Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ I Hate Him ❯ Don't go wasting your emotions ( Chapter 4 )

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Weiss Kruez and Koyasu Takehito and whoever else may apply . . . Certainly they don't belong to me, I'm not that clever.

Yohji woke up warm. It was that kind of warmth that meant there was a second body in the bed. However, that usual feeling of contentment that he got after a good one-night stand wasn't in effect. In fact, his throat was dry and his vision blurry. Yohji groaned. He probably hadn't scored last night if he felt like this. Usually there was that residual sense of satisfaction. Yohji usually felt like he had accomplished something after having sex. It usually meant that another person had orgasmed screaming his name. You always felt good about that. But, there wasn't that sense of happiness. Just a dry mouth and nausea.

The memories came back from last night, getting smashed, though to a lesser degree, with Aya. The headache came roaring to life now that he was aware enough to start to remember last night. Yohji recognized the conditions of a hangover. He had been the victim of them many, many times in his life. This morning was no different then any other day.

Yohji decided that it just might be time to try and wake up. Nothing better to do. Face the day and try to work through some of what Aya told him last night. Try to become accustomed to it and get that churning sensation of his stomach to stop when he thought of it. Yohji groaned and started to concentrate very hard on waking up, no matter how warm and comfy the bed was.

He opened his eyes and for a moment thought he was dying. All he could see was red, blood red. Fuck, it wasn't a hangover. That familiar warm feeling, that sense of emptiness. He was bleeding to death, which was why his vision was turning red. He couldn't remember what had happened. Had there been a fight? Maybe he had a head wound, so that was why the blood was running through his vision. Yohji shook his head a bit. He wasn't going to die here, wherever it was. Then, that red began to take a focus, the blurry streaks fading into thin, petite hairs. A strand of hair tickled the side of his nose and lips.

Yohji sneezed into Aya's hair, sending his face ricocheting off the top of Aya's head. Sometime in his sleep, he had curled up over Aya, his arm still across Aya's waist. He had burrowed his head into Aya's hair during his sleep. That vision of red had been Aya's head, those red strands blurring together in Yohji's hazy morning vision. Yohji yawned and pulled away a bit, rolling onto his back and withdrawing his arm from Aya's side. Yohji looked down at his still sleeping companion, Aya not stirring at Yohji's movements.

Aya looked dead. His face was still inflamed and reddened from crying last night, a few red tear streaks still visible on that pale skin. There was a red wrinkle on the good side of Aya's face, an imprint from the sheet fold. The big gauze bandage on his left cheek had become untaped. It was almost half off, a few strips of medical tape still clinging to Aya's skin. The split cheek looked raw and painful under the bandage, a few pussy scars drying after being exposed to the air.

During the whole night, Aya hadn't moved from his original sprawl that he had first fallen asleep in. His left ankle was still elevated on the pillows, and one arm pulled over the sheets with the bloody IV needle still in his elbow. Yohji blinked at the line, following it back to the empty blood bag. Yohji stared at it, connecting the fact that it was the last bag to the fact he could get the needle out.

Yohji sat up slowly, his head rolling and spinning before finding a balance. His hair fell forward and the back of his head itched from being tied back all night long. Irritated, Yohji pulled out the mangled ponytail, his hair falling out in a large clumped knot. Yohji raised his hand and scratched at his head, feeling a bit of relief.

Yohji smacked his lips, weakly licking the edge of his mouth to try and get some moisture to them. God, his mouth couldn't taste worse if he ate something dead off the side of the road. His head had finally stopped rolling around and the world came into focus. There was a bit of sunlight coming in from the window. By the amount of brightness, it must be early morning. Why was he awake right now? Yohji rubbed vainly at his eyes.

Yohji reached down and lazily scratched his groin before blinking. He had to piss. Ah, now it made sense. Yohji was having a hard time understanding why he would be awake so early in the day. It was just his body needed to be taken care of before he could get into a deeper sleep. Yohji wondered if he could hold it, the bed so wonderfully warm and Aya was just laying there under his arm, not saying any of those bitchy comments. It was idealistically perfect, like an honest cuddle instead of those fondles Yohji gave to someone he had just had sex with. Yohji felt very comfortable over Aya. When Aya was asleep. If Aya opened his eyes now, the whole moment would be ruined the second that mouth started to move.

Yohji decided that he did need to pee. Groaning, he moved his feet first, letting them fall out onto the cold wood floor tentatively. Freezing cold. Yohji wanted to try to hold it rather then wander out of the bed. But, a man had to be a man, and he already decided to go to the bathroom. Yohji slithered the rest of his body down the side of the bed, getting his weight under him.

Yohji staggered in his first step, then regained his balance. He took a moment to become adjusted to standing, just blinking blearily at the room. Dragging his feet so that he wouldn't lose touch with the ground, Yohji began to make a slow line for the door. The door wasn't located where it usually was, just a little more to the left then it should be. Yohji's head hit the wall first, allowing him to steady the rest of his body a moment. Yohji threw his hand up limply and it hit the doorknob. It took a moment to get a grip on it. Another to open the door.

Yohji let his hand slip from the knob and fall, dragging it along with the rest of his body. God, the world sucked today. He yawned again and picked a bit of that eye junk out of the inside of his eyelids with his fingernail. Yohji made it to the bathroom at the end of the hall by miracle alone.

Thankfully the door was open, allowing Yohji to trudge past it until his knees hit the toilet. Grunting and looking down, Yohji kind of fell forward until his head hit the wall again. He wasn't quite ready to open his eyes all the way yet. He waited for the room to stop spinning, patiently staring down into the water, looking at his shadowy reflection in the bowl.

Yohji put one hand on the wall and used the other to steady himself as he began to piss. Yohji groaned in contentment, his bladder relaxing. He took the time to air dry, just standing there as he attempted several times before finally managing to flush the toilet.

He let his hips run into the counter painfully, using it to balance his body. Yohji turned on the water, not really sure if it was going to be hot or cold. He took the soap and managed to make a few suds before it flew out of his hands and slid to the center of the sink. Shit. Yohji stared down at the soap, wondering if it would be worth it to bend a little bit forward and get the bar of soap.

His head began to fall and Yohji let it, allowing the water to pour over his hair. He didn't think he could take the greasy feeling anymore, even if it was just a rinse off. He could wash it later, when he had time to scrub his whole body clean. He cried out, realizing that the water was ice cold. He was awake now, whether he wanted to be or not. Yohji tried to jerk his head away from the freezing pain and hit his head on the faucet.

"FUCK!" His roar made the soap dish rattle. "Ow. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Owwww," Yohji cursed, rubbing furiously at his head as if to rub away the pain. The irritation of being a fucking idiot drowned out the relief of the pain fading. He dunked his head again, letting all the strands get soaked. Finally, that greasy stickiness on his scalp got washed away.

Being very careful, Yohji removed his head from under the faucet, turning the water off. His hair began to drip down his back and shoulders, causing Yohji to shudder and goose bumps to pop out. Yohji found a brush on the counter and ran it through his hair, sculpting it into some semblance of order. His whole body felt dirty and itchy. A shower could wait until someone else woke up so they could watch Aya.

Yohji got his toothbrush wet and squeezed out a healthy blob onto the bristles. He stuck it in his mouth and furiously ran it on the inside of his gums, feeling the plaque begin to flake away from his teeth. He scrubbed the back of his tongue and gargled with the toothpaste bubbles until the back of his throat burned with the peppermint. Spitting it out, Yohji cupped some water and sipped out of his hand, washing out his mouth.

Reaching out, Yohji got a hold of a hand towel. He ripped it off of the hook and dried his face before dropping it to the side of the sink. He knew Omi would give him hell for not hanging up a towel, but Yohji didn't feel like turning around right now. All that useless effort just to keep one kid happy? It was too much to ask in the morning.

As Yohji hauled himself back to his room, he remembered that last detail about the night. After Aya had passed out, Yohji had to listen to Omi and Ken go at it. All night long. Fuck, they were silent long enough between the sex that Yohji managed to finally get to sleep before another round would start up, those lusty moans penetrating his sleep better then any alarm clock ever could.

Yohji rubbed the remaining mucus out of his eyes as he walked back to his room. He wasn't nervous about Ken and Omi's new relationship. He honestly had expected it a hell of a lot sooner. Yohji always considered Ken to be honest with his emotions, but when it came to admitting to loving someone, Ken seemed to have a hard time expressing himself. It was just . . . weird.

Yohji never considered himself to be homophobic. In fact, he had wound up with a man at the end of night just as much as with a girl. It didn't really matter to him, it was just the sex he was looking for. But, Ken and Omi were really good friends. Yohji worried a bit about how it would affect them. Would it make them weird around each other or something?

His door came up on his side and Yohji had to stop fretting and concentrate on making it into the room. He looked down at the floor, the usual mess of dirty clothes and trash suddenly intimidating him. He wasn't so sure about his balance right now, and his bed looking a hell of a long way away.

Reaching down, Yohji drew a pair of jeans out from the mess. He knocked a beer bottle over in the process, pulling the pants out from under the glass and making it roll across the floor. At that noise, the lump in the bed moved under the comforter. It seemed that Aya might be rousing. Yohji pulled the loose pants up his hips, jumping to get his foot out from the bottom of the hem. He managed to get the legs of the pants over his feet and Yohji buttoned up the top before pulling the zipper. Aya probably would kill him if he knew Yohji had slept next to his honored person in only a pair of boxers.

Yohji leaned down again, getting a shirt off of the floor. He pulled it over his head, grunting when the collar got stuck around his crown. Yanking the shirt down over his head, Yohji wrestled his arms through the sleeves. His limbs were soon out of the shirt through the correct holes and Yohji smoothed the shirt down before his foot hit another bottle and sent it against the side of his dresser.

Aya whimpered. Honest to God whimpered. His brows drew together, his delicate lashes pulling together, trembling in the swelling bruises. He rolled his head on the pillows, toward Yohji's general direction, trying to find the source of the disturbance. Those eyes didn't open, Aya's mouth forming a tight line, the swelling in his bottom lip making it round out a bit in the middle.

Yohji made it over to the side of the bed and sat down somewhere between the edge of the bed and Aya's body. He remembered promising Aya to get the needle out when the bag was done. Yohji leaned over Aya, lifting up his arm by putting his hand underneath Aya's elbow.

He used his thumb to pinch into the skin below the needle. Taking the tube in his other hand, Yohji pulled it out from the skin, blood spurting a bit despite Yohji applying pressure. Aya moaned, his eyes flickering open. Well, as open as they could with the swelling. The bruising around his eyes was turning a deep purple with green and yellow edging. It was kind of amazing to see human skin turn those colors.

Aya looked down his arm, to where his elbow was starting to swell in one spot, like a tennis ball. The vein was bulging from the struggles and the needle been driven in twice. Aya looked up at Yohji in a sort of relief, but anger that Yohji had done it without asking. Yohji knew that despite him promising to remove the IV once the bag was done, Aya would still be pissy that Yohji hadn't personally consulted him.

"Aya?" Yohji asked, clearing his throat after saying that out loud, his voice still rough from cigarettes and sleep. Aya looked at Yohji and if it was possible, Yohji would say that he had gone paler. Aya's face blanched and his cheeks hollowed out. Aya made this funny swallowing noise, lifting up his good hand weakly and motioning something to Yohji.

"What, Aya?" He asked again. Aya's shoulders bucked as he tried to struggle up but couldn't lift his body up. Yohji tried to put a hand on Aya's shoulders and the man growled and pushed at Yohji, trying to move away from him. God, couldn't Aya trust him for just a second? Aya grunted and his cheeks suddenly swelled comically, Aya lifting up a shaky hand to cover his mouth.

"Fuck, don't tell me you're . . ." Yohji never got to finish. Aya pushed away from Yohji, using the movement to throw his body to the side of the bed. He flopped a bit on the bed, getting his head over the edge, unable to use his muscles like he usually would. There was a cry of pain followed by Aya's shoulders slumping forward. Then Aya was violently ill, vomiting right onto Yohji's floor.

"Oh, fuck, no, hold it in, hold it in!" Yohji begged, leaping off the bed and grabbing his wastebasket. Aya sobbed, his mouth open as he tried not to be sick again and failing, spit dripping out from his mouth in thick goblets. Aya vomited again and Yohji managed to get the trash can under Aya's mouth in midstream.

Immediately, it smelled rank and fetid. Aya's stomach acid and the booze filled up the room, stinging at Yohji's eyes. Yohji jerked his hand away from the edge of the basket as soon as it was positioned on the ground. He cursed, shaking his hands at the mess and looking for something to clean it up with. Aya's mouth gaped open and wordless squeaks came out, Aya struggling for breath.

"Omi!" Yohji roared out into the hallway. If that shit wasn't awake, he better well start to wake up. Aya managed to get out an enraged, painful bellow at Yohji, something about being a fucking idiot. Aya pressed his arms straight against his sides, writhing on the bed in pain as his elbows dug into his waist. Yohji gaped at Aya, wondering what was putting him into this intense pain, and then remembered. The ribs. Fuck, the broken ribs.

"Omi, get the hell out here, now!" Yohji screamed. The neighbors should be coming soon if the boy didn't. Yohji had to stop Aya from moving, had to stop him from throwing up so he wouldn't aggravate the broken ribs. Aya could break them further or cause them to puncture organs if he didn't stop trying to hold them still as he struggled, vomiting again as little pain tears formed at the corner of his eyes.

Yohji pressed Aya into the bed by his shoulders, trying to still his body. Aya went wild, choking and spiting as he tried to jerk away. The pain held him back, making Aya wince and stop trying to fight. Yohji knew that broken ribs hurt like a real bitch. Aya had better shut up or he was going to risk further injury. The little prick. Yohji pushed more weight on Aya, perfectly aware of that tender shoulder that had pulled out of its socket. Aya screamed at the pain, gagging and slumping over the edge of the bed, finally going a little bit still.

"Yohji-kun, what's going on?!" Omi demanded, running in from the hall. He looked a little pale in the face, his hair mused and covering his eyes. His eyes had heavy blue bruising under them and looked tired in his wan face. Omi still looked a little wobbly, despite the heavy grip he had on the side of the doorway. Omi had obviously been disturbed from the sleep he had really needed. Omi was only wearing a pair of large, oversized exercise shorts. The drawstring's bow was ridiculously long, nearly all the cord pulled out of the waistband in order to fit Omi's small waist. Recognizing the green webbing, Yohji could have sworn those shorts were Ken's.

Oh, yeah . . . Omi and Ken were together now. Yohji hadn't expected them to be wearing each other's clothes quite so soon. Besides, Omi didn't really fit Ken's athletic clothes. Aya was still trying to struggle and nearly fell out of the bed and right into that nasty puddle of vomit. Right on his floor. Yohji shuddered, loathing the thought of cleaning it up. Especially if Aya succeeded in his stupid struggle and fell into it. Yohji shoved Aya back onto the bed fiercely, making Aya stop and cry out, clawing at the bad shoulder.

"Let. Go!" Aya grated, making a choking noise. Aya jerked his head up, glaring at Yohji even as his skin turned a light translucent blue, sweat gathering on his forward. Aya's mouth ballooned out and his mouth twisted as he tried to continue glaring at Yohji. He failed and Aya's head fell down and he sagged toward the basket, spiting out the last of it.

Aya was trying to hold his body still, giving up on trying to make Yohji leave him alone and concentrating on holding his ribs motionless. He made gasps of pain, unable to stop the ribs from pressing into his lungs and the heaving muscles of his stomach.

Yohji rolled Aya to the center of the bed, getting him on his back. Aya dry heaved, choking on his own breath. Omi scrambled up the side of the bed, taking Aya's head in his hands and cradling him, supporting Aya against his body. Aya flinched away from the naked flesh, snarling at Omi before Yohji shoved him back to the boy, in no mood to deal with Aya's tantrums.

"Hold him, okay? I'm getting towels and water, make sure he doesn't choke on his own spit," Yohji ordered. Omi nodded and adjusted Aya on his shoulder, so that Aya would be upright and his throat could swallow with gravity if nothing else. Aya panted helplessly, biting his lower lip in pain.

"I'm . . . not going to choke . . . you stupid prick," Aya wheezed out, gasping and jerking with the effort of talking. Omi shushed him gently, brushing hair away from Aya's face just like a mother would. Aya glared bullets at Omi, his anger shifted toward the boy and away from Yohji for just a moment. Yohji stared, absolutely astounded that Aya would overcome such intense physical pain just to insult him. Yohji wanted to hit Aya badly. Just beat some fucking common sense into that frozen piece of shit, beat him until he understood that people cared about him.

Yohji restrained, slamming his fist into the banister of the stairway after stomping down to the end of the hall. Yohji hadn't even realized he had walked out of the bedroom. He was just too pissed off to notice. If he stayed in there any longer, the rational part of him knew that he would have likely killed Aya. So, somehow his body had managed to get itself out of the room before he unconsciously killed Aya.

Yohji stomped down the stairs, his knuckles smarting from hitting the banister. That was a fucking stupid thing to do. Yet it made Yohji a little bit happy. That little flash of pain, stabbing up through the nerves in his hands and fingers to his wrist. It made him concentrate on that pain instead of thinking about Aya. It kept him from rerunning it in his head. Aya slumped outside the door just a night ago, near death. It was Yohji's fault. There was no way to deny it. He shouldn't have yelled at Aya. He shouldn't have gotten Aya drunk. He shouldn't be a fucking idiot, yet here he was in the kitchen again, grabbing the phone from the set and stabbing in the phone number.

The phone rang once, nobody answering it. Yohji snarled at the headset, wondering why there wouldn't be a receptionist right now. Not that she could answer his call in one ring. That was asking too much for any human being. However, Aya was dying in his bed. He didn't want that to happen. So, there had better be someone answering within three rings or he was calling the hospital, despite Aya's demands.

It rang again and Yohji walked to the sink, stretching the cord across the room, right over the kitchen table, dangerously close to the flower vase on the table. Yohji stretched out his fingers, not quite able to reach the drying rack from where he stood. The tip of his pointer finger brushed up against a large bowl and he knocked it over and several other plates in the process. Yohji got a grip around the rim of the bowl and yanked it out from the other dishes, causing them to hit each other and crash loudly.

"Hello. This is general hospital directory. How . . ." Came a friendly female voice over the phone. Yohji was filling up the bowl by the time she had answered, the water rushing from the sink nearly drowning out her welcoming speech.

"Doctor Nomura, now," Yohji cut her off, turning into the set and getting a hand around the phone so he could hold it to his face. He had no time to listen her babble about what extension number he could call. She could damn well patch him through herself.

"Sir, I don't know who you think you are . . ." the voice started, already hissing and getting defensive. Yohji vaguely recognized the voice, but couldn't put a face to it. She seemed to think she was very important, even if she was only answering the phone.

"Shut up. Doctor, now. Yohji Kudoh," he enunciated, just in case this receptionist was hard of hearing. The bowl was getting full, so Yohji turned off the water and dried his hands off by rubbing them down the sides of the paper towel dispenser, letting the roll soak up all the water. Omi would kill him later for it.

"Oh, it's you again," the voice snapped, distaste oozing out of the ear set. Yohji was positive it was the same bitch from yesterday. Great. A hell bitch secretary. Yohji just loved those types. She seemed to remember him as well.

"What do you need? Don't ask for anything more until I see some results on your mission, you lazy . . ." she started. Yohji could hear the woman's nostrils flare over the phone. He shifted the weight on his feet, glaring into the headset. He wished for videophones to become

commonplace so he could glare at this woman and she could perfectly see the disgust in his face. Voices couldn't really express how much you hated someone. Yohji wanted her to get the full visual.

"Aya's not stable. Hold up your side first," Yohji snapped, ready to reach through the phone to strangle her. She huffed, snorting into the phone, as if Yohji was a stupid child.

"You idiot! Why didn't you say something earlier? Doctor!" The woman screamed to someone far away from the phone in another room, right next to the mouthpiece. Yohji clenched his mouth so hard it hurt his neck muscles and the teeth scraped together. Either she purposely meant to shriek into Yohji's ear or she really was that stupid. Both seemed like a plausible idea.

Yohji didn't bother to argue with her or take the time to tell her just what an incredible idiot she was. He just didn't have the time right now. Yohji hung up on her as she yelled some question at him. He didn't care. She could ask when she got here. God, he didn't want the doctors. He didn't want to deal with the mission still waiting for him on the coffee table in the living room. Yohji slammed the phone into the hook, watching as it fell off with the force of impact. Irritated, Yohji grabbed the phone and hung it up again, growling.

Yohji carried the bowl up the stairs, stopping at the top of them and turning to the door at the left. The linen closet was dark when Yohji opened the door, the shelves pathetically empty. Yohji grabbed the last few towels. They needed to laundry. They needed to clean all of those bloodstained towels thrown right in front of the washer, none of them really wanting to have to look at the towels again. Because they would be reminded about where most of that blood came from. Yohji clenched his hand into a fist, feeling nails dig into the skin. Water sloshed over the edge of the bowl, splattering next to Yohji's bare foot.

Ken turned the corner, running right into Yohji. Ken just bounced off and opened one eye at Yohji, yawning without covering his mouth. Right in front of Yohji's face. His hair was just as messed up as Omi's, in fact one would have to say even more so. Yohji cursed, jostled, and barely managed to catch the bowl as it started to fall out of his hands. He dropped the towels and grabbed the underside of the bowl, Ken scratching his shoulder as he watching in mild interest.

"Yohji? What the hell are you screaming about this early in the morning?" Ken yawned at the end of the sentence, rubbing at his eyes. He was still not awake enough to recognize Yohji's haste. Bastard. How good could Omi be anyway? They were both acting like the living dead. Yohji wanted to kill them both for having sex while Aya was bedridden, near the edge of death.

"Ken, you stupid fuck, get the towels. It's Aya," Yohji ordered, shoving past Ken with his one good hand. Ken sputtered and turned around, putting his hands on his hips. Even though it was the early morning, Ken still had a temper.

"What are you talking about? Don't just push people out of the way!" Ken yelled. Yohji ignored him, continuing down the hall. Ken snarled something about jackasses and grabbed the towels as violently as he could. Yohji felt Ken stomp behind him, the floorboards shuddering under each step. Yohji got closer to the door. He didn't hear those awful, painful noises that Aya had been making. In fact, it was rather quiet.

Fear surged up. Had Aya died? It was a possibility. In the time it had taken him to go downstairs, one of those ribs could have punctured a lung and Aya could have died of suffocation. Oh, God. Yohji didn't want Aya to die that way. His stomach dropped and his blood went cold. If he went in the bedroom, would Omi be cradling that lifeless body? He didn't think he could be able to stand it.

"What are you waiting for?" Ken snapped, irritated and tapping a foot behind Yohji. Yohji stared at him, tears stinging as Yohji choked them back. Ken huffed and stalked past him, to the bed where Aya and Omi were.

Omi was still holding Aya against him, though Aya wasn't moving as much as he had. Omi looked up and made a `shh' noise at them, nodding his head at Aya. Aya was passed out again. His mouth was slack and his fingers weren't curled up into little weak fists. Instead, his arms were limp at his sides and Aya was leaning into Omi's neck in his unconsciousness. Envy hit Yohji hard. The fear of Aya being dead was immediately replaced by jealousy that Omi had managed to touch Aya without a fight. That Aya was accepting the fact that Omi was holding him, and even getting comfortable. Fuck.

"Yohji-kun, come on, I need the water," Omi demanded softly, putting one hand on Aya's hair. Yohji glared at that hand. How dare Omi just touch him when Yohji wasn't even allowed to breathe near Aya. Then, Yohji felt shame at this anger. God, he was acting like a world-class prick. Aya had passed out and all he could think about was how much Yohji wished it had been on him. Aya didn't have the capability to choose who he fainted on right now. It reminded him what Aya had been through. Fuck. Raped. Yohji didn't think he was going to be able to accept it. It was this weird fact of life, floating around in the back of his head, that Yohji wished to ignore with all his might.

"No way, no way, I'm not cleaning that," Ken declared, making gagging noises at the puddle on the floor. "Jesus, that reeks. It smells like . . ." Ken trailed off, his eyes widening a bit. Ken set the stack of towels down next to Omi and stood up, turning around slowly and looking at Yohji with death in his eyes.

"Yohji, Aya got wasted last night," Ken accused, looking back at Aya's pale face. Yohji knew Ken was pissed. Beyond pissed. But, Yohji was pissed too. More at himself though. It was his fault. Yohji had gotten Aya drunk within the first hour he had finally been coherent. He shouldn't have tried to make Aya take anything into his body beyond water. He fucking stupid could he be? Aya was having a relapse. It was his fault.

"You fucking asshole. Don't you think about anyone else?" Ken snarled. Yohji stared at him, a bit confused. He felt numb with everything. Yohji wondered how in the hell this had happened. Why it had happened. Why had Aya been raped? Why had he been a fucking idiot and gotten Aya plastered? God, no answers beyond the fact that Yohji was a stupid, stupid fucking idiot.

"Gimme that," Ken snapped, grabbing the bowl from Yohji's lax hand. Ken stood there a moment longer, glaring at Yohji. Yohji wondered if he was going to hit him. It seemed like he just might, Ken clenching his fist at his side and gritting his teeth. Yohji let his hands become fists, digging his nails into the flesh. He wanted Ken to hit him. He wanted Ken to beat the fucking shit out of him. It was what he deserved. Raped. Relapse. It was his fault

Amazingly, Ken restrained his temper. It was almost like Ken had sensed that Yohji would enjoy being hit at this point. God, Yohji wanted to kill someone. Kill whatever bastard had asked Aya all those months ago for that first bit of sex. Just kill them and rip their insides out just to be sure scum like that died. Ken grunted at Yohji's face and took the bowl to Omi, the boy murmuring a thanks.

Omi wetted the edge of a towel in the bowl and gently patted the edge of Aya's face, unable to wipe the skin dry because of the raw and tender cuts. Omi rotated the towel a bit, using a new area on the fabric as the edge became dirtied with spittle. Aya roused a bit, shaking his head away from the towel. Omi held back for a bit until Aya calmed down a bit, Ken patting Aya's back like most people did when someone was hung over.

Aya groaned and made a strange, swallowing noise. Ken already had the basket up as Aya hurled again, Omi supporting the back of his neck and Ken catching one of Aya's shoulders. Yohji felt useless and responsible for all of it, unable to move, unable to help them. He couldn't do anything right now. He felt a bit cold in the room. He wondered if Aya was cold? Would Aya start to freeze? God, Aya would probably catch a cold at this point. And it would be his fault for not turning up the heat in the room.

"Yohji-kun, you got Aya-kun drunk? Right now? Look at him!" Omi criticized Yohji over the sounds of Aya sobbing for breath between the heaving and the broken ribs. Yohji didn't say anything back. Of course he was looking at Aya. Of course he was hearing every pain-filled grunt that Aya made right now.

"God, Yohji, are you fucking stupid?" Ken snarled, not looking back at Yohji as he patted Aya's back. Aya shoved at Ken, falling back against Omi. Aya breathed harshly, trying to wipe his own mouth but unable to get his hand up. Omi made some soothing noises to Aya, gently patting at Aya's chin with the towel again.

"I'm sorry, I . . ." Yohji whispered slowly. What could he say? There wasn't an excuse. He couldn't say he didn't mean to give Aya that much. Yohji was perfectly aware of how much alcohol he had been giving Aya. He couldn't say he didn't know about it. He had spent the whole night in here with Aya. He knew he had gotten Aya hammered. Yohji knew that this was his fault.

"I, what? What, Yohji?" Ken barked at him, angry and with full right. Ken grabbed one of the folded towels and threw it at Yohji. Yohji let it hit him in the chest and it slid down to the floor. Ken was suddenly standing very close to Yohji, breathing down at him. Ken had the complete right to be angry with him. It was his fault.

"I got him drunk. It's my fault. I'm sorry," Yohji shouted, right into Ken's self-righteous face. He fucking hating Ken for being right. Even more so because it was all Yohji's fault. Fuck, he hated it when he wrong and it was entirely his own stupid fault. Shit. Omi was ignoring them, gently brushing some of the hair out of Aya's eyes.

"Don't. Don't touch," Aya ordered, managing to lift one hand to bat at Omi's hand. Omi nodded and pulled his hand away from Aya. Yohji felt that same bitter jealousy rise up when Aya turned his head into the crook of Omi's neck and chest, relaxing against the boy. Aya trusted Omi. The only time Aya trusted Yohji was when he was so drunk he couldn't recognize his right hand.

"It is your stupid fault, you asshole!" Ken snarled, shoving Yohji in the chest. Ken didn't really know how to deal with situations like this beyond violence. He let Ken push him into his dresser, the corner digging into his shoulder. Ken was in a light fighting stance, clearly ready to kill Yohji for getting Aya drunk. Yohji leaned down, bending at the waist, and picked up the towel on the floor.

He stood up, taking a step toward Ken. Ken already had a fist up, clearly expecting a fight. Yohji brushed past Ken, not saying anything. It wasn't like he could say anything to make this better. As they had covered before, this was his own fault. Yohji settled down on his haunches next to the bed, right over that fetid puddle of vomit. Omi looked down at him in a bit of confusion and still with a good amount of disappointment that he had been so irresponsible.

Yohji gingerly began to soak up the puke, feeling faintly ill himself. God, it did reek of pure alcohol. Yohji had gotten Aya messed up in the best of ways. Yohji kept on swiping at the puddle, Ken kicking at the wall before sitting at the window sill, looking down at the ashtray in barely disguised hatred. Aya opened up his eyes, looking like he was vaguely embarrassed as Yohji finished cleaning up his mess.

"I'm getting trash bags," Yohji informed them, stuffing the towel into his small, ruined wastebasket. Ken spat in his general direction and Omi hushed him as Yohji's back turned. Yohji deserved every bit of it. He kind of wanted Ken to come rushing after him to kick his ass. He would welcome that right now. Just that bit of punishment to make him feel human.

There was a heavy thumping noise that Yohji became aware of as he went downstairs. There was a bit of yelling, followed by some more pounding. It might have been a knock, had it not been so violent and demanding. Someone must have been knocking for a long time. Yohji mused that they must have been waiting for more then ten seconds.

Yohji kind of got some pleasure out of the fact that the bitch and the team of doctors who didn't give a shit had been waiting. That way that bitch could just simmer on the door she thought should be opened for her immediately. She deserved to have to wait. Something about that secretary made Yohji want to throttle her mother for ever thinking of giving birth.

"Are you here?!" She screamed. Yohji considered making her wait a little bit longer as he didn't answer. Yohji got out the trash bags, holding the box in his left hand. Maybe he should have a smoke while he was down here, and just wait until she was about ready to leave. Yohji was angry, angry that he had been a fucking idiot with Aya. It would sooth out his nerves to piss someone else off.

Then again, panic rose up. It was a possibility that maybe something could seriously go wrong with Aya while Yohji laughed on the other side of the door, not letting them in. Because he was trying to make himself feel better. Yohji walked over much faster then he would have imagined, throwing open the door to the group waiting impatiently on the back stoop.

Still in the middle of knocking, Yohji had to catch the secretary's fist as she continued to pound the door that was no longer there. She almost hit him right in the face. Yohji didn't think that it was just a coincidence as she snarled and tried to continue to knock, except no longer at the door and more toward Yohji's face. Yohji held her back painfully by the wrist and shoved the arm back as violently as he could manage.

She stumbled back on the most ridiculous pair of high heels Yohji had ever seen. The two male nurses caught her easily, letting her regain her balance. The heels went down to a pencil's thinness as they held her body up past natural limitations. The woman's breasts nearly fell out of the tight red office jacket she was wearing as she struggled out of the nurses' support. A red leather miniskirt barely covered her, the stockings' hems and clips visible Yohji worried that she might snap off a heel on the stairs as she shoved at one of the nurses trying to make sure she was able to stand upright.

"What's wrong with him?" The secretary demanded, starting to shove past Yohji. The male nurses, nearly identical in the white hospital robe with their nametags on the right chest, started to gather up the large plastic first aid kits. Yohji sniffed at them. `Sho' had slightly darker brown hair then his counterpart, `Jun.' The doctor was standing slightly back, in the same white gown, but with a blue vest under it and a black tie. The team was at the ready, wanting to get past Yohji so they could paw at Aya again.

"Back off," Yohji warned, shooting out a hand across the doorway to block the secretary's path in. She gasped that Yohji would have the audacity to try and block her way.

"Really, now. Back off, yourself. You're holding me back from treating your friend," the doctor snapped, suddenly moving in between Yohji and the secretary. Yohji's hands twitched, automatically going for the watch he didn't have. He'd find something to do it with, or just use his bare hands. He didn't care how it happened. If they even closed their mouth wrong around Aya, Yohji would kill them.

Stubbornly, Yohji moved back, letting his hand drop. The secretary smiled like she had been the one who had gotten Yohji to back down and stalked past him, sniffing in a very important manner. The nurses gathered up their plastic cases and walked past Yohji, following the woman as she moved through the kitchen like she owned the place. Yohji waited for the doctor, who was still standing on the first step.

"Thank you," the doctor said with a tinge of sarcasm when Yohji finally moved out of his way. Yohji followed them up the stairs as he pulled out a bag from the box, unfolding and shaking it out. The nurses looked back at him, startled at the noise. Yohji glared at them and they kept walking up the stairs to the hallway.

"This room?" The secretary asked, pointing to Yohji's opened bedroom door. The whole line of people held up, Yohji nodding to her. She moved into the room, snapping her fingers at Omi to move away from the bed, looking down at Ken as he stood up between her and the bed. Aya was laid out in the bed, passed out again, the covers pulled up around his body.

"Excuse me?" Omi asked, looking at her in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"Obviously, we're here to treat your friend," she snapped, as if Omi was stupid. Ken growled and took a step forward before Yohji managed to catch his eye. Ken stopped moving toward her, but was obviously ready to fight her for talking to Omi in such a manner.

"Yohji?" Omi asked, checking to make sure it was all right. Yohji nodded, grabbing the wastebasket and covering the rim of it with the trash bag. The doctor smiled at Omi, looking very fatherly and trustworthy. Omi nodded and moved away from the bed. Yohji turned the wastebasket upside down, hearing the trash making a liquidly `splat' as it landed in the trash bag. Thinking again, Yohji decided to throw away the wastebasket with the rest of the trash. He would much rather buy a whole new trash can then clean this one out.

The secretary walked over to Aya's bedside as Yohji knotted the trash bag. Omi moved out of her way, smiling and opening his mouth to explain what had happened. She didn't even give him the chance to speak, instead grabbing the edge of the comforter and throwing it off of Aya's body. Ken and Omi both yelled at her as she yanked the sheets off of Aya's feet, exposing Aya to the cold of the room. Ken grabbed her arm in a manner one would never attempt with a woman, jerking her back away from the bed. She twisted out of his grip with a huff, smoothing down the ridiculously tight outfit.

"We need to examine him," she snapped. "What's that smell?" the woman questioned as she sniffed the air. The smell of vomit was still strong in the room, though it was now slightly suppressed by the trash bag.

"He's got a hangover?" the woman stated out loud, in obvious disbelief. Dr. Nomura gaped at her, looking to Ken and Omi, then at Yohji, his eyes narrowing. The doctor had found the culprit as he turned on Yohji, one hand on his hip.

"Are you serious? What idiot would get him drunk at a time like this?" the doctor questioned in true confusion. Yohji had half a mind to raise his hand. Of course, everyone in the room knew it was him. He was the only idiot stupid enough to try it.

The doctor shook his head in disgust, but didn't ask any more questions. Instead, he turned back to Aya, holding out his hand to one of the nurses. The one labeled as Sho took out a stethoscope and placed it in the doctor's outstretched hand. Nomura leaned over Aya, putting the instrument into his ears before pulling back the collar of Aya's shirt. He listened to the heartbeat for a moment, then moved it, listening to the lungs as Aya breathed weakly. The doctor shook his head at something and removed his hand. The secretary sneered at Yohji, as if she was enjoying Aya's pain. The nurses caught the look she was flashing around the room and shifted nervously, familiar with her and obviously wary.

The doctor pushed Aya's shirt up a bit and began to listen to Aya's breathing around his rib cage, shaking his head even more and checking the bandages. He sighed heavily and took the stethoscope off his ears, letting it hang around his neck. Nomura turned to Yohji, looking very serious. The secretary stood up a bit, in rapt attention as her beloved doctor began to speak.

"At this point, I would like to request you let him be institutionalized. He's going to need life support at this rate," the doctor sighed, looking to Omi and Ken. They both looked worriedly to each then to Yohji, knowing that he would make the decision.

"I'm not putting him in a hospital you people work in. You won't use him as a hostage," Yohji held his stance, putting a hand languidly on his hip. Aya wasn't going to go to some hospital where they could keep him locked up so they could use him against them. Out of the question. Aya would probably kill himself if they did it. Yohji will kill them if they did it.

"Then, you will need to be on constant watch. He's getting touchy. The ribs have been aggravated. There's danger of one puncturing the lung. At this point, he cannot be moved unless it is to a hospital," the doctor gave his medical opinion. It didn't have to do with Kritiker, WeiB, or anything. It had to do with the fact that Aya was a patient and this man was a doctor who tried to save lives.

"I'm going to give him painkiller shots. You might have to restrain him so that he doesn't move. These will keep him out long enough for use to reexamine everything and keep him out for the rest of the day. At five o'clock, give him another shot. He can't be moving around right now," the doctor advised, gesturing to one of the nurses. Jun took out a hypodermic needle and a glass bottle of painkillers. He handed them to the doctor, and he plunged the needle into the bottle, filling it with the clear, transparent liquid.

Jun moved forward and held up the arm that hadn't already been bruised by the IV. He wrapped a rubber strap around the top of the elbow, cutting off the flow of blood as the doctor tapped a few bubbles out of the needle, squirting it once experimentally. Yohji watched as Jun flexed Aya's slack arm, making the veins pop out. Aya's bones were visible, the cord of muscle looking out of place on the skinny arm. The doctor finally seemed pleased with the needle and handed it to Jun. The nurse held it at the ready as he pinched at Aya's skin, looking for a vein. Yohji took a step forward. He was hurting Aya, pulling at the skin like that.

"Every eight hours, give him a shot. I don't like to keep him unconscious, but it's the only way to keep him immobile without a fight." Doctor Nomura explained, opening up one of the cases and pulling out another bottle along with some disposable needles. Omi stepped forward, taking the medical supplies. Yohji didn't catch the rest of the instructions as Jun finally found a vein and set the needlepoint against Aya's skin.

Jun plunged the needle in and Aya jerked awake with a start, scaring the nurse opposite him. Aya clawed at the man with a vigor Yohji hadn't seen since he had first noticed Aya looking unhealthy, roaring at him. Jun grabbed at Aya's wrist, trying to keep him from knocking out the half-emptied needle, still struggling to get the rest in. Aya screamed a war cry into the nurse's startled face, panicked, tearing at the man's head and neck to push him away. The secretary cried out in shock, hurriedly backing up into the corner between Yohji's dresser and the door.

"Get it out. No drugs. Stop! You fucking pay me first, now. Shit, get it out," Aya demanded, managing to get a fistful hair. Jun cried out, dropping the needle out of Aya's skin. Aya began to yank at Jun's hair, making his head jerk as Aya audibly ripped out hair. Aya came back, a few hairs drifting down to the bed, only to grab at his head again. Jun lifted both hands up around Aya's wrists, trying to pull him off and only making Aya pull harder at his hair. Aya snarled and dropped a hand around Jun's neck, trying to choke him.

Ken moved forward first, trying to pull the nurse out of Aya's stranglehold. The other nurse, Sho, lunged between them and shoved Ken away. Ken, of course, shoved him right back. Immediately, the nurse tried to punch out Ken. Ken caught the fist in one hand and came back with a blow of his own. Soon, Sho and Ken were outright brawling, grabbing and kicking at each other.

"Stop it, Ken-kun!" Omi yelled out in the fray. The secretary cried out as Ken was shoved back onto the floor, hitting it hard. Ken was already back on his feet, rushing past Doctor Nomura who moved out of his way very quickly. Omi yelled again, trying to get Ken to stop fighting. It was useless as Ken landed a solid punch to the nurse's gut.

"Yohji-kun, do something!" Omi pleaded, turning around to him. Yohji hadn't moved from setting the trash bag down on the floor. Jun got a hand in Aya's face, pushing him back as Aya scratched at his eyes. Jun raised a fist against Aya, who had a thumb pressed into the jugular with all the strength he could summon. Yohji surged forward, right through the fighting and screaming and slugged the man as hard as he could.

The nurse crumpled to the ground. The sound of a body hitting the floor was very loud as Ken and Sho stopped fighting. Ken didn't waste any time as he lunged forward and locked Sho's arm around the man's back, holding him back by wrapping another arm around his neck. Yohji couldn't seem to get his breathing to calm down as he gulped at the air. Omi was still frozen in the center of the room, looking shocked and disgusted.

"Are you all quite happy?" Doctor Nomura snapped. Yohji had half a mind to say `yes.' He was very pleased with himself right now, his knuckles aching with the force that he had punched the nurse with. The doctor moved over to the corner where his secretary was still frozen, assuring the woman that everything was all right. Ken and the nurse broke apart, mumbling apologies to each other about the punches landed. The unconscious nurse said nothing as Yohji kicked the body away from the side of the bed in order to get closer to Aya.

Aya wasn't moving much now, the drug already taking effect. He was breathing slowly with his head down and wobbling on his neck. Yohji took Aya's shoulder in hand and the head lolled about, the eyes unevenly focusing. Aya's pupils were almost gone, the iris expanded to its fullest. Hung over and now seriously out of it. Aya looked at Yohji and squinted, making a shocked little noise when his head began to move again, his neck unable to hold it up.

"Yohji . . . What're you doin' here?" Aya slurred, slumping back. Oh, whatever they had given him was already full in effect. Yohji let Aya drop slowly back down to the bed again as he passed out, his body slack. As Aya faded out of consciousness, Jun began to rouse, moaning and holding one hand up to his face.

" . . . -o keep it refrigerated, all right?" The doctor requested. Nomura's voice gently came into focus, Yohji becoming aware that someone else was talking. He had been tucking Aya back into the bed, adjusting the pillows under Aya's body before straightening him out like a piece of meat. Omi was nodding at the doctor, looking down at the various medicines that the doctor was prescribing for Aya. There were several bottles, a few large needles that made Yohji shiver, some swabbing disinfectant and a few post-it notes as the doctor wrote down instructions as well.

Yohji pulled the sheets back up around Aya, tugging down his shirt to cover his body better, lifting up the waistline of the pants back up over Aya's protruding hips. Omi left the room, juggling all of the goods Doctor Nomura had given him to put the glass bottles in the refrigerator and to fetch shirts for him and Ken, who were still in only pants. Yohji noticed the pile of towels in the corner by the bed, a few still stained bright red. Laundry needed to be done, and soon. It seemed like such a trivial matter to worry about right now, and yet it needed to be done.

"Well," the secretary started, flipping her hair back over her shoulder and pushing away from the wall like she had never cowered there in the first place. "If his little tantrum is done, we still need to examine him. I'm glad we drugged him now, after seeing his blowup just because you touched him. Really, he is a grown man . . ."

She drawled on in the background, making Aya's struggle seem like a child's fit. Yohji felt his fists clenched. Ken glanced over at him in warning, recognizing that Yohji was getting provoked into a rage. The woman sniffed, flicking a hand dismissal when Jun finally came to and sat up, massaging his cheek.

"God, all the men in this room are so weak. It was just one little punch. Sho here took a lot more then that and he's still standing," she went on. She was talking very big, ignoring the fact she had been trembling against the wall no more then a minute ago. As if she hadn't been scared mindless at four grown men in a full fight, punching and grabbing at each other like animals fighting instinctively over their territory and alpha rights.

"Are you slow?" Yohji cried out incredulously. Her sense of superiority was all based on her fractured view of reality. Mainly filtering out anything that reflected badly on herself. Yohji couldn't believe that she was just going to ignore this and talk down to them as if she was more composed and mature.

"Yohji-kun, please!" Omi hissed from the doorway. He had already returned, dressed in a large black tank top that was most definitely not his as it sagged down Omi's chest. He handed Ken a white t-shirt with something in English across the chest. Yohji couldn't read it so he didn't really care to know what it meant. The shirt fitted Ken distinctly better, only making it more obvious that the tank top on Omi was Ken's size.

" . . . Anyway," the woman rolled her eyes, making a clicking noise at Yohji's comment. "If you could leave now? Doctor Nomura will need concentration, not more distractions."

"No way. You're not going to be fucking alone with him, you . . ." Yohji started, taking a step forward and pointing at the bitch. Omi jumped in front of him, laughing as he grabbed Yohji's hand and finger and bent them back. Yohji started cursing, already admitting to `uncle.' Omi let his digit go, still laughing and smiling as if he had just seen the sun for the first time. Yohji shook his hand at the pain, as if it would dislocate if he moved it enough.

"He meant someone familiar should be with Aya," Omi corrected with his eyes closed because of the big grin on his face. Ken shot a quick glare at the woman before pulling the shirt over his head and shaking out his hair before glaring at her again. Yohji started to open his mouth and Omi cut him off hastily.

"Ken-kun, why don't you stay with them?" Omi suggested, suddenly inspired to have good ideas. Yohji felt his mouth open slightly wider, trying to voice his opinion. Omi shot a quick, significant look to Ken.

"Sure, why not. Aya and I are familiar. Yeah, best of buddies, like near brothers," Ken drawled significantly. Yeah, right. Ken and Aya were more often then not at each other's throat, their attitudes rubbing the other's exactly the wrong way. Despite that, Ken and Aya were close, their fights having a bit of a sibling feel to it. Yohji knew Ken was just babbling to shut Yoj\hji up before he could even say a single syllable. Omi grabbed a pack of half-opened cigarettes and a lighter from the dresser.

"Yohji-kun, why don't you help me make breakfast?" Omi asked, shaking the nicotine in a distinctive tantalizing motion as he drew back in front of Yohji, using his personality to push Yohji back a step. Omi was trying to bribe Yohji like he would a dog. Fuck, if he wanted to play that way, that would be fine. Yohji grabbed the cigarettes and lit up right in the boy's face.

"Yohji-kun, that's awful! I'm gonna die!" Omi wailed, coughing madly. "What would you like, Ken-kun?"

Yohji took a drag, blowing it at the top of Omi's head. The boy had it bad. Yohji bitterly mouthed Omi's last words, the memory making his teeth hurt with the sweetness. God, they were in love. Pure, unadulterated love sparked by having sex all night long. Yohji glared at them, feeling ill. The nausea was starting to get worse.

"Oh, if you could do an omelet, that would be fantastic," Ken smiled. `Fantastic?!' That was three syllables long. It wasn't in Ken's vocabulary. Yohji stared in revulsion at Ken. The love vibes between the two could match a newly wed couple. That kind of relationship grated at Yohji, who shied away from such serious relationships. He just dug sex too much to get stuck with one partner. Yohji sucked down a good quarter of the cigarette in one sharp breath, biting the filter. This was sickening.

"All right, come along, Yohji-kun," Omi giggled, blushing in Ken's general direction. Omi grabbed Yohji's wrist and started to pull him out of the room and along the hallway. Yohji growled but allowed himself to be moved along, too tired and sick to argue. He wanted to stay up in the room just to bug those fucking doctors.

Omi finished dragging Yohji into the kitchen and let him sit at the table. Yohji threw the butt of the cigarette into a glass half-full of water. He wasn't up to smoking this morning. It just wasn't going to do anything for him. Yohji felt slightly sick and hungry, yet food was making him queasy. Omi began to throw dishes toward the sink, making them bang loudly.

"Oh, Omi, can't we be a little bit quieter this morning?" Yohji implored, using one hand to massage his head. Omi laughed and began to run the water. He walked over to the table and made a gagging noise, making an excessively sick face with his tongue sticking out as he picked up the watery ashtray.

"You take care of the dishes, all right?" Omi asked, handing Yohji the glass. Yohji glared at him, and that sick look faded away only to be replaced by this big stupid grin plastered all over his face. Omi soaked a sponge and began to wipe down the kitchen counters. This was a pet peeve of Omi. He couldn't cook unless the kitchen was clean. Yohji began to miserably wet his hands and started to scrub at the dishes and utensils in the sink.

"So, Omi, anything happen lately?" Yohji asked, for lack of conversation. Omi looked up, blowing at the bangs hanging in his face. Omi shrugged, suddenly trying to be very nonchalant but failing with that guilty but gratuitously contented smile. Yohji recognized that look. It was the look of experiencing for the first time really, really good sex.

"Wha . . . What do you mean, Yohji-kun?" Omi asked, his voice nervous, but unable to drop that big goofy smile. Omi returned to the sink and shook out the sponge. Yohji splashed him a bit, still angry that Omi had held up the cigarettes like a reward for a small child. Omi squeezed out the sponge over Yohji's hands, making him feel distinctively sick.

"I heard you two," Yohji notified Omi with a perverted smile as he put a large bowl on the rack for drying. He opened up the dishwasher and began to throw the slightly cleaned forks and knives into the utensil slots. Omi laughed, obviously beginning to sweat as he scrubbed at a now extinct stain.

"`Heard you two?' What do you mean, Yohji-kun?" Omi echoed again, at a loss for words but still trying to instinctively deny everything. Omi moved away, getting the last few crumbs on the tabletop. He was still smiling like a fox, that little pervert! Yohji huffed air out of his noise, to the nth degree curious about Omi and Ken's sex life.

"There's no mistaking those noises. You two did it," Yohji accused, leaned toward Omi as the boy came back to throw the sponge into the sink. The blush was immediate, and Omi looked away, sighing happily. Didn't even say a word against it as he raised his hands to his face, wiggling his head in remembered pleasure. Oh, Lord. They were in love, awfully. Whatever they had done last night, it was making Omi melt to the floor.

"Was it good?" Yohji leered, chortling as Omi blinked out of his love daze then flushed completely red in anger and embarrassment. His cheeks puffed out a bit indignantly and his brows went down. Yohji smiled right in the boy's face, winking and grunting in approval.

"Yohji-kun!" Omi yelped, holding his fists down against his hips. "That's none of your business!" Omi exclaimed, hiding his eyes behind his bangs. Yohji turned back to the sink innocently, looking down as if he was thinking.

"So . . . it wasn't good?" Yohji asked, in mocking confusion. He put a few plates into the dishwasher's main rack. Omi opened his mouth to respond immediately, then hesitated, thinking for a moment. The boy shook his head fiercely at Yohji, starting to get more angry then embarrassed.

"No, it was amazing!" Omi defended. Then realized what he had said and bawled out something incomprehensible, suddenly throwing open the refrigerator and banging the condiments around noisily. Yohji couldn't stop laughing. He needed it, and for some reason he couldn't hold back the laughter, even more so when Omi cursed and stomped over to Yohji, punching him hard in the arm.

"Yohji-kun, please, please, please don't tease Ken-kun, okay?" Omi begged when Yohji had finally stopped laughing hard enough to be heard. Yohji wiped at the tears in his eyes, still giggling and trying to muffle it. He just couldn't stop laughing at Omi's pathetic, miserable expression.

"You're awful," Omi moaned when Yohji didn't make any promises.

"Oh, all right, fine, fine, I won't say a word, okay?" Yohji agreed. It just felt good to tease Omi. It felt good to be normal, laughing about the roommates finally getting together.

"You better not," Omi threatened weakly, throwing the sponge into the sink. Omi pulled out a frying pan and an assortment of mixing tools. He took eggs out of the refrigerator and pulled out some cheese before setting them on the counter.

"What do you think he'd like in his omelet?" Omi asked in all honesty.

"Ken?" Yohji questioned. "You're seriously making it for him?" Yohji was dumbfounded. Omi was nice, but that nice? Shit. It made no sense. Ken had fucked Omi's brains out. That was the only answer as Omi began to hum to himself with that big grin still on his face. Omi was always cheerful and bouncy, but this happiness was boarding on ridiculous. It made Yohji feel old and seasoned in the face of Omi's new discovery about sex.

Omi grabbed some vegetables and began to chop away at them, his hum turning into a more distinctive tune as he began to softly sing the words to the song, bobbing a bit to the beat only he was hearing. Yohji poured himself a glass of orange juice after making an ice pack. Returning to the kitchen table, he fell more then sat into a chair, the wood creaking with his body. Yohji smacked the ice pack to that aching place right between his eyes and sighed with the freezing pain it brought. Better.

"Yohji-kun, would you like some toast?" Omi asked, pulling out slices from a bread bag. He was on a roll today. Omi was doing more nice deeds within the hour of waking then most people did all day. Yohji shook his head behind the ice pack, not ready to face the world. He took a sip of the orange juice, the citrus washing away some of the alcohol and smoke taste.

The sound of Omi beating eggs began to vibrate in Yohji's skull and he gave up, taking out another cigarette and smoking it. If Omi was going to allow it today, there wasn't going to be an argument with the boy. The pan sizzled when Omi threw the batter in, Omi crying out a bit when the grease sparked up and burnt his hand. Yohji took a sip of the juice, feeling the ice start to thaw around his body heat.

One omelet was finished within several minutes and Omi started another one. Yohji pulled the ice pack away from his face to watch as Omi loaded up one plate with a piece of toast and set it in front of Yohji with a satisfied nod, despite the fact Yohji had requested no food this early in the morning. Looking at the cooked eggs, yellow with the chunks of vegetables in them, Yohji felt his stomach lurch. Yohji pushed the plate away from himself, holding the ice pack over his eyes so he wouldn't have to stare at his breakfast.

Omi carefully arranged the other omelet, putting the toast delicately on the side before pushing it a little more to the center of the plate with his thumb. Omi stared at the plate for a moment before grabbing an orange from their fruit bowl. He peeled it and pulled apart the slices, placing a few artistically on the plate.

"What do you think?" Omi asked, holding up the breakfast. It looked perfect, like expensive restaurants' menu picture. Yohji felt jealousy burn, at Omi's ability to cook without burning things, at Omi being such a nice person all the time, at Omi being so giving and trustworthy that Aya felt safe enough to faint on him.

"It's flawless," Yohji growled, pressing the ice back to his face. Omi looked down at the plate, chewing on his thumbnail.

"You think it's enough for Ken-kun?" Omi fretted, looking around the kitchen as if more food would appear.

"If you want enough for Ken, you better go kill a cow," Yohji muttered bitterly.

"What?" Omi asked, still absently worrying over the breakfast and not listening to him.

"Nothing," Yohji sighed, not really desiring an argument this early in the morning. That reminded him. Yohji glanced to the clock. It was nine twenty two. What the hell was he doing up at this hour in the morning for, feeling guilty over Aya? Yohji finished off the cigarette and the orange juice between two fast gulps at both.

"Hey, is it done?" Ken asked from the stairway, leaning down the last step. The doctors were following behind, and the nurses were hauling those large containers down after the bitch secretary carefully took the last step. She probably had to concentrate or risk breaking her neck while walking in those heels.

"We've stabilized him again. I suggest you all avoid doing anything obviously stupid again to compromise him," she sniffed, tapping her foot as the doctor held open the door for Sho and Jun. Yohji glared at her, unable to even speak through his illness.

"Here's my home phone number. Please call if there are any problems," Doctor Nomura offered, tossing a business card with a number scribbled on the back onto the kitchen table. Yohji nodded to him grudgingly, still pissed off but thankful that the man was trying to help. The secretary sniffed and slammed the door behind the group.

"Gawd, she is grade A bitch meat," Ken sputtered, unable to come up with any intelligent words to cover how much he disliked that woman. Omi nodded, crossing his arms. For Omi to agree with someone calling another human being a derogatory word, it was definite that the person had as many redeeming factors as a serial killer.

"So, breakfast ready yet?" Ken asked, easily changing the subject as he put his arms behind his head and stretched. Omi gasped like he had forgotten that his mother had been at the airport for five days waiting for him. Omi suddenly lunged to the refrigerator and grabbed the orange juice that he had put back not more then five minutes ago. Ken yawned, lazily covering his mouth as Omi poured a glass of juice like someone was dying of thirst.

"Do you want to eat it at the table?" Omi asked, blushing a bit, holding the orange juice and plate in both hands, ready to follow Ken into hell just to set up the breakfast. Yohji could have gagged.

"Mm . . . sure," Ken said distractedly, looking around the kitchen. Ken scratched at his neck as Omi set everything down on the table, shoving Yohji's glass to the side.

"I'm going out for a second, okay?" Yohji said. He wasn't stupid. The morning after having sex was very important in determining how the relationship was going to go. That was why Yohji didn't usually show up in the morning. Unless there was some kind of free meal involved. And, it didn't seem like Omi was going to make him anything.

"Okay, bye-bye, Yohji-kun," Omi waved goodbye without even looking at him. Yohji felt faintly rejected. Usually Omi made a big deal about anyone leaving the house, being sure to wish them well. Omi was more then occupied at the moment with staring at Ken, his eyes all watery and shiny.

"Bye-bye, yourself," Yohji snapped, stalking out of the room. Ken didn't so much as nod him off. Just because they were in love didn't mean they could completely ignore the world. Yohji stomped into the living room, grabbing the mission folder. Might as well get some morning reading material. Fuck, maybe it was Ken that was good in bed, not Omi. The idea made Yohji wonder a little bit longer about Ken's sex life then he ever had before.

Yohji grabbed his keys off the of key rack, the various house keys he had been given by one nightstands banging loudly together. He opened the door and slammed it, hoping to jostle the two lovebirds, before walking around the shop to the garage toward his car.

Looking down at his hands, Yohji realized he had grabbed the cigarettes off the table. Ah, he loved his instincts. He had taken that lovely, beautiful pack of half-empty cigarettes out of the danger of Omi's kitchen and with him out on his morning drive without him even realizing it. Lighting up, Yohji managed to forget about Omi and Ken and just appreciate nicotine.

* * *

"Is he gone?" Omi asked quietly, like Yohji might have snuck back into the house.

"What? Yeah, he's gone, I heard his car a few minutes ago," Ken said, his mouth full of eggs and toast. Omi sniffed at him, not exactly appreciating Ken's table manners. Ken swallowed some juice, washing back the food before taking another oversized bite.

"So . . . Aya's still unconscious, right?" Omi asked, tapping a finger on his chin as he thought.

"Um . . . Yeah, unless someone gives him a good dose of morphine or something," Ken agreed suspiciously, finishing off his last bite. Ken was starting to understand that Omi might be hinting at something.

"So, nobody's going to hear anything, right?" Omi implied, leaning forward across the table so his face was right in front of Ken's.

"It's nine thirty in the morning, Omi," Ken said, not quite understanding the fact that Omi wanted to do it first thing waking up. Ken didn't really seem to be comfortable with the thought of sex being anywhere near Omi's name. He had probably thought of Omi like a little brother, at least until last night.

"So?" Omi shot back. Now that he had a taste of what Ken and he could do together, he was more then curious to explore the rest of it. Ken's hesitation made him worry that Ken might have not been such a willing partner but just . . . horny with Omi being the first thing with two legs in sight.

"It's early?" Ken questioned, looking out of the corner of his eye to the stairs.

"Don't you want to?" Omi asked, starting to wonder if he had pushed it. Maybe last night had just been a fluke. Oh, God, Ken-kun hadn't really wanted to continue. It had just been a one-time thing. Ken had just been interested in a good round of sex, not a relationship. Right? Omi began to slide back into his chair. He was so stupid. God, he was such a woman, getting all attached. Tears were forming. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just accept it? It wasn't Ken's fault. It was his own stupid fault for believing that Ken wanted to get attached as well.

A hand clamped down over Omi's forearm, pinning it to the table. Omi looked up, a bit shocked. Was Ken-kun mad? He was probably mad at Omi for thinking that they were going to be special. Omi closed his eyes tightly, trying to hold in his tears.

"I didn't say that," Ken murmured, dragging Omi across the table by the arm. Omi put a hand down, pushing back against the table before Ken could drag him into the half-empty plate. "You didn't," Omi agreed, hesitating. He wasn't sure if this was going to go in the direction he wanted. Omi shook his arm, trying to get Ken to let go. He didn't. If anything, he held him tighter.

"You wanna do it right here?" Ken asked excitedly in a mere whisper. Omi stared at him.

"It's your kitchen, so if you don't wanna get it messed up, just tell me," Ken offered the chance for Omi to say no. Omi was still staring at Ken, dumbfounded. There wasn't a bed in the kitchen. Ken stood up, letting go of Omi's arm. Omi fell onto his elbow, his hips digging into the edge of the table.

"Ken-kun, how? I mean, right here?" Omi questioned, more then a bit confused and more then a little bit uncertain. Ken walked around the table, the breakfast forgotten as he moved in close to Omi.

"Yeah, right here!" Ken was definitely turned on by the prospect as he kissed Omi hard, already past being gentle and inviting. Omi kissed him right back, no longer so nervous and shy about lovemaking as Ken moved around the table, crouching down next to Omi as he sat in the chair. Ken circled his arms under Omi's waist and pulled him up to his feet easily. Omi was tempted to gain weight just so Ken wouldn't be able to move him about like a doll. A hand dug into Omi's hip and hauled him up, the fingers stabbing into the muscles as he was forced to stand up.

"Ow, ow, Ken-kun," Omi cried out, pulling his lips away. That had started to hurt, Ken's hand grasping his skin painfully. Ken gasped, not realizing his own strength, and let go of Omi's hip as if burned. In order to make up with the loss of contact, Ken only kissed him harder, making Omi stumble back. Ken took several large, aggressive steps to follow Omi, only making him go back faster.

Omi finally was squashed in between the corner of the counter, the tile pressing hard against the sides of his back, but the tight corner of the kitchen was leaving this opening between meeting Omi's slightly wider body and the sides of the cabinets. Ken was very, very close to him, his breath making Omi's bangs flutter. Omi almost regretted starting this whole fling, Ken already breathing faster, leaning in close and pressing his lips up against the side of Omi's neck.

It tickled, almost unbearably so, but Ken's mouth was warm and moist on his neck and kind of felt nice. Omi opened his eyes, looking out the wide kitchen windows and into their small backyard, no more then five feet wide, but as long as the shop was before another building formed a wall that went up for several stories. It was like their own personal alleyway, covered with potted plants and ivy climbing up the side of the wall, glistening slightly in the morning day. The darkened second-story window that looked into their yard suddenly caught Omi's attention, making him wonder if someone were to wake up and look down at this instant.

Somehow, while Omi had been trying to spy out the window to see if they were being watched, Ken untied the drawstring to his shorts. Omi made a futile grab far too late as they dropped to the floor, bunching around his ankles. Ken grabbed Omi by the lower knees, lifting him up. Omi slammed his hands onto the counter top as Ken forced him to sit naked on the counter, pushing his own clothed body between his knees to keep his legs open. Omi pulled down Ken's overlarge tank top to cover himself, trying to lift his butt up from the tile but his skin sticking uncomfortably to the surface.

"Ken-kun, someone may be watching!" Omi hissed, as if he had spotted a burglar in the yard already. Omi tossed his head back, trying to survey the whole surrounding area of the window. He couldn't deny the fact that it could be a hell of a lot of fun to have sex in the kitchen. For the past few hours, all he could think of in the kitchen was that young woman with the doctors who had walked in on them in the middle of what could have been a great kiss. Omi would like to be able to forget that embarrassing thing and be able to remember having made love with Ken on an eating surface. Omi suddenly thanked any heavenly being he could think of for cleaning the kitchen early that morning.

"So? They can beat off looking at us," Ken suggested flippantly, kissing the top of Omi's chest. Omi glared at Ken before he covered his mouth over Omi's left nipple. Omi gasped, jerking back, making his head and shoulders bang into the covered shelves, the corner digging into the top of his back. Ken just kept on going, putting a hand on the top of Omi's hip, his thumb brushing dangerously close to the top of Omi's balls.

"Ken-kun, I'm . . . serious," Omi started, before Ken covered the skin below his belly button with his hand, making his groin suddenly fill with heat. Omi didn't really care anymore about the neighbors watching. In fact, Ken's little comment almost made him want people to walk past their windows, so that they could get away with having sex and those people would never know. They'd gone on with their lives while Ken and Omi did whatever they pleased right under their noses.

Ken wasn't saying anything at all anymore, straightening up to kiss Omi all over his face, stopping on Omi's mouth and urging him to open up his lips with his tongue. Omi did, excited and starting to get aroused, Ken's fingers starting to wander down slowly. Omi knew very well that Ken was a bad flirt, the soccer player preferring to rush ahead and get the goal instead of playing the game the full way through. Omi clamped a hand down over Ken's wrist, pushing his hand down so that he grabbed Omi's shaft more out of surprise then anything else. Omi wasn't exactly the most patient person, despite his cheerful demeanor.

Ken chuckled while he started to stroke Omi, still kissing him. Omi picked up that Ken was trying to tell him he approved of his move without wasting the precious seconds of lost contact to actually say it out loud. Omi kissed back, no longer quite so shy about using his tongue, but no where near an expert yet. Omi didn't think that Ken was an expert in the area of finesse as well, but instead considered him to have really good instincts. Ken didn't seem to make any kind of art form out of their love making, but just went about it so that it would feel good, searching out the best way and focusing on it.

Omi tightened his thighs around Ken's waist when Ken's hand hardened its grip around Omi, starting to pull at him with more strength, yet not roughly. Omi's feet dangled in the air behind Ken's back as Omi felt his erection harden into Ken's hand. He almost felt mortified that he was so strongly aroused, like Ken might look down on his endurance. Omi tried to distract Ken, kissing him roughly around the neck so that his head would hide his groin.

Ken let go of Omi for a moment, caressing the inside of Omi's thighs. Omi thought he was going to die of embarrassment when the head of his erection bobbed against Ken's lower chest, bouncing against the shirt. He had never thought of having contact with Ken like that. Omi sucked hard at the skin on Ken's neck, trying to tunnel his senses so that he could block out the feeling of the tip of his penis pushing up Ken's shirt.

"Here we go," Ken warned, letting his hands move up to the underside of Omi's balls. The tile was cold and Omi felt his butt begin to slip on the top of the surface. He was starting to slide down, trying to hold his body up by his hands flat on the counter. Ken stood up a bit, shoving his body back and up against his own, keeping Omi from sliding all the way off the edge. Omi's hands flew up, grabbing Ken's arms when he began to finally finish off the job, urging Omi into an orgasm. Omi cried out into the crook of Ken's neck, biting down hard to try and stifle the scream. Ken cursed loudly as Omi's teeth dug into shirt and skin, making a large, painful and bleeding circle in the flesh, the fabric soaking up blood.

Ken backed up a bit, pulling the stained shirt away from his body. Omi panted, no longer worried about the tank top covering him or not. He just sagged, his head still resting on the cabinets, his legs dangling over the edge of the counter. Omi, now limp and sated, just slouched on top of the tile, not really ready to summon the strength to close his legs.

Ken stripped off the shirt, unable to wear it now, and bundled it into a small, lumpy ball. Omi felt that big smile creep onto his face again as the after-sex numbness washed over him, Omi completely contented and exhausted. Ken brushed Omi down before throwing the shirt into the corner of the kitchen floor.

"Ken-kun . . . don't throw your clothes around," Omi mumbled, a little bit of irritation coming in on the edge of his awareness. Omi liked the house to be clean, and it was so much easier to do if someone would just cooperate every now and then. Then again, Omi was still sitting naked on top of the kitchen counters. He would be scrubbing this area down later. Omi was already blushing with the thought of it. The kitchen would never be looked at the same, that was for sure.

Ken grunted, not really paying attention as he dropped his pants, stepping out of them and then back to Omi, trying to tug the boy off the counter and more over his groin. Omi pushed at Ken's chest, kicking his legs a bit.

"No way! You don't have any condoms right now!" Omi refused. Ken froze up, looking very confused and thoughtful for a moment, watching Omi's eyes. Then he realized it meant Omi wasn't willing to have sex right this second.

"What?" Ken snapped, as if offended. "I don't have any STDs!"

"I don't know that! So, use a condom if you're going to do it, Ken!" Omi ordered, refusing. No matter how much it was killing him that they were both naked in the kitchen together, and he had just been jerked off by Ken, he wasn't about to risk disease. Ken kind of growled, really angry, but not really able to argue with Omi's point.

Ken backed up a bit, then opened the drawer closest to the back door, digging around in the mixed kitchen supplies of saran wrap and tinfoil. After a moment, Ken pulled out a strip of several condoms like a perverted magic trick.

"Why are those there?" Omi questioned, suddenly feeling a bit more energized. He had no idea that those had been in his kitchen. He used that drawer nearly ever day. How couldn't he notice?

"Did you notice that we live with Yohji? There's a hidden stash of condoms in every room," Ken explained, ripping one package away from the others.

"What? Where?" Omi demanded, wanting to know exactly where these items were in his house. Ken shrugged as he stuffed the condoms back into the drawer, walking back to Omi as he put the condom on, semi-hard.

"They're around. You didn't know? Man, I found half a dozen stashes just looking for my keys," Ken explained, pulling Omi toward him, making only the end of his leg bones touch the corners. Omi tried to hold himself up on his arms, reflexively using his knees to try and pull Ken closer so he could support himself.

Ken moved in, not really rushed but by no means calm, getting himself under Omi's opening. Ken gently prodded at the small, red hole, still a bit sore from last night. Ken was trying hard not to rush, but Omi could tell by the way Ken's shoulder shook and the fact that he didn't even bothering to try and stretch Omi that he was already at the limit of control.

Omi cried out when Ken finally got a bit of the ways in, pulling Omi further down, making Omi's palms stretch on the tile. Ken was holding Omi up a bit in the air, Omi's legs wrapped around his sides as Ken began to slowly, agonizingly slowly lowered Omi, at a pace to which he wasn't even barely moving.

It only made Omi more intensely of the space to be filled, this empty little hollow spot that was so warm right now, as if his whole body was moving around it. And Ken was going to take his own sweet time because he thought it was a pace Omi wanted. Omi cried out wordlessly, feeling irritation that Ken thought Omi needed a slow, gentle pace and such arousal that the corners of his eyes had white blind sparks forming in them.

Omi let his muscles in his arms go slack a bit, letting his whole weight drop onto Ken unexpectedly, making Ken nearly drop Omi, struggling to get a good grip around Omi's flanks. Ken slid in with a very dry, burning and painful sensation, the sensitive inside skin not prepared for a plastic covered organ to suddenly shove its way in. Omi think he screamed Ken's name. He wasn't so sure what it was anymore, his toes suddenly spreading out in midair, his hands curling around the end of the counter. He was barely on it anymore, only the top of his buttocks touching the edge of it.

Omi kissed Ken, unable to do anything else as Ken held onto him and pumped up, making Omi's whole body rock to his rhythm. His penis was held between them, making a strange motion like a drummer's stick against the left of Ken's belly button. One of his hands slipped off of the counter, making him grab around Ken's neck, pulling his body up. Ken fell forward a bit, making Omi rest a bit more on the counter so he could gain a bit of leverage to drive into Omi.

Ken yelled out, like he had scored a goal, shuddering inside of Omi and just panting against him, spent. Omi sagged forward into Ken's chest, just cuddling into that warmth and soft body, the muscles flexing as Ken held him close, engaging in a strong hug, nearly squeezing the air out of Omi.

"Oh, Ken-kun, I . . . There's a stash in every room?" Omi questioned, the possibilities daunting him. Ken laughed, hugging Omi tightly, then cursed and pulled back. Omi's hands dropped to his sides deadly, his whole heart and stomach tightening up painfully as Ken rubbed at his bare shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Omi asked, his voice shaking.

"You bit me! Christ, you bit me!" Ken cried out, lifting up his hand to show an impressive, swelling set of teeth marks still bleeding on the rise of his shoulder. Omi just started laughing like he never had before in his entire life, laughing as hard as he could while Ken cursed about Omi marking territory.

* * *

Yohji was sitting outside in the midmorning light, wearing his favorite pair of shades as his hair dried in the gentle city breeze. He was at an outside café, his coffee steaming hot and his cigarette smoke mixing. The ashtray was already filled and a crumpled back was on the farthest edge of the circular table. Yohji had his last cigarette in hand, the stick still shaking between his fingers as Yohji stared at the file in front of him.

Yohji had gotten coffee at his favorite little morning after lounge bar and had gone into the outside setting, choosing the table furthest from people and closest to the high wall of the other buildings. Everything was still hazy and cars flashed by, the sun reflecting off the windows as they darted past the entrance to the café, people walking stiffly by, some glancing in occasionally.

Yohji was sprawled in his seat, shell-shocked into just sagging back in his chair with his legs spread out under the table. His hands still weren't steady. Fuck. Yohji took the last drag, rubbing out the cigarette in the tray as he blew out the smoke nervously. He glanced down at the picture again, still hoping it would change.

The file was opened, the nicely stapled together overview of the rich bastard he was supposed to kill open on the table, pictures spread out. It was typical scum, nothing new about this guy, nothing that made him a real threat. Some businessman had turned into illegal pimping on the side, kidnapping people and forcing them to work for one year due to legal contract that would hold up in the bribed court. The prostitutes were allowed to leave once the contract expired if they lived through one last night without a hospital. Apparently no one had yet. There were pictures of the victims, men and women, covered in blood, just beaten to death. Their faces and bodies were swelling and bloody messes, barely even recognizable as people. They had been solidly hit until the body had finally given out, their features a mess, some still having . . . devices sticking out of their bodies from between the legs.

Yohji didn't really care to look at the horrid, angled shots of bodies on the floor. Yohji had turned the worst of them over, so that the white label back of the picture faced up. The picture Yohji was staring at was of his target, this aspiring businessman, soon to be politician. The man was huge, just in a muscle, large man way, the nice sharkskin suit only making him look more suspicious and dangerous. The black hair was combed and slicked back, making a bouncy wave as it was styled back perfectly. The man was laughing in the picture, his arm easily around his date's shoulders as a man half cutoff by the camera talked to the target.

At first, Yohji had understood why the man was laughing. The woman next to him was a fucking knock out. She had unbelievably straight, perfect black hair, stylized sharply around her white shoulders. Her skin was so white next to the black of the hair and the black of the dress that it had a hazy glow in the picture. Her lips were blood red, almost like an open wound in the middle of her face, with a shock of red around her heavy black lashes. The dress had a high, stiff black collar that had a huge circular zipper hanging from the throat. It was this black, plastic material that stretched painfully over her body, a cord of red as the trim. She had small, light breasts that looked like they were being pressed agonizingly close together in that small dress. Her eyes were half-lidded, this look of not wanting to be noticed written all across her body, the way her hand rested lightly on the table, the red nails matching the lipstick.

But, for all the world, Yohji recognized those eyes. Violet, incredible bright eyes, even though they looked glazed over and distant. In the left corner of the picture, Aya was being pulled close to the target, obviously very comfortable with him. Yohji had been staring at it for well over half an hour, pulling it in close to his face, looking for the little details that would tell him that it wasn't Aya.

There were none. Upon looking closer, Yohji could tell that the black hair was a wig, the bangs sculpted carefully as to hide the natural red. The dress that was ridiculously tight hollowed out just a bit, almost invisibly unless Yohji was looking at it right above the breastbone, showing that the breasts were fakes, the chest not filling out like a woman's. The target's arm hanging over Aya's shoulders had hidden their width from view, though Aya was skinny enough that it probably didn't matter if his shoulders were showing. He had lost the upper body muscle that would tell him apart from a woman.

Yohji threw the picture away from him, back in the folder so Aya's bored expression would stop staring at him. It scared him. Kritiker had known. All this time, they had known. Yohji's hands tightened, his fingers wrapping around each other as he fisted them together on top of the table.

Someone was going to die.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That's right kids, practice protection! There are a lot of fan fics that don't cover this very serious side to sex! AIDS sucks (I'm not belittling anyone, okay, it's a very serious disease), so be careful, a'ight? Oh, Omi biting Ken was dedicated to my sister, who bit her best friend in the arm while they were out bar-hopping, it left the most wicked cool mark. Names? I really couldn't think of names, so one is my Japanese professor, and the nurses are Sho and Jun from Arashi. Yeah, I didn't abandon this like I thought I would (just like an intermission, seriously), but instead I went off and wrote this lil one-shot . . . that has possibility for plot if I wanted, but I think I need to finish this first. Or I'll blow a nut or something . . . Thanks to Lacie Divine, for once again proofreading a story without wearing a top and for my reviewers, ESPECIALLY Hioebis for noticing my bad summary error! You kick ass like Jet Li!