Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Der Widerspruch ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Omi, Nagi, or any other characters from Weiss Kreuz.

Warnings: This is yaoi. So if you don't like, don't read.

Pairings: Nagi/Omi, more later on.

*****

Omi stepped into the crowded subway train, eyes immediately searching for an empty seat.

After a quick inspection he groaned inwardly, not at all surprised that they were all occupied.

Normally that wouldn't have bothered Omi one bit, as he was the kind of person who would gladly give up his seat if some elderly lady with a million grocery bags and a cane walked onto the train.

Today, however, was different.

Today, absolutely nothing had gone right.

It started in the morning. As he was about to leave for school, he discovered that his bike wouldn't start, and he could not figure out what was wrong with it. Because of this, he had to drag Yohji out of bed (since Aya and Ken were both working in the flower shop) and beg for a ride. After much pleading and illegal use of the 'puppy eyes', a dazed and hung over Yohji agreed, muttering something about how his precious sleep was constantly being interrupted because of 'stupid' and 'petty' things such as school and work. And Yohji, still being somewhere between not-quite- awake and not-quite-asleep, took much longer to get ready than was necessary. In fact, he was still groggy in the car.

Needless to say, Omi was a good hour and a half late to class.

After serving his detention for failing to come to school on time, Omi walked home intending to spend the extra time he had off from flower shop duty to catch up on his schoolwork. His plans went down the toilet when Ken handed him an address and five-dozen roses, stating that they had to be delivered A.S.A.P.

He spent the next two hours on various trains and buses, looking for an apartment in an obscure part of town. He got there and rang the doorbell, and the lady that answered insisted that she had not ordered flowers. There was nothing left for Omi to do except to go back and explain the mix-up to Ken, and when they checked the address again, they realized that Omi had mistaken Ken's '9' for a '4'.

It wasn't his fault, Omi thought miserably, that Ken had messy, scribbly writing.

So he was sent off on his merry way again, holding the slightly wilting roses in his arms. When he got to the right apartment, to say that the man who answered the door was 'upset' would be the understatement of the century. He yelled about how late it was and how his fiancé left hours ago, even informing Omi of which body part he can shove the 'goddamn' roses up. Omi apologized repeatedly and sincerely understanding the man's irritation, right up until the door was slammed in his face.

When he was walking dejectedly back to the subway station, roses discarded long ago, it started to rain. At first Omi was delighted by the delicate drizzle, but his mood soured when it evolved into a full-fledged downpour complete with thunder and lightning. It was around that time that he realized dismally that with all the homework, it would be a miracle if he got even a half-way decent night of sleep.

Omi was sure that he must have angered some great deity from above, because the gods made sure that no breaks came his way. The way his luck was going, he wouldn't be surprised if he ended up dead in an alley by the end of the night.

With an exhausted sigh, Omi raked a hand through his soaking-wet hair, trying to return some semblance of order to the disheveled blonde mass. As the train started to move he shifted his weight, trying to find a steady position among the throngs of bodies pressing against him. He turned his attention to the window, watching the scenery pass in the colorful blur of neon lights that made nighttime Tokyo.

A mechanically cheerful voice announced the upcoming Gokokuji station, and Omi automatically noted that there were four more stations until he had to get off.

When the train came to the next stop, a majority of the crowd exited the compartment. Omi patiently settled into a newly freed seat, folding his hands in his lap.

After a few minutes of fidgeting idly, Omi glanced over the other occupants in the compartment with a child-like curiosity that was sure to grow out of him with age.

A few untidy business people were scattered here and there, coming home after a long day's work, ties loosened and shirts un-tucked.

A lone figure in the corner, sitting apart from the rest of populace, caught Omi's eye. The person wore a long raincoat that shielded his body from view, save for the slim legs crossed elegantly at the ankles and the pale hands poking out of the sleeves. He was cloaked in an ocean of azure fabric, hood masking all facial features except the mouth, which was set in a pouting frown. The blue that shrouded the unknown person stood out like a sore thumb against the dull colors of the train (though it wasn't meant to), accidentally causing the figure to be the focal point of the entire scene. The navy seemed to produce a mysterious aura around him, and it suddenly seemed fitting that he would distance himself from the rest of humanity.

Sapphire consumed him-Sapphire, the color of rain, the color of tears, the color of melancholia.

Slender hands tapped skillfully and dexterously over the sleek, black machine on his knees with the grace of a piano player's.

Omi's eyes widened in a giddy sort of excitement when he saw the laptop. He leaned forward slightly in his seat to get a better view, trying not to look too conspicuous. Huge blue eyes traced the contours of the contraption as he filed every detail unconsciously into the recesses of his brain, mathematically trained mind not even overlooking the 112-degree angle of the screen.

'Sugoi!' He thought breathlessly, recognizing the make and model. It was one he had been drooling over for the past weeks, one he desperately wanted to own himself. Urges of running up to the machine and examining it up close fluttered into Omi's mind, and were promptly squashed when he realized that acting upon them would make him look like an eager, hyperactive little kid.

Gloomily he slumped back into the plastic seat, a rare pang of envy making itself known as he remembered that he would never be able to afford the 350,000-yen laptop.

Soon, however, a never-ending supply of optimism overtook jealousy when Omi decided his computer was descent as well, and he *could* start saving up his money, little by little.

The same robotic voice announced his stop, Hikawadai station. Omi was brought out of his reverie at the statement and mentally scolded himself for loosing track of time. He hurriedly gathered his bag from the floor and stood up shakily, waiting for the doors to open with the familiar 'pfwoosh'.

The blue figure already stood in front of the doors, stiff cloth swirling gently about him as he swayed to the forced beat of the train.

Screech. Clunk. Pfwoosh.

The blue figure disappeared before Omi could even blink.

Omi stepped out onto the platform and into the downpour, intending to get back to the Koneko as quickly as possible and change into some nice, dry clothes. Maybe he would make himself a cup of hot chocolate, with marshmallows...

Omi allowed himself a small smile at the pleasant thoughts. His smile faltered, however, when he caught sight of a rectangular disk laying innocently next to his foot at the top the stairs leading into the street. Immediately he connected the memory stick to the laptop-wielding figure on the train, who surely must have been its owner.

He stooped down and picked up the memory stick, biting his lip as he stared wearily at the object. For a second he considered dropping it and leaving- after all, he was tired, cold, and in dire need of a hot shower. Soon conscience reigned supreme, and Omi decided that returning the lost item was the right thing to do. *He* certainly would want a missing object to be returned to him, after all.

He looked around him, trying to spot the figure.

He finally caught sight of the sapphire about a block away on Ikebukuro Street.

"Hey!" Omi called out, voice cutting through the relative silence of the night like a flash of lightening, causing everyone *but* the person who's attention he was trying to get to turn around and look at him curiously.

With a quick sigh he slung his bag over his shoulder and sprinted easily down the narrow sidewalk, darting between the few obstacles like the tiny metal sphere in a pinball machine.

"Hey!" He called again in vain when the figure turned into a side alley half a block away.

With a groan Omi picked up his pace and rounded the corner.

"Hey," Omi started for the third time when he saw the figure stop, and held out the disk. "You dropped your..."

The words died on his lips as the figure turned around, dangerous familiarization barreling into Omi like a freight train.

Blue eyes widened in alarm as they stared into the dark orbs of Schwarz's telekinetic.

Omi's free hand grasped automatically for the darts that *should* have been in his pocket, had he not taken out before his second trip into downtown Tokyo. Alarm soon blossomed into dread when he realized he was standing in a dark, deserted alley with a very armed, *very* dangerous member of Schwarz.

Omi first logical thoughts were ones of fleeing-- to run, to get out into a more crowded place as fast as possible, where he would be relatively safe if the Schwarz member cared at all about concealing his Gift from the public. That idea was impossible, seeing as panic caused his legs to be caught in a stiff, fragile balance where even the slightest movement might cause him to crash to the ground.

Once again his fingers wriggled around desperately in the depths of his pocket, looking for the phantom dart that he hoped he had overlooked.

Nagi hadn't moved since their meeting, arms lax at his sides and head tilted slightly to one side. Eyes stared out from under long-lashed lids, studying the face of his enemy quietly and neutrally.

His gaze drifted downwards when he noticed Omi's moving hand.

"Out of darts, Weiss?" Nagi inquired, voice veiled with indifference.

Omi let out a small gasp of surprise, hand stopping its frantic movements as his gaze moved inevitably to rest on Nagi's face.

It was unbelievable, almost incomprehensible, that this was the face of a killer. The mouth was too soft and delicate to be able to expel the death threats and toxic words that it had many times before. The hands were too fragile and pale to clutch any sort of weapons; instead, it would seem fitting that they would hold a violin, a palette, or anything else equally as tragically beautiful. The facial features were too androgynous to be twisted and distorted by something as ugly as cold-blooded murder.

Omi swallowed once, trying to restore some moisture into his dry mouth. He bit down on his bottom lip as his right foot slid back into a defensive stance, ready to protect himself however he could. He tried to keep calm, rationalizing in his head that panicking now would be the worst possible thing to do.

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead as he kept studying Nagi's face, hoping it would shed some light as to what the telekinetic's next move would be. Unfortunately, Nagi's expression betrayed no emotion except that of apathy, and perhaps boredom.

Omi noticed Nagi's eyes catch something behind him and widen ever so slightly.

"Watch out," The Schwarz member said in the same tone, volume a little louder than before.

Omi turned around in confusion at the warning, only to have a fist connect with the side of his face. He let out a cry of surprise as he flew to the pavement, sliding a few feet with the force of the blow.

He winced as he struggled to his knees, white sparkles peppering his vision and fogging his thought process. As he brought his fingers up to wipe the blood from his mouth, as his first instinct was to examine his wound, strong hands pinned his arms back and a heavy weight settled on the back of his thighs, making movement nearly impossible. Omi hissed at the initial pain, fighting to free himself from his attacker.

"Little boys shouldn't be out playing at this time of night," A gruff voice whispered into his ear.

Omi stopped struggling for the moment to roll his eyes up, trying to find the Schwarz boy and see how he was handling himself. The other attacker backed the other boy to the corner, lifting him up by the collar. The telekinetic's face was bowed to one side, eyes trained disinterestedly on the ground, head bobbing along with the assailant's annoyed shakes. His bag was lying open on the ground, various notebooks and papers spilling carelessly from their protective case.

Omi thought it amazing that the other boy could be so tranquil when his life, *both* their lives, were in such obvious danger.

He pushed aside the temporary awe at the other boy's placidity and focused again at his predicament, trying helplessly to throw the man off of his body.

Omi's moves became hazy and uncoordinated with desperation when he felt grubby fingers searching under his sweatshirt for the waistband of his pants. Dozens of useless thoughts ran through his mind, none of which provided him with any solution.

And then, it was all gone. No more hands under his shirt, no more weight holding him down. He was once again in full control of his body.

Dazed, Omi carefully picked himself off the ground, gently rubbing his sore arms. He turned around in time to see both assailants being moved and lifted by some unseen force, by some kind of ghastly magic. They were hanging in the air, unmoving, arms outstretched-- marionettes suspended by the macabre telekinetic, the puppeteer.

Time stood still.

Then, suddenly, a 'thud' accompanied strangled cry as the men were thrown against the wall, skulls snapping back with great force, thin rivulets of dark liquid streaming down from behind their heads gathering gruesomely into a puddle on the ground.

The men floated forward about five feet, only to be crushed against the brick once again. And again. And again.

Omi watched in morbid fascination, mouth gaped open in enthrallment. The scene was wraithlike, eerie, godly, something out of a horror novel. Mesmerizing.

Compassion finally broke the hypnotizing spell he was bound in, and breathlessly he called out to Nagi hoping to prevent the murder that was about to take place. "No," He made his way towards the Schwarz boy. "Please, stop," Omi pleaded, glazed-over eyes glued on the bloody figures as he tentatively placed a hand on the boy's arm.

The men were held in the air, telekinetic obviously contemplating Omi's words. Finally the invisible hold on the men dissipated and they slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Omi let out his breath of relief, feeling calmer than he had been during the whole ordeal.

Nagi stared out at the crumpled figures for another moment then silently dropped to his knees, gathering the rain-soaked papers and notebooks from the ground.

Omi observed him curiously, amazed at the transformation he'd undergone in the last few seconds. While using his powers he was oblivious to everything around him, concentrating as a deadly expression hung over his face, revealing a dark grudge that the boy had against humanity. Now, he was back to the mysterious persona he displayed on the train, the unknowing artist.

Omi blinked away his speculations, scolding himself for forgetting his manners. He too fell to his knees and helped gather the scattered items. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Nagi's face, still nervous about being in such close proximity of Schwarz. Nevertheless, in the past hour the two of them developed a sort of weak bond, a temporary truce drawn up simply from sharing an experience... An understanding.

Omi's eyebrows furrowed worriedly upon noticing the slight bruises on his neck, dark circles caused by pressing fingers. "Are you ok?" He asked cautiously.

Nagi's head moved up to meet Omi gaze, lingering, unanswered question hanging heavily in the air.

"Better than you."

Omi smiled warmly at the statement, which he decided to interpret as a stranger's concern. He unconsciously fingered the set of forming bruises and scratches on the right side of the face. "I'll be ok. I've had worse."

Still, something bothered the blonde-haired boy. If there was one thing that Omi could not stand, it would be sadness. And the Schwarz boy seemed to be the epitome of it. Melancholy lined his eyes like a thick mascara, heavy and black. Indifference permeated from him, now a natural scent.

"Are you alright?" Omi asked again, this time questioning the telekinetic's emotional well-being rather than his physical one.

When Nagi looked at him blankly, he elaborated. "No, I mean... Is everything ok? You seem... a little sad."

The hard, unwavering gaze the chocolate haired boy gave him unnerved the Weiss member and he immediately regretted prying into the other boy's life. "I'm sorry," He started quickly. "I shouldn't be so nosy. Sometimes I get worried and, well..." He trailed off, deciding it was best to keep himself from babbling.

The Schwarz boy nodded slowly in acknowledgement as he gathered the last of his papers into the case, and stood up. Omi followed suit, wiping his damp palms against his equally as damp pants.

"So..." Omi started, trying to hide his nervousness behind a small smile. "Thank you for before, I would have really been in trouble if you hadn't been here." Omi paused, not knowing what else to say. He finally said awkwardly, bowing slightly, "I guess I'll see you around, and thanks again."

"Yes," Nagi responded softly, "I'll see you around."

And with that, the Schwarz boy turned on his heel and continued down the alley.

When the figure was out of sight, Omi let out the breath he had been holding. Immediately he felt a hundred pounds lighter, maybe he was even weak with relief. He tried to bring his hammering heart back to a normal rate, closing his eyes in order to calm himself down.

Omi rubbed his temples tiredly, then looked for his bag. His wandering eyes came to a stop on the forgotten assailants. He contemplated calling for an ambulance, but thought better of it since he would have to answer more questions and spend the rest of the night at a police station. He did, however, check for a steady pulse and made sure that none of their injuries were life-threatening.

Omi finally spotted his bag, resting near a dumpster and tarnished with mud and dirt. As he walked to get it, the boy stumbled over something on the ground. A feeling of unwelcome déjà vu washed over him as he picked up the notebook to inspect it. Sure enough, the small, neat writing inside indicated that the item belonged to none other than Naoe Nagi. Too exhausted to decipher his emotion, be it negative or positive towards the discovery, he tucked the book into his bag and trudged home.

*****

"Omi, is that you?" a voice accompanied by clattering dishes and running water drifted from the kitchen.

Omi slipped off his shoes and padded down the hallway. "Hai, Ken-kun, it's me."

"What took so long?" When Ken finally poked his head out of the kitchen and noticed Omi's face, the previous question became insignificant. "What happened to you?" He questioned, immediately setting down the dishtowel and plate he was wiping and examined the injury.

Omi opened his mouth, about to spill out all the details of his eventful evening. He stopped himself, however, and came to the decision that he would not mention his meeting with Nagi of Schwarz. As much as he hated lying to his teammates, he did not want them to worry unnecessarily about him. After all, Nagi didn't harm him, right?

In fact, Omi felt a pang of regret that Nagi was his enemy. He even almost wanted to become friends with the boy, as the Schwarz member looked so lonely and sad before.

Before he could delve into another deep contemplation, Omi pushed aside the 'forbidden' feelings. He shook them off, rationalizing that they probably sprouted from his yearning for a friend that understood him. Sure, he had a few friends at school, but there was always the secret of him being an assassin that he could never reveal to any outsider. He supposed that Nagi was in a similar situation, and he wished that they could talk since they shared similar secrets that were already known to one another.

"Ah, I was attacked on my way home," He said simply.

Ken brought out a first aid kit and cleaned Omi's wound as the boy explained in depth what transpired after he left the flower shop that afternoon (leaving out Nagi, of course). Soon after, an argument about whether or not Omi would attend school the following day took place.

Omi smiled at Ken's concern, reassuring him that he was fine and that he would indeed attend for the sake of missing any important material.

After that was settled, Omi returned to his room and sat down at his desk to finish the homework that was due the following day.

While taking out his school textbooks, his hands came upon the notebook that belonged to Nagi.

Omi would have to return the book somehow; there was no question about it. Not only was it wrong to keep it, but he was also indebted to Nagi since the boy had, in a sense, saved his life.

He turned over the notebook in his hands, opening the cover. Inside, on the first few lines, he found the address of Nagi's school stamped out in blue ink.

Tomorrow, he would drop the notebook off at the school. It was settled.

And with that, Omi started writing his research paper.

*****

AN: Thanks for looking. Any reviews are appreciated.