Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Der Widerspruch ❯ Chapter Two ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warnings: Yaoi coming soon, hopefully. Angst later on. Violence, too.

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Chapter 2

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Nov. 2nd, 7:22 AM

"Hey, Aya-kun?" Omi asked into his bowl of colorful marshmallow cereal. "Do you think that maybe Schwarz broke up?" Thoughtful, he swirled his spoon in the milk.

"Hn, I doubt it." Came the deep voice, interweaved with the rush of running water.

"Why?" Omi asked, hoping to push the somber redhead into speaking more than just monosyllables. "I mean, we haven't had a big mission in over two months... And the ones we *have* had definitely weren't Schwarz related. Isn't it possible that... that maybe they've disbanded?"

Omi looked at Aya's back expectantly, noticing the way his shoulders tensed at the mention of Schwarz. He knew this was a slightly delicate subject for Aya, one he often got riled up over; so if his teammate didn't want to answer, he would not push the subject.

"I hate to say this, chibi," Yohji's voice interrupted between yawns as he sauntered into the kitchen, catching the last part of the conversation. "But I think this is what they call the 'calm before the storm'. I'm sure they're planning something." He ruffled Omi's hair affectionately as he walked past him to get a cup of coffee.

Ken nodded in agreement, looking up from the magazine he was skimming. "And even *if* they weren't together anymore, would it really make a difference? We'd still have to deal with four murdering psychos, one way or the other. It's not like they suddenly had an epiphany and joined a convent, right?"

"Well, no... But they could've changed. If they wanted to."

Aya turned away from the sink and leaned against the counter, folding his arms. "You put too much faith in people, Omi. People like Schwarz... they don't know guilt; they have no principals, no morals. People like that, people who have no conscience, can't change. It'd be like trying to change your own DNA sequence."

Omi cupped his cheek in the palm of his hand, frowning over Aya's words. Anyone can change if they really wanted to, right? He saw no reason why they couldn't. IF, that is, they had the will. After all, to be moral and to feel guilt was part of the definition of being human. Without those qualities, humans wouldn't be humans anymore. They would be reduced to savage animals worried only about their self-preservation, just like every other known organism on the earth.

It's as simple as that. Right?

Aya may know a lot of things about human behavior and sociology, Omi decided with finality, but he was wrong about this.

"Jeez, Aya, you gotta be so pessimistic? What a depressing way to start the day." Yohji said lightly, mock-pouting. "Where did that question come from, anyway? I know Mr. Sunshine over there-" Aya's glare had the power to temporarily freeze Yohji's vocal chords, but he soon continued, undeterred. "--spends 95% of his free time thinking about Schwarz and plotting. Didn't think that you made a hobby out of it, Omi."

"Ah, I kinda...ran into Schwarz yesterday." He winced in advance, knowing he set off a chain of cause-and-effect reactions: He withheld potentially important information. Thus, Aya would not be pleased. Thus, there would be questions.

And so on.

Omi shoulders slouched forward, body withdrawing into itself defensively as he prepared to face a charging brigade of questions concerning this incident and the reason for his not telling his teammates sooner.

Omi expected and hoped for voiced disapproval but was met with what he was most uncomfortable with-- silence. Unnatural in the modern world, it is a Babbitt that could conform to any mood and emotion. It is vague, indiscreet, deceitful-Which is why Omi avoided it whenever possible, preferring small talk or a hummed melody over the quiet any day.

"...What happened? What did they want?" Yohji finally broke the curse. The front line of soldiers charge into battle.

"Nothing. We just bumped into each other coincidentally."

Aya snorted in distaste. "Right. That explains your bruises." Raise rifles... Aim... fire... hit.

Omi frowned, shaking his head. "No, they're not from that." He stopped for a second, trying to decide what he was and wasn't going to say. He finally chose to go with a quick anecdote, forgoing all the details, as they would only result in more inquiries. "We ran into each other in an alley and got attacked by a couple of muggers. He helped me out. I could've been hurt really, really badly if he wasn't there to save me." Omi averted his eyes as a blush stained his cheeks, suddenly feeling foolish and weak to be caught in such a helpless situation. Without his weapons, at that. Or even a cell phone! Omi scolded himself. If anything worse had happened, he would have nothing to blame other than his own stupidity and carelessness.

"He? He who?" Ken asked. The reinforcements arrive, barrels of gunpowder in hand.

"Uh, the telekinetic boy... Naoe Nagi."

Again, silence prevailed as the new information was chewed up and digested by the others. The armies retreat, satisfied.

Yohji looked back at Omi worriedly. "Are you sure he didn't do anything to you? That kid is one dangerous sonuvagun." One last check, make sure the enemy is down.

"Yes," Omi said wearily. He fidgeted with his napkin. "Look, I'm sorry. All of it was my fault, and I promise to be more careful next time." He looked up and darted his eyes across the faces of his teammates. "So could you stop worrying about me, please?" He asked, feeling sheepish.

A few more moments of silent contemplation, and soon everyone seemed content and secure enough to go back to their daily routine.

"If anything like this ever happens again, you will tell us sooner." Aya stated, once again facing the sink.

"We only worry 'cuz we care about you, bishounen. You know that, right?" Yohji stood behind Ken's chair, leaning against the refrigerator and stirring his coffee.

Omi smiled weakly, a little somnolent of the conversation. "Yes, I know, Yohji-kun. Thank you."

Luckily for Omi, something else seemed to catch the playboy's interest and he abruptly transferred his attention from the boy to the magazine Ken held. "Whatcha reading, Kenken?"

The tone of Yohji's voice indicated that he was definitely (and perhaps unfortunately) in one of his playful moods.

Startled, Ken turned his head around only to find the magazine snatched gracefully out of his hands. A sports magazine, which was used to cover another magazine underneath, fell to the floor.

Ken stared, dumbfounded, then scrambled to his feet in pursuit of the blonde thief, an embarrassed crimson staining his face. "Oi, give that back!"

Yohji, having a several meter head start over the brunette, eyed the article Ken had been reading. "'10 Ways to Woo a Woman'?" He started with a surprised laugh, raising an eyebrow. "Ken, this is shocking." He said with teasing disapproval.

Omi politely tried to hide a regaled smile that was threatening to spill into a grin behind his hand as he watched the standoff, each man stiffly holding their positions at opposite ends of the counter.

Ken, now glowing like a light bulb, tried to steal back his magazine before the blonde playboy could read anything more... damaging. "Why? It's not that big of a deal, right? I'm not the only one who reads these magazines!" Ken stumbled, trying to salvage his pride.

"No, I meant... Since when are you into women?" Yohji said with a grin.

Ken paused, mouth gaping open, and sputtered indignantly.

Omi had to bite back his laugh. "That was mean, Yohji-kun," He chided lightly.

"'Number four. Write her a check for a million kisses. Ask if she would like to cash it at your bank.'" Yohji looked as if he was ready to collapse at any moment. Whether from intense amusement or from disappointment for the way Ken attempted to go about pursuing his romantic prospects, Omi could not tell.

Ken, deciding the situation called for desperate measures, pushed himself over the counter and landed agilely on the other side. Alas, Yohji, being two steps ahead of the brunette and already tired of the round-the-counter chase, took the pursuit to the kitchen table.

"Ken, where in God's name did you get this." He asked with a sigh. "You'd have about as much luck with these as you would with Ye Olde 'How do you like your eggs in the morning?' bit." He waved the magazine in dismissal as if every word contained in it's pages radiated with blasphemy.

Ken dejectedly looked to Omi for help, undoubtedly a last resort. "Omi, tell him to give it back. He listens to you."

"Oh, don't worry. You'll get your magazine back," Yohji conceded.

Relief washed over Ken's whole demeanor. However, it was short-lived.

"-after, that is, he tells us who this secret crush is." Yohji started for the flower shop, flipping casually through the rest of Ken's magazine.

Ken groaned, having no choice but to follow. "C'mon, Yohji..."

Omi listened amusedly as the bickering voices faded from his hearing range. He sighed, shaking his head in exasperated reprehension at the twosome's childish antics. Nevertheless a faint smile came over his face, as these kinds of silly arguments were always able to brighten everyone's day and lighten the atmosphere that was usually heavy with the emotional repercussions of their common profession. It was always these sorts of things that made them forget that they were assassins and remind them that they were human beings, as well as friends.

Omi finished his cereal and checked the time, seeing that he had fifteen minutes before his bus came.

He quickly cleared the table, as he still had to pack a few things for school and get Aya to sign his field trip form.

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7:50 AM

"C'mon on, Yohji, quit being a dick." Ken said to the tall blonde, who dangled the magazine in front of him and pulled it away whenever he grabbed at it, apparently enjoying the sadistic game.

"Not until you tell me who it is." He waved a finger in front of Ken's face. "Didn't anyone ever teach you that keeping secrets wasn't very nice?"

Ken rolled his eyes, finally stalking away from the irritating assassin. "Fine, keep it, I don't care. You probably need it more than I do, anyways."

Yohji caught up to him in a flash and slung his arm across Ken's shoulders, firmly keeping it there when Ken tried to shrug it off. "Aww, don't be like that, Ken! I'm on YOUR side here. I'm trying to help." He emphasized the 'your' with a poke to Ken's chest. He continued when he saw that Ken was still looking doubtful. "Seriously. How far do you think you're gonna get with that... that... nonsense?" When the brunette still wasn't responding, Yohji grabbed his shoulders and turned him around to that they were face to face. "Trust me, Ken. Take it from someone who has just a little itty-bitty more experience in these things than you have."

Ken looked down and chewed the inside of his lip, obviously debating whether or not to entrust the blonde with his secret.

"Look, man, the only way I can help you is if I know who it is you're trying to seduce." Yohji said matter-of-factly.

Ken blushed. "I don't want to just 'seduce'!" He paused, that far-away look of a man in love passing into his eyes as a dreamy smile formed on his lips. "I want to have a long relationship with him. He's so sweet, and caring, and whenever I get a cut from the roses or something he always brings out those silly colorful band-aids with the footballs and the soccer balls and he takes my hand and he-"

"Omi?" Yohji asked rather loudly, eyes widening a little in surprise.

"Shhh!" Cried Ken, practically ramming into Yohji as he tried to quiet the other man by covering his mouth. Yohji stumbled backwards with Ken's weight, and with a yelp both assassins came crashing to the ground.

Ken, using his position atop Yohji to his advantage, clamped a firm hand on the blonde's mouth. "Shut up, you moron!" He leaned in, whispering. "He can hear you!" His head swiveled nervously from the door of the kitchen, to Yohji, and then back again, paranoid that someone (particularly a blonde, hyper, seventeen year old someone) was listening from the other room.

"Relax, relax," Yohji said flippantly after he pried Ken's hand away from his face. "He can't hear." Yohji look thoughtful for a minute, then grinned. "You know, I should have known. No wonder you get rose cuts like once a day. You get off on it, don't ya?"

Ken looked horrified. "No, you freak! Those cuts usually happen by accident."

Yohji opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a voice from the kitchen.

"Ken-kun, Yohji-kun," Omi's voice grew progressively louder as he came nearer, rearranging the collar of his coat as his eyes darted around trying to spot something. "Does one of you know here I left..." He trailed off, eyes widening at the... compromising... position he found his two teammates in.

Omi coughed, a pure scarlet painting across the canvas of his face. "I-I'm s-sorry... I'm sorry, I'm sorry to disturb you..."

Ken blinked dumbly. Yohji, suddenly thrilled at the prospect that the morning had the potential to get very, very interesting, put his hands behind his head, Cheshire-cat grin spreading across his face. Just how interesting, was up to him to decide.

"I didn't realize that you two were, uh... Um, I'll get out of your way in a second. Sorry..." He dashed for the door, slipping on and tying his sneakers as faster than he ever did before in his life.

It took Ken a good 15 seconds to realize what was happening. After he finally did, he jumped off the playboy and tried madly to clear the whole mess up. "No, wait, Omi. It's not what you think," He started, voice an unstable compromise between hysterical and embarrassed.

Yohji decided he should contribute to the conversation. "See, Ken? I told you we should stop messing around in the flower shop. I mean, really. Anyone can walk in. What on earth were you thinking? That's what beds are for."

"Or clean kitchen counters." The playboy added thoughtfully.

Omi's eyes widened into blue saucers. "You did... You did it on..." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake the thought from his mind.

Ken turned on his heel, eyes blazing furiously at the blonde. He gestured madly for him to shut up. Yohji on his side?! Yeah, right! Ken snorted. The playboy was only making things worse. The situation was bad enough as it was without Yohji adding his COMPLETELY unnecessary comments implying that- he shuddered in disgust at the idea- that he and Ken were together. Sleeping with the blonde would be like playing Russian roulette with his health. He could only imagine what STDs were residing happily within the promiscuous blonde, just waiting to be spread.

OK, so maybe Ken was exaggerating a bit, but no one could deny the fact that the blonde was rather... laissez-faire with whom he chose to bed. What Omi must think! Ken thought worriedly. He mouthed the words "I'm going to kill you" over and over like a mantra, hoping that the message was getting through the blonde's thick skull.

"I'm going now, guys. I really am very sorry. See you when I get back." Omi said quickly and left.

When Ken heard the door close he stared down incredulously at the blonde, pissed beyond reason.

Yohji closed his eyes and shrugged, continuing to smile smugly.

Ken took this opportunity to leap on Yohji and initiate a full-out fistfight, having every intention to beat the blonde in such a way that he would never get laid again. By anyone. *Ever*

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12:31 PM

"Hello, I found this notebook yesterday and it belongs to one of the students here..." Omi paused after the secretary held up her hand for silence as she took a call.

Omi's eyes wandered around the charming little office, finally resting on the old clock behind the secretary's desk.

Half his lunch period was over, he noted dully.

His eyes drifted over lazily to the huge bay window on the left side of the room, trying to find a distraction that would efficiently mute out the secretary's squawking voice from his mind. He looked out the window into the courtyard, which was filled with an array of students enjoying their lunch in the haven of a cool autumn afternoon. Omi silently wondered which one of the clusters of students Nagi was sitting amongst, which ones of the unidentifiable faces were those of his 'friends'.

The clattering sound produced as the secretary nestled the phone into its cradle brought Omi's focus back to the middle-aged woman.

"Who did you say it belonged to?" She asked, scribbling something onto a notepad as she swiveled agitatedly in her chair.

"Uh, Naoe Nagi. So if you could please return it to him, I-"

"Nagi, did you say? Well in that case, then you can give it to him yourself. He works at the nurse's office during lunch. It's right down there."

Omi followed the woman's manicured fingertip, which pointed towards a door at the end of a narrow hallway to the right of her desk.

He panicked as he fully absorbed the secretary's words. The wheels of his mind turning, Omi tried to think of a believable excuse to not meet with the Schwarz boy. "Er-Could I maybe, just... leave it, or-"

Omi stopped as he acknowledged the secretary's eyebrows, raised in questioning. She looked irritated by the mere fact that someone ventured into her office and furthermore, gods forbid, wanted her help.

"Uh... Never mind," He stuttered, a bit flustered. "Thank you."

Gathering his wits, Omi made his way down the hallway and knocked cautiously on the door to the nurse's office, dread painfully making itself known in the pit of his stomach.

"Come in," Replied a soft, muffled voice from inside.

Taking in a deep breath, he turned the doorknob and cautiously poked his head into the room.

The room was quaint and calming, subdued sunlight filtering through the window curtains and diffusing warmly into the entire space. It was furnished similarly to the secretary's office except that it possessed a pastel color scheme rather than a bright, tawny one, for the simple fact that it was more soothing on the eyes of the ill students that passed through daily. On one side of the room stood a couple of roll-away beds with retractable curtains designed to recreate the sense of privacy and personal space one would experience in their own bedroom. On the other side was a long counter over which several white cabinets were mounted.

And that was where Nagi stood, facing sideways and donning a white lab coat typical of most medical workers. He was on his tiptoes, busy taking out various bottles of medicine from a cardboard box and arranging them on the shelves in some kind of organizational pattern.

Omi slipped into the room and closed the door quietly, not wanting to disturb the other boy. He succumbed to the tranquility of the room, its serenity luring away his initial nervousness like a fiddled lullaby of the Pied Piper.

Omi straightened and swallowed when the Schwarz boy looked at him with a mostly concealed expression of bewilderment.

"Weiss." He said plainly.

"Uh, hello," Omi said with one of those smiles he seemed to have in eternal supply. He grimaced at how high-pitched his voice had become, and cleared his throat. "Sorry to bother you here, in your work and all, but I thought you might be needing these or something. So..." Omi walked hesitantly towards the other boy, still a little unsure of himself, holding out the items. "Here you are."

Nagi paused in his task, staring at the items as if they were going to jump up and eat him.

After a tense moment (at least for Omi), the telekinetic took hold of the things and set them on the counter. He went back to arranging the jars on the shelf.

Omi stared blankly for a bit, then started towards the door when he took Nagi's actions to mean dismissal.

"Why?"

Omi turned around, caught off-guard by the question. "Pardon?"

"Why did you bother to bring it back here? You didn't have to, and it must've been troublesome."

Omi stared absently as the shadows played on the back of Nagi's coat, alternating liberally between a light bluish color to a darker gray with the varying movements of his back muscles and arms. There wasn't much of a gradient between the two colors, and that, for some odd reason, reminded Omi of Nagi's moods, which never contrasted very greatly. He was usually melancholy, quiescent, somber-the blue; at times adrenaline could produce a cold flame of virulent passion-the gray. And that was it.

Was that all there was to Nagi's repertoire of emotions? Omi wondered.

"It wasn't very troublesome. I don't mind." He answered, smiling when he caught Nagi's eyes passing over his face.

"Do you always smile so much?" Asked the Telekinetic, sounding bored. Or sad. Or melancholy. Or another one of those blues of his.

Omi smile faltered for a second as he thought of a decently potent reply to the telekinetic's question. "Well... My philosophy is this: 'A friendly look, a kindly smile, one good act, and life's worthwhile.'" He said brightly.

Nagi turned and caught Omi's gaze again for a moment, scowling visibly. "That's an awfully rosy way to look at things."

Omi was about to say something defending his position, but changed his mind mid-breath. He thought for a moment, biting his cheek. "You know, I never saw an ugly smile. You should try it more often." He flushed faintly, a little surprised by his own audacity.

"I'd rather not lie."

"Oh." Omi did not know what else to say. He frowned slightly, wishing he knew how to pull the dark-haired boy out of the cage of despondency he seemed to be locked within.

Then, Omi had an idea. A long shot, but it was worth a try.

Maybe Nagi was grumpy because he didn't have lunch! (Omi himself confessed to being a little cranky if he missed a meal.) The Schwarz boy was cooped up in this clinic for the whole lunch period, so it would make sense that he didn't have time to grab something to eat.

Ok, so Omi knew that it was naïve to think that food would solve all the boy's problems, but it *could* at least provide a temporary remedy, as well as a pleasant diversion.

As Nagi pushed the emptied box of medicine under the counters, Omi blurted, "Do you want my sandwich?" He picked up his bag, waiting for the affirmative so that he could start rummaging through it for his lunch box.

Again, the telekinetic looked at Omi as if he had asked if Nagi would accompany him to hunt penguins with ping-pong balls in the Sahara, or something equally as absurd.

Omi was almost as surprised when the boy replied with, "What kind?"

"Uh, tuna, I think." He pulled out his lunch from his bag and peeked inside to make sure. "Yep, tuna."

"Alright, since you're offering." Nagi caught the saran-wrapped sandwich when it was tossed to him.

Again, for the ump-teenth time this afternoon, Omi wasn't sure what to do and stayed hovering uncertainly near the door. Luckily, that problem was solved for him when Nagi asked is he was going to "keep standing there all day", and soon thereafter pointed to a chair opposite of him.

Omi watched as Nagi unwrapped the sandwich. The brunette scrunched his nose as he picked off the onions from the top.

"You don't like onions?" Omi asked, for the sake of conversation.

The other boy shook his head briefly and took a bite.

"I hope it's ok," Omi continued. "It's usually Ken who makes lunch, but today Yohji did it, and sometimes you don't know with him."

"It's good," Nagi said between bites. "Better than anything Schuldig makes, at least."

The small talk went on in much the same way for another ten minutes. Both boys stumbled uncomfortably through sentences, never completely sure what to say, loyalties to their separate teams always hanging in the back of their minds and regulating the words that passed through their lips.

Eventually, when conversing had become a little easier, it was time for both boys to attend their classes.

They said their indefinite goodbyes, and with that they parted for..... however long Time allowed.

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3:16 PM

Yohji and Ken sat at the flower-shop worktable in the aftermath of the impromptu civil brawl, each tending to their subsequent contusions.

"Tell me again, how was saying that we were together supposed to help me?"

Yohji ignored Ken and his dreadfully sarcastic tone for the moment. He took a long drag of his cigarette, and turned over the bag of frozen peas that was settled on his bruised eye so that the colder side was pressed to his skin.

One would think that with them being assassins and more susceptible to injuries than your average Joe there'd be more ice packs in the house. But noooo, Ken *had* to take the last one. Yohji scowled. He believed that his black eye was infinitely higher on the list of priorities than Ken's jaw, as Ken had no one to impress or to look good for. Except Omi maybe, Yohji acquiesed. But Omi wasn't shallow enough to consider appearance as a deciding factor in who he was going to date, anyways.

So, Yohji concluded, there was absolutely no reason for Ken to have the ice pack and should therefore give it up for someone with more vital needs, such as himself.

"You know," Yohji drawled, "If this doesn't go away in a week, you're gonna have to find a way to quench my sexual appetite."

Ken rolled his eyes. "Stop avoiding my question."

Yohji sighed and put out the cigarette in an ashtray. He leaned back in his chair. "You know the saying, 'You always want what you can't have', Kenken?" He started slowly, enunciating ever syllable as if talking to a child.

"Yeah, but-"

"Shhh. Listen. Omi's in shock right now. But soon he will become conscious of the fact that we're both 'taken'. Then, will come the inevitable questioning of whether he ever had any feelings for either of us. Then, will come the slow realization that maybe, perhaps, he did. Next comes regret at not acting upon his emotions sooner. But at that point, we would've already dropped this whole act. And he'll be all yours. Comprende?"

"Alright," Ken countered skeptically, "Not that I buy into this whole theory of yours, but what if he 'realizes he has feelings' for you?" Ken crossed his arms across his chest. "Then what?"

Yohji snorted. "Oh, please. Omi'd rather... oh, I dunno... sleep with Schwarz than even consider doing anything like that with me. Not after..." He drifted off, letting out another short laugh. He got up from the table, stretching.

"God! What did you do to him?!" Ken asked incredulously, following suit and standing up. "You child molester! Ugh, God! Is there anyone who HASN'T been affected by your sluttiness?"

"Well, you, for one. And relax, relax. It's not what you're thinking." Smirking, he was having fun stringing Ken along.

"Well, than what the hell is it?!" Ken demanded, following Yohji like a shadow.

"Isn't it a little early to be playing the jealous boyfriend? Omi should be coming back in a few minutes, just thought I'd let you know. Oh, and look." Yohji smiled sweetly as the chimes above the door sounded. "We have costumers. I'll leave you to your job, then. I'll be in the back if you need me."

Ken let out a long, suffering sigh as Yohji left him to tend to the costumer.

The blonde seemed to enjoy treading on his nerves. Nevertheless, Ken admitted to himself that he was desperate, and he didn't really know how to deal with romance. Maybe the playboy's plan is worth trying, Ken thought as he wrapped a bouquet of chrysanthemums, alstroemerias, Ecuadorian roses, and kangaroo paws. After all, as Yohji pointed out earlier, this area *was* the blonde's forte.

Probably his only talent, Ken added bitterly.

"That'll be 4,600 yen, please."

-----*-----*-----*-----

6:27 PM

Omi watched as Aya chopped a myriad of vegetable on the kitchen counter.

Kitchen counter. Where Yohji and Ken... where Yohji and Ken said that... that they...

Omi swallowed hard and paled. Ken and Yohji... did... *IT* on the counter, and now Aya was preparing food for him to eat on it. EAT. As in, put into his mouth. On the kitchen counter. The kitchen counter where Ken and Yohji-

Well, you get the idea.

Omi thought he was going to faint. Or throw up.

He wasn't very knowledgeable on the subject gay sex (or any other sex, for that matter), but he was sure it was messy. And there was probably some... *stuff* left over... which was probably getting on the food...

*Oh gods*... Omi thought as he laid his head down in his arms.

Omi noticed the blade had ceased its actions and rested on the chopping board, dormant. Puzzled, Omi traced the edge of the knife with his gaze, bringing it up the arm of its wielder and up to Aya's face. "Are you alright?" Aya asked when Omi met his eyes.

"Eheheh..." Omi laughed embarrassedly. "I'm fine, Aya-kun, thank you. I was just thinking about something....."

Omi decided it was time to direct his mind to something else. Preferably something more sanitary.

Like his afternoon with Nagi, which he wasn't sure how to feel about.

He started by making a mental list of what he had learned about the other boy.

1. He didn't like onions.

2. Schuldich can't cook well; he once dumped the packet of cheese into
the pot of noodles without draining the water first.

3. Once, a long, long time ago, Farfarello cooked since neither Brad
nor Schuldich were home. Nagi ended up at the hospital for a week.
Needless to say, they don't let him in the kitchen anymore.

Omi felt a little satisfied that he could get the telekinetic to open up a bit.

Instantly and all at once, a flood of doubts came into his mind. Mad, choleric, and storming furiously, they screamed he was betraying his team and darted through his thoughts relentlessly, like vicious sprites.

Omi tried to logically rationalize all the accusations that were thrown at him.

It wasn't as if he was purposely trying to befriend his enemy and betray his team; it just seemed that somehow, circumstances always made sure their paths crossed. He doubted that the Schwarz boy purposely lured him into the alley, or purposely dropped his belongings. None of it was on purpose; it was..... fate, maybe. Or chance. And as long as he was allowed the opportunity, why *not* get to know Nagi? And why *not* become Nagi's friend? As long as neither of them talked about their separate missions or the conflict between Weiss and Schwarz, it was fine. It would be like all the other "surface" friendships he had at school. His "friends" knew nothing about his missions or his job. He only talked to them in school, and maybe went to the mall with them once in a while. No one knew about his private life, and he didn't let them get close enough to even care about it.

It could be the same thing with Nagi, only... better. Because Nagi would know that he's a killer, and not hate him for it. Nagi wouldn't question his sporadic absences from school or his injuries, because he would know their causes. Nagi wouldn't care how much blood he sheds, because he does the same. They would share an understanding that Omi would be able to have with no other person, save for his teammates.

The more Omi thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure what Nagi thought about the idea. Nevertheless, they had exchanged e-mails, so whatever happened, happened. Omi decided that he wasn't going to worry excessively over this, but rather deal with it as it comes. There was no sense in fretting over something one has little or no control over.

The shuffle of multiple pairs of footsteps brought Omi out of his reverie. He lifted up his head towards the noise.

Ken and Yohji entered the kitchen, along with Manx, walking towards the stairs leading down.

"Mission." Yohji stated, and Aya was already heading towards them.

Omi rose as well, and the five-some filed into the basement.

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AN: Again, thanks for reading. Comments are appreciated.