pair of glasses!"
There must have been some sort of bad play on the field, given how dark Ken's expression shifted within seconds. Not that Omi would ever be able to recognize a bad play if his life depended on it -- or care. Most of all, he just didn't care. "Er, Ken-kun? I need to --"
"That was off-sides!"
In a moment of sudden impulsiveness, unexpected even for him, Omi snatched up the remote control, killed the game, and tossed the remote across the room, where it hit the opposite wall with a clatter. Omi sat breathing heavily, stunned he'd had the gall to shut off Ken's precious soccer game. He must have been taking a page from the Book of Ken. Chapter One: Unplanned Emotional Outbursts and How to Mitigate the Aftermath.
"Huh? What'd you do that for?" Blinking in confusion, Ken didn't know whether to be shocked or angry. All the better -- Omi didn't imagine an angry Ken would take well to what he had to say.
"Ken." His voice bordered on stern, no honorific added to Ken's name. "I want to talk."
"Yeah?" Ken settled back against the couch, stretching his arm across the back cushions. He regarded Omi with some degree of suspicion, as if waiting to see if he had a damn good explanation for turning off the television before he started in on him. "Well, go on. What's up?"
"I've been thinking -- about things. About us." Why were the words so difficult to form? He'd practiced them so well in his head each night for the past week. This was all -- some way, somehow -- Ken's fault. The other boy's confusion must be contagious, and it was making Omi just as dense as a result.
Ken's confusion only seemed to compound. "Er. Okay?"
"And I was thinking -- I said that already -- we should be... We should..." Omi gave up. He just couldn't speak with Ken looking at him like that. Without another word, he simply threw himself against Ken's chest -- eliciting a grunt as some of the wind was knocked out of him -- and pressed his lips against the other boy's.
Ken let out a surprised sort of half-squeak, his eyes opening to an almost impossible width, before he finally relaxed enough to lean closer into the kiss, his opposite hand lifting to Omi's cheek and a thin mumble of contentment issuing from his throat.
When he pulled away, lingering several seconds, Omi was smiling in self-satisfaction; Ken was blushing, and gazing at Omi in dazed bewilderment.
"You, um, could have told me," Ken finally uttered, a nervous laugh on his lips.
Omi rolled his eyes. "You could have noticed."
"So... now what?"
A wicked smile spread across Omi's face. He hopped to his feet, crossing the room and gathering up the batteries that had spilled from the remote control upon striking the wall. "I'll let you get back to your soccer game." He walked back to the couch and stood over Ken, extending the remote toward him.
Ken's expression was priceless -- one brow quirked as he stared at Omi as if he'd grown another head. "Not so fast." The remote fell from Omi's hand as Ken gripped his wrist and practically yanked him into his lap. "I think you've got a little more explaining to do." His eyes drifting shut, he leaned forward to press his lips to Omi's once more, hands tangling around his waist.
Omi couldn't help but smirk inwardly. Ken may have been dumb, but, slowly but surely, he was learning.