Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction / Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Monozuki ❯ Omi and Xeranthemum ( Chapter 7 )

Monozuki - An Idle Curiosity

A Weiss Kreuz/Yami no Matsuei crossover.

 

 

Monozuki 7 - Omi and Xeranthemum

 

By Lisa

 

*************

 

 

He was flying, I swear!

 

They hadn't believed him.

 

Groaning, Omi massaged the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, digging viciously until the external pressure outweighed the internal pain. His own teammates hadn't been willing to accept what he had seen.

 

Of course, it didn't help that he didn't believe his own eyes, either.

 

That blue darkness was more than a little bloodshot from being up all night when he finally opened them to the gray, pre-dawn light. The breeze from the gaping hole that had been a third floor window greeted him, chilling the sweat that beaded his temples, making his own skin feel fever-hot in comparison. The smallest Weiss bit back a word that would have shocked his partners had he allowed it to escape, and slumped to the floor, his forehead coming to rest against the ruined window frame as his jeans-clad knees crunched on stray bits of shattered glass.

 

In his mind's eye, he saw the other boy, fair and lovely, flinging himself at the window, heard that astonishing noise as glass fragmented under the impact… didn't hear the awful thud of flesh and bone meeting concrete… His darts were shooting in a perfect, flat arc, pursuing, striking the far wall of the alley to fall in a faint, tinkling, chiming to the distant ground.

 

Omi supposed he'd better go retrieve the lethal bits of steel before some idiot committed accidental suicide by pricking himself on their poisoned points.

 

Hisoka… He said his name was `Hisoka.'

 

Hisoka. That was usually a feminine name. Yet those narrow hips and that flat chest had belonged to a boy, Omi was sure of that. It struck him, briefly, that it was funny that the intruder who had so effortlessly by-passed the Koneko's alarms was likewise stuck with a girl's name, just like Aya-kun. It also occurred to him that the closed, watchful face had belonged to someone his own age; to a high school student. So… armed with those facts - age, gender, and first name - how long would it take to search the records of every school in Tokyo?

 

Omi's forehead thumped lightly against the window frame. Days… it would take days. And that was assuming that there was much of anything to be found, assuming that the other boy even attended school in the city. And then the other blond could still be at a school like Omi's, chosen for precisely the reason that they didn't put up much information where it could be accessed by a hacker, like him.

 

Kuso.

 

Well, he'd run the search, not that he planned to hold his breath until - if - it yielded some results. Fleetingly, it crossed Omi's mind to wonder why Aya, always so pale, had literally gone the color of his sheets when the younger Hunter had described the intruder. That was… interesting.

 

Was it possible that the redhead knew him? It didn't seem likely. Yet… Aya had reacted weirdly when Hisoka's companion had been in the shop. That tall man with his rumpled, yakuza-styled clothing, had tripped every alarm in the swordsman's admittedly very paranoid body. At the time, Omi had been more concerned with the impression that the older assassin was making on what they had to assume was an innocent customer, but now the smaller blond was starting to wonder.

 

The Koneko had two security systems in place. The first was open and obvious, and exactly what a shop of that size and degree of prosperity should have. The other, wired personally by Omi himself, was silent and invisible - and far, far superior. Neither had given so much as a peep. If it hadn't been for chance, for maybe a sliver of light soaking from around his door registering on some subliminal level, he might never have known that their home had been invaded. Omi might have walked right on past the door to his little efficiency apartment and gone on down to their communal living room and been none the wiser that that strange boy had been going through his stuff.

His hand tightened convulsively on the window's sill at that thought. His personal belongings were even more meager than his memories of the past, and the young assassin had found that it bugged him to no end to think of either being tampered with. But the real question was: what had the beautiful invader been looking for?

 

He had absolutely no clue.

Omi dragged himself wearily to his feet. Thinking about it was getting him nowhere, and as the day's light increased, so did the risk of some early passer-by rummaging in the alley and finding his darts. He'd better go collect them, or he'd have a lot of explaining to do to Manx; his empty stomach clenched at the mere thought of that conversation...
Oh, hi... Manx-san, you know that nice old man, Masatori-san, who always picks up the trash in the alley? Could you send out a clean-up team? I accidentally poisoned him with some darts I left lying around...No, talking to her was definitely not high on his to-do list.

Fortunately, the four slivers of steel were pretty much where he had guessed they would be, and Omi was able to breathe a sigh of relief as he slipped them into the compartmented leather sheath that lay flat against his belly. His step was considerably lighter as he bounced back into the shared kitchen across the hall from the shop's storeroom, enough so that he actually felt like making breakfast for everyone. Homemade pancakes would be enough to even get Yohji out of bed, although the man might turn around and collapse again afterwards, depending on when he had finally gotten to sleep. Sunday was the worst day to expect the wire man to be up and moving any time before mid-afternoon, assuming he even got up at all.

The big mixing bowl wasn't where it was supposed to be. Scowling, Omi contemplated the closed cabinet doors, trying to invoke x-ray vision to see where the stupid thing had ended up this time. The playboy was going to be the one praying to Kannon for mercy if the bowl had gotten 'borrowed' for some kinky stuff again. The last time (having something to do with vodka-spike Jello and Yohji's latest conquest's panties), had even had Ken guffawing and practically rolling on the floor over the way Omi had developed a nervous twitch. He blushed at the memory.

Thankfully, he found the bowl crammed into the bottom cupboard, behind a roaster that they never used. The petit blond resolutely refused to think about how it had gotten there, settling instead for giving it an extra-thorough washing before measuring out the ingredients.

The aroma that filled the kitchen made his stomach change its tune from stressed out to ravenous, gurgling with a different kind of desperation. Omi juggled the first pancake out of the skillet between his hands, blowing on it frantically until he was able to roll it and take a huge bite. A blissful smile crossed his features.

 

“Good, isn't it?” The quiet baritone was mild and pleasant, and for the barest second, the young blond relaxed, nodding agreeably. Then reality set in and he spun about, backing across the room as his hand dipped toward the needles hidden at his waist. A broader, more muscular hand than his closed around his wrist, dragging his arm straight up to its fullest extension, and then Omi was pinned against the wall.

 

Violet eyes, a shade darker than Aya's, smiled down at him. “Demo, I wouldn't do that, if I were you.”

 

Omi's mouth opened as if he were about to protest the manhandling, but instead his slipper-clad foot lashed out, nailing the stranger in the shin, even as he turned his thin wrist sideways and popped it free of the other's grip. An incoherent scream of mingled fury and alarm tore from the boy's throat. He ducked, rolling his narrow shoulders, and shot beneath the imprisoning arm in its black trench coat.

 

He had almost made it to freedom out the kitchen door when the intruder shouted “Sou! Ka! Rei!-- ” and the boy slammed into a solid wall of air. Stunned, he staggered back, and would have fallen, except that a strong pair of arms caught him, and that kind voice murmured, “Ah, gomen, gomen…”

 

*************

 

 

Blink. Staring at the fuzzy brightness of the kitchen's ceiling light fixture was making his eyes water, so Omi let his head flop to the side and considered the anxious face that was only a few inches away. It was a very pretty face, he decided fuzzily: those astonishing purple eyes, with glossy strands of chestnut hair falling down to half conceal them; a straight nose above a wide, generous mouth that looked as if it were just made to enjoy jokes and sweets; and a surprisingly firm chin.

 

Better than pretty, it was handsome.

 

Befuddled, Omi blinked again and wondered where that thought had come from.

 

The owner of the handsome face was squatting next to the kitchen chair that Omi was sprawled rather gracelessly across, and was still wearing the yakuza-style black coat. The only explanation for his presence was that it was a hallucination. Shakily, the teenager raised his hand and poked the apparition in the forehead just as it was about to contritely say `sorry' one more time.

 

His finger encountered solid flesh and warm skin. The litany of apologies stopped.

“Um… excuse me?” the baritone voice asked cautiously.

 

“You're real.” Omi replied, feeling stupid and a bit lost.

 

“Well… yes.” the man admitted. He rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Demo… I guess this didn't work out the way I planned it. You see, `Soka-chan was worried about how you were taking seeing him, in here, so I thought I would swing by and check up on you. But the pancakes smelled so good that I couldn't resist coming in…” He paused, eyeing Omi's bewildered expression. “I guess this isn't helping, is it?”

 

Omi coughed lightly, and agreed. “No, it isn't.” But it wasn't entirely the odd man's fault; the young Hunter figured that he had to be contributing a good hunk of the confusion, himself. “ `Soka-chan'… Hisoka?” he ventured.

 

“Aa. He's my partner. And I'm Tsuzuki. And you must be Omi-kun.” The man's smile turned into a cheerful grin. He pulled another chair out from the table and dropped into it, long legs stretched carelessly out in front of him. The Hunter took in the scuffed shoes and wrinkled suit revealed by the pose, and shook his head, muttering to himself.

 

“Oh. I was starting to think my name was `Alice.' ” A delighted laugh greeted the comment.

 

Unbelievable. Omi shook his head again, harder, to try to dislodge the more surreal aspects of the conversation. This Tsuzuki, like his otherworldly partner, had somehow by-passed the building's security, and had apparently done it all because the pancakes smelled good.

 

Pancakes?

 

Oh, no. The pancakes! He had forgotten all about them. They were probably ready to go up in flames. With a startled squawk, Omi spun about in his seat and tried to wobble to his feet. The strong hands caught him again, pulling him back down.

 

“Whoa! It's okay. I turned off the stove.” Tsuzuki told him hastily. Omi's wide eyes tracked up the rumpled sleeves to the openly concerned features. The mercurial grin became aggrieved as he added, “I don't see what `Soka has against me cooking. I'm not that bad at it.” The inherent humor failed to reach the sorrow trapped in the gentle violet eyes.

 

“Who are you?” the boy whispered. “How did you get in here?”

 

“Ah…” The sheepish look was back in full force as he scratched at his neck and brushed some of the fly-away strands of hair back from his face. “It's kind of hard to explain…”

 

“Try me.” Omi snapped.

 

“Um… This all started a couple of weeks ago. We were looking into some unexplained deaths, thinking they might be related to a man we're chasing. The trail led us here, to Tokyo.” He waved his hand about vaguely, taking in both the shop and Omi's sleeping partners on the floors above. “You're out of our jurisdiction, so normally we would just have dropped an anonymous tip with the police, but… I was curious.”

 

For a brief moment, the world seemed to freeze in its orbit. Weiss had been tracked? To the Koneko? Shimatta… Their cover was blown. Omi's thoughts raced ahead. An `anonymous tip' implied that this Tsuzuki and his diminutive companion were not a part of the normal law enforcement community. Yet, the choice of words, of `jurisdiction,' implied some kind of formal organizational structure. And that was bad, because it meant that simply eliminating the tall man sitting in their kitchen would not put a stop to things. The odds were high that there existed, somewhere, a report that would reveal everything. The question was just how much `everything' did Tsuzuki and Hisoka know? He licked suddenly dry lips, asking cautiously, “Curious about what?”

 

“What could drive a young human like you, or like your friends, to kill.”

 

 

*************

 

Xeranthemum - Cheerfulness under adversity