Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Angel in Flames ❯ Misunderstanding ( Chapter 2 )

Angel in Flames 2/?

By Nix Winter

Disclaimer: I don't own Youji or Omi, Weiss Kreuz. I do own the story. I do love feedback.

Youji decided he'd be late. It wasn't as if any of the others would be particularly surprised. He'd been the last one through customs and he'd done his best to flirt up every pretty, or passable woman between his seat on the plane and the counter of the hotel they were all staying in. It was even possible that Ken had assumed he was going to spend some time with the brunette he'd shared the taxi into St. Petersburg with.

He'd seen the look Ken had given him, half way between annoyance and a high five. Sex. Youji had sex everyday. They all knew that. He stared into the mirror on his bathroom wall, pressed the cheap white plastic razor to his skin, drew it down, cutting away honey colored stubble. He knew he had sex everyday, by himself, in the shower, in the bed, knee bent holding the sheet up. He pressed his lips tightly together and shaved his upper lip, watching the razor take away shaving cream, and not quite able to look himself in the eyes. He knew what he was thinking about with one knee bent and his hand taking care of certain issues that he'd never be able to deal with any other way.

What did he think about? Smiles, too practical organization, school books, dear god in heaven, and a gentle voice that melted down walls like sunshine slipping through glass when it talked to him, Youji-kun, these were the things that flickered trough his mind. His jaws tightened, self-disgust mixing around in his soul, as he started to shave the other side. At home, he'd gotten these thoughts trimmed down to those moments when he was alone, taking care of certain masculine tasks. He didn't know what it was about Russia, or maybe just being out of Japan that put his defenses in ruin.

Omi was still a teen-ager, only 18, and much to good to get involved, or even touched by, Youji paused in his punishing thoughts and forced himself to look into his own green eyes, to see what was there when he looked, Asuka's ghost standing behind him, the echoing soundtrack of his grandmother berating his beloved mother for having given birth to a fag, a fucking fag. He hadn't been able to speak to his mother after that. She'd died in a plane crash before she could make it home, to pick him up from his grandmother's house. He'd never been able to give Asuka what she'd wanted, had not even been able to tell her that he was gay. The razor nicked him, taking a bit of skin as well as his stubble and he threw it into the sink, pressing his thumb to his bleeding cheek.

"Idiot," his grandmother's voice snapped at him from his memory.

It was an odd feeling, and maybe it was Russia, but he winked at Asuka's ghost, who disappeared without comment, agreed with his grandmother. He had to stay away from Omi, far away, he thought, as he picked the razor back up. Or he was going to betray his feelings, contaminate the boy because some damn queer had fallen in love with him.

His mobile phone tinkled and he picked it up, razor and phone in one hand. "Moshi moshi."

Omi's voice glowed through the phone. Youji's towel twitched. "Youji-kun! You're late! We ordered a steak for you! Beef is too cheap here right now!"

Youji reached around and took the razor into his left hand. He tried to adjust his towel, then just tossed it into the tub. "Might be radioactive, uh? I'm on my way, just needed a shower."

There was a pause, unusual and uncomfortable. Youji scratched the back of his head, then threw the razor down and grabbed a wash cloth to get the shaving cream out of damp caramel hair. It was their secure channel, that could only be used by their four phones and Manx's. Digital and crystal clear, it still should not have been able to convey the irritation in Omi's voice, frustration maybe? "I didn't mean to interrupt, Youji. You might want to turn on the TV in your room. I assume you're in your room. Our target has released new demands. I think the target you took down in our last encounter was the leader. The demands have changed."

Efficient little leader, Youji thought, smiling. No one he'd trust his life too better. Naked, except for a bit of shaving cream, he left the bathroom and turned on the TV. Breaking news interrupts were the same, around the world, he thought. Secret police from every major state in the world was probably hunting this group.

The CNN reporter was saying that terror alert levels were raised to red in Washington D.C., that the FBI had obtained credible information that the city would be hit with a major bio terror weapon within twenty-four hours. This was supposedly related to the theft of cutting edge research from the University of Tokyo, though the Japanese government was disavowing any knowledge of bio weapon research anywhere in Japan. Relations between Washington and Tokyo were becoming tenser by the minute.

Youji sat down on the bed. "Omi."

"It's bad, isn't it Youji?" There was another pause and the boy who was a Taketori, but wasn't, who wasn't really a boy anymore, whispered, "Youji."

The tall blond let himself fall back on the bed, close his eyes. "We'll catch them, Omi," Youji promised. It was the being far from home, Youji decided, that was what made Omi's voice sound so vulnerable, so outside the boxes and rules of their lives, so like a voice he could swallow whole and just bath in. "Omi, I wasn't sleeping with anyone, just now, you know? I just wanted a shower and some time to think."

"You don't have to explain," Omi said, but Youji could almost swear there was some relief in that voice. "I know you like women. I guess it's relaxing."

"No," Youji said, laying an arm over his eyes, as if that could shield him from Asuka's ghost and the echoes of his past. "It's not like that, Omi. At least I'm not a fucking queer, uh?"

Terse, now that voice could have made an ice sculpture. "At least you're not a fucking queer." All business now, polite, but frosty enough to make Youji draw his feet up onto the bed, curl in on himself emotionally like he'd been hit in the gut. "Here is an address I want you to check out. The quicker we catch these people and save this queer damn planet the faster we can go home. I don't know why things should feel different here, anyway. This place I want you to check out, it's a club. So dress, well, like you always do, Kudou."

"Omi?" Youji bite his lip, paused. He wanted to ask if he'd offended Omi in some way, to ask Omi to say his name nicely again, just one more time. "Omi."

"What?" Omi's voice was strained now, emotional and Youji didn't know why. "Just be careful. Take some condoms with you. Even in Russia you got to be careful what you catch."

The connection went dead and Youji thought he could just turn to black oil and soak into the bed. It was too much. The older Omi got, the longer he knew him, the more he liked him, the more he loved him. Youji knew very well what happened to people he loved. "I wouldn't let anything happen to you, Omi-kun."