Part Six- Hanano
[Version 1.0]

Manx was as good as her word.  Before the end of the week, she had 
secured them both lodging and a new job--in another flower shop.  
Everything, as she had said when she called, was a go.  

And not a moment too soon for Youji.  

They didn't talk any more about Sapphire, about Aya and Ken, but they 
didn't have to; the damage had been done.  The remainder of their 
vacation had passed in a gloomy blur.  Youji hadn't even had the 
inclination to make any romantic overtures to Omi after the little 
herald's visit--not after how he had reacted to their last bout of 
lovemaking.  He couldn't quite shake the notion that Sapphire was right, that Omi did 
need help.  

But damned if he knew how to go about convincing his lover to agree 
to the idea.

The name of the shop where they would be working--and living--was 
Hanano, and it was there that Youji and Omi met Birman early Thursday 
morning.  If she noticed their oddly subdued mood, she didn't let on 
as she guided them through the shop, through introductions to their 
new boss (another little old woman, this one named Mrs. Higurashi.), 
and up the rear stairs to their new living quarters.  

Which, much to Youji's surprise and delight, both contained all their 
belongings.  Their furniture had even been placed more or less as it 
had been in their former quarters.  There were kitchenettes in both 
apartments, and--wonder of wonders!--they no longer had to share a 
bathroom.  They each had one of their own.  And...an unlocked 
connecting door lay between the two--which Youji discovered not long 
after entering his new place.  

"Well, this *is* convenient..."

"Yes, isn't it?"

Youji shot a look at Birman over his shoulder.  "Uh...I mean..."

"Spare me, Balinese.  Manx told me all about it."

"...Oh..."

She laughed then.  "I mean, really--did you think you could fool us?  
And anyway, it's not like we *mind*."

A slow, sly grin and Youji turned around to face her.  "What 
about...the other rooms downstairs?"

"Oh.  Those are already let--well one of them is."

"Another Kritiker agent?"

"Of course.  Weiss can't operate with just two people, and, as 
competent as you both are, the sorts of missions we send you on are 
too big for just two agents to handle.  As you know."

Youji slipped a cigarette out of its pack, and tossed the latter back 
onto the coffee table.  "So who is...he?"

"He goes by the name of Knight.  He's on loan from the Crashers."

"Crashers?"  /I've heard of them.  I think I've heard of him, even.../

"Yes.  He's very highly trained, very competent, easy enough to get 
along with--so don't worry."

Youji snorted at that.  "After living and working with Abyssinian, I 
believe I'd find cobra easy to get along with."  And then quietly, as 
he repocketed his lighter,  "What did you do with their things?"

She looked a bit surprised at his question.  "I didn't think you'd be 
so concerned."

He shrugged, and pushed his orange-lensed shades further up his nose, 
veiling his eyes.  "Well, I am."

A look, and she reached into her jacket pocket, and came out with a 
key which she pressed into his palm.  "The attic room.  It's all 
there.  Beds and dressers and everything."

Youji stared at the key for a moment, then closed his hand around it 
and dropped it into his pocket.  "I suspect you have a soft heart 
under that tough-girl shell, Birman."

She gave him a sad little smile.  "I'll never admit it."  

They fell silent for a few uncomfortable seconds, and then Birman 
spoke up again. "Well...If that's all of your questions..."

"Uh...Yeah, yeah.  Thanks, Birman--for everything."

A tiny smile and a nod, and she teetered off.  "I'll be in touch 
soon."  She opened the door, and made to exit the room, but paused on 
the threshold.  "Oh, and Youji?"

He cocked a brow at the use of his proper name.  "Yeah?"

"If you do see Aya, tell him I said that everything's okay.  He'll 
understand."

"Uh...Okay."  /What the hell?/  

With that, Birman breezed out of the room with a sharp click of her 
high heels on the hardwood floor, leaving Youji alone.  Sort of.  The 
blond assassin tipped the ash into his crystal tray, and walked back 
over to the connecting door.  Knocked once on the jamb.  

"Everything okay, Omi-ai?"  

(ooc:  Hanano means field of flowers--according to my 
Japanese/English dictionary. )  

***

Omi had heard everything.  More than everything.  As a fact, both Manx and Birman had 
remained on premises to make sure their kitties had taken likings to their new beds, 
scratching posts and private washrooms.  And if it wasn't bad enough that Birman had 
publicly declared her knowledge of his and Youji's hot, naked affair...

In the next room, he could quite plainly overhear Manx explaining to Higurashi-sama that 
her new borders were in fact "ura-omote".  The word alone, utterly regardless of whether 
it referred to him or to anyone he knew, or to some random person on a filthy soap opera 
featuring bishonen tripping over blue hippopotami, made him turn quite a sickening 
shade of red.  Both for that, and the fact all of their gorgeous, immaculately white lies and 
grape fanta dadaism had been, in fact, in vain.

/Momoe-sama, forgive me when you see me in hell!/ To which he silently clapped his 
hands beneath the blankets and yanked his pillow over his head.  

But it didn't seem right there.  Not the pillow, but rather what light leaked under the 
pillow.

His window was on the wrong side of the room.  He wished he had become a doll abiding 
in one of those kicky modular doll houses, so a small complaint to the girl (or boy, why 
not?) who owned the place and ZZZZZIP! Click! Click! His window would magically be 
at his feet rather than beside him.  The present pane of glass had all the makings of a 
disgruntled bedmate.  But what of Youji, and the site to site transport between their 
rooms? Would not he weep tears of melon melodrama if that portal was banished by an 
incongruous open gate spell?

Youji was a grown man who could damn well spend five seconds out in the hallway 
while passing between their beds.

Not that anything had passed between their beds AT ALL!

The elder assassin seemed to have frittered his drive away and in the mean time turned 
into a sexless thing in every sense of the word.  His clothes grew ambiguous, his 
croonings motherly, his occasional batting at Omi's hair so sexual he'd been obliged to 
handle himself in his pajama bottoms at least twice after Youji had nodded off.

But he couldn't bear to force himself on his Youji-kun.  As much as that made him giggle 
in the shackles of irony and glassy madness.  After all, his lover was ever so soft, and 
sweet.

And more bothered by the apparition of Sapphire than he had been.  On his nightstand, 
perched on by a pen, sat a slip of hotel stationary he had now and again been scratching 
at, trying to get the stretched film of their encounter with the child that ran over and over 
in his mind to reveal one more detail, even if it turned out to be a glitch in the exposure.  

His list thusfar, in questions:

Why did Sapphire call Youji Sephiroth?

What does Sapphire have to so with Schuldich? (/And why did I write the Sephiroth one 
first? Because I know enough about Cabala and Nojima Kazushige to understand that's 
NOT a name you use lightly./)

Why do all these names start with "s"?
 
Why did she say she didn't work for Estet OR Kritiker?

But how would she know who Birman was/be instant BIRMAN had seen her?

Why is Youji so touchy about his dead partner?

Why didn't he tell me about her before? (/Well, scratch that, make it "anyone"./)

How did she meet Aya and Ken? (This to jog his memory, maybe she had said 
something... friend was not enough.)

Why tell us they were lovers?

Why did she tell us EVERYTHING except what we wanted to know before we wanted to 
know it?

Why bother with the note?

Why bother with any of this? And then he heard the parting words between Birman and 
his lover...  

Added one more item.

What's so important that Aya left behind?

The pillow vanished and the thought for a second the blue cells in his eyes had over-fired, 
for he was blind under the refracted sky of his room.  The beaming, baby cerulean of his 
walls.  

/I wonder what Aya and Ken are doing... if they can see a sky like this where they are?/

In truth, he had a moment to be sad and curse his view.  This shop- and he had to wonder 
just how many little old ladies, darling though they might be, were in fact ex-Kritiker 
agents peddling blossoms for a living and minding stalwart assassins in their spare time; 
why Tokyo alone must be brimming with them to the point that no child ever gave their 
sweetie a rose that had not been brushed by once bloody fingers -stood in a halo of rice 
fields that bloomed up to some perfectly mundane white apartment buildings.  No 
glimmer, no shine, no noisy nightlife on the horizon here.

Well, maybe that wouldn't be so bad, the suburbs.  And he could walk to the minute 
market from here for pokey.

His walls still won the title of beauty before the heavens.  Save for one space.

A little shelf he had screwed in himself and not yet bedecked.  The bed had called to him 
after their new owner's handshake and promises of warm soup.  His bed, and it would 
never feel like it again with the light all wrong.

/And me all wrong I guess.  I'm a pervert.  But I don't get any I... I had two friends and 
there's nothing of them but their finger prints left.  I'm back where I was and 
everything's different./

/I wonder./

/I could sure go for some pokey!/

He leaned over his sill and regarded the distance between him and his candy, just in time 
to see the two secretaries strutting out to their car...

Manx gave Birman's bottom a hearty pinch.

He closed his blinds and acted like nothing was wrong.

He still heard them laugh.

He blushed again.

But so stood the way of things.  Once again.

He vowed never to go on vacation again!

"Everything okay, Omi-ai?"  

"Everything's just fine, Youji-kun!" A smile crossed his face as he opened the door.  A 
real one, and a searing of blue behind him. Mrs. Higurashi passed down the hall, assuring 
if they needed anything, ANYTHING at ALL, they were to call her.  They both took this 
suspiciously, for she did laugh, and like a child reading her first yaoi comic before she 
made her way back to her own haunts.

"Well... maybe too fine."

An oppressive silence.

"Hey! I know!" True brightness graced his words and he snatched up Youji's hands.  
"Let's go get some pokey! I bet Knight would like some!"     


(OOC: ura-omote- somewhat crass slang word meaning both "bi" and "taking no position 
in assuming the passive or active role in a gay sex encounter".  Literally- bottom up. 
^O^;;;

Umm... not that anyone at all got this, but the reference to the open gate/close portal 
spell is form an old RPG called Dungeon Master.) 

***

"Okay," Youji agreed, flashing him a lopsided smile.  He didn't shake 
off Omi's hands from his own when the excited boy pulled him out of 
the room--even risked slipping an arm around his shoulders as they 
stepped out into the hallway when he noticed that no one was 
around.    

So maybe it seemed as if Mrs. Higurashi was more understanding--that 
didn't mean that he was going to start making out with Omi in the 
hallway, the living room, or on top of his work table.  

Of course, he hadn't so much as kissed him since their cursed 
vacation, and the lack of contact was starting to wear on his earlier 
resolve--but not as much as having his young lover tucked up next to 
him. 

/Oiya...You're so scrumptious.  It has NOT been easy being around you 
these past few days--or nights./

/But what can I do about it?  If I make another move, how do I know 
you aren't going to faint, or run off crying again afterward?/  

/And meanwhile, I'm taking care of...things...in the shower every 
single morning./

/Sometimes twice./  

/Man, things have got to change!/

/Starting with me./

/Better fix what you've broken before it all goes to hell, Kudou./

/Oh...Damn that Sapphire!/

Youji sighed, and patted himself down for his pack of cigarettes, 
which, much to his irritation, he realized he had left on the coffee 
table.  

/Oh, well.  It won't kill me to wait until we come back./

They knocked on both the apartment doors on the second floor, and 
both went unanswered, so, thinking their new teammate was still 
sleeping, Youji led Omi towards the stairs.  He heard the old woman's 
voice in the kitchen, engaged as she was in a phone conversation.  
Youji slid his arm off Omi's shoulders then, calling out that they 
were going out on an errand, and would return shortly--this said 
with a conspiratorial grin at his lover.  Mrs. Higurashi came 
bustling out of the kitchen then, her nice little chat interrupted 
just long enough for her to press a list into Omi's hand.  Would they 
mind going to the store for her on the way back?  

/Okay, so maybe it will kill me to wait./

He dug his wallet out of his back pocket and did a quick count of his 
money; there was just enough for a new pack and more besides.

And then he had an idea.

"Oi, Omi-ai?  How about I buy you an ice cream?  We could sit outside 
somewhere and eat it, and...chat."

Before Omi could give his answer, a cheery, vibrant voice piped up 
behind them.  "Ice Cream and a chat?  How quaint."

Youji peered over his shoulder in its direction, and found a tall, 
blond, young man standing there--one wearing a long, dirt-crusted, 
yellow apron over a long sleeve, white t-shirt and a pair of black 
jeans, and holding a watering can.  

Of course, there was no question in his mind as to who he was, but 
Youji went to ask him anyway, leaning in a little as if they were 
about to share their deepest secrets.  

"Are you...?"

He offered them a bright smile.  "That's right.  I'm Honjyou Yuuji, 
aka Yuuji-san to the girls in the neighborhood."

Yuuji leaned forward a little then, imitating Youji's sly whisper as 
he added, "But you can call me boss."  

***

Omi, who had otherwise been absorbed in contemplating the shopping list of their new 
employer, which we was frankly elated with as it included butter as opposed to margarine 
(they'd always had to buy their own before), both red and white miso and QP mayo with 
a BIIIIIG heart drawn around it, glanced up only to see his lover flit across the room to 
their new companion.

Who his first impression of happened to be- /I will not be miffed, I will not be miffed.../  
He chuckled a little in spite of himself as Youji leaned back skeptically, rubbing his chin 
as if contemplating an object d'art rather than another assassin.  Yuuji did not seem to 
mind and further mimicked him, casting but a slight look his way, as if to double check 
his existence.  

/Well... at least he's not wearing an orange sweater./

/This could be nice, actually... I think./

So he padded up to their latest acquaintance and bowed as politely as he could, which 
allowed him to have a long, distinctly thoughtful look at the concrete beneath Knight, 
which was, frankly, barely recognizable as concrete and still holding up a pair of starkly 
white tennis shoes.  "Hajimemashite, Yuuji-chan! Boku wa Tsukiyono Omi, to kore wa 
Kuudou Youji desu; boku no itoshi."

But silence in this took to the shop and he could have sworn he heard flower petals 
crashing on the floor like panes of glass.  The expressions on all of their faces had archaic 
hints to them, such as might have been best deciphered by the Knights Templars, of all 
things.  Well, except for his own, which he somehow managed to keep from roasting 
away, only by punching some holes in his lips.

"We called our last 'boss' -chan, sometimes.  Really... umm..."

/I'll absolutely be damned if I'll call you Yuuji-SAN!/

/Wait, no one told you we were.../

/I should have stayed in bed today/Said little Peggy-Anne McKay.../


(OOC: Omi's introduction: Pleased to meet you, Yuuji! I'm Omi, and this is Youji, my 
sweetie.  And with the -chan bit, he's referring to Youji's occasional Aya-chan in the 
manga, I realize that they never suffixed Aya's name otherwise.) 

***

"That might have been all right for your last leader, but as for 
me...Yuuji will do. No honorifics." 

"And absolutely no -chan." 

Youji had to grin at that; an "I know how to annoy you" sort of 
grin. 

He set the watering can down on the pavement beside the stand of 
begonias. The apron came off with a flourish, and Yuuji shook it out 
before donning it again, casting black crumbs of soil everywhere. 
Taking up the can and a pair of keen pruning shears from the edge of 
one of the pots, he walked back into the shop. Youji followed him as 
far as the doorway. 

"You mentioned 'the girls in the neighborhood.' I take it the shop 
is besieged at certain times of the day by schoolgirls?"

Yuuji flashed him an exasperated roll of his eyes as he walked back 
to his work station. "Oh, yeah. I mean, they aren't a bother, but 
they are sometimes, you know?"

"Yeah, we know."

/Man, they took me seriously about that 'boss' stuff! Youji got a 
bit icy, and Omi was all in earnest. And here I was only kidding. 
Sort of./ 

He took out a pad of pink order forms and tore one sheet off. 
Flipped it over and began to write. "You guys been working for 
Kritiker for very long?"

/Of course, both Queen and Manx have already filled me in on you and 
Weiss and whatnot.../

"For a while." 

/What is with his clothing? Both Manx AND Birman told me that Youji 
was a real charmer. A playboy in every sense of the word./

He nodded absently, oblivious to the odd silence that subsequently 
descended over the shop. 

/From here, though, he looks more like a vagabond in every sense of 
the word. I can't think of many women who go for the "I bathe every 
three weeks" look. Many men either./

He snuck a quick look at Omi, then read over the short list he'd 
scribbled up. Crossed out one word, crossed out another, then wadded 
the tiny sheet up and tossed it into the stem-laden pail under his 
table. 

/And can you say, "I'm an old pervert," Kudou?/

He tore off another sheet, and hastily wrote up another little 
list. "Since you guys are going on errands," he said, getting up 
from his stool and walking over to the doorway, the list held out for 
one of them to take, "do me a favor, will you?"

"Bring me back some ice cream too." 

***

"Suuuuuuuuuure," Omi intoned somewhat flatly, only to break into chuckles as Youji 
threw Yuuji a mock salute before they started down the street, in silence, only glancing at 
one another now and again as if to confirm one another's pretences.

A few yards down the side walk and they crossed the quavering bridge over the river of 
the road and it's schools of horns.  Not until they had reached the crest of it did he say 
anything in particular.

"That was different."

So they stood there for a few long minutes, staring at each other and the highlights of 
suburbia behind them.

/And what were we expecting? Another Aya?/

/Another Ken?/

/A saint?/

/A devil?/

But then they both shrugged and marched down the other side of the bridge.  

/Seems like only last week I was so sure I'd be coming home to them.  Because it was 
last week, and I never expected anything else.  I wonder... am I just mad at him, for not 
being one of them? Or is he really... kinda weird./

/But I thought that about you, when we first me, Youji-kun./

/And now we're more than friends./

/Silly Omi! Of course you'll get along! You can get along with anything! And you know, 
you can't just up an expect him to be normal.  You've never known a normal person and 
you know that! This isn't just a fluke that we keep meeting dark, weird people! This is 
the truth of who we are! This is not a soap opera!/

/Yes it is.../

/But goddamnit! I'm gonna make friends with him if it's the last thing I do!/

His determination had set in so deeply by the time he reached the door of the minute 
market, he accidentally threw it open rather hard, causing the bells on the door to jangle 
as if sniped at and the clerk to lean over the counter and make sure her beckoning neko 
was still on one piece.

"Ahhhhhh... gomen nasai!"

In the mean time, he hid himself in the snack aisle for a bit, pondering the multitudes of 
chocolate-doused rice crackers... 

***

And meanwhile, Youji had positioned himself by the coolers, basket 
dangling off one arm, wondering as he stood there what he should get 
himself.  After all, it had been a long, long time since he'd had a 
refrigerator of his own.  All his own and no Ken or Aya around to 
swipe his purchases.  

Ah, yes, there were some advantages to this arrangement after all. 

As for Knight, Youji didn't care one way or the other, so long as the 
villains were terminated, and none of them died...Or at least, Omi 
didn't.  That part of the arrangement was temporary anyway, he 
surmised, given the way Birman had been very careful to say that he 
was on loan.  

But why was he on loan?  And what was the deal with using flower 
shops as a cover anyway?  Why were they considered more suitable for 
housing agents than say...A minute market?  

/At least the Higurashi woman doesn't have a cat./

/Er...I hope./

He made his selections at last:  A couple of cans of Sapporo reserve 
and a Grape Fanta (more for hopefully making Omi laugh a little than 
any other reason).  He then proceeded over to where what Aya had 
sarcastically termed as being 'real food' was kept--to the aisle 
where the instant soups, rice, and the odd cluster of canned 
vegetables resided.  

But he was a bit delayed in getting there, because, as he approached 
the corner of said aisle, he passed a display of Lina Inverse pocket 
mirrors.  Caught a peek at himself.  

Picked up one and took a longer look, and nearly screamed.

/I look like...A psycho who's been living in the woods for the past 
month./

/Or...maybe someone's dad.../  

/Okay.  That's it!/

/Screw Sapphire and her damned advice!  If he needs help after all, then  I'll find him a 
shrink and take him there.  Even if I have to carry him over my shoulder all the way!/

He fingered his whiskered jaw with a grimace.  /Of course, I might do 
that anyway, but I won't be carrying him to any doctor.../

/And I thought that this shirt would look okay, even though it's 
flannel.../

/Man, Kudou...You are utterly screwed up.  Abstinence just doesn't 
work for you./  

/Right!  When I get home, I'll clean up, put on something sexy and 
after work.../

He gave his reflection a knowing grin, then he strutted away in 
search of packets of his beloved Thai noodle instant soup.  

***

Omi meanwhile, had double checked his own pocket money, and come to a decision.  

Besides the revelation he was as bad at making up his mind as any bored housewife!

With a clamor of cardboard, he swept into his basket one box of every flavor of pokey the 
store offered, not to mention a container of Morrinaga chocolate mushrooms.  

/Well... it's just because... I don't know what kind of pokey Yuuji likes! And there are 
so many kinds now!/

He seriously wondered if a few new ones had come out during his absence.  After that, 
came a brief foray after the miso and the butter and the mayonnaise, of which he doubled 
their new care-taker's requested amount, sniggering to himself for reasons that were 
frankly very, very off color.  
  
As he didn't have anything to wash with, he peered around the brief selection of 
cosmetics for any possible inclusions of things not obviously intended for hyper club-
hopping girls.  Not that his discretion mattered in the end, as he bought a bar of peach-
and-blueberry-scented soap with the Do-Re-Mi witches on the package.  

/I can't help it I like peach./

A tiny bottle of lotion.

/Or pear./

And as he headed up to the register, he saw something else he very much liked.

Something which, akin Youji's beer, he had never been able to keep to himself.

Along the window, in somewhat unceremonious bins, stood stacks and stacks of manga 
magazines of every size, shape, taste, and target age.

At three hundred yen a pop... first, he settled on discovering what his rather fancied 
Raphael was up too and took up a Hakusensha.  An apparition of Ken sniggered 
hopelessly at him, and at first he balanced the slip with the latest edition of Shonen Jump.  
After all, Kenshin just COULDN'T be destined to run off with that... woman! And then 
he gave up his fears.  A Sho-comi (which he had actually never read one of, but had 
always been curious), a BomBom, a Wings and a Ribbon followed.  Not to mention a 
brief pause as he contemplated the less savory titles below the table.

A BeBoy, a BeBoy Zips and a Happy Toy later, he met Youji at the counter, merrily 
flashing his stash.

(OOC: Hakusensha is a phone book (that's what they call the monthly anthologies, I'm 
serious!) aimed at older women, Angel Sanctuary runs in it.  Shonen Jump if of course 
for teenage boys, Sho-comi at teenage girls... I've read issues of all of them.  BomBom is 
mostly little kids comics, but has the distinction of having run Jing the Bandit King.  
Ribbon printed Kodomo no Omocha and Last Quarter, among other chibi shojo titles.  
We all know BeBoy- Happy Toy is Shota.  Wings? Oh, probably one of the most famous 
anthologies in Japan! Runs a lot of CLAMP like RG Veda and something like... An 
Assassin and White Shaman?  Sorry if you knew all that...)  

***

Youji did a quick sort through Omi's magazine selection when he took 
his basket from him, giving him a little smile as he set it up on the 
counter next to his own. 

"Visual aids, hm?" he whispered in his ear. "See anything in there 
we might want to try later?"

At his astonished look, Youji's smile widened to a grin, one from 
which the cashier caught the fallout. He counted out a handful of 
Yen, got his change from the giggling clerk and swept his two bags 
off the counter with a wink--to which she only giggled again. 

/Ah, yeah, I've still got it. Even looking as rough as I do./ 

/Ah, but I haven't been fair to you, my Omi-ai./

/But I'll soon make it up to you./

Youji followed Omi out of the store, careful to hold the door open 
with his foot for his lover to pass. Glanced around at the street 
both ways, then gave Omi a quick kiss on the cheek. 

"I see you've pretty much cleaned them out of pokey. But what are 
you going to eat for dinner, Omi?" 

"I tell you what...Why don't I get some takeout tonight--barring any 
missions that is--and you come over and have dinner with me?" 

***

/Well, I was hoping against all hope I might have YOU for dinner... but this.../

/This sounds pretty good./

"I'd love to!" he replied with a giggled, taking a much more careless moment to snag the 
hand that had tilted his chin and kiss its wrist as if he expected to find the traces of old 
wounds there.  Which he didn't, naturally.

Though as they walked, it occurred to him that he very much wanted to go back and 
perform the same gentle check on his former teammates! It was the first time since he and 
Youji had enjoyed each other's company that he had considered the body of another, and 
the thought made him flush rather acutely, which his lover took as a cute reaction to his 
cute kiss.  

Did Aya and Ken have the marks of suicide on them? Would that explain this? 
Somehow?

/I'm not Sherlock, I don't know.  I'm not even Watson./

But he knew that Youji stood too strong for that, too vivacious, too taken with visions of 
maidens and the cigarettes he'd never be able to smoke if he died.  At least...

/That's the Youji I see.../

/Is he... is he right? The right one or am I... missing something, even here?/

/Besides ice cream!/  

They stopped a moment at the stand between the bridge and Hanano.  The one that 
happened to have a very high counter that made him feel as if he'd shrunk back to a 
child.  In the spirit of this, he ordered a chocolate cone and then pondered the flavors.   


"Umm... one dish of Golden Vanilla to go." A grin and a long, kittenish lick of his soft 
and melty swirl, taken with just the tip of his tongue.  "It's for Knight.  What are you 
getting?"

***

/You are so cute./

/I bet your tongue is as cold as ice now./

/I'm turned on just watching you./

/I'm turned on just imagining how that pink little tongue would feel 
on my skin, all sugar-sticky and chilled.../ 

"Huh?  Eh...Oh!  I don't want any dessert right now.  I thought I'd 
have mine later, say...After dinner tonight."

He paused dramatically before he leaned down to murmur, "Because 
there's only one thing in this world that I consider sweet enough, 
delicious enough to eat."  

Holding his gaze, Youji leaned down and took a tiny bite of Omi's ice 
cream behind the ice cream vendor's back; licked his lips 
suggestively.  

"That'll hold me until I get what I *realllly* want."

He tipped him a wink, and, setting down his bags, he paid the man 
before Omi could, then handed him the plastic covered dish to carry.  
Scooped up his bags and sauntered off to Hanano.  When he entered, he 
came to a skidding halt just inside the door, only coming to his 
senses when he felt Omi at his back.  

Knight was putting the final touches on a tulip and daffodil 
arrangement for a waiting customer--but for a second upon entering, 
Youji had thought he saw Aya sitting there.   

/Must be the light...Or maybe the way he's sitting?/

/Yeah...That's it.../

He glided in then, flashing a smile at the primly dressed young 
woman; a housewife going on a visit, from the look of her.  Probably 
going to the hospital.  

/Now that's familiar.../    

"Got your ice cream...Yu~u~ji-cha~n!" 

Yuuji paused in the midst of nudging a piece of greenery into the 
jumble of blooms and looked over at him then, eyes narrowed just 
slightly.  But Youji only shrugged nonchalantly as he swanned off 
towards the back stairs.  

"Be back in a minute."  

***

/Gasp! You just flagrantly hit on me!/

/Wai! I made Youji horny! I made Youji horny! I'm finally gonna get some!/

Omi grinned devilishly against his cone, and then nearly laughed into it as well when 
Youji made his dramatic exit.  Did Youji ever make... no, did Youji ever do 
ANYTHING that wasn't thoroughly foppish and overblown? His Youji at least, the one 
who had fluttered off sometime and finally settled back into himself.  Omi's body tingled 
with elation and he quickly alighted on a stool behind a free counter in order to hide this 
fact.  The groceries could stand for a moment... couldn't they?  

Another dainty little lick and he took to observing Knight, who had not even BEGUN to 
waver under the melodious taunt he had just received, though the woman he waited on 
had sniggered against one of her gloves.  

One of the bags sagged and the covers of one of his magazines popped out, like a 
disobedient cat accosting an allergic guest.  For fun, he tugged it out, only to find he'd 
managed to fish out the Happy Toy of all things.  Well... he was a nicely secure gay boy! 
He could read such a thing in public, lick the trickle of chocolate from his hand without a 
second thought.  

And he did just that, now and again popping up from behind the salacious cover to make 
sure their new companion wasn't done with his customer, since as soon as she had 
spirited herself away, leaving her eyes affixed to the blue-haired youth wrapped between 
two sets of dreadfully slender legs that happened to be wrapped around the purple-inked 
pages Omi found himself...

Splat.  A little melted ice cream landed on the bottom of an all too happy six year old.

/Coooooooooooool.../ Omi thought as he mopped the smudge up with his finger, and 
decided against licking that as well.    But all the shota-con goodness ended up set aside 
for a moment as he pattered over to Yuuji's area, spoon and cup of Golden Vanilla in 
hand.

Still speaking from behind his cone, "Here's your ice cream.  I hope it's a flavor you like.  
Sorry we forgot to ask..."

***

"Arigatou, Omi-kun!"

Yuuji wiped his hands off on his apron skirt before taking the dish 
of slightly melted golden cream confection.  Gave the boy a delighted 
nod.  "Vanilla's fine.  Strawberry and Chocolate and Almond Fudge 
would be fine.  I just like ice cream."  

He shrugged then, smiling, and popped the plastic dome off the bowl.  
Spooned up his first bite with relish.  Sat back with a muffled 
little sigh of contentment, and gestured for Omi to pull up a stool.

Eyed him with a great deal of interest the moment his back was turned.

/Okay...Yeah, he's young, but he is kind of cute./

"Man...I never knew Kritiker had such a young agent on their 
payroll."  Yuuji took another half-frozen nibble.  

/And how old are you, kid?  Fourteen?/  

"How did you end up working for them anyway?"

He jerked his head towards the table Omi had vacated.  "And aren't 
you going to bring those interesting magazines over here and let me 
have a peek?"  

***

Omi reveled for a moment in success.  So their new... umm... self-insisted boss was fond 
of ice cream, despite being an agent with a distinctive business side and no sense of 
humor when it came to honorifics.  He was more than happy to pull up a stool and happy 
with him... not just because of his own staunch determination to befriend the fellow or 
die trying...

/Since I do that with everything I know at Kritiker./

...but because Knight, despite bathing his tongue in the cold milk and sugar had suddenly 
gotten... civil!

Something Omi couldn't claim to be used to.

And then he asked a question that made his ears perk.  Not the remark about his age... he 
had gotten those from everyone he'd ever known who had worked under Persia, some of 
the Takatori operatives he'd shot...

/Hmm... this is interesting... I wonder... don't tell me! You're either so easy-going it 
doesn't matter or you're.../

/You're like Youji and I.../

Now THAT was a proposition that intrigued him!  So he wandered back to the stool he 
had previously occupied, and toted over the bag of magazines, which he fanned out over 
the table he now shared with Yuuji, as if he was performing a magic trick which required 
someone in the audience to pick a card.  A sweep over them, and he took a tiny, damp 
bite of his cone, pausing to lick some errant chocolate from his nose. 

"I'm not really sure.  I remember it was dark and someone was pulling me along.  
Someone with big hands who smelled like cinnamon and lime.  I couldn't see his face, 
but I asked him not to leave me.  And he didn't."

A little pause and a peek at his feet which revealed the floor around Knight's counter to 
be in little better condition than the concrete around his planters.  

"At first.  Then I woke up in a little apartment.  I ah... I actually don't remember 
ANYTHING else before that.  But it was a long time ago."

A little giggle and his very brightest grin.  "And I've been here ever since! Working for 
them I mean.  They started training me as soon as that man left me..."

/I can still feel him prying my fingers from his big, warm paws.  Even though all I should 
hear is myself screaming I guess... but it's blurry.  I can feel it going out right now.  But 
you don't need to know that./

"What about you, Yuuji?"

***

/Someone took you away and then left you? That's just cold.../

/But who did that to you? Why were you in the dark?/

Yuuji wanted to ask him all those questions, and more, but it was 
clear that the boy probably wouldn't be able to tell him because he 
couldn't remember. Couldn't or didn't want to remember, that is. 

So instead Yuuji gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and finished 
off the last of his ice cream, turning an interested eye towards the 
slick array of phone books and magazines. Recognized nearly all the 
titles as some he had read in the past. 

Particularly the Be Boy Zips. And it was one he hadn't read yet! It 
was the S&M issue. Beautiful young men in bondage! 

/Wonder if he'd let me borrow this sometime?/

Yuuji pushed the empty, blue plastic dish to one side, and pulled the 
book closer, thumbing through it as he spoke. "As for me, I've been 
working for Kritiker for the past...four years." 

/Has it been that long?/

"I was still in school then--at university. First year. I was a 
typical student. Had a part-time job, lived on campus--except I did 
more studying than partying." 

"My roommate now, he was a different story. Oh, not that he didn't 
do his work, because he did. But he was more the social butterfly 
than I was. His name was Sugihara. He liked computers."

Yuuji replaced the book in the pile, and propped his arms up on the 
edge of the table, all seriousness now. "And, along with his love of 
computers, he also had a love for hacking. Had a real flair for it 
too--he could break into a site, tinker with it, and slip away 
without being detected. It was all a game to him."

"You can probably guess what happened next." Yuuji shrugged. "He 
hacked into Tokushoku Corporation's website, and got into the head 
man's private files; found out more information than he should have. 
Before he could get back out, he was detected. Two weeks went by and 
nothing happened. Then one weekend I came back from a trip to find 
that he'd been killed in our room." 

"He was my best friend, and I...couldn't come to terms with what 
happened. The police didn't seem to be doing much about it; the 
death of a college student wasn't all that important, I guess. So I 
started doing a little investigating of my own, and during the course 
of my digging, I crossed paths with Kritiker. I was...invited to 
join." 

/I was in love with him. I even told him once, one night when he 
came home drunk from a party, but I doubt he understood what I was 
saying. I don't think he remembered me saying it the next morning. 
I never brought it up again./

/I wish I had now.../

He pulled the Shonen Jump out of the fanned pile, and flipped through 
it until he found the latest installment of Rurouni Kenshin. "And 
there you have it, Omi-kun: The Birth of Knight." 

They fell into a companionable silence, with Yuuji eagerly reading. 
But then, as he neared the end of the piece, he let out a little 
squawk, and pushed the magazine towards Omi so he could see what had 
so disturbed him.

"Aw, man!" he moaned, gesturing at the the page he had wanted his 
companion to see, "Sano left Japan and Kenshin stayed with that Kaoru 
after all! What was Watsuki-san thinking?! Everyone KNOWS that the 
real chemistry is between Sano and Kenshin." 

***

Omi had allowed the quititude to come, as honor for Sugihara and his own  initial 
impressions of his new teammate, which had died a quick and  painless death upon seeing 
the empty glitter that came to Knight's eyes when  remembering how he had come to die 
in the eyes of society and the Japanese  census bureau.

/I knew it! There's some substance to you after all!/

/Even if you did just take the shonen jump./ The act had been for Omi as if  his 
companion had read aloud the imagined nuances of an ink blot, one which  had sent a 
quick, suave flicker to the BeBoy Zips... of curiosity or  otherwise interest, he knew not. 
He missed Sugihara and he had never met  the fellow.

/Seems like someone had to die for all of us to end up here... one murder as  an initiation 
fee to.../

He had just been about to offer some kind words when another shock assumed  him, this 
one much less pleasant...

"NANI!? Iyeeeeee! He wouldn't do that!" He dove for the magazine, and pulled  it 
backwards so he could examine the frames upside down. Shortly, he had gone quite livid. 
Sure enough, there stood the ever sexy Kenshin with his arm around... "That woman!" He 
cringed visibly to see her smiling so! The bane of his doujin fantasies! So enraptured! So 
content with a man she simply did not deserve! "KYA! It's not fair!"

And yet, like so many other things; like their dooms in Kritiker, their 
nights wasted to missions rather than whining over Kaoru it had been, he supposed, 
inevitable.

But wait a second! That wasn't HIS voice which had cried aloud the news but rather... 
Knight's!

With very large, blinking, glistening eyes, Omi regarded his still mortified companion.

/So if he thinks Sano and Kenshin should have... then maybe.../

/Wow...!/ A smile claimed his lips. /He shouldn't mind then, not at all! Even though... 
goodness, seems like EVERYONE who even thought about Persia has some fancy for 
their own sex./

"You like... umm... Sano and Kenshin too? I mean, together. I have some 
Doujinshi... some Hori Erio's from before she went pro! ... I guess we can just live in our 
fantasies then. Too bad though I mean... at least Sano could have hung around, or 
Kenshin kept wandering or... or... something like that. Anything would have been better 
than... THIS!"

***

"Wellll," Yuuji drawled, smiling slyly at Omi, "We could say that 
Kenshin, being the honorable man that he is, decided to make Kaoru's 
dreams come true, instead of trying to persuade his much younger 
lover to stay behind.  Sano is a wandering sort of man anyway, don't 
you agree?  It's in his blood.  It would be cruel to try to make him 
stay when he had the mind to leave."

"And...I can't really see Kenshin not having a kid, as much as he 
loved them."  

"And...I can't see Sano not coming back, once his wanderlust had been 
satiated.  I mean, why would anyone want to stay away from Kenshin 
forever?"

A good-natured chuckle, and Yuuji closed up the magazine with a 
pat.  "But you say you have some doujinshi, huh?  Care if I read them 
sometime?  In exchange, I'll let you read my Kaikan Phrase 
doujinshi."  He gave Omi a cheeky wink.  "Just between you and me, I 
rather fancy that Towa.  I--Oi!  Kudou!"  

Said florist cum assassin stepped out of the shelter of the doorway 
upon being thus summoned, looking faintly guilty as if he had been 
eavesdropping--which of course, he had been.  But then again, he also 
looked more like his old self too, newly shaven and dressed in one of 
his green, form-fitting t-shirts, a thin, tanned strip of flesh 
peeking out just above the waistband of his jeans.  A pair of gold-
rimmed, rose-lensed sunglasses were perched across his nose.  

He drew a cigarette out of the new pack, and lit it as he walked 
towards their table.  "I would apologize for taking so long, but it 
seems I wasn't missed much."  He laughed weakly at that.  "You 
already had someone to entertain you."  

He slung an arm around Omi's shoulders, and offered Yuuji a smoke, to 
which the other man waved a hand in refusal.  Youji pocketed his pack 
with an easy shrug, and started pawing through Omi's books.  Threw a 
look at Yuuji.  

"You go in for...this sort of thing?"

"Yeah, I do.  Shocked, are you?"

Youji hitched one shoulder, flashing him a careless grin.  "Nah.  
More mildly curious."

They locked eyes, clearly sizing each other up.  Yuuji made to make 
another remark, but just then the bell over the door rang brightly.  
The three of them turned to find that a pair of little old ladies had 
just entered, all three chiming out the customary greeting.  Youji 
then glanced from them to Omi, giving him a quick hug before 
withdrawing his arm.  

"We're on, Omi-ai."

Yuuji seconded him, giving the boy a mischievous smile.  "Yeah, Omi-
kun.  You better hide those magazines before those old ladies see 
them and try to take them from you."  

***

/Kaikan Phrase?/ With those words doing a merry disco on the air it was all Omi could do 
to keep from drooling and gather himself up just in time to relocate his saucy magazines 
to a happy home in their bag which he spirited along with him and hid beneath the 
counter he had previously staked out.  At last, long, long last! He would have... A 
window seat! 

No, this was actually shaping up to be... not so bad at all! Not to mention that his lover 
had finally, donned something he found... charming at the very, very least.

/He looks ten years younger when he's clean shaven.  Just like some college boy with 
savoir-faire to ration among the little girls.../

/And he's all mine.  Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!/

When no one was looking, he took a moment to sensuously replace the collar of his shirt 
that had dipped down too far at that quick embrace.  After all, he had on the sapphire blue 
shirt that had once been Youji's.  Wearing it made him feel as if he was always embraced 
by him, cuddled tightly, but not too tight.

He wondered if Yuuji noticed that said shirt was at least two sizes two large for him, and 
thusly a loan.

As he worked, chatting with one of the elderly women, a perfect doll in every way who 
had once worked as a teacher during the war it seemed and now abided with the families 
of both her children, he started to think about Kenshin of all things.

Because if things could be made to work out for him and his Sano... AND his... erp... 
Kaworu.  Well, just about anything could be figured out with the right touch of ingenuity.  
Maybe the three of them could live together one day.  Two-over lapping pairs of lovers 
held together by a friendship...

He nearly snipped his fingers with that consideration and the old woman clucked at him 
for it.  

/No no... let's just get along./

Knight took a moment to bop Youji with a block of florists' foam.  

/More or less./

This was all the sort of thing that made him wish he could draw a doujin of his own.  
Time escaped him as did a dozen asters.

/It's not like I wouldn't have story ideas though!/

He paused to wonder what life would be like for Kenshin, Sano, Kaoru and Yahiko if 
they all abided in a flower shop and worked as assassins by night...

/No, that's just silly.../

***

Night had fallen at last, and with it came the cotton candy neon of 
the street's few businesses: restaurants and markets mostly. The 
street glowed softly with the myriad colors, enlivening the normally 
drab businessmen as they walked to their homes from the train station 
four blocks away. Youji lingered in the doorway and watched them 
pass by, smoke curling from his fingers from the first cigarette he 
had allowed himself to have since lunchtime. 

But the hour came and went, and he heard no familiar click of high 
heels, caught no spicy-sweet scent of perfume on the cool evening 
air. The ladies had decided to leave them alone, and for once, Youji 
was quite relieved. 

/I guess all the villains in Tokyo have decided to take an off 
night. Not that I'm complaining./

/I want to spend some quiet time with my Omi-ai anyway.../

Youji tossed the spent filter to the sidewalk and left the doorway, 
swinging the crowbar up to hook the edge of the security gate. It 
gave way with a metallic crunch and fell to earth with an almighty 
clatter. He pulled the steel claws over the curved rim at the bottom 
and re-entered the shop, dusting off his hands. Yuuji was in the 
process of emptying out the dustpan, his sweeping of the shop's floor 
now finished; of course, he had started cleaning up well before the 
hour had come. 

He put the broom and pan back in their usual places in the curtained-
off store room behind the register. "Ahhhh...I'm glad closing time 
has come!"

"Feeling your age, Yuuji-chan?"

Another block of florist's foam went sailing through the air, only to 
land on the floor, having been deflected by a swiftly delivered 
slap. Youji edged his glasses back up on his nose with the tip of 
his middle finger, a satisfied smirk playing about his lips. "Ha! 
You've got to be quicker than that to get ahead of Kudou Youji." 

"Hmpf." He took off his muddied apron, and tossed it into the hamper 
just inside the laundry room's door. When he turned around, he 
noticed that Youji had exchanged his own for a black denim jacket, 
his door keys dangling from one hand. 

"Going somewhere?" 

"Uh...Yeah. I'm going for takeout. I noticed an Italian restaurant 
down the way at lunchtime. Looked pretty popular, so..." Youji 
whisked his hair free from his collar, giving it a quick comb through 
with his fingers. "You want anything?" 

Yuuji pondered that for a moment, then shook his head. "No, thanks, 
but I think I'll go out tonight. Maybe get familiar with this part 
of Tokyo." He chuckled wryly, a sarcastic tint to his voice. "After 
all, it's not everyday a man finds himself living in such an exciting 
suburb!" 

"Heh. Yeah..." 

Yuuji looked over at Omi then, and gave him a knowing little 
smile. "Enjoy yourself, Omi-kun." 

"Ja!"

***

Yuuji had indeed left the shop, but he didn't go very far.  He had 
simply crossed in front of the windows, then ducked down the alley 
way next to Hanano and slipped back inside through the service door.  
He had waited there in the cool, earthy darkness of the delivery area 
until the two lovers had left, then he had raced up the stairs to his 
apartment to get ready.  

After all, he had some unfinished business to tend to.  

About a half an hour later, Yuuji, now Knight, came back down and 
slipped out of the shop again through the service door.  He was 
dressed as he usually did for a mission--all in white, from the 
neatly folded scarf around his neck to the tips of his leather 
boots.  He donned his helmet, and climbed onto his motorcycle, but 
before he could start the engine, a hand darted from the shadows 
behind him and encircled one wrist.  Knight reared back to strike out 
at his assailant, stopping only when he saw who had grabbed him.  

It was Rook, and he was dressed for a mission:  Black denim jacket, 
black jeans with frayed cuffs, and a faded black t-shirt; scuffed 
black boots; his tattered, dirty white scarf was tied around his left 
arm.  Yuuji knew that inside his jacket lay a very sharp pike.   

They stayed frozen that way for a few seconds, then Knight lowered 
his arm; Rook released him almost simultaneously.  The younger 
assassin swung his leg over the side of the cycle, turning towards 
his old partner.      

"What are you doing here, Masato?"

"I came to meet you, obviously."

"Yeah, obviously.  Why?"

"Because I know what you're setting off to do.  Queen told me."

"And you came to stop me, hm?  Well, let me tell you..."

Rook silenced him with a wave.  "I know better than to try and stop 
you, Yuuji."

"Then..."

"I'm coming with you."

Knight looked him up and down, then shook his head.  "No, Masato.  
I'm doing this on my own."

"Yuuji..."

"No, I said!" he hissed.  "Since Queen told you where I was going 
tonight, then she probably also told you that I requested to be 
allowed to do this mission on my own."  

"She did."

"And I am."

Rook shook his head emphatically.  "No, Yuuji, not this time."

"Don't trust me?"

"No, I don't.  You're too close to the target."  He took one last 
drag from his cigarette, then tossed it to the ground; crushed it out 
with the heel of his boot.  "And, since we're on the subject of 
trust, it seems you don't have any faith in me."

"That's not true and you know it!"   

Rook dug his hands into his pockets, and nodded towards the 
shop.  "So if that kid were still around, you wouldn't want him to 
come either, I suppose?"  

Knight looked down at his lap; curled his gloved hands into loose 
fists.  "...No, I wouldn't."

"Took you a little longer to answer that question."

Knight fell into a sullen silence then, and Rook took that as his cue 
to press his point home.  

"Okay, so I'm not as young as you are; as young as he is.  And I'm 
lazy, it's true.  But have I ever failed you?  Have I ever steered 
you wrong?"  

Silence.  Yuuji grudgingly shook his head.    

"And besides, it is not the normal policy of Crashers to let an agent 
go on a mission alone.  I shouldn't have to remind you of the rules."

"But King said..."

"King didn't know all the particulars when he granted you 
permission.  He does now.  Are you going to defy him?"

A pause. "You know I wouldn't."

"All right then.  I'm coming, and that's that.  Now shove up."  

Knight sighed, and swung his leg back over the seat, scooting up a 
little.  Rook climbed on behind him, heartily clapping him on the 
back and grinning.  "I knew you'd see things my way."  He snapped 
shut the visor of the helmet he'd brought along with him, and snaked 
one arm around the younger man's waist.  Grumbing softly, the blonde 
assassin started the cycle up and coasted it to the entrance of the 
alleyway, grinding it to growling life and spinning out into the 
road.  

***

"Ja, Yuuji!" Omi waved and watched Knight depart, throwing him a wink he wondered if 
anyone else saw, be they the few stray people outside or the lover he had missed for so 
long.

/I shouldn't be so picky.../ He told himself as he swung his way under his counter after a 
few errant fragments of juniper.  /...but something about the way he moves when he's 
himself, and he has himself all fixed up... it's so different than when he's just... normal 
and alone.  I never knew he could do that./

/Or that I could be so shallow./

/But I am.../ Turning on just his heal, he came face to face with Youji, whose hands 
wandered just the slightest bit down inside his shirt as he caught him in a quick embrace.  
/...so glad you let me see you, Youji.  Any way you are./

"Quiet suburb or not, I kinda like it here.  I kinda like Yuuji-chan... and I REALLY like 
Higurashi-sama!"

He let the hurt little puppy look steal over his lover for a moment, just because he found 
it cute.  

"I still like you most of all! No matter what! But you know what else I like...?"

The face that bent down to kiss him got a little snap across it's nose and he scampered 
across the room, skidding purposefully on the remains of a spill to cover his giggles.  
Since they spoke of naught but sweet revenge for the pajama bottoms he had quite ruined 
bring alone all this time.  

"Spaghetti!"  

***

Rubbing his nose, Youji grimaced at Omi, but his show of bad temper 
quickly dissolved in a fit of shamefaced chuckling.  He had deserved 
that, deserved to be teased, he knew.  After all, he had acted a 
little bit...silly.  

If it was indeed silly to worry about the person one loved the best.  
And he had; still did.  

/But I'm going to set all that aside for now,/ he thought as he 
sauntered to the door and swept it open, daring to grab Omi's ass as 
he made his exit.  Flashed a "I have no idea what's wrong with him" 
sort of look to two passing women when the boy yelped.  

And for his pains, Youji ended up running all the way to the corner, 
only to have the light turn red before he could cross the street.

Which meant of course that he was forced to let Omi catch him, but he 
accepted defeat graciously in this instance.    

The restaurant was a mere four blocks away from the Hanano.  Cursive 
letters in homey, red neon spelled out its name across one picture 
window--the unimaginative moniker "Maria's."  Red awnings adorned its 
brown brick front, and inside, the air was redolent with the smell of 
herbs and onions, and slightly tainted with smoke.  The lighting was 
provided by candles and dimmed swinging lamps, and the tables were 
covered with long, burgundy cloths.  Arias spun from strategically 
placed speakers. 

When the pair entered the eatery, Youji cocked his head 
appreciatively to listen to a sultry alto, then walked over to the 
front counter, taking a menu to peruse.

Of course, all that was for show.  Youji already knew what he wanted.

"Spaghetti, hm?" he murmured, holding the laminated sheet between 
them so that Omi could see it as well.  "I hope you'll be hungry for 
a little more than just food tonight."  

***

A few sprightly little twiddles of his feet in place as he skimmed the menu up and down, 
attempting to arrange the dressings and pastas into something a little more exciting than 
penne with meatsauce, even though this was what he found himself most hungry for, and 
so invariably denied himself in the name of not falling into a rut.

At least in theory.  Really, his chancing of the list of offerings had been purely for show 
to himself, not to mention an excuse to stand very, very close to Youji.  

So rather, his interests in not remaining the same sublimed rather into his taking an 
opportunity for a little speech.  "I am, Youji-kun! More than you could ever know! 
Everything, I just want everything.  Here! Now! To come looking for me like no one ever 
has! I'm starved for peace of mind and I long for quiet evenings because they always 
seem to get away from me.  I keep thinking someone's going to snatch them up before I 
get a chance or anyone comes back to me.  I'm hungry for looking out the window for a 
long time with someone I know and seeing things I didn't bother to notice before.  I'm 
even hungry to think my new room is weird and I'll never get used to it.'

/I guess I'm... longing to be normal, in a way./

/But how normal could I ever be to want you in my bed?/

/I know what you meant I just.../

"...I dunno though..."

***

Omi's heartfelt outburst had spelt the death of Youji's flirtatious 
impulses, his pat seduction. The satyr's mask fell away with the 
grinding out of his cigarette in a nearby tray, and he was simply 
Youji. No pretenses. 

"I do, Omi-ai. I know. Believe me..." 

Youji shifted the hand that held that one side of the menu over so 
that it covered Omi's, dropping his voice down so that only his lover 
could hear him. "You want quiet nights, you've got them. It's not 
impossible. When we...aren't needed, we'll lock the door and just 
be. Or even if you want to be alone, completely alone, I'll keep the 
wolves from your door...Whatever you want."

"Whatever..."

"And we'll turn out the lights and look out the window for as long as 
you like, whenever you want, as often as you want."

"As for the peace of mind...If you ever want to talk to me about 
anything...ANYTHING...you can, you know."

***

Omi nodded, and wiggled the hand under Youji's.  "I do know, more than anything." His 
voice fell, but not its joys.  He made it lighter than the pungent air, softer than sunlight.  
Merely soft.  "But I hate being alone, you do know that? Oh, it's such a bother.  I'm such 
a bother but I can't help it, I just need to know I can hear another person, smell another 
person... feel them if I want I..."

He flushed a little around his collar.  Since he had given this speech already,  Word for 
word.

To Ken once.

Not the one he loved so much.  Rather the one he knew wouldn't yell, all those years ago, 
when they'd barely remembered each other's names.

He got so wrapped up in his wonders that when the round little woman appeared to take 
their orders, he failed to notice her until she cleared her throat.

So they made their requests and were told to wait, so they sank down on a small bench 
just inside the door.

He cut of Youji when he tried to speak.  "Saa, I know I'm a pain. But say? Your 
apartment or mine?"

***

/You're so cheery usually that I forget how much you need, how much 
you want.../

/How lonely you seem to get sometimes.../ 

But he said none of that, or of anything else save for the answer to 
his lover's question.  "Mine, if you don't care." 

/Cause I have a little surprise set up.../   

"And you aren't a pain, Omi..."

Youji bent his head a little towards Omi's.  "Never..."

His fingers casually grazed the boy's thigh; so subtly dealt that to 
the eyes of anyone who had happened to glance their way then, it 
would have seemed a mistake.  

But it wasn't.  

There they remained, sneaking glances and caresses until the waitress 
called Youji's name.  Food in hand, the pair walked back to Hanano, 
chatting little during the short return trip.  

But then, what was there to say?  

Youji led Omi up the stairs, into his apartment.  And then he 
smiled.  

Youji didn't have a dining table; for a man who ate most of his meals 
on the sofa from takeout cartons, owning one seemed pointless.  
However, he wasn't completely lacking in the social graces.  The 
coffee table had been transformed into a proper dining table of 
sorts, complete with a tablecloth (albeit a vinyl one), on top of 
which stood five white pillar candles of the dripless kind, and a bud 
vase filled with two stalks of Freesia.  

He set the sack he was carrying down on the table and went to the 
kitchenette for glasses and drinks.  

"I wasn't really sure what you'd want, so..."

Youji came back with a bottle of Italian table wine and the can of 
Grape Fanta.  These he set down along with two wine glasses, then he 
settled himself down on one of the throw cushions he had scattered 
around the table earlier that day.

***

Further into the suburbs they had traveled, Rook's form providing 
some shelter from the speeding wind as the motorcycle sliced through 
it.  His arms never left him, had even pulled tighter, trying to 
gather him closer it seemed, and Knight resisted the urge to rest 
against the comforting curve of his partner's body.  It wasn't the 
time to give in to such impulses anyway--as usual.  

But then his whole life had been like that ever since he'd lost 
Sugihara.  He simply had no time.  Had no willingness to risk being 
hurt again.    

It wasn't to a warehouse or an office building to which they were 
traveling, but to a mansion--one Greco-Roman in style; all white 
marble columns and pale brick.  Cars were huddled along the edge of 
the long, winding drive, bored chauffeurs lounging and smoking and 
chatting here and there in clusters.  Even from where the two Crasher 
assassins stood, some two city blocks away from the front gate, they 
could hear the hushed tinkling of a chamber quartet going through 
their paces.  

Yuuji had ridden the bike down that lonely road sans lights, had shut 
the engine off as soon as they had reached the dense patch of forest 
that encircled the mansion's grounds.  They climbed off its wide 
leather seat and walked the bike into the trees to hide it, just past 
the line where the vegetation erupted in profusion.  

"What's the plan?"

"Over the wall, across the yard, and through the French doors on the 
East side.  It will lead us into the library."  

Rook nodded, smoothing his gloves over his hands.  "Guards?"

"Our informant said there were at least four around the target at all 
times."  

"Toting guns?"

"You know it."  

"Yeah...I do."  Rook idly rubbed his left side, remembering an old 
wound.  He longed for a cigarette, but wouldn't chance lighting one 
for fear someone would see the tiny flame in the absolute dark.  
Knight however, decided to take the risk--but for an entirely 
different reason.  He turned his back towards the distant entry way 
long enough to wave a pen light over his watch.    

"It's...8:14 now.  The meeting is supposed to occur at 8:30 in the 
target's office--which is in the basement.  We'll have to go up a 
flight to catch the elevator down to avoid being seen.  Hopefully."  
Knight drew a breath then, and slowly exhaled.  "Are you ready?"

"Always."

Knight chuckled grimly at that, and the two of them were off, 
sneaking across the uneven ground until they reached the corner of 
the fence.  Thick wrought iron against brick, and unelectric; 
thankfully their pigeon hadn't led them astray on that point.  Once 
back on the ground, Knight whipped the whip-like sword from around 
his waist and Rook drew his pike out from where he'd had it hidden 
away.  A nod and they were off at a cautious run across the yard, 
sidling up to the house.  Froze in their tracks once when the lights 
suddenly came on the library, but they were just as immediately 
extinguished.  

Not that that was a consolation to either of them.  

So it was with an extra measure of caution that the two of them 
entered the library through a low, wide window, scarcely daring to 
breathe as they climbed in, moving as silently as mice into the 
room.  The door had been left ajar, and a pale beam of light from the 
hallway sconces spilled into the slightly musty, leather-perfumed 
space.  The two assassins paused where they were, listening for the 
sound of breathing, of whispers, for the shuffle of footsteps either 
inside or out, but they heard nothing but far off laughter and music 
and the murmur of many voices.  Knight gave Rook's shoulder a pat 
then and the two of them made their hasty exit.

***

Omi hung in the doorway for a moment, disbelieving as the child who dreams of egg-
bearing rabbits.  Surely this was not where he was meant to have dinner! No one would 
ever fix something so perfect for him.  Only one his lover had slid into the kitchenette did 
he dare a few steps into the room at last, closing the door tight behind him.

/Maybe I'm just easily charmed...?/

/Or I... maybe I... I'm too happy for my own good./

He bent down searching one of the flames for a scent, but found only the trace of Freesia.  
Youji came back to him so, once his companion had flopped down, all his cares flittered 
away and he joined him on the floor.

Which lead invariably to another debate kept within him.

Grape fanta or wine? Grape fanta or wine! 

He scooted one of the pudgy goblets toward himself, staring into it as the sound of 
rippling plastic filled the air, and he felt the emerald eyes wandering over him, but could 
not meet them as he wondered...

At last he reached for the skinny throat of the bottle, tracing it's neck before taking a hold 
and pouring himself barely three swallows worth of the purple-red liquid within. 

Only to be presented with the box containing he longed for spaghetti, slipped between 
two of the candles.

Which then made a perfect frame for the complacent, grinning visage of his dear, dear 
boyfriend.  He sighed and swirled his goblet before taking a sip, or attempting too.  He 
giggled before the it ever reached his lips.

"Oh Youji, this is just great..."

So he had a sip of Youji instead, leaning over and minding he did not upset the flowers or 
the flames.

*** 

And Youji cupped the back of his head and held him thus, kissing him 
back with tender abandon.  Released him with a playful little lick of 
his lower lip.  

"I am glad I've pleased you with all this."  He waved a hand at the 
modest spread; shrugged lightly.  "I just wanted to make it look a 
little prettier..."  

/As if I weren't just some sad old bachelor.../ 

/Because you're important to me.../

Youji popped open the lid on his lasagna, poured himself a glass of 
the vintage and tucked into his dinner.  

/So you like candles and flowers?/

A secretive little smile graced his lips.  /Good./

A look towards the closed bedroom door, and Youji switched his 
attention to his date.  Studied him over the rim of his wine 
glass.  "So...What do you think of Yuuji?"  

***

Omi thought on this for a moment, swirling his fork in the creamy crimson of his meat 
sauce, with it sketching out a figure eight which reminded him of the gravitational 
wobbles at LaGrange points for some reason, which in turn reminded him of stars which 
he did so love still, and which he knew he would miss out here in the argon halo of the 
suburbs.  A single spear of pasta he finally captured and spun on the tines, just so, to wish 
the steam away.  The curling vapor resembled a figure eight from the side, considering 
how he had caught it.  No matter, he tried it.

And found he had taken so long to twirl it, that the sauce had gotten cold, on the outside, 
while remaining warm on the inside.

"Well, I think I'm going to like working with Yuuji, even if he isn't what I'm used to.  
He's kinda an otaku, he thinks Kenshin and Sano were made for each other, he jokes with 
the customers a little.  Of course assassins can have a sense of humor, but there's just 
something about his..." he took this time to have a sample of his wine, which he held 
against his tongue, letting it scald him inside with it's tongues of bitter bite before finally 
swallowing.  

/And he's gay too, but he's alone.  Is that why he left the Crashers for awhile? Did 
something happen, something about that? Because I wonder... if we ended up paired off, 
were all the groups like that? Or are the flower shops the only connection?/

/But that's idle speculation./

"...it seems so ingenuous! Like he couldn't double cross anyone if he life depended on it, 
and that's unnerving in a way."  

/But maybe because I'm used to being unnerved otherwise./

"And then... Did you hear his story about how he ended up here? He hardly sounded like 
himself when he was talking about it.  He sounded complicated.  It won't be like with 
Ken, Ken was always just the brash one.  Or like Aya, he was just the sour one..."

Another sip of wine where he quite pensively took a deeper swallow which tingled all the 
way down.  

"And there's something about him just reminds me of Aya!"

/We both know how wrong that is./

***

A bite of lasagna came away trailing a mass of oozing, cheesy 
strings, and Youji swirled it around over the perfectly made bed of 
pasta and sauce as if it were the tip of a wand, attempting to wrap 
the straggling ribbons around the tines of his fork.  

"You too, hm?"  he mused, looking guilty all over again when he 
glanced up at Omi.  "Yeah, I overheard your conversation.  I wasn't 
intending to eavesdrop, it just...happened," Youji finished lamely, 
dabbing at his mouth with a corner of his thin paper napkin.  He 
spread it out on his lap again, and took another sip of wine, 
marveling at the sprightly tang of it on his tongue.    

"But you're right--there's definitely a great deal of pain inside 
him.  He's lost something precious, and he can't forget it--can't or 
won't let himself forget."

/And that is SO like Aya./

/Hmpf...that is SO like all of us, actually.../

/And that honesty of his bothers you too, huh?/  

"Looks like it'll take some getting used to, won't it, having him 
around?"  

He held the foil packet of still-warm breadsticks out to Omi, then 
took one himself before laying it back down on the table between 
them.  "It seems to me that it might take some doing getting to know 
him too, for all his openness about his past; really get to know what 
lies beneath the surface, that is."

/Especially since he starts playing the jester when the talk turns 
serious, as if he's ashamed of being so open.  Or...as if he's afraid 
of revealing more than that?/  

/And if I do try to get to know him, if I accept him, does that mean 
that I've betrayed Aya and Ken?/

He laid his fork down and topped off his glass, then held the pot-
bellied bottle up a little, waggling it gently.  "Care for a splash 
more wine?"  

***

"Actually, I'd love some," Omi watched from behind the breadstick he was nibbling as 
he lover poured him... oh, about three times what he had originally had.  Something 
about watching the liquid slosh around between it's thin glass walls seemed almost 
hypnotic, or at least given to wondering.  

/And that, I assume is the first sign I'm getting a little tipsy./

/Damn./

/I might need this to say anything interesting though./

The wine had loosened his tongue already and provided him an excuse to indulge his 
archaic asterisms of anti-logic.  

"But don't you think he's out there now, thinking the same things about us, or something 
along those lines? That's just what it's like in the job, finding all these tinted mirrors of 
yourself, over and over and over and not liking some of them because they're too close or 
too crimson.  I think Yuuji's... kinda Aya with dyed bright, bright green.  And that Aya 
was me, black and reallllll dark purple."  

A long, rather slurpy indulgence of his noodles.  "I sound like an idiot, don't I?"

***

"Mmm...Either that or you're a terribly brilliant philosopher."  

Youji laughed at his little jibe, and stabbed up another bite of 
lasagna.  Watched the tomato sauce ooze and drip from the wavy layers 
back into the carton, and decided suddenly that he was no longer 
hungry.  

/Ah, well, it's even better cold./

Or, after three pensive sips of wine, thirsty.  

/As is this, of course./  

"And...I don't think you need much more of this tonight."  He reached 
for Omi's wine glass and moved it down to the other end of the table, 
placing the Fanta in its stead.  "I don't want you to wind up too far 
gone."

He tipped him a wink and an airy salute with his fork.  "Night's 
young yet, you know.  And...I believe I have some apologizing to do 
to you."  

***

The journey to the second floor and the commandeering of the elevator 
had gone off without any hitches.  No one had apparently seen them or 
heard them as they snuck past the main ballroom and up the stairs, 
down the hallway past bedrooms full of trysting lovers.  And of 
course, that lack of complications had sounded another silent 
warning.  It was too easy, getting in and getting there--it was bound 
to be difficult getting the job done and getting out alive and 
running.  Just the law of averages.   

As it was, there were only two tuxedoed sentries outside of the 
basement office, but they were easily dispatched and with little hue 
and cry; they had caught them off their guard.  But when they 
breached their target's private sanctuary, it would be another story; 
however, Knight had come prepared.  In the inner pockets of his 
trench, he had stashed a few smoke bombs and a tear gas canister.  
One of the former he extracted from the depths of his coat and held 
it at the ready, one hand on the knob.  The minute he opened the 
door, he deftly threw it towards the center of the room.  The pair 
rushed in then in the midst of the confusion, with Knight throwing 
another smoke screen after locating his prey.  

Of course the guards went into action, firing wildly into the thick 
smoke and hitting everyone and everything except the ones they wanted 
to kill.  The assassins, both crouching low and sticking to the walls 
as they moved about, had made good use of the screen, with Knight 
dropping more into the mix whenever he could.  The whip-sword 
snapping hard through the air at this screaming one or that, cutting 
into flesh and nicking bone with its razor sharp edges.  At last, he 
came upon one of the guards.  The man turned his gun on him the 
moment he saw Knight, but the assassin had already anticipated his 
move.  He lashed out at him with all the speed of an attacking 
scorpion, the metal rope twisting around his forearm.  Knight jerked 
hard on it and the man lost his balance, dropping the gun as he 
fell.  Another lash across the head and the man was rendered 
unconscious--maybe even dead.  

To his left and behind him he heard the sounds of fighting, of men 
crying out in agony as Rook drove his pike home over and over.  He 
hesitated until he caught sight of him through a break in the slowly 
dwindling smoke.  Still alive and fighting like mad.  Their eyes met 
for an instant, and then Rook waved him on.  

Knight didn't have to be told twice.  

His target and his two remaining guards had disappeared through a 
hidden door--one which they, in their careless haste, had left ajar.  
He pried it back and raced off down the soda-light illumined 
corridor, tracking them by their running steps.  Saw them turn a 
corner in a glimmer of black, and followed, only to come face to face 
with another of his protectors, a hulking mass of a man.  He swung at 
him, making contact with his jaw and sending Knight staggering 
backwards.  The assassin collided with the wall, blinking dazedly at 
his attacker, and hastening to shake off some of dizziness that had 
beset him before the other could make another attempt.  

Which he did--tried to deliver another stunning blow to Knight's 
head, but missed when his intended victim ducked and leapt away.  The 
sword shot through the air and slammed across the other's back, 
cutting through his clothing to bite at his skin.  He heard his 
target hiss a curse, the man gasping with the pain as he struggled to 
his feet.  He turned to rush Knight, but only got another brutal 
taste of the whip for his troubles.  

At last, he too was down, but just before Knight could turn and 
advance on the last barrier between him and the completion of his 
mission, something sharp pierced his shoulder.  In the adrenaline 
rush of the moment, Knight barely registered the resulting pain.  
Just saw the dull gleam of the blade in the light before his 
assailant retreated.  

But he didn't get away, either.  Knight wasn't the sort to let a job 
go unfinished.  He pivoted the handle in his hand before he let the 
sword fly, so that the flat of it would strike the blow, and not the 
sharp edges.  The whip twined around the man's neck twice and hung 
there, snagged on the blade's myriad grooves.  

"Leaving just when it was getting interesting.  How rude."

"Do you think so?"  A chuckle.  "Maybe you should teach him some 
manners."    

Knight peered past the gasping, clawing man to a slight, grey form 
which stood along the wall ahead of them both.  Noticed the fiery 
glow of a cigarette hovering near his hand.  

It didn't strike him until later that the man didn't bother to escape 
after his last guard was attacked; that he had watched the whole of 
the man's death as calmly as if, say, he were observing a male stork 
doing a mating dance.  

With a twist of his wrist the metal coil slackened and fell, and 
Knight was on his prey in a breath; had the man against the wall with 
the edge of his sword to his throat.  Smiled tightly into those 
rheumy, brown eyes.

"Good Evening, Uekiya-san."  

"Hmm...Good evening, indeed!  Who are you?"

"I'm no one you know.  No one important.  Just the man who's going to 
kill you."

A pause, then visible disbelief.  Knight only grew that much angrier 
in the face of it; all the lives he had destroyed, and he couldn't 
believe anyone would want him dead?  "What reason do you have to 
murder me?"

"I have a several reasons to do it, starting with some twenty-odd 
high school and college kids your henchmen kidnapped and used as 
experimental rats for that wonder drug of yours, and ending with..."

/...Sugihara.../

"And ending with...What?" Uekiya asked, simpering.  

"Upon your orders, long ago, someone was taken from me...Someone who 
meant a great deal to me."

He let out a wheezing laugh.  "Foolish boy!  You're going to kill me 
over a few silly kids and a lost love?  How unoriginal."

"Shut up!"  

"I'll have you know that no one was kidnapped.  They all came of 
their own accord, in answer to the ad I had placed.  My scientists 
made it clear that there were certain risks if they chose to 
participate in the study."

"Oh?  And was one of the risks death?  Did you tell any of them that 
they would end up dead by violent means if they survived the effects 
of the drug?"

Uekiya only shrugged.  "The project was very top secret.  And 
besides...I had to protect myself."

"Oh, yes, it would be a shame if a vicious bastard like you died, 
wouldn't it?"  With a growl, Knight pressed the edge of his sword 
into the soft pit at the base of his throat, drawing blood and making 
Uekiya gag and cough.  "You are hardly in a position to be 
criticizing me." He drew his weapon back to strike, but his target 
held up both hands in a peremptory manner, causing him to hesitate.  

Causing his cruel streak to come out.    

"Wait!  Wait..."  Uekiya tipped his head back a bit, seeking out and 
catching his eye in the insipid light from the overhead lamps.  "I am 
wealthy beyond imagining.  It would be in your interest to let me 
live, for I can give you anything you want."

A brow shot up.  "Oh?"  

"Why yes, my boy," he purred slyly, perceiving curiosity in Knight's 
voice.  "Cars, women--men?--a house as grand as mine anywhere in the 
world you want to live.  Anything you want."  

"Anything, hm?  And may I ask why you'd be so generous to someone who 
so clearly wants you dead?"

"Isn't it obvious?  You're very talented, my boy, and I always have a 
place for such individuals in my organization."  

A lull fell--one in which Knight pretended to consider his offer.  

/...Anything I want, huh?/  

/If only you really could give me what I want, old man.../ 

Knight affected a look of absolute remorse.  "Gomen nasai, Ojii-chan, 
but I have to decline your generous offer."  

"What?  But..."  

Knight sweetly smiled at him, flicking the sword back again much to 
Uekiya's horror. 

"Die."

"...NO!" 

He whipped the blade home then, slicing through the slack skin just 
under his jaw and severing his jugular in the process.  Knight 
watched in satisfaction as the blood gurgled and spurted from the 
wound to tint the walls, the floor.  Laughed coldly as the light in 
those watery eyes ebbed.  Then Rook's hands were upon him from out of 
nowhere.  

"More of his henchmen are coming down here!  Come on, Yuuji!"

/So soon?  But what if he has it on him?/  Knight made to kneel 
beside the body.  "...In a min--"

"NOW!"  With that, Knight was practically torn away from searching 
the remains of his long hoped-for kill, and was half-dragged down the 
secret passageway until they reached the exit, finding themselves in 
the midst of a bedroom.  All antiques and murals of nymphs and satyrs 
and ancient deities.  A young, shapely brunette lay sprawled across 
the bedcovers, very drunk and very naked.

"He musta had to get them drunk before bedding them."  

"No doubt."  

"And no doubt she won't mourn too much in the morning.  Hope he 
remembered her in the will."  Rook slipped one hand into his pocket, 
fingers enclosing the crumpled, nearly empty pack that laid buried 
there.  /Just a little longer now.../

/And I might have two at once...God knows I need them./  

/And I do hope this is the end of it, Yuuji.../  

"Are we still in the basement?"  

Knight didn't answer; he was too busy listening at the crack between 
the door and the frame for any ominous sounds, such as many, many 
running feet.  But he heard nothing.  He impatiently waved his hand 
to get Rook's attention, which the other grudgingly gave; the woman 
on the bed *was* a more interesting sight after all.  

With a blown kiss, the scruffy assassin followed his partner out of 
the room.

They had wound back up on the second floor after all.   

***

Omi blushed, with alcohol or true abashment he cared not.  He shook his head. 

"No, thank you.  For taking that away.  You don't need to apologize for that."  Quite 
obligingly, he downed a few swallows of the grape fanta, which, naturally, dyed his 
tongue and lips a faint violet, even where the velvet burgundy of the wine still burned in 
him.  

"Or anything else."

"Or tell me I'm brilliant."

The penne, of which he had devoured half between spats of sophist contemplation, 
slurped  as she shook it around, trying to get the catches on the Styrofoam carton to work.  

"At least not while I have clothes on."

He took up the remains of his lover's dinner when he carried his own off to the fridge, 
snitching a second breadstick on the way and gobbling it up as he pondered the best place 
to put the leftovers... above or below the Sapporo? 

Nothing else claimed either place.  He settled on above and trotted back into the living 
room, peeling his shirt off as he went.  The fabric had provided one miraculous effect- the 
satin had preserved the faint aroma of the lotion he had used on himself.

Little girl's glitter lotion.  His surprise.  His bare torso glinted more than the skyline as he 
stood beside the window, snickering and smelling of cherries and pears.  He leaned 
against the window edge, bunching the curtains behind him.

"Isn't it pretty?" Said to himself, not as a joke, even if he laughed through it, gazed out 
across the faint trickle of stars tied down across the horizon, and the mere patches of 
watery yellow that dotted the buildings closer to home.

Speaking of which, he rather slid his hands down the front of his jeans, as if the view was 
of naked Kenshin and Sano rather than naked lights. 

*** 

"Oh, yes, you are."

Youji had caught a tantalizing whiff of his scented lotion, and he 
leaned over to snag the collar of his permanently loaned shirt.  
Lifted it for a closer sampling.  It smelled sweet like candy.  Like 
Christmas.  

Like Omi.  

Then the garment was dropped to the floor and Youji was on his feet, 
irresistibly drawn by the shooting star way Omi's skin sparkled in the 
mix of flickering candlelight and his one dimmed lamp.  

By the way his hand was moving under his clothes.  

The lamp was shut off in passing, leaving only the tiny golden flames 
to light his way to his streetlight-haloed darling.  Ran a hand 
through his hair, down his shimmering arm, across his glistening 
back.  

He sank to his knees before Omi, and cupped one hip.  Dipped his 
tongue in his navel, and tasted cherries.  

"Need any help with that, Omi-ai?"  

***

Omi sank into the wet heat of his lover's tongue, sighing shrilly as it came as close as it 
ever would to piercing him, kissing what lay beneath his skin... what weird thoughts, 
stranger and stranger between the dark and the wine.  He slid back towards the glass then, 
feeling it's faint cool finger his shoulder blades... judging from the angle they hung at, 
the opportunistic passerby could easily behold them so, anyone hovering together on the 
porches of those apartments could see... the glisten of his skin, the few golden bronze 
hairs bobbing so close to his waist they could not be indulging in anything chaste.  

He pulled his hand away and watched the pale image of Youji then as his lips passed his 
waist band.  He could feel himself surging inside already, felt the moans creeping into his 
throat.  

"Yeah, I do..." he admitted, his words as much as mere inclusion of sound, as the candles 
stood as mere inclusions of lights and the dark of the city leaking close enough for them 
to make each other out.

"More than anything.  If the whole building was glass I'd still want you.  If I had to let 
you have me on the cold sidewalk, I would.  And maybe I'm glad Mrs. Higurashi is 
home.  I don't think she'll be bothered if I scream.  Not like anyone else would be, Aya 
and Ken.  I wonder if either of them cry out like I do for you.  I wonder if Knight was 
home if he'd play with himself in his room listening to us."

One of his legs came up and hooked itself over Youji's shoulder, pressing the front of the 
jeans into his face where he parted the zipper with his mouth, but didn't take his stiffness 
into his mouth.

"I don't want him, you know.  I just want him to hear us because I'm a pervert and it 
turns me on.  And there's not much chance of anyone walking in.  That still gets me.  I 
wanna scream.  I wanna be dirty.  I want you so bad."

But all of a sudden, he slipped into the center of the room, his jeans falling from him like 
the last remnants of a chrysalis.  His thighs and bottom shone with the same iridescent 
dust as the rest of him as he collapsed to the floor, and lay there, beckoning from his fetal 
position with only his words.    

"I feel like I'm always leading when we do it.  I wanna be the doll for once."

***   

Youji took a moment to remove something from the refrigerator, and 
then his t-shirt landed on the floor next to Omi's own; his jeans he 
let fall on top of Omi's, only to kick both garments out of the way.  
He stood over his sprawled lover, watching the stardust he was coated 
with snare and release the flickering candlelight, and then, dropping 
to all fours at Omi's feet, he began to crawl over his lover, 
stopping here and there to kiss him where he wished.  

The back of one knee.  

"Then be my doll.  Cry for me."

His thigh.

"Scream my name, Omi."

The inner slope of his hip.  

"Let there be no doubt in anyone's mind as to what I am doing to you."

His shoulder.  

"Let there be no doubt that you are mine."

His cheek.

"I want you, want you, want you..."

He cupped his jaw and turned his head a little towards him, and gave 
him a searing kiss.  

Youji lowered himself to the floor behind Omi then, sliding his hand 
down his beloved's arm, the other tucked under his own head.  

"I'll never torture you like that again...You *or* myself."  

His hand coasted down the flat planes of Omi's stomach, grazing his 
sex, his inner thighs before it left him.  Youji rolled onto his 
back, and began to pick the well-molded wax paper away from his 
current lube of choice:  Unsalted butter.  This he coated himself 
with thoroughly, then rolled onto his side again, and pressed against 
Omi with intent.  Heard his soft exhale, and smirked.  

With one arm slung around Omi's waist, Youji rocked forward and 
breached the barrier to his lover's body with a sharp hiss.  

***

Omi, lost between the flickers of the candles and the flickers of the body snaking around 
his did cry out then.

"IYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!" 

His fingers snagged in the carpet then and two quick tears spilled from his eyes.  Even if 
he'd been expecting this... and he had been! If Youji would have refused taking him for 
the time being, he guessed he would have held him down and maneuvered himself onto 
member, one way or another, even if he'd been dreaming of it... the brutal swiftness of 
the action stunned him, stilled him.  Youji lay still behind him as he fought with his 
breath, feeling himself belatedly open, giving way.

The hand around his waist clutched him, but not tightly enough.  Started ghosting up 
towards his eyes and he swatted it down.  The stillness flashed and maddened him.  He 
could feel himself trying to raise his hips to the sensuous assault but their air before him 
hummed only with the golden lights of the candles, the body he embraced in dreams 
reached deep inside him now from the most hopeless vantage of his form.  

And GOD if he didn't love it.  Didn't love being so close, so very, very close to Youji, 
who snuggled against him, tipping back and forth just faintly, only half-grazing the 
fleshly little sweet spot, burning him with reluctance...

"C'mon Youji-kun!" he sobbed desperately, pushing back against him.  "I'm crying for 
you.  I've felt like crying these past few days.  Please Youji PLEASE I know it's all my 
fault but fuck me really hard and then I'll scream.  I want to! I want you too, I want you.  
Please please please!"

(OOC: Iyan- exclamation indicative of ukes in BeBoy comics, form of "Iyee".)

***

Downstairs in her little bedroom, Mrs. Higurashi smiled pleasantly and had another sip of 
water from her glass.  "Oh!" she said to her pink, fuzzy bunny slippers, "It's so very nice 
to have boys about again!"

"Oh yes it is!" The bunny slippers replied, being not that they were capable of human 
speech, but rather plainly affected by the medication that kept her hands from aching in 
the night.

***

"It's not your fault," Youji crooned, his hand slithering down Omi's 
stomach again to tease his erection. "Nothing is your fault, Omi-ai."

He drew his hand back, and lay it instead on his hip, his other hand 
slipping in the crevice between his head and his shoulder. Pulled 
out long enough to guide him onto his hands and knees, nudged his 
legs apart, and then he was back inside him without preamble, hard 
and fast and softly groaning. He thrust into him to the hilt, his 
hands clutching at Omi's glittering hips hard enough to leave marks. 

"Oh, God..." he panted, drawing back and driving hard into him again 
and again. "You're so sweet, so...So snug. What the hell was I 
thinking, depriving myself of you?"

"Am I doing it hard enough, now? Fast enough? I want you to be 
happy. I only want to please you." 

He leaned over him, nipping at the back of his neck and adding in a 
whisper, "I want to hear you scream my name over and over until 
you're hoarse." 

***

Omi's knees buckled and he fell flat on his face, the carpet scuffing cold and prickly at 
his brow and breast as he ground against it with the shaking of his body as Youji struck 
him inside over and over and over.  He tried to pull himself back up, to find some way to 
meet those thrusts, so delicious with the days of waiting, the pains of having to put off 
taking him as hard as he could.  But it was perfect, every piercing, every motion and he 
rocked in and out of them, seeming to sway in the incarnate gales of his own mad lusts.  

He could not have asked for a better lay.

He pulled his face from the floor at last, gasping and trashing, fighting for air as his 
pushed it out of him, over and over again with his stiffness.

He wanted to bite something or he wanted to scream bloody murder.  His tongue had 
already leaked blood on the otherwise pristine beige carpet... so he screamed.  

"Youji-KUUUUUN! Youji! Youji! Fuck me!"

One of the candles hissed out and he only noticed because his eyes, wandering for his 
partner, now invisible by the means of their coupling, had been close enough to the flame 
when the wax snatched up.  Part of him still begged to see the true flames, the desire in 
those emerald eyes, the tight white flesh over his muscles, the sweat that was splattering 
on his back and making him shudder.  

"Please Youji, please, please!"

/Please what? You sound like you're not getting ANY!/

/Crazy, desperate little boy that you are.../  

"Do it just like this! Youji-kun! Don't stop, please don't stop, gods do anything but don't 
stop..."

He fell back to the floor then and lay there, gasping and crying out over and over and 
over, shaking and gleaming as if he meant to dissolve beneath his partner's thrusts.

***

At Omi's encouragement, Youji increased the speed of his thrusts, all 
thoughts of tenderness completely gone.  This was simple, unadorned 
lust they were slaking so feverishly, and so he didn't care anymore 
if he might hurt him a little in the process of ravaging him.

Apparently, Omi didn't seem to care either.    

He placed his hands palms down on the nubbly, scratchy rug, better 
bracing himself for his continued assault on his lover's 
body.  "Can't stop...Don't want to..." 

"Won't...Even after I come inside you..."

"I won't be finished with you..."

"I want...to taste you all over."

"Lay you...Mmm...down and take you in my mouth and..."

"And..."  

"Uhhhh!"  Youji rocked back on his knees then, wrapping his arms 
around Omi's waist and lifting him up as well as he rose.  Pounded 
into him without mercy, angling his thrusts to hit the most sensitive 
area inside of him.

And then he spilled into him in a warm rush, eyes screwed shut and 
body shaking furiously.

***

Omi, still face down on the floor, cried every obscenity he knew, trying to clench at 
Youji's member with his aching body, keep him screaming, keep him feeling good.

On the edge of his orgasm he lost his tongue and his mind.  He wondered if screaming 
was all it had been cracked up to be.  He wondered if this was really as wonderful as it 
felt, being pounded into, there on the floor when movies always made such actions out as 
downright unholy pornographic rubbish performed by bastards and loose women.  He 
wondered if they'd awakened their landlady, if the flowers were ashamed to hear them.

Then he became quite delirious, swore he could feel the threatened touches grazing him 
all over, hot and sexy and filthy and unkind and everything he wanted.

His vision became fraught with stars.  He wondered why he bothered to open his eyes at 
all...

Some small fragment of himself just wanted a shower, wanted Youji to leave his body 
just so he could be called back again and again.  He could almost see himself- a wisp, 
watching, being the voyeur and the exhibitionist.  Being Omi and being Omi two fold. 


Omi who felt something warm and sticky come splashing from him... still he jerked 
under the now trembling thrusts and he trembled with them and he felt himself tying up 
inside and screaming without his mouth.  One hand of someone else pumped him.  Hard.  
The other rubbed the bruises it had left him with.

Quiet at last, me merely breathed through his climax.

Then fell to the ground.  Alone.  Still seeing stars.

"Tsuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu."
 
***

It was a weary pair of assassins who snuck back into the Hanano some 
two hours after they had left, with Knight leaning on Rook.  He had been injured, and, 
although the wound was minor in comparison to some he had received in the past, it was 
painful--just enough to be annoying; just bloody and deep enough to persuade Rook take 
Knight to the hospital to have it checked and treated, despite the latter's 
vehement protests to the contrary.  

And it was just debilitating enough to make people ask questions.

Knight had noticed that Youji's car was still on the street outside 
the shop, and spotted the odd glow coming from his bare windows.  The 
oldest member Weiss was obviously home.

And from all the moaning and screaming they'd heard when they 
entered, so was the youngest.  Still, despite all the noise, the two 
of the spoke in the softest of whispers, and moved as quietly as 
mice.  It was second nature when they found themselves in the 
dark.    

"Yare, yare!  What in the hell are they doing up there?"

"You *are* kidding, aren't you?"

"Well, I know *what* they're doing, what I meant was..."  Rook huffed 
impatiently.  "Oh...Never mind.  It's gone all quiet now.  Think 
they're finished?"

"One can only hope."  

"Bet they're lying there, all curled up around each other and having 
a smoke."  Rook said that last wistfully; he still hadn't had a 
chance to sit down and have the cigarettes he'd been so desperate 
for.  

Knight had to chuckle at that, softly, despite his foul mood.  "Just 
get me to my apartment without anyone seeing us and you can sit 
around and smoke until you're sick of doing it."

"Ah, you're so good to me."  Rook hitched him a little closer as they 
approached the stairs.  "Where's yours located?"

"First floor, first apartment."

"Right."  

They ambled up the stairs without incident, to the door without a hitch.  The key neatly 
slid into the lock and the door swung open with a faint squeal.  Masato walked Yuuji to 
his room, and helped him off 
his trench, draping it over the chest at the foot of his bed.  The 
whip sword followed, chiming like rain on metal as it coiled onto the 
floor.  Yuuji sank down on the bed with a pained grunt, and Masato 
fumbled with the coat, flipping it back and exposing the small, 
bloodied tear at one shoulder.  He regarded it with a regretful 
frown.   

"Man, you're going to have to get that patched and cleaned."

"Yeah, I know," Yuuji sighed.  "Ah, well, it won't be the first time 
I've had to do that."  He raked his good hand through his hair.  

A snap and click, and Masato took a deep drag on a fresh cigarette, 
eyes closed in rapture.  "What are you going to tell them?" he asked 
around the filter, jerking his tousled head towards the ceiling.

"The truth if they ask me.  I am an agent for Kritiker--and I'm still 
a Crasher."  

"A wounded Crasher," he corrected.  "Come on, into bed."

Yuuji grimaced.  "You're treating me like a kid."

"Huh.  You are a kid."

They exchanged a wry look, then Yuuji chuckled, Masato answering him 
with a smile.  The younger assassin pulled the blankets back and slid 
between them, throwing them over his still-clothed form in a 
haphazard manner.  He draped his uninjured arm over his eyes.  

"Satisfied?"

"Mmm...Almost."  

"Almost?" 

Masato exhaled sharply, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and 
regarding it fondly.  He slid it between index and middle, and walked 
over to the bed, where he leaned over his recumbent partner and 
kissed him squarely on the lips.  When he pulled back, he found 
himself staring down into a pair of startled, crystal blue eyes and 
Yuuji holding him by the collar.  

"Now I'm satisfied."

Masato straightened up, tearing free from Yuuji in the process.  The 
top button popped loose between his fingers, only to tumble to the 
wooden floor with a rapid click.  Masato thoughtfully rubbed the tiny 
tear, shrugged, and ground out the cigarette in a dish sprinkled 
lightly with toast crumbs.  

"Masato...?"

"No, Yuuji.  No questions.  They aren't really necessary, are they?"

A pause.  "No, I guess they aren't."  

They both fell silent for a minute, then Masato lit up again.  He 
started to put the battered pack back in his pocket, then thought 
better of it, and laid it on the dresser by the dish instead.  "In 
case you decide to start again."

"But I won't."

"But you might."

Yuuji nodded and shrugged.  "Yeah, maybe."  And then, "Masato..."

He cut the younger man off with a wave of his hand.  "Listen.  You'll 
be coming back to Crashers for good eventually.  If you decide to 
include me in that too, well..."  Masato hitched a shoulder in a 
careless sort of way.  "That is...If you think you can..."

Another little pause.  

"Am I going to see you anytime soon?"

"Huh.  Sure you will."  Masato smirked.  "After all, you owe me a 
pack of cigarettes."  

With that, amid Yuuji's quiet snickering, Masato turned and left the 
room, the apartment, shutting the door behind him.

"Oyasumi nasai, Yuuji," he breathed as he headed towards the stairs, 
having nothing but a pinprick of red-orange light to announce his 
presence in the dark.  

***

A few heaving breaths later, Youji had gone into his tiny bathroom 
and came back with a washcloth soaked through with warm water. He 
stretched out alongside Omi and gently wiped all traces of their 
lovemaking from his body. Left him long enough to toss the washcloth 
into the hamper, and then hefted his limp, young lover from his 
resting place on the floor. 

"Close your eyes, and don't open them until I say you can."

Youji eased the door open without so much as a bounce to disturb the 
boy who was curled up against him, and was instantly hit by the scent 
of flowers--rather a specific flower. He lay him down on the bed, 
plumping the pillow up under it, then went to work. 

One by one the white pillars he had scattered about the room came to 
life, dispelling the shadows; he knew that Omi was afraid of the 
dark, and so...

He just hoped his lover wouldn't find it all too corny--especially 
the flowers. Especially the way he had arranged them. 

But at the time, it had just struck him as a romantic gesture. 

Youji crossed over to the bed and crawled up next to him, laying his 
head next to his and whispering, "Open your eyes."

And when he did, Youji scooped up a tiny mound of the countless white 
rose petals and whole freesia blooms he'd covered the bed with and 
sprinkled them over Omi's body. 

"Surprise." 

***

Omi lay in the fond dimness, still and content as a sleepy infant, though the slits of his 
eyes remained pointedly aware, the curl of his lips well-knowing, well pleased, bloody 
and soft.  He kissed Youji with them then, hardly daring to move otherwise and disturb 
the patches of satiny petals that had clung faintly to his flesh with the remains of glitter 
and water.

Youji though seemed a shadow beside him, loosing all definition, dissolving away with 
the flames and somehow returning, unlike his lust, the lust between then.  He could feel 
himself- empty now of that, and of desperation.

Empty period.

But he didn't mind.  

He just couldn't speak, not now.  His throat tingled after all.  But he could have willed it, 
if he'd known what to say.  And he did.  Just a little, ringed with flames and flowers.

"Mmmm... Youji-kun."

And Youji stayed and stayed and stayed... he himself turned slowly to black satin, lost 
everything of himself save the raw wetness on his lips.

Silent as ever, he plucked a single freesia and set it to the blooms of pink flesh, held it 
there, earned himself a giggle.

Kissed his lover again, the cache of petals slipping all about their tongues, their fingers 
creeping all about each other.  

***

Youji slid his arms around Omi, pulling him closer. He wanted to 
bury himself within him, and forget...Everything. His life was so 
empty, so meaningless--moving from bed to bed, from kill to kill. 
Living had become a chore, and some nights...He wished it would come 
to an end. That the bad guys would win for once, and he could rest. 

And then something so rare, so special, would happen that he'd want 
to go on. 

Like now.

Once he had thoroughly sampled Omi's kisses, Youji began to drift 
down his lover's body, dealing a kiss here, a lick, a nuzzle. Just 
wanted to feel him; hear his heart beat. 

"I've wanted to hold you like this, love you like this for so long..."

"Let me? Let me treat you gently...Like you're made of spun sugar..."

***

"Go ahead, Youji-kun," Omi breathed, reaching down and gathering up his lover's hair as 
if it were spun gold, rubbing it against him, so smooth, so wiry and yet pleasing to his 
fingers... so just Youji.  

He could have been falling to pieces in this sudden shift, this chasm; the crushing reaches 
of their longing come to turmoil and almost loveless twinings without even a whisper of a 
bed to calm them and now the aching sweet calm between the crushing thunder.  The 
heavy, humid, sleepy afternoon kinda slip.  The daydream falling all around him, threads 
of satin.  But hadn't he dreamed of that first coupling... just as much as he had dreamed 
of this?

It bothered him so.

He still felt like a toy.

Like the most beloved toy in the world.  

"Anything you want.  Really.  I'm only a little soar.  Anything..."

He swallowed a little, breathed softly and reclined into the bits of roses shredded for his 
wonder, and his momentary fancy.  Just like the time they could have spent taking each 
other all over for awhile.

***

Youji slid his hands under Omi, gently kneaded the muscles of his 
lower back. His mouth, now at play over his lover's chest, found the 
tender nub of a nipple and gave it a kiss. Smiled against Omi's skin 
when the boy jerked in response. 

"You're sore? Oh, my poor Omi." Another kiss. "My poor, poor 
Omi." 

He felt as well as heard him sigh, his chest pressing against his 
cheek as he moved further down Omi's body. "What can I do?" He 
traced over the lower ridges of his ribcage with his tongue, then 
swooped downward to his navel. Dipped his tongue inside and felt him 
twitch again. 

His hands glided down his back to cup his ass, still gently 
kneading. Placed a kiss on the tip of his stirring sex, and then sat 
up. "Turn over, Omi-ai."

His back was the stuff of statues and fantasies--sleekly muscled it 
was--not that anyone would guess by all the layers of clothing Omi 
usually wore. As if he were trying to hide himself away. 

Youji swept his fingers through Omi's hair, down the back of his neck 
and across his shoulders. Picked the petals away from his skin and 
left a kiss in their place, all the way down to the dip of his lower 
back. Paused there above those tempting mounds of flesh, just to 
savor the anticipation. 

"You like having someone around, to be able to touch someone, talk to 
someone? You do know that that door between our two apartments is 
just that--it can be closed, can be left open. Can be removed and 
taken away altogether." 

He nuzzled him there, just above the shadowy cleft. Kissed 
him. "Would you like it if I did that? If I made it possible for 
you to come into and go from my apartment whenever you want?"

***

Omi moaned softly.  Not a moan of anguish or of desired sensation, rather of fleeing 
tension and consent to something at last, something oft longed for, something like the 
sinking softness between dreams.  His arms crept down and his eyes sank against his 
pillow as he relaxed and brushed one hip close to the hands still chancing him.

Youji's breath even felt like fingers.  It made him tingle and want to open himself as far 
as he could.

At least, in form.

Open that door... for good.  Maybe.

"I ah... I think I..." His words cracked, not with grief, but rather something aching inside 
him as he tried to discern what he wished, for it was not as simple as all that.  A million 
riddles swirled in it, picked apart the words he thought of using.

His head fell against his shoulder and he glanced down to the pale gold figure of his 
lover.  

"I would..." But he shivered a second against his heavy lashes.  This was an old ache.  
He could smell the tealeaves and the sweet waitress form last time it had crept into him.  

"It would be funny for me though.  You understand.  It would make my room open, and 
I've never slept in a place like that.  Where I could see out.  But I want to, and you'd be 
there to keep me if I felt... if it... I dunno.  It's not like I'm going to worry about 
monsters it's just I've never... I've never realized I even wanted this.  But I do.  Yes, 
Youji-kun."

A sleepy little smile.

"I'm yours." /I'm someone's./

***

Youji rubbed his cheek against Omi's hip like a contented cat, 
smiling most fondly at his drowsing lover.  Mouthed him at the 
juncture of cheek and thigh, and moved off.  Stretched out beside 
him, and gave him kiss on the forehead.  

"I'm glad that you are."

Another little grin.  He slipped his arm under him and gathered him 
close, cradling his head on his shoulder.  Let his free hand wander 
over Omi's lithe form.  

"You can sleep with me, or I'll sleep in your bed...Or, you can sleep 
by yourself more often than not, if you wish.  No pressure."

"And you are always welcome..."

He sunk a little lower on the pillows and gave him a kiss.  Open-
mouthed but gentle, gasping.  Let his hand drift down Omi's stomach.  

"In the morning, I'll get to work," he whispered against Omi's 
lips.  "But right now..."

His hand slithered over Omi's sex, stroking, and he claimed him with 
another kiss.  

***

Omi awakened to find himself still sinking slowly into Youji, his head 
buried against his shoulder... Youji's shoulder was wet? He licked his own lips and found 
them dry, but his lashes felt sticky when he blinked...

A troubled, staggered little sigh that would have been an ordinary sigh if he'd not already 
known what liquid he had spilled, and in the cloudy morning silver shine of clouds, did 
sweep back onto his palm as if the water seemed to someone an offering onto sprits 
sweet, such as never visited him, he knew.

Loosing petals like a sakura in April, he took leave of his drowsing lover and stood in the 
center of the room, naked and unable to remember where the bathroom was.  He found it 
eventually, not like it was hard.

But he kept thinking he'd end up finding it out in the halls and occupied by someone 
whistling or nursing his wounds of pride or something! Odd portent that.  He found no 
one, naturally.  Just washed his damp hands and his face.   The traces of last night's 
couplings he decided to wear for awhile longer.   He was proud of them, covered with 
them, bruised and salty with them.

Just the same, he went down into the kitchen and put on a pot of tea. 
As he considered checking on Yuuji to see if he was up, something fell with a dull thud 
downstairs and he ambled across the steps to check after it, oblivious to the something 
beyond mussed look his hair currently held along with a rose petals caught on a knot.  He 
found their companion there, glaring at a spilled plastic pail and...

This woke him up fully.

"YUUJI! What are you doing out of bed! You're hurt!"

***

"Omi!"

Yuuji had clapped a hand over his injured shoulder upon finding Omi 
standing in the doorway, both because it was aching and on sheer 
instinct--as if he thought he could somehow conceal the lump of 
bandages under his t-shirt. Of course, after he'd done that, he 
realized the uselessness of the act. Yuuji sported a garish 
bruise across one cheek and another under the left side of his 
jaw...As well as on other places, as he had discovered that morning 
in the shower. 

/Ah, I didn't want them to know.../ 

"Uh...Yeah. But it's nothing--just bruises," he added hastily, 
backing away from him and holding his hands up as if to ward him 
off. "And..."

"And...I've found that nothing can make me forget such little pains 
like a nice hot breakfast! Yeah! So...uh..." Here he turned and 
walked off towards the storeroom just as jauntily as possible. "Why 
don't you fix me something good, hm? I bet living on your own with 
*that* one," he said, looking meaningfully up at the ceiling, "gave 
you a chance to learn how to cook--uh...out of necessity."

/Oh, like that made sense.../

He took the mop from its corner and the pail down from its 
hook. "While you're doing that, I'll just clean up this mess."

***

Awake, Omi might well have been flattered by that charmingly incoherent answer, but 
his mind, still smoky with sleep, refused to grasp more than once concept at a time.

Concept currently being examined: Yuuji is hurt.

The related topics of why is Yuuji hurt, why didn't Yuuji tell me he was hurt, Yuuji made 
a big mess, Yuuji probably heard me last night, Yuuji is an idiot when it comes to 
disingenuousness, and I, Omi am wearing Ken's robe; why haven't I noticed it by now, 
all eluded him.

Growling slightly, he stomped across the room, causing his new partner to take a few 
steps back upon beholding the sleeping ire that seethed within his face.  The wall assisted 
him here.  Knight backed into it, winced.

Omi snatched the mop from his hands and hung in front of him, and brandished it.  

CRACK! The handle hit the wall beside Yuuji's head, causing Yuuji to jump away form 
it and go skittering across the room, only to find the dull nub of that cleaning equipment 
jabbing him in the back occasionally.

"Back! Back! Back!" Omi cried.

"Back to bed with you!"

And chased him all the way back up the stairs.

***

Once at the door to his apartment, Yuuji found himself being prodded 
once more by the handle of the now-much-hated mop.  He'd tried again 
to fend Omi off, but his bruised body wasn't up to a tussle.  

So he gave up...sort of.  

"All right!  I'm here!  I'm opening the door now!  I'm stepping 
inside!" Yuuji turned around, one hand on the knob and more or less 
blocking his livid tormentor's entrance into the room.  "I won't work 
today!  I'll even make my own lunch and dinner up here!  Okay?"

Another prod of the handle in his stomach was all the answer he 
received.  Was dealt another and yet another until he'd backed off.  
Omi entered after him and closed the door, then stood in front of it 
still brandishing the mop.  Gestured towards the bedroom with it.  

Yuuji simply stared.  *This* was the same sweet little Omi of the day 
before?!

"Shimatta!  I've never heard of anyone being in this foul of a mood 
the morning after a night of mind-blowing sex."  

***

Omi dropped the mop, but found he was all blushed out.  No, he couldn't be embarrassed, 
the recent loss of his virginity felt like a badge, the fact he'd already been caught by 
Momoe-sama once had used up all his shame.  His aches were a tattoo over his heart, 
Yuuji's words like a quick slap.

Not because of the sex reference but because he finally realized what he was doing.  
Hence casting aside the broom, and his eyes, which fell shimmering with repentance to 
the floor.  His hand passed his brow and found it cold.  He shook, and the he cried quite 
loudly.

"Gomen nasai Yuuji! 

/As if that's going to do any good!/

A shy, fast regard for the flummoxed Knight, who hovered behind his bedroom door, 
where Omi himself fled to, catching the knob and suing for some kind of understanding 
with a hurried little grace.

"I was shocked.  I'm sorry.  I don't know what came over me! I was just worried I guess,  
not that that's an excuse but... poor Yuuji! You're a mess!"

One of his hands flew up and tapped the bruise on his companion's chin, causing quite a 
wince.

"Oh no... no no no!"

A sigh.  "Really, please get in bed.  Don't worry about anything today."

Neither of them moved.

So he told him.  "I ah... always used to take care of everyone back at the Koneko.  When 
they got hurt I mean, and if it wasn't me.  I think... well... seeing you like this I just felt 
like I'd screwed up not minding you so I ah... flipped out."

"I'm not making any sense, am I?"

***    

Rubbing his neck, Yuuji gave Omi a kind smile.  "No, you aren't, and 
yes, you are."

He chuckled softly.  "So you're the caretaker of Weiss, hm?  I should 
have guessed.  You have the look of one, you know?"  At the boy's 
disgruntled little groan, he clapped him on the shoulder, and gave it 
a joking little shake.  "I didn't mean that as an insult."  

With a heavy sigh, Yuuji released him and looked over his shoulder at 
his bed.  "Well...I guess it won't kill me to miss one day of work..."

"And," he added, cupping his throbbing shoulder, "I'm definitely 
feeling under the weather, so..."

Yuuji settled himself on the bed, and flopped back against the 
pillows.  Aimed the remote at the portable TV on his dresser, and 
glanced over at Omi with a shrug.  

"I guess I'm at your mercy."  

***

"I know Yuuji..." Omi said with a bare tingle of a chuckle to his words as he shook his 
head, the stopped abruptly.  "I mean... not about your being at my mercy, I meant about 
being the doctor."

In a perfectly doctor-like manner, he rubbed his neck, but then also, in a not-so-doctor 
like manner, he hauled his robe back up on his shoulder.  Speaking of which, he took 
notice of Yuuji's just then.  The way he kept fumbling with it.  "Alright then!" A 
determined little stamp.  "I'll make breakfast then, but first, I'm guessing you've got 
stitches under there so don't poke them."  A little wag of his finger as he started out the 
door, started out of the room , only to scuttle back and add.  "That includes when I'm not 
in the room."

A pillow sailed towards his face but met only with a giggle and the paneling of the door.  

Whistling a little to relax himself, he took himself up the stairs to his room, there 
retrieved the grey toolbox that had become the tending-minor-to-medium-damage-at-
home med kit and toted it back to his companion's quarters, taking out only what he 
needed before proceeded to his bedroom.

A fellow with bruises and a hurt shoulder, he figured, didn't need to see the instruments 
intended for more serious wounds- the long saber tweezers, the tourniquets, his own 
needle and medical thread.  The scalpel he kept on hand just in case... All he needed was 
some fresh bandages, a towel, some aspirin, the  cream for soar bruises and the 
"ouchless" disinfectant, the bottle of which he shook and stared at fondly for a moment.  
It was meant for children, the pink plastic shouted that.  He'd only switched to this 
expensive, complicated concoction because of Aya.

Youji always hissed getting doused with the regular stuff.  Ken would swear up a storm.  
He himself jerked and trembled.  Aya never did anything!  Just sat there, and took it 
without even wincing.  And there had always seemed to him something so... so 
therapeutic about fussing over the stinging little bites of it.  Something Aya couldn't have 
and he, heart all gone to mush and cursing himself for it, bought the new formula out of 
sympathy, out of wanting to spare a man who could not be spared.  

He also assumed presently Yuuji would be growing impatient with him and so came into 
his room, to find he'd already quite cooperatively removed his shirt.  

Omi plopped down on the edge of the bed and quietly observed the faint dark patches 
where the bloodied graze showed through the bandages.  Not to mention the bandages 
themselves.  "You went to the hospital, huh? They always tie you up too tight." 

His fingers found the tape securing the punctured white strips, ripped it loose and started 
unwinding them.  Speaking as he did so, to no one in particular.  "This is one of the first 
things they showed me how to do at Kritiker, taking the bandages OFF as opposed to 
putting them on.  They didn't start me on crossbow right away.  I had three years of just 
medical and communications training first, before they sent me out... and you can make 
fun of me all you want, I've heard it all.  But..." All this with a smile, as if he invited the 
taunts, or could not hear them beyond his being absorbed in his task.  

A quick moment where he leaned from side to side, inspecting the arrangement of the 
tiny white threads against the raw, red flesh.  "If you want next time, I can actually put 
stitches in.  I don't mind doing it at all and it saves you the trouble of having to make 
something up on the way to the ER.  I'm sorry I didn't mention that before... They ah... 
give you any instruction in this sorta thing? Before they sent you out?"

The towel balanced on one hand, the bottle of disinfectant in the other, he doused the 
stitches and let them drip dry.

***     

Kudou Youji didn't own an alarm clock, nor did he need to buy one.  
He already had three.  

The first was a hot-tempered, active, slightly clumsy man with 
haunted blue eyes and dark hair so glossy that it begged to be 
mussed.  Even though it usually looked as if it had been.  

The next was a brusque, solemn redhead with the most intense violet 
eyes he'd ever seen.  Tall, thin and lovely.  

And the last was a cheery boy with a winsome smile and eyes that 
strangely reminded him of rain.  Had a laugh that made him think of 
wildflowers in the sun.

So with all those precautions, he never had any trouble getting up on 
time for work.      

But...the problem was that that morning, none of them seemed to be 
functioning correctly, for if they were, Youji would already be up 
long before the ripe old hour of 7:48 AM.  As it was, said notorious 
playboy was sprawled on his side at an angle across his vast bed, 
lost in some dream about rainbows and ladders, the topmost spare 
pillow gathered to his chest like it was precious.  

It was the very same pillow Omi had slept on and so it smelled like 
roses and freesia and sex.  Of salt and slumbering grief.  And it was 
quite cold.  It was this last, most unpleasant sensation that finally 
permeated his subconsciousness and roused him.  

Youji cracked his lids open hesitantly, only to shut them with a loud 
groan for the sun was shining straight into his room, tinting the 
whole of it bright gold.  Not a desirable situation for a night 
person.   

/Uh...I have to get some curtains.  Some heavy, lined curtains./  

/Or...Maybe just brick up the damn windows.../

He flipped back the comforter, sending a cascade of now wilted and 
very much crushed petals to the floor, and struggled to remember just 
what it was that was wrong about the whole scene.  

And then it came to him, the moment he pressed his face into the 
pillow he'd held.  

Omi was gone.  Had been there, and now...

That woke him up fully.  Youji released the pillow, laying it back in 
its usual space and hauled himself up, scratching his head sleepily.  
Got to his feet, and padded out into the living room.  Still no Omi, 
just the accursed morning sunshine.  He clapped his hand over his 
eyes, mumbling a curse, then, cracking his fingers apart over his 
eyes, stumbled over to the separating door and knocked, but there was 
no answer.  

He turned around then, and spied the remains of his and Omi's 
clothing on the floor.  Dropped his hand to his side, blinking 
dazedly, and gave the scattered garments a lopsided grin.  

/Well, he probably hasn't gone far.../  

With a nudge of his jeans with his big toe, Youji swept into the 
bedroom and took his robe off the back of the door.  Strode back out 
to the kitchenette and went through the motions of coffee-and-water 
measuring.  Hit the little red-lighted button on the maker and leaned 
back against the counter to wait while the brown-black liquid drip-
dripped into the pot.  Watched a pair of girls, all decked out in 
their clubbing gear, wearily trudge down the sidewalk opposite to 
suburban points unknown.  

He blew them a kiss unseen through the window.  Tilted his head back 
against the cabinet after they'd gone past, and listened to the 
final, tiny moan of the machine as it perked its last, the roar of it 
as the fresh water he'd added was heated up.  

And then he remembered what he'd told Omi he'd do.  

***

Yuuji, for once, had willingly played the part of a good patient--but 
then, he had a good reason to lie quiet and still: It gave him a 
chance to see another facet of his new teammate's character. And what 
he saw both saddened him and made him like Omi that much more.

/Ah!  You ARE much more than just a pretty face, then.../

"Uh...Me? Yeah, they trained me in basic medical treatments when I 
first joined. It's come in handy on several occasions, let me tell 
you. But then, you'd know all about that." A sheepish 
chuckle. "And you're pretty good at it too! I've been worked on 
before by guys who weren't nearly as gentle or as competent--and that 
includes one or two ER doctors, no lie!" Yuuji gestured at his 
shoulder. "You didn't hurt me a bit." 

/Which makes me wonder what sort of doctor you might be, if you had 
the chance to learn to be one. A proper one, not just some assassin 
who can patch up his teammates as needed./ 

/Do you go to school? Do you have friends outside of Weiss?/ 

/Probably not, huh?/ 

It left a taste like wet ashes in his mouth, that assumption, but 
Yuuji didn't want to ask any questions that would spoil his 
caregiver's good mood.  Instead, he gave Omi a little smile and a 
friendly pat on the shoulder.   

"Arigatou, Omi-kun." 

***

"You're very welcome!" Omi flashed his biggest, chibi-ish smile.  He had to admit it.  
He'd gotten teased not because of his apparent skill in the medical arts, but because he 
seemed more than any of the others he had encountered, to enjoy any chance whatsoever 
to fumble split skin.  Certainly hacking into this database or that one got him a smile, but 
in a world where such things stood as rather uncommon, he had still made himself a 
connoisseur.  The thanks-omi-I-don't-hurt-anymore was his favorite.  And Yuuji! Oh, 
Yuuji had a nice one! 

And yet he would oft wonder with his eyes trained on something bloody if part of him 
was not glad he was the one tending the wounds, and not the wounded.  A certain slant of 
luck worship to that.  

"Don't ever hesitate to ask me to patch you up, even if I'm tired, or I'm grumpy or it's 
the middle of the night..."

He trailed off and swung his eye up to his companions, sporting an earnest but ever so 
curious gaze.  His hands worked the tube of bruise cream and pulled from it a healthy 
little glob which he started smoothing over Yuuji's chin.

"You were on a mission last night... I... you know..."

/How come? Why? Why? Why?/

/It's not like I like missions./

"We would have come too, mind-blowing sex or not!"

***   

Yuuji had to laugh at that, although he regretted giving into the 
urge; he didn't regret seeing the faint reddish tinge on Omi's cheeks 
or the shy-ish smile he was giving him, though. 

"Itai, itai, itai," he whispered, scrunching his face up comically 
and rubbing lightly at his bruised side. "Mmm, don't make me laugh, 
Omi-kun!" he cried, tossing his companion a wink. 

"But no," he added in a more serious tone, settling down again and 
holding perfectly still for Omi while he began treating his 
bruises, "I couldn't have asked you guys to come along last night. 
It was...Crasher business, just me closing an old case, more or 
less. But I appreciate you saying that--and for the offer of 
treatment."

"Besides, Omi," Yuuji continued, switching gears again and flashing 
him a most mischievous smirk, "I would never be able to live with 
myself if I deprived you of a night of mind-blowing sex!" 

***

"Now I happen to think," Omi suggested quite wryly, "that that is one of the nicest things 
anyone has ever said to me, without first offering mind blowing sex."

Silence, oppressive nervous grinding silence, came and sat between them.  Then they 
both laughed and Yuuji winced, at least until another dollop of lotion appeared with a 
bubbly squeak and ended up on his side.

"There, there," His caretaker offered with a shake of his head.  "I'll stop now."  His 
fingers only fluttered over the wide spread of purple skin, and then his palm as well, but 
the touch stood as nothing more than a manner of introducing the cream, through which 
he missed the texture of the skin, only felt its earliest hints of sinewy and bone beneath.  
Was Yuuji as soft as he looked? Yes, some small thrill came to Omi, knowing he had a 
lover now who could find jealously in tenderness to others, towards Knight, who really 
did need him! Honestly.

It didn't feel like this though, feeling Youji up.  It didn't chill him tight and ready for a 
good roll on the carpet.  "Saa, I was kidding.  I've never been with anyone but Youji, I've 
never had vague overtures from anyone but Youji."

And then he inadvertently answered Yuuji's prior wondering.  "He and Aya and Ken 
were my only friends."

/But I know I'm lucky I had some at all!/

"Are the Crashers like that? Do you get along, I mean I... ah..." his eyes fell away.  
"Sorry to pry.  I was just wondering."

***  

In his mind's eye, Yuuji saw himself reaching out and tipping that 
elfin chin up, bringing those blue cloud eyes up to his own. In 
reality, though, he simply stayed as he was, one arm folded loosely 
across his stomach--that is, until he moved to tap Omi's knee with 
the back of his hand to get his attention. 

"Don't apologize. I didn't think you were prying." He tucked that 
arm behind his head. "Hmm...Are the Crashers like that? In some 
ways, yes, and in some ways, no." He hitched his uninjured 
shoulder. "We work together very well, are very tight. But some of 
us only tolerate the others." Here, he thought of Queen, who really 
only tolerated him, and then of Pawn, whom he only tolerated. 

/Were Aya and Ken your friends really? Did they love you like 
friends should?/

"But...That's not to say that I don't have any friends, 'cause I do. 
He goes by the name of Rook. I usually go on missions with him. And 
yes," he added, doing a bit of anticipating of his own, "he did go 
with me last night. Made me go to the hospital and brought me 
back." Yuuji rolled his eyes. "I swear, he's as unyielding as you 
are when it comes to me resting." 

Another teasing nudge of Omi's knee with the back of his hand, for 
which he got a tiny smile. Then a laugh. Yuuji was left to his 
musings. 

/I've only known you for a day basically, and I've got to wonder: 
How could anyone pass you up, Omi-kun?/

/Man...I just don't know./

/I hope that Kudou appreciates what he has.../

Another uncertain silence came skipping past them again, one broken 
only by a nervous little cough. 

"Um...Would you care for some tea? I've...uh, got some bancha in the 
cupboard by the stove."

***

/Rook? Your friend is named... Rook... so then you must...!/

Tickled, he giggled, /You're chess pieces./

And then abruptly choke his mirth.  /How disconcerting that must be!/

And yet appropriate.  Cats, chess pieces... what else did all these Kirtiker agents call 
themselves? The names of Victorian French dolls? Sorts of dramas put on by puppets? 
Even fugitives from books unread... he wondered over that, but his train of though 
seemed much more inclined to something else then.  He found he desperately wanted to 
know what Rook looked like!  Yuuji's friend surely had to be certain things, but what 
were they? Was he another mirror of Omi or did that drunken theory fall apart here 
beyond the make-shift bedroom? Yuuji's words had been so enigmatic.  Surely, a person 
much like himself would have carried a wounded Knight to the hospital! But so with all 
the other colored glass boys he had met, at least in the right circumstances.  All he got 
from their conversation so far was a sense of staunchness, a wreath of age.

Somehow he just KNEW Rook was older.  But how about how pretty was he? How 
contrary? How well did he fight? Or talk? Or just BE!

Then the tea came up.

"Ah, sure! I'll fix us a little.  Sorry."  But as he got up, rubbing the last of the bruise 
cream into his own hands, he leaned forward and smirggled.  "I'm just glad you have 
someone else who can talk you into bed."

Tittering, he took off to the kitchenette and put some water on to boil, figuring he'd only 
have a little himself, so there would still be lots of room for tea with Youji.

/Well... while I'm at it.../

"Yuuji? I'll be back in a minute."

With that he stalked up to the attic as quietly as he could, ascending the pull-down stairs 
into a dark room of dust moths and rabbits of random fuzz... they hadn't move din but 
the day before and already the place felt ancient! Such was the nature of attics he 
supposed.  Here he could not even guess the hour of the day, for all he had for light was 
one bare bulb that hovered like a halo over their few boxes and the sad naked specters of 
his former teammate's beds.  

He found the one box from his own room without a touch of trouble, and found luck as 
well, for his Hori Erio DJ's sat right on top.  He suspected whoever had packed them had 
also read them.  These he scooped up in one arm and was just about to go clopping back 
down when something glinted in the corner of his eyes.

Aya's katana had been left on Ken's dresser.  Just sitting there, as if someone was meant 
to pick it up.

So he did, and carried it with him back to Yuuji's room, since it had been over a minute 
by then.  "I found my Kenshin and Sano Dj's if you want them." 

(OOC: Hori Erio's DJ's are the one's I had on CCKP.)

***

"Kenshin and Sano!  Give 'em here!"

Yuuji, never one who liked to lie about (which was one reason why he 
was such a poor patient), had promptly hauled himself upright from 
the pillow-propped position he'd maneuvered himself into in Omi's 
absence.  The talk show currently playing on his set was muted with a 
click, and Yuuji once more turned the whole of his attention to his 
young caregiver.  He took the doujinshis with a gleeful little "Ah!"  
But before he could begin his perusal of them, he noticed the katana 
Omi was cradling his arms.  

"That's an odd sort of cuddle toy you've got there, Omi-kun," he 
joked.  "Or were you planning to smack me with it should I decide not 
to mind you again?"

With a good-natured grin, he held out a hand for it, his happy 
expression faltering a hair when Omi failed to give it over straight 
away.

"I just want to look at it, okay?" He shrugged a touch 
sheepishly.  "I like katanas."

/And...they remind me.../

A long, searching look, and it was finally handed it over for his 
inspection.  The sheath was plain black stained wood and bore the 
marks of usage in the form of minute scratches here and there--
despite the fact that it had been otherwise well cared-for; the wood 
shone with a rich lustre.  

But, as he found, the sheath wasn't a indicator of the blade's 
condition.  It didn't have so much as a scratch, and flashed in the 
light most ominously.  It sat solidly in its grip, and was extremely 
sharp, too, as a flick of his thumb on the keen edge proved.  

He drew it out, intending to brandish it as a man would at the start 
of a battle or an exercise, but when he did, and when he saw the end 
point of it, he nearly dropped it.  

For etched in the steel near the tip was the highly detailed image of 
a tiger, sans color and about two inches long.  Its head was pointing 
downward towards the end, facing the wielder's chosen target, its 
body crouched and legs extended as if it were about to pounce.  

Only one man that he knew of had such a blade, and he called his name 
in a strangled whisper.

"Ran!"  

 (ooc:  No, the bit about the tiger near the tip isn't canon.  I had 
to think of some way he'd recognize it, so...)

***

Across the carpet beside the private entrance to Omi's room, lay a 
toolbox, from which countless screwdrivers had been removed. Said 
tools now rested on the floor around it in a lopsided circle, along 
with a few spread newspapers. The hinges had proved harder to remove 
than he had thought, being old, and attached to a door that had been 
opened very few times in the past five years. Youji was now in the 
process of apply liberal amounts of oil from a tiny can to all three 
hinges. 

/I should have known it wouldn't be easy./

/I mean, it didn't exactly open all that easily for me the day I 
moved in.../

/And hell, nothing I do is ever easy.../

He pushed down the tiny plastic nozzle and tossed the metal can back 
into the toolbox, where it rattled grouchily as it collided with his 
collection of hammers and nails and pliers. Rubbed his nose against 
the tart smell of the oil, then picked up a sturdy looking flathead 
screwdriver from the array at his feet. 

/If this doesn't do it, then I'm going to blow it up./

But luckily for the Hanano and its neighbors, the first pin slid 
free; then the next and the next. He jammed the flathead in between 
the door and the frame with a triumphant cry, unmindful of the long 
gouges he was carving into the wood as he prised the door away. 
Little by little it inched out, induced by a metal rod and a man's 
will, until it wobbled and fell into Youji's waiting hands. 

"Ha!"

Kicking the tools out of the way of his bare feet, Youji half-
dragged, half-carried the door out of his apartment, and propped it 
up against the wall between them both. Regarded it with a smirk, 
then went back inside to clean up the rest of the mess. 

***

Omi cursed himself for wheeling through emotions so fast... one moment he was 
charmed by companion's enthusiasm, then struck by his wonder, struck by his own 
shyness over such a silly thing- bemused, amused and finally lost.  

Yes, it had struck him as odd, both that his hold on the blade made it a "cuddle toy", and 
that Knight would have at all wanted it but then... it felt as if he'd been flipping channels 
all together and passed a few brief clips that didn't fit together right.

He fervently regretted having decided to combine his two trips to the attic... he hadn't 
wanted this at all but...

"Yuuji, what's the matter?"

But that wet ripple or recognition deep in the sky-hued pools of Knight's eyes.  
Something about that made him continue.  Made him explain.

Made his heart beat faster with a tight unsteady pulse.  Somehow not entirely bitter.

"That's Aya's katana.  He left it behind.  I was going to put it in my room so I could... 
watch it for him I... Ran?"

He gasped noiselessly and caught his hands across his mouth as he felt his lips creep 
upwards in a sort of stunned little half-grin.  Not of joy, but rather the satiation born when 
something clicks into place by accident.

/Oh my god.../

/Just let him say something Omi, just let him say something!/

/Anything./

*** 

Stunned disbelief veiled Yuuji's face as he looked from Omi to the 
naked katana he held across his lap.  "I always wondered where..." he 
began, reaching out to trace the tiger's outline with one finger.  

"Your Aya is my Ran, it appears, Omi-kun.   This katana is proof."  
He held it aloft, sighting an imaginary opponent across its elegant 
length.  "Only Ran had one like this, and before him...his idol, his 
hero."  He gave the sword a fond smile, one which faded a little into 
puzzlement when he caught Omi's wondering look.  "What?  Didn't he 
tell you anything about his past?"

Omi shook his head and Yuuji fell against the pillow wall at his 
back, looking utterly poleaxed.  Granted, Ran wasn't an open book 
when he had known him, but there had been the odd time, usually late 
at night, when he'd find the boy at his door, trembling and eyes red-
rimmed and watery.  He'd always let him in, make tea and listen as he 
told of what it was that had scared him, had hurt him.  

And he had learned that for all his training, his seething, oft-
expressed hatred, his outward, brutal sureness, Ran was still a 
frightened, lonely kid inside.  Knight also knew that he had seen 
that side of him more often than most, and for that privileged 
glimpse he kept his observations to himself.  Let the rest of the 
world see him as a heartless bastard and nothing more: He knew the 
truth about Ran.  

And it pained him to see that his old onetime partner hadn't bothered 
to let anyone else in.  

/Three other people in the house, and you shut them all out?  But 
why, Ran?!/

/And why did you leave?/

The katana slid back into its sheath, and Yuuji gravely held it out 
for Omi to take.  "Guard it well, Omi-kun.  I have a feeling he'll be 
back one day to reclaim it."  He gave him a small smile.  "It meant 
too much to him to for him to simply abandon it forever."  

***

Omi clasped the blade to his breast, feeling his sweaty fingers squeak across the glassy 
surface of the wood.

"You... knew... Aya...?" he repeated tonelessly, squeezing his evidence so hard it 
squeaked.

/It's such a little thing, such a silly, coincidental thing.  Serendipity or chance.  But 
now... but now.../

He felt like he'd been given proof of angels or demons.  Aya was neither.

And now he had a name, a special name, like the latin under a butterfly in a fieldguide, or 
the word that breaks the ghostly lady underneath the surface of a mirror.

The kettle whistled and snapped him from his daydreams.  "I will, Yuuji! I will!"

What he did not do was retrieve the teapot.  Rather, he tore out of the room, up the stairs, 
into his own  room, meaning to reverently lay the katana on the shelf he had put up for 
it... in stead he found the door beside said shelf had quite vanished and the air smelled 
faintly of oil here.  "Youji!" Someone was running water in the kitchenette nearby.  
Laughing, he raced into his lover's arms, kissing him as if he hadn't kissed in eons and 
tickling the edges of his throat.

"Youji! It's wonderful! You won't believe it! You won't believe it at all.  I know why 
Yuuji reminds us of Aya! He KNEW Aya! He just told me so! It's true!"

Youji promptly let go of him and opened his mouth to say something, though proved 
unable to decide on what for the time being, especially since Omi took the opportunity to 
relocate the coffee to a carafe which he pushed into his hands.  

"Would you take that down to his room, itoshi? We're having breakfast in there!"

And then from the stairs to the attic: "I'll be down in a sec!"

First he had to find that photo album...

***

"Omi!" Youji called after the starburst of energy that was his 
boyfriend, but a sudden slam told him that he had already disappeared 
behind the attic door. 

"What the hell?" he muttered to the hot carafe in his hands. "He 
comes bouncing in, grabs me and gives me one mind-boggling kiss, then 
tells me that Yuuji knows Aya."

"And we're having breakfast in his room." 

"Why are we having breakfast in his room?" 

/And what the fuck were you doing in Yuuji's room at this hour?/

"And...for that matter," he added, looking up at the ceiling, "why 
the hell are you wearing Ken's robe?"

/When its too big for you and gapes open just enough.../

Silence was his only answer, of course. Youji sighed, and tucked the 
carafe in the crook of his arm, and headed off. 

/Yeah, maybe I'll have breakfast with Yuuji./

/A cup of coffee and a hard left across his perfectly shaped jaw./ 

***

Yuuji, meanwhile, had gotten up and slipped off to the kitchen after 
hearing the slam of his front door, chuckling softly as he went. The 
frantic whistling was too shrill to ignore, and he certainly didn't 
want to sit idly by while his best kettle burned itself on the stove 
eye. 

Besides, his tea craving just couldn't wait for Omi's return before 
it was soothed. 

He'd only just gotten back into bed, and the teacup on the 
nightstand, the TV's volume up to a normal level, when a still robe-
clad Youji abruptly marched into his apartment without so much as a 
knock to announce himself. 

"Oi! What are you doing, barging in like this?" /And don't you guys 
ever dress?/

Youji paused on the threshold just long enough to take in Yuuji's 
shirtless, sprawled-on-the-bed state, then he resumed his hunting-
tiger stride. "Don't worry, Yuuji-chan, I'll make it brief."

"What? Oi! Get off my bed!" Yuuji grabbed at Youji's collar just 
as Youji had grabbed his own, eyes widening in surprise at the sight 
of his upraised fist. 

The only thing that stopped him was the sound of Omi's voice. 

***

Omi nearly lost Ken's robe bounding up the steps to the attic for the second time.  At the 
very least, he surely would have flashed anyone who would have happened to have been 
up there.  As it was, he remained the only member of the household to have thusfar 
bounded up between the boxes, or even pulled out a scissors to go about dismembering 
those boxes.

First crate- Youji's girlie magazines.  /I would have to hit that one./

Second crate- /Aya's books! Wait... shouldn't this wait until my third try? Not that I'm 
complaining... and there are only three boxes, I already got one.../

/Ken and Aya's stuff fit in one./

But he had no time to worry over just how sad it still was that this had been the case for 
anywhere from 22 to 17 years for all of them, averaging together somewhere.  Rather, he 
thumbed through the books only to come up without the picture book he sought.  He 
panicked.  He gasped.  He remembered Youji had it.  

"God! How stupid can I be!"

So back to his lover's quarters, shouting apologies to someone who had already left.  He 
slipped on a rose petal trying to glance under the bed after the album, and tread much 
more carefully in the living room, suspecting something to also skid on or get stuck to.   

He found what he sought propped against the sofa, but he took not all of it, rather one 
image, carefully slid from one of the back pockets.

Aya in a kimono, looking rather somber, and older than the age of fifteen the date 
suggested.

He seized also a box of teriyaki chicken bits from the freezer and tore back down to 
Yuuji's quarters.

"Is this..." he intended to finish with him, but something about the way Youji had his fist 
cocked over their companion's head made him stop dead and break down laughing.

The photo floated out of his hands and crept down to the ground like a tired dragonfly.

"Dare I ask who's jealous of who else here?"

***

They remained locked in that position seemingly by the sheer power of 
Omi's laughter, and then warily, they released their hold on each 
other's collars. Youji lowered his arm and Yuuji removed his hand 
from where it had cupped the other's tightly curled fist. Then Youji 
climbed off the bed, meeting Yuuji's furious stare. 

"All right! Yeah, I'm jealous. Of you," he snapped, turning to face 
his giggling lover. "But what am I supposed to think, when you're 
dressed like that!" Here he waved a hand at himself, gesturing at 
his collarbones and chest to indicate Omi's exposed own. 

And then, he felt like the world's biggest fool. Not to mention, 
wincing because he realized that he had just given the same sort of 
speech as those girlfriends of his who had unexpectedly come in on 
him whilst he was...engaged with another enamorata. 

He put his hand over his face. /I wish the earth would split open 
under my feet./

It didn't. 

/Well, of course. Damn it./ 

A pause, uncomfortable for Youji, elapsed, and then the embarrassed 
Balinese scooped up the carafe from where he'd put it on the dresser, 
and made his exit, plucking the chicken bits from Omi's arms as he 
passed him. 

"I'll just make breakfast, then," he muttered.

"Thanks, Youji!" Yuuji called from the bedroom. "And Ohayo to you 
too!"

A mumbled, sheepish curse came from the next room, and Yuuji glanced 
over at Omi; both started to laugh this time. 

And then in mid-chuckle, Yuuji spotted the photo on the floor. He 
scooted to the edge of the bed, and slowly bent to pick it up. 
Turned rather wistful when he saw just who the subject was.

"It kind of makes my heart ache a little, just seeing this," he 
murmured, glancing up at Omi and waving the snapshot. "I didn't think 
he was ever a kid, not really..." 

***

Omi shook his head, still giggling, and took a moment to scoot Yuuji back against the 
pillows, minding his shoulder.  Then he flopped down on the edge of the bed himself, 
taking nearly the same spot as before.

One he had to admit was a lot of things, but chaste still.  The preverbal caregiver perch, 
like the last of the chocolate sauce in the bottom of a yan-yan cup or the seat a visiting 
relative claims as their own in a living room.  

He leaned back and regarded the image of Aya.  Of Ran.  "I don't know, he could 
certainly act childish if he liked.  But not... not in a good way.  Unfortunately." 

They two assassins regarded one another with cocked eyebrows.  Forget the mixed up 
names, the blade he still bore dangling from his wrist.  That spoke truly of their mutual 
recognition.  No need to ask if that was the boy.  

/And I lived with him for two years./

/Two fucking years./

/More than that even... I can hardly remember.../

But he did.  Almost more clearly than the day they'd taken him to see Youji and Ken for 
the first time.  He wondered if other children of Kritiker actually were asked "Do you like 
them? Would you stay with them? Do you think you can get along?"

No one had asked Aya.   

No one asked Aya anything mostly.  

This he ardently regretted as if he had stolen that katana, or bloodied it without 
permission.  But one little push of the gathering clouds and they departed, leaving the 
flashback cartoon sunshine of the open, willing present.  The little sense of peace he had 
not dreamed.

"I didn't know Ran had any friends... I didn't even know his name was Ran!"

***

"And I never expected him to take on his sister's name.  Oh, yeah, he 
told me all about her.  The stuff of nightmares and heartbreak that, 
at least for him."  

/And I never expected to miss having him around as much as I did./

/No one could argue so passionately with me as he could./  

He reached for his teacup.  Cocked his head at the photograph in 
Omi's hand before taking a sip.  "I think he could have stood it if 
it just been his parents who died, and she had come through 
unscathed, but..."  A twitch of a shoulder and a gesture of a hand as 
if to say, "Who knows?"  

/Should I tell you that I started to care for him a little more than 
I should have?/  

/But why bother?  I didn't even tell Ran./  

/Talk about patterns repeating.  Damn, Yuuji...Just give it up./

In the pensive silence, the sounds of cabinet doors being opened and 
closed, plates being set on a tray came to them from the kitchen.  On 
the TV, the talk show had given way to a game show.  Yuuji sat up 
again, cradling the hot teacup between both hands.  

"Oi, Omi-kun?  Uh...Care if I keep that picture?" he asked, giving 
him a wry look that said, "Yes, I am a somewhat of a 
sentimentalist."  

***

/Sister... Aya... he was... that means... so she's.../

/The girl in the picture is Aya... but who on earth is Aya... or Ran when he isn't Aya!/

He wanted to go running somewhere and ask some soul, any soul! But none he could 
think of would be available at this hour.  

"It seems strange to me anyone could call him unscathed... ever.  He just didn't make 
sense to me that way."  Omi nodded, to no one, but he still nodded.  

"I wonder if he'll be mad I know.  I wouldn't be surprised, but then again, he has been 
surprising us lately, and he's not even here.  Well, let him be mad! I'll be the one to 
apologize for going though his things."

With that, he offered the photo with a little bow.  "Hai, dozo, it's all yours."

Knight took the image as if it were rather of a brother, or of Aya being passed into Ran's 
hands.

"And Ken's things... I haven't got any pictures of Ken.  He was..."

A glance at the photo himself.

"Well, for starters he didn't look like Ran!"

/Even if they did have that little boy look to them sometimes./

/Just like you and I and Youji.../

And anyone else in the business he supposed, though... well, not so much Youji, who 
stomped into the room just then, tray balanced over one hand like a waitress.  

***

"Breakfast!"  

Youji pivoted the tray through the air as deftly as one who'd done 
such a feat for years.  Settled it on the end of the bed close to 
Omi, and took up a cup and a dish for his own and took a seat on the floor by the bed.  
Sitting on Yuuji's bed was NOT an option.  He shot a look a the photo, which was now 
resting against two paperbacks on the nightstand.    

"So you know Aya...er, Ran.  And here I thought that he was some 
untried youth when he joined us--well, in the sense that he hadn't 
been on as many missions as we had, or we would have run into him 
before then, surely.  He attacked our other wayward member the night 
we found him.  Someone who could wield a katana with that sort of 
skill certainly wasn't all that green."  Youji cocked a brow at Yuuji 
then.  "And yeah, I am aware that I'm not making much sense.  Don't 
expect great things from me in the morning hours."

Yuuji saluted with his coffee cup, the tea having been forsaken for 
something much stronger.  "I will keep that in mind."  He took a 
cautious sip, eyeing him all the while.  

"But...why did Ran leave?  Or do you know that yet?"  Yuuji looked 
from one to the other.  "And...what happened to your other member?  
Ken, did you say his name was?"   

***

Omi drank deeply of his tea, and then his coffee, there in the silence, and he held the cups 
out afterward as if offering them to whatever spirits were presently inclined to answer.  
His eyes fell against Youji's, and he got a little nod.

What he didn't get was a reason from himself as to why he wanted to be the one to tell 
this story.

/Well, if anything, Yuuji can take it out on me then, when he gets all mad about it./

/It's not like you two need any further encouragement.  I'm sure if I gave the word you'd 
rip each other's throats out./

The chibi Youjis and Yuujis which flitted through his thoughts dismembering one 
another brought him no solace, nor warmed the expectant air.  Yuuji had gone more or 
less white, expecting the worst he supposed.  

"It's not that..." The never uttered suggestions of one another's deaths, bad luck.  Calling 
out the devil.  "They ah... they kinda ran off. Together.  Ken and Aya.  But we don't 
know where, they ah... they left a note and everything but then... It gets kinda disturbing 
after that..."

He hung his head and nibbled just the very corner of a chicken bit.  "I was hoping maybe 
you knew something.  I'm... sorry."

***

"I'm sorry too.  Both Queen and Manx only told me what was deemed 
necessary for me to know.  In this instance, it was only that I was 
being sent off temporarily to work with another group, who had 
recently lost two of its members."  He took a bite of his 
chicken.  "I had no idea they had simply left."

"And I can't imagine Ran running off alone, much less with someone."

/I guess I was wrong about you not opening up to someone, hm, Ran?/  

/I'm kind of happy for you, and I'm a bit sad too...for myself./

He looked up then, first to Omi then Youji, both of whom were glumly 
regarding the floor, their food.  Anything other than each other or 
himself.  And so, he reached over and laid a hand on Omi's shoulder 
in the friendliest of gestures.  Didn't let it linger so long as to 
set off Youji's temper.  

"Ah, don't worry!  They've survived countless missions.  What makes 
you think something's going to happen to them now?"  

"At least they're out of all this mess..."  

***

"This mess..." Omi whispered, tearing off only the most miniscule shreds of chicken and 
pressing it between his lips like a toddler just learning to ear.  

Youji regarded him coolly, but offered him a permissive nod in the end.  

/Thank you, itoshi, for being so quiet, and so good.  At least for now.  I'm yours, I am 
but... Yuuji./

/Yuuji who doesn't need to be left alone in all this./

"We don't know it it's that simple, you see we... we met this girl."  He paused then, the 
mention of anything feminine in this subject seeming a harbinger indeed, but of what? No 
mission surely, no such was where their wonders came from.

"You mustn't tell the secretaries any of this but we met this girl and it's a long story 
otherwise but she... she said... well, we have reason to believe that one of our enemies, 
or someone like them is wherever they've gone.  Which is, to say the least, a little 
disconcerting..."

He washed his mouth out with tea then, swallowing only reluctantly.  "That's why, even 
if they deserve to get away from all this, we're trying to find them."

The single grains of lost tea whirled around as he swished his cup and added with a dead 
little smirk.  "You wouldn't want to be left alone with a psychotic, bastard telepath, now 
would you?"

***  

The bite of chicken that Yuuji had just pinched with his chopsticks 
wound up back in the bowl, and the bowl itself was set down and 
forgotten momentarily. He suddenly didn't care about eating. 

Ran had walked wide-eyed into a dangerous situation--just like old 
times, except this time he was up against a completely different sort 
of villain as the type they had faced when they had worked together. 
And, he was clearly unprepared. 

No, he didn't like it one bit.

"A psychotic telepath?" He finished off the last of his coffee, and 
added the cup to the collection of dishes on the tray between him and 
Omi. "Yes, that is quite troubling. But, ah...How do you propose to 
find them? Do you know where they've gone, even?"

/Okay...Yes, I care. I care very much./ 

***

Omi regarded the floor then.  For all the chill sense of not knowing that  rested among 
them, as if the ground smoked darkly, he could not help but curl his lips faintly with 
funny desperation before them.  

"We don't know at all.  We can't even be sure of what they did the day before they left, 
or when exactly they left in the first place.  We weren't... we weren't home that 
afternoon, and we didn't get back until late.  But we THINK they went to the library.  
How that fits into all of this... there are a lot of things that don't fit.  But because of what 
Sapphire said to us, it seems that if we manage to find her or Schuldich, Ken and Ay--... 
Ran will be there."

/The question is, how many boxes will they be in by the time we get there?/

/Boxes at all?/

/We could be worried over nothing./

He thought of saying this but did not.  

And as if the mists of this unknown space of time came and laid soft fingers to his 
cheeks, suddenly he knew else of their mysteries.  That their two teammates were not the 
only secrets at stake here.  Somewhere else where only children walked and maids with 
names he could not recall, stood some effigy of a Youji who had never known Omi, 
never would, but had been made master of another secret.  One that ate away at the 
memories of their friends as Sapphire nibbled on their sanity from the parapets of 
wherever she had come to stand in the world.  

Then with virtuous brightness- "I'll draw up some files for us, just in case we would run 
into any of Schwartz.  You should be prepared after all! I hope you don't have to but 
anyway... we'll find them."

/Whether Kritiker likes it or not./

/I wonder?/

/Who are you and why are you wondering?/

/Kritiker can kiss my feet./

"After all, if Ran can have a long term mission, it seems fitting that ours would be him... 
kinda."

His robe started to fall down as he rubbed at his eyes.

"Annou, I guess I should get dressed.  Thank you for breakfast, Youji-kun."  A little kiss 
to his temple, and then he walked out of the room.  Solemn and murmuring to himself 
about the world.  

***

Youji had left a much more somber Yuuji behind, the carafe of coffee 
at his bedside and the dirty dishes in the sink. But he hadn't left 
empty-handed, or empty-headed either. Yuuji had shown him where his 
stash of doujinshi were kept and told him to take the Kaikan Phrase 
ones back to Omi. 

So, now, as he returned to their conjoined apartments to drop off the 
few slim volumes, he wondered why a grown man would be collecting 
doujinshi. Did he feel odd standing there with all the kids at the 
bookstores? 

Given the size of his collection, apparently not. 

But his new teammate's predilections for sexy, fan drawn comics 
wasn't what really concerned him. That dubious honor fell to Omi. 
He knew that his sort-of roommate would take Aya's and Ken's joint 
disappearance hard, but he didn't expect it to hurt him as much as 
clearly did.

For one brutal moment, Youji hated the both of them with every fiber 
of his being. To the point that if one of them had apparated in front 
of him right then, he would have strangled them with his wire. 

And then the feeling passed--more or less forced away for Omi's sake 
and he was simply Kudou Youji again, and not an enraged, vengeful 
beast. 

Which was a good thing, because enraged, vengeful beasts were 
dreadful flower arrangers--something he, as he found upon entering 
the shop, would be doing that day. Taped to the register was a an 
order for someone named Mineto who wanted fifteen rose, tulip and 
iris arrangements by 10. Lots of greenery, but no ferns. 

"I guess the ferns are too ordinary, huh?" Youji tossed the order 
slip onto the front counter and stretched mightily, feeling as well 
as hearing his back pop with the motion. He then sauntered off to 
the stock room for the vases, arms swinging at his sides like a 
carefree boy. 

Which, of course, he was not, but then, Youji excelled in putting up 
a front. Just like Aya. Like Ken. 

Like Omi. 

He counted out fifteen slender, diamond cut clear glass vases and set 
them haphazardly across the top of the cart, then wheeled the 
contraption out into the shop proper, all the way to his table, which 
stood across from the others. Near the window so he could watch the 
suburbanites pass by. 

He left it there without removing a single fragile vessel, and went 
to the refrigerator cases for the flowers. Opened the door and took 
out the pails of roses and tulips, then shut it, and caught the frost-
limned reflection of his lover in the thick glass. Turned around 
with his hands full and smarting from the weight of his double 
burden. 

Youji smiled despite all that: A genuine beaming of lips and eyes, 
and all for Omi. 

"Looks like we're going to be busy today, eh, Omi-ai?" 

***

"Goodness yes!" Omi rather breathlessly remarked, having found it seemed, and 
additional notice, the sticky on the back of which had faded, thusly permitting it to drift 
lazily to the floor and be caught in the shade of a small aloe plant... kept around mostly 
for cooking mishaps.  

/What sort of order is this?!/ He short demanded of himself.  /Something pink... just 
pink? No names, no words, costing about fifty dollars... pink?/

The note itself had been written on yellow paper.  Offered no where else for him to be 
send through their seas of flowers, so he took the ill thought out quest in spite of himself 
and steered towards the bay of carnations at first... but carnations were so very dull! 
Everyone had carnations... 

In the back stood a small bin of primrose someone had changed their mind about, and 
Guelder rose... and one very fine pink rose indeed that had gone unclaimed as well.  Pink 
as something abandoned? How quaint.  He scooped them all up and carried them to the 
sanctuary of his counter, which seemed at once to be standing in the shadow of a cottage 
in the woods, rather than a counter somewhere on the outskirts of Tokyo.  Such country 
flowers! 

/Well, maybe these are all kinda expensive, and maybe I can't use as many then, but 
they'll be alone otherwise, and I can do something special with them!/

He sauntered to the back then, after assisting a young girl take her order of orchids out to 
her car, and there found a single low dish for the floating of rampant lilies, which he 
stuffed with glass beads and florist foam, before making it into one corner of the garden 
of that country house that did not exist- a flower be rather snuck into by jade plants and 
by frosted dusty millers. 

/How nice! Not to have anyone insisting I do it this way or that./

Even if he did get interrupted every three minutes or so, once by one of the women from 
the day before who had come for the flowers to be sent to their friend in the hospital.   
She had died and they needed flowers for her funeral.  He offered them everything white 
under the sun.  Who was to say daisies were too happy? Shouldn't they be happy she 
wasn't in pain any longer? 

Omi was proud she'd gotten to see some of their flowers before she passed away.  The 
little girl beside him was glad to be able to tug at his pink shirt.  The one he's rather 
forgotten he wore.  He laughed, and kissed Youji on the way back to the storeroom.  

But in all this occupation, he suddenly felt his stomach tighten and wring, as if he waited 
for something.  But no, the corner of the other world stood guarded and Yuuji well and 
Aya and Ken he could not worry over now, not now and he had no sixth sense to.

The phone rang and he jumped.  Bu he caught it by the second ring and found himself 
stifled by the words on the other line, who spoke even before he could have had a chance 
to answer.  Carhorns rang behind it.

"Excuse me?" He found himself asking.

A slight and sexy female voice, somewhat veiled by waves of static or the hum of tires 
over stone asked once again, "This Hanano, the store where Koudou Youji works?" 

"Umm... yes it is, ma'am."  A quick glance around and he found the man in question 
engaged in sorting out a bouquet for a nervous fianc�.  So then, with a bare wisp of a 
heartless smile ghosting over his lips.  "I'm sorry, he's not available for a date, tonight or 
any other night."

A condescending sniff.  "Why would I want to go on a date with him? He already 
knocked me up."

"WHAT!?"

The little girl who had just been slinking through the door with a white vellum envelop in 
her hand, turned around and fled as if she had been the one yelled at.

***

Youji paused, eyes darting away from the riot of calla lilies and 
shell pink peonies and sultry-sweet frangipani that lay on the 
bouquet stand before him, one long, gleaming stalk of white teacupped 
beauty poised above it.  Omi was turning the most unusual shade of 
puce all the way to the lips, blue eyes glowing with dismay, 
disbelief.  Abject pain.  

Hurriedly, he tucked the lily in place, secured it with the rest, and 
boxed the bouquet neatly for transport.  Took the money and sent his 
customer away with a good luck wish.  As if there really were such a 
thing.  

He wiped his hands on the towel he kept on his table and walked over 
to Omi, worry and concern painted across his face.  

"Omi-ai?  What is it?"      

***

Omi none to gently placed his hand across the lips of his boyfriend and repeated his 
query to the dead air on the other end of the line.  "What is it?"

A sigh, "You deaf or what? I said he knocked me up.  C'mon, don't you know the guy? 
He's like... a total boyslut!"

His reply to this fell with a teary desperation, as if the words would somehow end the 
call, make sure it had never been.  "I'M HIS BOYFRIEND."

Laughter loud enough to have been heard on the other side of the shop.  He could feel the 
receiver slipping from his hands, but he could not feel his hands otherwise.  "Oh, that's 
lush! That really is.  How long have you been together? A week?"

"Why the flying fuck do you care!?"

"Oooh, aren't we bitchy.  I should have figured.  Hey, is he around? I'd really rather talk 
to him."

"Well, you can't!"

"Aww, be nice.  Sure I can.  Just hand him the phone.  Wouldn't you prefer I tell him? So 
you don't have to worry your sodomized little ass over..."

Click.

He did not rather.  But fell onto his arms across his counter, panting and trying to 
swallow or gulp or so something to clean out his mouth that wasn't spitting.  

"That was one of your girlfriends," he finally hissed.  "She says she's..."

The door jingled and he swatted away the hand that had fallen to his shoulder, as if it 
might scare the customer away.

Before the two of them stood a rather short, somewhat dainty woman, who would have 
seemed otherwise completely harmless, save that she wore nothing but patent leather, and 
much of it studded.  With rhinestones no less.  She had the face of a small pixie, set with 
eyes as color of cheap burgundy and long, fluffy, hair- blue and dotted with sanrio beads.  
She traipsed into the shop and seated herself on one of the spare stools, bracing her legs 
as far apart as she could.  

"Pregnant?" Mitsuki finished, finally hanging up her cell phone.   

***

The two elderly women who had come in earlier to peruse their 
selection of baby potted plants quickly broke off their examination 
of Aya's former leafy wards, tittering and whispering behind their 
hands at the little play being put on before their eyes. 

"Young people!" they gasped to each other, not caring if any of them 
heard. "It's just shocking the things they get up to these days! 
Why, when I was a girl..." And so on, and so forth. They wouldn't 
have left at all except that Youji had descended upon them in a rush, 
making sounds of apology as he ushered them towards the door. They 
paused there on the threshold, regarding him with bemused expressions 
as he locked the door and flipped the "Closed" sign so it faced the 
street. A flick of the green canvas shade and they were blotted out 
all together. 

Youji turned around to face his unexpected visitor, wearing an 
expression of blank fury. He didn't move towards her, though, simply 
stared at her as if he'd like to kill her. Then he laughed, short 
and husky and mocking. "Well, well! If it isn't Mitsuki! I never 
thought I'd see you again!" He clapped his hands together in a show 
of delight, drawing them up to his chest. "How long has it been 
since you dumped me for that guitar player, hm? What was his name 
again? Teruhito? How is the talentless bastard?"

The guise of joy fell away like a leaf from an autumn dreaming 
tree. "Let me guess: He planted a brat in you, then dumped you and 
hit the road, and, since you can't find him, you thought you'd come 
spread a little joy in my life? Well, let me tell you now, 'Suki, it 
won't work." 

He turned to Omi then, growing even more anguished over his stricken, 
blanched look. "If she's pregnant, Omi, it's NOT mine. I'm a lot of 
things, but I'm not a careless lover." 

***

Mitsuki greeted this remark with a single, oddly melodious "HA!" spoken with both the 
inadvertent wit of an orphan and the sly edge meant to face an inquisition.  

"Youji Youji YOUJI! You remembered my name! To what do I owe THAT honor? I'm 
assuming it was either very good or very bad with me!"

Then leaning from her perch so far it nearly gave in under her list and her weight.  "Or 
was I the final chick in your bed? Regardless of how well things went, eh? Not that it 
matters.  Six weeks ago! Might as well be sixteen years for you, huh? How many more 
were there between me an' HIM!" At which she pointed a single silver fingernail in 
Omi's direction.  But her hand sank down then, and took the seat of the stood alongside 
the other one.  "How you ever get away with calling it 'breaking up' I'll never know.  
What was there to break up? Hmmmmmm? As for Teruhito, with his charming lectures 
on brotherhood among warriors and all that wonderful, luminous shit... GUESS WHAT! 
He turned out to be gaier than you! I got no dick from that man and I had... that 
purification thing going before you..."

A little huff.  "Even if you were right about the talentless part.  You were still the only 
person who fucked me anywhere close to between," here she mimicked a doctor with a 
headcold, "six weeks ago! That number sounds familiar! I wonder where I've heard it 
before..."

"Somehow I find that hard to believe," growled Omi, raking his eyes over her biker gear.

"Oh, so you think I'm a slut just because of how I dress? Well, if I'm a slut, which I'm 
NOT, at LEAST I'm OVER AGE!"

"I'm seventeen!"

"And I'm twenty-four, yawn.  Whatever."  Here, she cocked her head towards Mr. 
Koudou.  "Do you know where he's been, kid?"

"Unfortunately, near you!" 

"So... you are mad.  Poor, poor kid!"

"Don't call me that." His voice took that inopportune moment to crack.  

***

Youji stepped forward then, pouncing upon Mitsuki in the wake of her 
latest attack on Omi.  "Leave him out of this, you damned slag!  If 
you hurl one more insulting word in his direction, I swear, I will 
literally pick you up and throw you out of this shop!"

Their eyes locked, and hung there in a matching set of glares, and 
then Mitsuki angled back in her seat, draping one arm across the 
table's edge, a simper staining her face.  

Which only made Youji that much angrier.  He started to pace back and 
forth, his hands looped in his hair and mind racing.  

"Not a slut?  HA!" Youji spat.  "Don't make me laugh, Mitsuki.  
You've been around as much as I have."  

/I've killed before, you bitch.  I killed the only woman I've ever 
loved, and all for Omi's sake.  Yeah...He was in trouble and she was 
trying to keep me from getting to him./

"That baby, if you are indeed carrying one, is not mine.  I will not 
take responsibility for it."  

/I could feel her writhing, hear her gasping, her body shuddering, 
her fingers clawing at my back, pulling at my hair, at my wire, and I 
didn't stop.  I didn't!/  

"And you told me that you were on the pill, and I used protection as 
well, as I always do."

/I killed her--I could kill you...I could, and who would know?  Who 
would miss you?/ 

/Don't tempt me, Mitsuki.../

Youji ran his hands over his face, scrubbed at his eyes.  "So if you 
are pregnant, it's your own damn fault.  I won't be tied down to you 
or any kid of yours."  

***

Omi reached on hand out for his beloved, though pulled it away and wrang it by the wrist 
before it ever fell upon him.  If the shock of darkness had come from Youji himself, crept 
out and broken through him, or if Mitsuki had, with her culpable and sanguine gaze, 
wished him away, he knew not, and cared nothing for.  He longed to hold Youji and he 
longed to walk into another room, another world, another time...

Instead he held his ground and stared at the stars and the beads that ran along her temple, 
broken by trickles of sky-blue hair.  

"Oh course it's my own damn fault.  I picked you up, or you picked me up or something 
and well... I AM pregnant."  Saying so, she caught Omi by the arm, tugged him over and 
stuffed his hand down the front of her shorts, which strained in protest.  Her fly came 
undone in the wake of his knuckles.

"You feel that, kid? That's your BF's, that little bit of jelly there."

Maybe it was the suddenly maternal cat twitching of her words, or the shocking heat of 
her white skin, but Omi couldn't feel a damn thing with the hand that brushed against her.  
Not that he had ever touched a girl in this particular spot, just under her navel with his 
finger tips brushing something fluffy and faintly damp under all those layers of shine and 
leather.  He'd though most girl's had soft tummies...

Then he also realized she had leaned back so his digits had passed her lower lips and 
found how wet she was.

"EROI!"

Mitsuki laughed as he pulled away, leaving her fully on display now.  "Yes! The miracle 
of birth is very gross! Where do you people think those stupid Christians got the idea all 
people were born sinners?"  

Omi washed his hands.

/You touched... THAT Youji-kun?/

/But you... you touched me and I was alright... it didn't matter... I was alright with that 
and now we've both felt her there and.../

His thoughts swirled away into nothing with the water in the drain, something he couldn't 
fight down welled up at last.

/Wait... but you wouldn't do me with... didn't even offer in the... I mean of course 
you're not sick! I know that but.../

/How can you think such a thing, that he'd willfully do something like that to you? You 
should be happy he saved the raw stuff for you./

/But it was more about this not happening, wasn't it?/

/Protection, saa, this sounds like one of those cheap soaps.../

/What did you want, Omi? What did you want from him?/

/I think you know the answer./

He splashed off his face too.

(OOC: Eroi- gross.)

***

That was it! She had dared to touch him, to sully him. Had taken 
some little part of his innocence away...

/But didn't you do that too, Kudou?/

/He wanted me to do it--that's the difference!/ 

/But she.../

/She.../

/She's fucking ruined everything!/

Before he knew what he was doing, he was on her. In lieu of the 
wire, his hands wrapped around her thin, swan-like throat. He could 
feel her heart beating beneath his hands, see the frantic swallowing 
of her throat as she fought for air. Her nails met his flesh over 
and over, but Youji barely registered the blows; moved back and 
dodged whenever those tiny daggers came at his face. 

His own heart was tripping like a jackhammer, his breathing shallow. 
Killing someone was as much of a rush as sex was. 

"I told you not to bother him. I told you not to say anything. I 
told you I never wanted to see you again when you walked out on me 
that morning."

"I TOLD YOU!" 

***

"Tough shit, Kudou..." It would have been a scream, but it came out as barely a wheez 
between her stifled laughs.  The star festival and all the lovely madness of the heart of 
summer might have come for all the gales of merriment that welled from Mitsuki, though 
suspect put them closer to disbelief in their reasons, or the woman writhing under Youji 
may well have been even more wretched than she appeared.  

At least until she jammed her nails into the web between his fingers and he loosened 
them enough that she slipped her own beneath them and forced his hands away.  

They lay tangled together for a long time.  Her shorts were half off.  Blood from Youji's 
face dripped onto her and was shaken from her silver claws.  They gasped almost in 
unison, panting as if parted from the realm of other throes.  

"I think you've embarrassed yourself in front of both your brats enough for one day."  
Her words had thinned with the grasping of her throat, as if pulled, or squashed, or 
uttered by dead things.  

"And hey, if you would have killed me, do you think this would have been over?"

"You know, I was just gonna ask you for a coupla bucks to head down for the clinic.  But 
now... OH! NOW! Now is just wonderful, Youji-ai.  Even if you do me in like I know 
you want to."

"What makes you think I'm the only one wants a piecea you?"

No words.  She licked her lips.

"Stupid whore."

***   

"Yeah..." Youji panted, "you are a stupid whore."  

He carelessly wiped the back of one hand across his face, rendering 
the welling, dripping blood into pale red streaks across his skin.  
Made himself look like some primitive hunter.  A case of one's 
outward appearance matching one's inner mood.  

Then he backhanded her hard across the face with that same bloodied 
paw, nearly knocking her off her perch.  

"Money, my ass.  If you only wanted the money to have that bastard 
child of YOURS scraped out of your overused pussy, then you could 
have just asked.  But I know you better than that, 'Suki.  It's the 
pain you can cause that gets you off; it's better than a long, 
comfortable screw for you, ruining people's lives."  

With that, Youji walked over to the entrance, and, flipping the lock 
with a furious twitch of fingers, flung the door open, scaring away a 
family of sparrows who had gathered to feast from the sidewalk buffet 
in front of the shop.  "I have fucking had enough of you."

He caught the door with one hand, and jerked his head towards the 
cool, sunny, placid beyond.  

"Get the fuck back on the street where you belong.  NOW!"

***

Mitsuki spit into her palm, mopped at her face, got up, straightened her hair, and walked 
out the door without another word.

Not to mention without bothering to zip her pants.

Carhorns blasted in her wake accompanied by the whistles of men she may well have 
known.  Such things were not beyond her.  

Youji turned back to the shop to find the floor stained red.

Not to mention empty.

Omi was nowhere to be seen.

***

As for Omi, he desperately wanted a glass of milk.  But he couldn't for anything 
remember why...

He just hung in his hiding place, hoping Yuuji hadn't noticed him.

*****