Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ To Fight for Life and Love ❯ Chapter 9 ( Chapter 9 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Sometimes, the dark could be a good thing. When you're covered by darkness, no one notices you. You can get away with anything, and none would be the wiser. People tended to fear the dark and what hid within it. Double security; no one can see you, and nobody wants to try to find you. While Omi hated the dark and all its connotations just as anyone else did, he was at that very moment enjoying its benefits fully.

And it had nothing to do with the fact that he could stare at Ken all he wanted without being caught. Nope, that wasn't the reason the blonde loved the dark at all.

But, try as he might to convince himself of this reasoning, Omi couldn't stop his eyes from wandering back over to his friend and traveling very slowly over the gladiator's body.

Catching himself, Omi blushed deeply and forced his gaze elsewhere. The last weeks had done more to change his perspective on Ken than anything else over the past two years. Omi was sure that Erica had had something to do with it, too. Why else would he be thinking about his feelings for Ken so often, trying to sort them out?

Wood clacked together mercilessly, claiming Omi's attention once more. Taking some relief in his sanctuary of darkness, Omi turned his attention back to Ken once again, admiring the way he moved. Graceful was not the first word Omi thought of when he watched Ken fight, but there was a certain fluidity to the gladiator's movements that made the way he moved rather entrancing.

Omi knew he wasn't the only one who felt this way and couldn't help but glare at some nearby slave girls as they giggled and blushed over the two practicing gladiators.

A warm laugh struggled over the clamor in the room. The practicing stopped for a moment as Ken's partner showed the younger man how to better block a particular type of move. Eager to try, Ken egged his partner on until the man rushed forward. Clumsily, he blocked the blow and fell backwards, finding it in him to laugh despite the pain from the fall.

Omi sighed as he watched, wishing that he could partake in the activities, if only to be that much closer to the gladiator. It was the only thing that truly ever separated them, and Omi hated it.

How was he supposed to compare? He was just a slave, someone that was ordered around and abused by others. He was a joke. Wistfully, Omi continued to watch Ken as he practiced, leaning against the wall, suddenly tired. At least no one would catch the slave, hidden in darkness as he was. The seconds wore on as everything began to haze around the blonde. Shaking his head, Omi rubbed at his eyes and yawned loudly. Ever since his talk with Erica, questions concerning his feelings for Ken hadn't been the only problem the blonde had to deal with. Uncertainty and nervousness ate away at him each night, making it harder and harder for him to sleep peacefully.

Not to mention the odd dreams plaguing him lately, centering on Ken more often than not. The idea of them pressed sweetly together, limbs tangled together and breath mixing was enough to make Omi's breathing hitch slightly and his skin tingle.

He watched as Ken stepped away from his partner and spotted the blonde immediately. There was a dark glint in those brown eyes that made Omi shiver in delight rather than fear. The warmth of Ken's hands on his body caused a moan to rise from his chest. The soft whisper of words flowing over his ear made him lean his head back just a little more... and connect solidly with the wall behind him.

Wincing and rubbing his head, Omi was suddenly glad for the darkness; now because it was able to hide whatever embarrassing thing he had just done. Darting around quickly, the slave's eyes came to rest back on the practicing gladiators. The daydream had been too real, as had many of his dreams of late. Swallowing lightly, Omi closed his eyes and gently rested his head in his hands, silently berating himself. Thus occupied, he didn't notice when the dull thud of wood hitting wood trailed off; nor did he notice the soft footsteps near him. It was not until an arm snaked around his shoulders that Omi noticed his guest.

Jerking to attention, the blonde hit his head soundly against the stone again, hissing in pain.

"Gods! Omi, are you all right? I'm sorry... I didn't mean to scare you. Are you okay?" Ken babbled immediately, reaching out to touch the slave but afraid to, lest Omi be hurt any more.

Gingerly, Omi felt his head before turning to glare at the gladiator. "You could've warned me before sneaking up like that, Ken." Once again, Omi thanked the shadows for covering him and the bright blush heating his face.

Awkwardly, Ken rubbed his head. "Well, I... that is... I didn't think... and anyway, you shoulda..."

As much as Omi loved seeing Ken fumble around, saving the gladiator seemed the best idea for the moment. "That's all right. Just remember it next time or I might end up knocking myself out." Ken flushed, giving Omi a bright smile. "Did you want something?"

Omi received a blank stare for a moment before Ken pulled himself together and out of his daze. "Want something?"

Both boys winced as Ken's voice cracked slightly. Omi just shrugged as he leaned back. He jerked as his tender head came in contact with the wall again.

"You fight soon, right?" Omi tentatively asked. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as he stared at the floor. The noise trapped in the room filled the dense silence between the two when Ken didn't answer. Cautiously, Omi leaned just close enough that he was able to touch Ken's shoulder. Encouraged when the gladiator didn't move, Omi inched a little closer so that he was able to lean against Ken. Omi didn't move when Ken's arm rested on his shoulders.

They sat in a less than companionable silence, each with their own thoughts. Seconds passed by and Ken knew it wouldn't be long before he was called out. He didn't want to end his time with Omi so sourly.

"Actually," the brunet cleared his throat to grab the slave's attention, "there is something I wanted."

Omi tilted his head just enough so he could see Ken's face. "Hmmm?"

"Well, after I get back," Omi blinked as Ken smiled down at him, "I want some of that cake you managed to get. Ya know? Or something sweet. That would be nice. But cake would be even better. Yeah, I think I want some cake."

Blonde hair floated for a moment as Omi huffed, pulling away from Ken. Narrowed eyes turned on the gladiator as Omi crossed his arms.

"Why should I? Do you know how hard it is to get the kitchen to part with food?"

"But, I'm sure you can do it. You did before so it shouldn't be a problem now."

"Erica was the one that got me the food. And I'm not sure it's such a good idea." Omi had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. Ken looked really cute when he pouted. Cute? Did Omi think Ken looked cute? Glancing back at the older boy, Omi let his eyes travel over Ken quickly. Yes, Omi really did think Ken looked cute. Heart finally won over brain and Omi gave in. "Ok. I'll get you what you want. Just don't expect me to always do it."

Ken glanced up quickly, his brain immediately catching the phrasing of the words. 'I'll get you what you want.'

The images and thoughts that that phrase conjured in Ken's mind were enough to make him blush profusely as he stammered. Shaking his head to clear it, the gladiator stood quickly and grabbed his friend. The shouts of protest from the blonde went largely unnoticed by the people around them; they had become used to the pair's antics and discovered it was best to leave the two alone. Dodging a few scurrying slaves, Ken wrapped an arm around the blonde's waist while ruffling his hair with the other hand.

"Oi! Take it outside!" a lounging fighter called out.

"Or at least to a room!" came an answering hint.

"Hey! Let them stay out here and give us a show." A few gladiators laughed loudly; Ken and Omi ignored the comments, completely engrossed in each other.

"Ahhh!! Stop it, Ken!" Omi panted between laughs.

The brunet didn't listen, only tightening his grip on the squirming slave. Taking a chance, Ken leaned down to place his head in the crook of Omi's neck, cautiously nuzzling the skin exposed. Caught up in their carefree moment, neither boy noticed the imposing figure enter the room.

The torchlight stopped flickering for a moment as Ran stepped lightly into the gladiators' area. His eyes quickly searched the rough looking crowd, only stopping when they landed on Ken.

Ken. Who was with the blond slave. Who was too close to Ken for Ran's liking.

Ken's hands danced over the smaller boy's body in play, drawing out a deep blush from him as he pressed into those hands more.

/Seduction dressed as innocence./

Ken missed the illusion that the aristocrat found in the slave.

It was a crime to see such a promising gladiator be seduced and tempted by such a thing. Ran sneered as the two continued their play; blood pounded furious and hot through his veins, coating his vision with a light red haze. There was something humiliating and degrading about being set aside for a slave.

Ran didn't notice the boy break free of the gladiator's grip; there was just Ken, alone for but a brief moment. A chance had presented itself for Ran, allowing him the time he needed to sway the gladiator.

Stepping quickly, Ran made his way through the crowd of people, focused on the young man before him. Fate, sadly, did not seem to side with the red head. Barely a yard between them, Ken took off after the blonde and caught him swiftly.

A near-squeal sounded in the room as the other boy was thrown over the brunet's shoulders. Ken twirled the boy as he laughed, causing the slave to wrap his arms around the gladiator's waist in fear of falling. Stiffly, Ran watched as Ken carried the slave down the hall. A door slam echoed a moment later.

Violet eyes narrowed dangerously. Knowing that the slave had held the gladiator's affection had been enough of a defeat; having to see such displays of... of... of lust and seduction, it was more than he was willing to bear. If he were to ever gain Ken's attention and devotion, that slave would have to be out of the way.

The smell and sights of the underground tunnels were ignored as the aristocrat glided through them. His mind was too busy calculating and planning certain matters for him to be distracted by such minor details. The crowd pressed into the ground level halls was shoved aside as Ran moved along.

Nothing hindered him as he ascended the stairs to his seat; not even once he was seated did he bother to notice his missing friend. The glass of wine produced by the slaves was promptly ignored by the red head. By the time anything was worthy of the man's attention again, he had decided one thing; the slave would be taken care of by Ran that day, personally.

The smell and heat were enough to kill a lesser person. A lesser person than a Roman, of course. The stench of blood, intestines, fire, incense, sex and filth mixed together under the cotton canopy to be drunk deeply with every breath. The Romans lived on it; they thrived on it and said it was good. The smell was what made them strong. If someone wasn't strong enough to handle the smell, he or she wasn't strong enough to handle the games; and if someone couldn't handle the games, they were not a true Roman. But, no matter how much Ran had come to love the games over the past two years, he would never be able to stomach the stench.

Willing himself to stay a moment longer, Ran quickly found himself regretting his decision when a dark-haired man stepped onto the balcony.

"Ran, how good to see you again." Crawford lowered himself with great care on to the chair beside the red head. Forcing back a sneer, Ran turned to greet the newcomer only to realize that Youji was not, and had not, in fact, been with Ran the entire day. Scowling, the aristocrat nodded stiffly to Crawford as the man continued speaking. "I hope you don't mind the intrusion."

Not feeling nearly as good-natured as he should, Ran answered with a simple, but blunt, "What do you want?"

"To see the games, of course," Crawford replied, lifting the untouched glass of wine to his lips. "That is what one usually does when coming to the arena."

"You can see just as well anywhere else. My balcony is not the only place available." Ran glanced at the other aristocrat from the corner of his eye. He did a double-take when he noticed that Crawford was not alone. Ran's thoughts concerning the new man were cut short by Crawford's voice.

"Unfortunately, I did not come here for your company, Ran. Instead, I had been hoping to find your friend with you. I am very interested in hearing his thoughts on the next match."

"Who is your companion?" Not in the mood for a discussion about match-ups, Ran diverted Crawford's attention as tactfully as possible, in the present situation.

"I wouldn't quite call him a companion," the aristocrat replied after a sip of wine. Frowning at the beverage, Crawford placed the glass back on the table gracefully. "This thing I picked up is named Schuldich."

A quick and thorough once over was given to the new red head, the man smirking and seemingly posing as Ran's eyes slid over him.

"I never knew your interests had changed." A glare was sent Ran's way as Schuldich smirked.

"He is not my lover. I don't find any interest in men, unlike some." Ran tensed at the obvious remark. "The man's purpose simply hasn't been found as of yet. Until then, he is my servant. You may think what you will, but I will never agree with the public about a great many things."

The roar of the crowd stopped Ran before he could think of an answer. The master of the games had begun giving a long-winded speech while slaves prepared the arena for the next fight. Cheers rose at some parts of the speech, hisses at others. Finally, once fresh dirt was laid out and any remains of the previous event removed, the gates creaked open.

The noise of the public was deafening as the gladiators stepped out in to the arena. Money flowed as final bets were placed or someone added more money to his or her already placed bet. Women swooned, nearly throwing themselves over the wall just to get one of the gladiators to look at them.

Neither fighter, however, seemed to notice the crowd. It only took Ran a moment to recognize the dark-haired gladiator: Ken. It took him a moment longer to recognize Ken's opponent as Farfarello. A grunt of realization worked its way from the red head's throat as he understood why Crawford had wanted to see Youji; this match would determine, once and for all, which was the better gladiator.

Ran settled back to watch Ken, signaling for a cup of wine. The gladiators prepared for the fight, going through the annoying procedures. Sipping his wine contentedly, a sudden thought struck Ran.

With Ken in the arena, his slave would be left alone. The boy would be unprotected and unwatched while Ken was away. The slave would be vulnerable and completely helpless. The wine glass slipped from Ran's hand, the liquid spilling to the floor as the glass shattered a moment later. Standing quickly, the aristocrat left in a flurry of robes, mumbling a half-apology to Crawford as he left. Unfazed, Crawford sipped his wine once more before calling for a new cup.

Casually, Schuldich slid inkily in to Ran's unoccupied chair, adjusting himself until he was comfortable. Just as casually, the red head reached over and poured himself a cup of wine, drinking the alcohol with extreme care. Metal clashed together spectacularly as the fight began. Neither man looked at the other as the game progressed. Not far into the battle, Schuldich finally spoke up.

"That man has murder on his mind. Murder and blond hair." He tossed his head back, flicking his hair behind him to smirk at the dark-haired man. Taking a few sips of wine, Crawford placed the glass aside, closing his eyes with an answering smirk on his lips.

"He will destroy his life." A quiet laugh was shared between the two as they turned their attention back to the game. It would prove to be quite an interesting fight indeed.

There were just so damn many of them. Such low, disgusting, repulsive specimens of barbarians. And they all looked alike, each and every damn one of them. Wasting no time, Ran stepped into the overcrowded room and began his search. There seemed to be blond heads everywhere; every boy seemed to look like the other, and nowhere was he able to find that particular slave. Adding to his frustration, none of them seemed willing to help him. No one seemed to care that he was around. And absolutely everyone seemed to be avoiding him. Ran observed as slaves deliberately sidestepped him or changed their path so they would stray nowhere near the aristocrat.

Losing the fragile grip he had on his temper, Ran reached out and grabbed the nearest slave. A choked scream tore from the girl's throat as Ran lifted her off the ground by her tunic.

"I'm looking for a slave." The girl gulped and nodded quickly. "He's blond, no taller than my shoulders and follows a dark-haired gladiator."

A wave of recognition crossed the girl's face as she smiled brightly. "Oh! You's must mean Omi." Her smile disappeared when Ran's eyes flashed in something akin to hatred.

"Omi. Where is he?" Keeping a tight control over her fear, the girl raised a hand to point behind the aristocrat.

"I's last saw 'im in that gladiator's room. Down thata way, on the left, I's thinkin'."

Releasing the slave-girl, Ran quickly maneuvered his way through the crowd and down the hall. The torchlight bounced off of his hair, adding a fiercer quality to his appearance; it was as if his anger had manifested itself in a red aura surrounding him.

There were quite a few rooms down the hall he had been directed, an impossible number to check. A low growl formed at the back of his throat, building as he strode down the hall. His eyes flickered from door to door as if measuring each room's chance of containing his target. No one interrupted his journey once he had entered the hall, keeping him in that much more control of his anger.

Finally deciding he had had enough, Ran twisted swiftly on his foot and reached for a door. He flung the door open and glared inside, only to be greeted with the sight of a highly surprised and slightly peeved blond slave.

Ran had found his target.

It was probably the most hideous thing Omi had ever seen related to food. But, considering the short amount of time he had given the kitchen staff and their busy schedule, he was even lucky to have received this much. It had only taken a little manipulating and a few innocent, bright smiles. The effort, he thought, would be well worth it.

As carefully as he could, so as not to create an even more disgusting treat, Omi cut the food, preparing it for Ken's return. A blush crept across his nose and cheeks as he fancied what the gladiator's reaction would be. It was the thought that counted, not the appearance of the gift, he reminded himself over and over.

Wiping at his face, Omi allowed himself a quick giggle before returning to his previous activity. His good mood was dampened, however, when he thought about Ken's return from the fight. Would he need medical attention? Would he be hurt? What if he came off in a sour mood, and didn't want to see Omi? Then, there was the question that Omi didn't even want to entertain - what if Ken /didn't/ come back?

Shaking away the dreary thoughts, Omi returned to cutting the cake (could he even call it that?) with renewed vigor. Lost in his thoughts, Omi didn't notice the door open; it was not until the sound of wood crashing into stone resounded loudly in the small room that he looked up.

Startled, the boy jumped forward, causing the knife to skewer the treat. Frowning, Omi twisted his body so he could complain to whomever interrupted him. All words left him once he recognized the red head in the doorway. Forgetting all deference, the blonde stammered, "Wh-what do... what do you want?"

The grip on the knife increased until his knuckles were white. The sound of his heartbeat drowned out all other sound in the room, save for the soft footfalls of the aristocrat.

The door swung silently shut, trapping him alone in the room with Ran.

The sun beat mercilessly through the cotton covering. Everything mixed together in a dizzy haze, making it hard to concentrate. Ken watched the madman before him, careful to keep his attention from wavering. Time seemed to drift by as the gladiators waited. They circled each other tirelessly, neither allowing room for an opening, which only dragged the agonizing battle out further. If it was intentional by Farfarello, Ken had no idea; nor did he want to know. The roar of the crowd became an annoying buzz in the back of Ken's mind.

Ken hefted his sword for a moment so it pointed at Farfarello. The other man licked his lips in a queer way that sent shivers down Ken's spine; he definitely didn't like the looks of that. Ken made the mistake of pausing for just a second in his circling, allowing the white haired gladiator the opening he needed.

A shrill yelp hung in the air as Farfarello threw himself forward. Farfarello tossed his small shield aside as he gripped his sword with both hands, aiming directly for Ken.

Ken didn't have any time to react as he watched the man descend.

The air in the room grew hot as Omi watched the aristocrat. The door swung shut with a soft thud, sounding even more intimidating than if it had been slammed shut. Swallowing thickly, Omi's eyes darted about the small room as if looking for some way out. But with Ran advancing on him, decreasing the space between them with every step, Omi felt trapped. His hands clenched more tightly to the knife he held as he fought to remain still. It was Ran's eyes that frightened the slave; the dark, masked look they held.

"What do you want?" Omi asked, forgetting the respect due to Ran's position. Ran stepped right in front of Omi, barely a foot away, instead of answering. Omi lowered his head, more out of unease than deference, while the red head's eyes passed over the smaller boy. Without warning, warm fingers wrapped around the blonde's throat. His feet dangled inches from the floor as Ran examined the boy's face.

"Why would something as low and dirty as you beat me? How could that happen?" Confused, Omi didn't know how to answer; not that he would have been able to with Ran's hand cutting off his air supply. The noise from the arena seemed distant as Omi clutched at the aristocrat's hands. Never before had he felt so alone.

Pain seared through Ken's arm as he tried to cover the wound. Gasping, Ken staggered back onto his feet while watching his opponent. In a nearly lazy manner, Farfarello rose to his feet as well, his head falling lifelessly against his chest.

The air was hot and sticky, making it hard for Ken to breathe properly. With uneven gasps, he tried to regain his breath before Farfarello made another move. Uttering a soft hiss, the brunet raised his sword in preparation for an attack.

Moments passed as the two gladiators stood off. The crowd grew restless, urging one man or the other on. After what seemed like an hour, Ken finally shifted forward, bringing his shield in front to protect himself. Taking the white-haired man's lack of movement as a sign, Ken rushed forward, keeping his sword low to the ground. Barely a foot away from his opponent, Ken lifted his sword and swung it at hip level.

At the last moment, Farfarello glanced up and grinned maniacally. His one eye glinted in the harsh light as he caught Ken's sword with one hand. Ken stared in horror; the madman's blood dripped onto the ground as Farfarello laughed shrilly.

With a soft cry, Omi landed on the table. The plate the pseudo-cake had been on dug into Omi's side as the food was mashed beneath him. He spared a fleeting thought to the loss of the food he had gotten Ken, forgetting about his own problem for a moment. Ran's nails began to dig into the blonde's neck painfully; drawing blood most likely, Omi considered. A squeak of pain escaped the slave as Ran pressed him more forcefully onto the table.

"How?! How could this happen?" Ran demanded while his fingers closed more tightly around Omi's neck. Everything began to darken as Omi fought for every breath he took.

Then, suddenly, he was able to breathe freely again. The cool air was a shock to his senses for a moment.

But, before Omi could even raise a hand to his throat, Ran picked the boy up by the tunic and flung him over the table. Omi heard a loud crack as he landed and only hoped that the noise hadn't come from him. Biting on his lip, the blonde crawled to his knees in time to see the aristocrat's feet stop before him. Swallowing thickly, Omi closed his eyes one of those feet struck out toward him.

Two dark eyes locked with one gold eye as the gladiators grappled with one another, trying to break free of their deadlock. Ken growled deeply in his throat before managing to shove Farfarello away. Pausing just long enough to get better footing, Farfarello launched himself forward, his sword held tightly by both hands. Ken steadied himself, ready for the impact. Bare seconds later, Farfarello's sword glanced off of Ken's shield while Ken threw his body against the other man's, hoping to unbalance him. Luck was with the brunet for at least that moment.

Dust rose in the air, making it a little more difficult to breathe and see. Blindly, Ken stabbed at the ground, hoping his sword would just graze his opponent. However, luck deserted Ken and he felt his sword hit hard dirt instead of the other man. Swiftly, Ken spun on his heel and blocked Farfarello's sword. Backing off slightly, Ken raised his sword and returned the attack. His teeth ground together as the sword slashed through air.

Omi's head twisted to one side from the force of Ran's punch. Hacking loudly, the blonde spat out some of the blood that had collected in his mouth. Clouded blue eyes tried to focus on the red head but didn't seem to want to cooperate. More blood was coughed up by the boy as Ran buried his knee in Omi's stomach. Staggering, Omi wheezed as he tried to steady himself against the table. His arm gave way, sliding out from beneath him, causing the blonde to fall onto the table once more. Something cold brushed against Omi's fingers; weakly, he opened one eye and forced it to focus on his hand. Beneath his fingers lay the knife he had been using earlier.

Anger ran hot through his blood. He wouldn't let this happen; not anymore. Gathering his strength, Omi willed his fingers to work and wrap around the knife's handle. The blonde was dimly aware of Ran's presence. Choking back a cry of pain, Omi twisted himself around only to see the aristocrat directly before him. One pale hand reached out, grabbing onto the slave's dirty and bloody tunic. Acting instantly, Omi lashed forward carelessly with the knife. He was only aware that he had hit the older man when the hold on his tunic was released and he fell back onto the table.

Blinking, Omi slowly shifted his gaze up at Ran to see him holding his arm, blood seeping through his fingers. The fire glinted off of Ran's eyes dangerously.

"You filthy whore," he whispered darkly.

Omi barely had time to regret his action before he felt a great pain flare up his arm. The knife dropped from his hand, and clattered on the stone floor.

The sound of metal against metal rang clearly across the arena as Ken and Farfarello repeatedly clashed their swords together. Ken's teeth were bared as he fought the white-haired man. Swords flashed in the sunlight as Ken blocked another of Farfarello's attacks, quickly returning with one of his own. Both men ignored the wounds they had received, only caring now to finish off their opponent. Neither lost nor gained any ground; they stood immobile in the sand as they continued fighting.

The crowd had grown silent, or at least they had in Ken's mind. He grunted with exertion as he forced Farfarello's blade to the side with his shield. Following the movement, Ken's sword arched through the air only to be blocked by Farfarello's. Farfarello pushed off of Ken's sword and swung once more, blocked this time by Ken's shield.

Ken staggered just enough under the blow to attract the madman's attention. In a quick movement, Farfarello shifted his weight forward and was able to knock him off balance.

Ken tried to backpedal and save himself, but he tripped over his feet and landed flat on his back. Ken's only warnings of the coming attack were the cries from the crowd and Farfarello's own shrill yelp. Instinctively, Ken dropped his sword and placed both hands on his shield. Bending his legs slightly, he was able to take most of the other man's weight easily. Once Farfarello's sword struck Ken's shield, he pushed his legs up, catching Farfarello in the gut. Using the man's momentum, Ken vaulted Farfarello over him and some distance away.

Taking advantage of the reprieve, Ken flung his shield to the side and rolled onto his knees, picking up his sword. Thus armed, he took off from his position and charged his opponent.

Omi's back hit the hall with a soft thud; his head cracked on the stone a moment later. Crying softly, he crumpled to the ground. The air was knocked out of him a moment later as Ran kicked the fallen slave in the stomach. Curling up as much as he could, Omi tried to wish the pain away. He thought his wish was granted when the red head relented for a moment. But it was only a false hope as Omi was picked up off the ground by his hair. He tasted blood once more when Ran hit his face. Refusing to cry, Omi bit his lip and waited for Ran to finish.

He only barely noticed when he hit the wall once more, landing in a broken heap on the floor. Ran strode out of sight, making him believe that he had left. An odd hissing sound a short distance away caught his attention.

Ever so carefully, the boy raised his head so that he could see what was happening. There was a brief flash as the knife that had lain on the floor caught the firelight. Ran held the object gingerly before gripping it more firmly.

With calculated steps, the aristocrat returned to the beaten slave, pulling him up once more. Omi let his eyes fall shut.

The world around him was slow to come back into focus. First, it was the sound of the crowd that Ken noticed; the next thing, the wall beside him, as well as the people above him. Then it was the smell of everything; and finally, the pain. Everything hurt. But he wouldn't let down his guard. He stood at a draw with Farfarello; Ken's own sword rested against the other man's collar while Farfarello's sword was pointed at Ken's chest. Ken's chest rose with every quick breath he took, careful not to touch the other man's sword.

It was only after all of this had settled in that Ken noticed the men standing next to him, pulling him and Farfarello apart. Confused, Ken tried to lunge at the white-haired man once more, only to find himself blocked by three guards. Both gladiators were surrounded by guards in seconds, spears pointed at the fighters lest they try to struggle.

Confused didn't begin to describe how Ken felt at that moment. He feared that something had gone wrong during the fight and now he would pay for it with his life.

Everything became a blur at that point. He knew someone had entered the arena; he knew that something had been said; he knew that something important was happening. The next thing he was certain of was a rather large wooden sword being shoved in his hands and a deafening noise from the crowd.

Only after he had been ushered back underground did he understand. He had been set free. He was no longer under the obligation to fight in the arena, to risk his life for the entertainment of others.

He needed to see Omi. Nothing else at that moment mattered more than seeing Omi. With that thought, Ken pressed through the crowd gathering around him, laughing with joy.

There was too much noise outside. Ran glanced at the door, annoyed, mentally demanding the commotion to stop. Dropping the blonde, Ran hurried to the door to listen more carefully. This wasn't the usual sound of the gladiators' quarter; something was very different, and very wrong. Quickly wiping his bloodied hands on a nearby sheet, Ran slid out of the room quietly, leaving the broken slave on the floor.

As Ran got closer and closer to the general area, the source of the noise became more apparent. Every slave and gladiator seemed to be crowding around one person. Cautiously, Ran stepped into the shadows of the hall and waited. Ever so slowly, the crowd parted, letting a very familiar brunet through.

Ran held his breath in anticipation, daring to hope that Ken would seek him out. Those hopes, however, were dashed when Ken walked past Ran without even glancing his way.

Certain that no one was nearby, the aristocrat quickly padded his way after Ken. "Wait, Ken," Ran spoke out finally.

With a jerk, Ken stopped and turned around, his eyes impatiently seeking out whom had called him. With a measured grace, Ran stepped into the light, allowing Ken to see him.

"What can I do for you?" the gladiator asked politely, shifting his feet.

"I would like..." Thinking of a request quickly, Ran's eyes ran over Ken's body, stopping on the wooden sword held by the boy. Violet eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "...to congratulate you. On winning your freedom." Ran forced the words out of his mouth as pleasantly as he could.

"Oh, this?" Ken asked rather offhandedly, lifting the sword. He eyed the aristocrat critically, curious to see the man holding his right arm gingerly. "Ahh, thanks. If you don't mind... ah, there are some things I need to do."

Without waiting for Ran's answer, Ken hurried down the hall and into his room. Ran watched impassively a moment before spinning on one foot and striding down the hall. The ghost of a smile lifted his lips as he ascended the stairs to the main hallway.

The door swung open slowly as Ken leaned against the doorway, trying to catch his breath. He slumped into the room, oblivious to his surroundings. "Omi? Omi? Ya here?"

The small fire crackled merrily at Ken's question, causing him to pause and stare at it. His brows knit together in concentration.

He was sure Omi would still be in the room. Maybe, maybe he had just gone out for a minute. But Ken had been so sure that Omi would be waiting...

Sighing, Ken made his way to the table, his eyes still focused on the floor. It was only when he placed a hand on the tabletop to steady himself that he noticed the ruined cake. Curious, Ken studied the table for a minute, trying to figure out how a smashed cake had ended up there.

"Omi? Omi, where are you?" Ken spun around frantically, some unknown fear gripping his heart. He ran back out into the corridor and called once more. "Omi?!! Where are you?"

A passing slave lingered near Ken's room for a moment, daring a glance inside. Ken reached out and grabbed the girl's arm, keeping her from walking away. "Wait! Do you know what happened to Omi?"

"Omi?" The girl blinked owlishly for a moment before a smile crossed her face. "Oh! Omi. Well, he ain't come outta that there room for a whiles now. Why?"

Ken didn't bother answering but turned back into the room.

"Omi!!"

There was a dull clatter as Ken's foot came into contact with something. Curious, he bent down and rummaged under the bed for the item. His fingers brushed over something cool and smooth. Biting his lip in concentration, Ken reached as far as he was able to and pulled the thing to him. A moment later, his fingers wrapped around the object and pulled it into the light. Ken glanced at the knife, trying to figure out what it was doing under the bed. He sat heavily upon the bed, examining the knife in the firelight. As he turned it over, he noticed something dark on its blade, and shifted closer to the fire to get a better look. The knife clattered to the ground as Ken rose quickly from the floor.

Blood. There was blood on the knife.

"Omi!!!" Ken spun on his heels, his eyes surveying the room frantically. A log split in the fire, sending a burst of light through the room. The brunet noticed a small bundle in the far corner and rushed over to it.

With shaking hands, Ken reached out and touched the bundle. A soft hiss of pain emitted from it, causing Ken to pull his hand back in fear. More carefully, Ken reached out and pushed at the bundle so that it moved.

Ken forgot to breathe the moment the bundle took the shape of Omi. There was blood everywhere, or so it seemed. Bruises were already beginning to color the boy's skin a darker shade.

"Omi!" Ken cried desperately, pulling the boy into his arms. "Omi! Look at me! Omi!"

Fingers ran gently down the blonde's face and through his hair and Ken held him more closely. "Someone! Someone help! Omi... Omi's been hurt bad!"

Everything happened so slowly after that. There were voices outside the door, Ken thought. There were also footsteps. A lot of footsteps. And then there were hands, people were taking Omi away from him, prying the boy out of Ken's arms. Then he was being pushed away. Ken fought back, pushing against the blurry shapes around him, yelling something incoherent. Finally, one woman stepped before him and firmly pushed him out of the room, closing the door on him behind her. Ken flailed for a minute in panic, not knowing what was happening.

He clutched at his hair, leaning hard against the wall. His feet slipped out from under him as he slid down the wall. Ken sat outside his room, unresponsive to anyone that came near him.

The corridor torches had stopped burning hours ago. Or maybe it had only been a few minutes. Ken hadn't moved since he had been removed from his room. He had drawn his knees to his chest and watched the door to the room anxiously. Throughout the day, slaves had been running to and from the room - some to see what was happening, and others to bring materials. A bone-setter had even been called in, much to Ken's distress. He continued to stare at the door and wait, even when his eyes began to drop from fatigue and his head started to rest against his chest.

Ken jerked awake, banging his head against the wall when the door clicked open and all the medical slaves began to leave. Groggily, Ken staggered to his feet, using the wall as a prop. Each slave nodded to him as they passed by, causing a knot to form in the gladiator's stomach. Finally, only one person was left. As cautiously as possible, Ken entered his room, keeping his eyes trained on the floor.

"He'll be fine." A soft voice broke the silence. Ken just nodded dumbly, not feeling any more reassured. "He's only suffered from some bruises and a broken arm. His head looks rather bruised, but other than that, there's nothing too wrong with him. He'll be fine."

The door slid shut leaving Ken alone with Omi. The seconds passed by tensely as Ken fidgeted around the room. Once he had finished making one sweep of the place, he slowly made his way to Omi's side. The boy was nearly covered in bandages, many of them already beginning to change color from the blood. Holding back a sigh, Ken hooked his ankle around a nearby chair and pulled it up. He slumped into the seat a moment later, letting his head fall into his hands.

"Omi," the brunet whispered softly. Carefully, he picked up one of Omi's hands, holding it between his own. "I'm sorry, Omi. I promised I'd protect you... and I didn't. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

This had happened to Omi because of Ken; it was his fault the boy had been hurt. Ken had promised to protect Omi and he didn't. He had lied.

With a smothered sob, Ken lowered his head to the mattress and cried out his frustration, anger and guilt.

The dawn light slowly drifted into the small room, startling Ken from his watch. Covering a yawn as best he could, the young man rubbed his eyes before looking back at Omi. The boy hadn't moved during the night; his hair hung limply around his face and his skin remained pale. The only thing that comforted Ken at all was the rise and fall of the slave's chest, reassuring the brunet that his friend was still alive. Gently, Ken reached out and moved the hair from Omi's face. Instead of returning to the bedside, however, Ken's hand remained by Omi's face, caressing the boy's cheek.

Suddenly, Omi's head jerked to the side as his eyes opened. Ken just stared as the boy's breathing picked up and his hands fisted in the sheets. Ken's mind was jumbled with thoughts as he tried to figure out which emotion he should feel first. The need to worry overrode any other emotion as Omi began to cry out in pain.

"Omi!" The brunet struggled to calm the blonde down without touching him. Ken was afraid that he would only hurt Omi more. "Omi!"

After a few nerve-racking moments, Omi was able to find a position that didn't cause him too much pain. Ken had refused to let go of Omi's hand the moment the boy had woken up; Omi didn't seem too eager to have his hand back, either. A strained silence settled over the two boys, making any attempt at conversation worthless.

"Omi?" Ken spoke up after a few minutes of silence.

"Hm?" was the quiet response.

Ken took a deep breath before continuing. "Omi." Brown eyes searched Omi's face for any reaction. "I'm sorry."

The rest of what Ken wanted to say didn't make it past the newly formed lump in his throat. Gods, he felt so helpless.

"It's okay." Omi's voice cut through Ken's mental berating. "It wasn't your fault. I'll be fine in a week."

Ken's anger flared at the response. "No, you're not gonna be fine. Omi!"

The slave refused to look at Ken. Ken felt a slight pressure on his hand before he noticed Omi's hand sliding out of his own. Ken held on more tightly to his friend's hand, refusing to let go. "Omi, what happened?"

Silence was Ken's answer. Gritting his teeth, Ken eased himself onto Omi's bed, careful not to upset the boy. "Omi, tell me. What happened? Who did this to you?"

Tears tracked down Omi's cheek, falling softly onto the bed. Gently, Ken rested his hand against Omi's face, wiping the tears away.

"Omi, tell me. Who hurt you?"

~~

AN: Hey, remember me? The person that can't write a series to save her life? Yeah. That's me. So...this was actually done nearly a year ago. My beta got busy, then I sorta lost interest in the fic. Don't worry; for those of you still reading, I am going to finish this...some point in the future. Right now, I'm contemplating changing a few things to hurry it along so I can concentrate on other pieces I want to work on. So...yeah...Let me know what you think. Thanks for following me this long.


~~Lady Cosmos