“Next we… we…” The boy squinted at the paper. His eyes crossed once, uncrossed, then focused again. They were large, sparkling – and had light shine of dazedness. He struggled fitfully, turning the paper upside down. “Gimme that,” Yohji snapped, taking it from his fingers. “Hey!” Omi protested weakly, grasping after it. Yohji, seated next to him at the wooden table, held it easily out of reach. The younger boy wobbled in his chair, and then sat back with a pout. “What are you drinking, anyway?” demanded Ken, with a mixture of curiosity and impatience in his voice. He was seated on the other side of the blinking youth. Omi only grinned. Yohji, grabbing the cup, sniffed it delicately. Then he proved he could identify drinks from one smell as well as legs from one glance. “Eggnog,” he pronounced, like a grim sentence. At this, Ken let out an exclamation, and even Aya, who was standing near the table, as slender and implacable as ever, let a blink of surprise show. “Eggnog!?” Ken demanded incredulously. “It’s Easter,” Aya pointed out, with a tiny frown marring his brow. “So?” Omi pouted. “Eggnog is for Christmas, Omitchi,” Yohji said with a tired cast to his voice. Omi lifted his chin indignantly. “Well, we’re decorating eggs, and it’s *egg*nog… it’s all good!” he declared. The others sighed, Aya with a slight amount of disgust. Omi prudently ignored him by turning SD. Then he turned even larger, wobbly eyes to the tall, lanky assassin with a sleepy gaze. “Are you mad at me?” Yohji could only hold a frown for a pitiful amount of time. “No,” he finally murmured, with a sigh. SD Omi let out a happy squeak and plopped down in his arms. He even made something close to a purring noise… /*Sweatdrop*/ “Well?” Ken prompted. “What *is* next?” Yohji peered at the paper. “Uh… drop the tablets into the vinegar mixture. Then just dye the eggs.” He dropped the paper dismissively and it fluttered to the floor. Omi batted at it, blinking. Ken, reaching over, took the flat, rectangular box – that was decorated on front by Pokemon, it could be noted – of egg dyeing ingredients in his hand. He upended it and the tablets tumbled out. “There,” he declared, handing half the packages to Yohji. “Aya, can you bring the eggs over?” Aya growled. “Remind me why we’re dyeing eggs again?” he muttered, grabbing the bowl of hardboiled eggs and bringing them to the table. “For the party!” Omi declared, turning in a half circle from Yohji’s arm. “Remember? *Schwartz* is coming over!” “I remember,” he replied, somewhat acidly. He looked at Omi, disgusted. “And you’re *already* drunk.” Omi’s eyes wobbled at him. “Stop that,” he muttered. Then he turned away and disappeared into the kitchen. Omi blinked after him. Ken watched him go as well, and Omi, even in his inebriated state, noted this. He looked at Ken curiously. Un-super-deforming, he asked: “What’s wrong, Ken-kun?” The soccer player jumped, a look of guilt, anger and embarrassment slightly flushing his face. “Nothing,” he replied. Omi nodded with a knowing wink. “Right. Whatever you say.” His interest was captured a few moments later, however, and he stopped plaguing Ken. He picked up the now-empty box. “PikaCHU!” he imitated. /*Big sweatdrop*/ ~~~ The doorbell rang. “They’re here!” Omi exclaimed excitedly, jumping up from his perch on the couch with Yohji. The taller assassin followed, more slowly, as the (some would say, overly-) excited boy went to the door. He yanked it open, then winced as it hit the end table standing near it. Aya’s small figurine of Obi-wan from a Macdonald’s Happy Meal threatened to fall over. /…*His idol, perhaps? Katana = light saber ^^*…/ Omi sighed with relief when it remained upright. Then he turned his attention to the door, as the other three Weiss members stopped behind him. The four Schwartz assassins stood before them. “Happy Easter!” Omi declared. “Come on in.” “Thank you, don’t mind if we do.” Silence greeted this, and some blinked. Even Schuldich, who had said this, sweatdropped at the politeness. The four filed in. “We each brought something,” Brad said, entering first. He handed them a bowl of… “French fries?” Omi asked curiously, peering at the bowl. “Why?” “Classic American food.” “*You’re* American!?” /*Sweatdrop*/ Schuldich stepped forward, handing him a case of tequila and margarita mix. Omi blinked at it. “Margaritas? On Easter?” “You had eggnog,” Aya coolly informed him. Omi glowered over his shoulder at the flame-haired assassin. “I’m hoping to liven things up,” Schuldich informed them. His eyes strayed to Yohji, and he winked suggestively. Omi, stepping back, wound his arm possessively around the lanky assassin. He stuck his tongue out at the Schwartz red head, and growled… somehow, very much like a cat. Schuldich ignored him and moved inside. Next came Farfello. “Sliced vegetables,” Ken muttered, stepping forward to take the plate of shredded veggies. “How… appropriate.” Everyone sweatdropped. Farfello said nothing. Last came little Nagi, floating in. A bowl of chocolate, foil-wrapped eggs was held in his hands. “Finally, something appropriate,” Ken commented. Farfello gave him The Evil Eye (it gives a new meaning to the statement, ne?) and Ken shrunk back. Nagi, as he floated past, gave Omi a sly glance. The Weiss boy looked slightly interested, but Yohji, this time, took hold of *him* possessively. Ken sighed as he watched everyone move toward the sitting room. “Male assassin groups and their rivalries,” he muttered. “Next on Springer.” Once in the sitting room, Aya went to get the hard boiled eggs. They were still waiting for a ready-made ham to be delivered; they had failed miserably in their first attempt to cook one, and the oven was out of commission for a bit. “Okay!” Omi said brightly, standing in front of the gathered group in the sitting room. He was steadier than earlier. Before Schwartz had arrived, and after the eggs were complete, the other three boys had determinedly set out to keep him from consuming more eggnog. “What does everyone want to do?” he asked brightly. Everyone was quiet. Everyone except Nagi, that is. “You know what I want to do, Omitchi,” the boy said suggestively. “Nagi!” Brad exclaimed, shocked. “Aren’t you too young to be saying things like that?” The boy smiled serenely. Omi couldn’t decide whether to be interested or nervous; so he decided to be completely ignorant of the statement. “Anyone else?” he asked, blinking around. “What about charades?” Schuldich supplied. “Yeah!” Omi exclaimed. Most of the others groaned. “Aww, come on,” he coaxed. “It’ll be fun!” Yohji was the first to agree. “Okay,” he finally said. “If Omitchi really wants us to.” Omi gave him puppy dog eyes. He smiled back fondly. “But only if you start,” Brad said, his glasses flashing in his strange, mysterious way. Omi thought for a moment. “I know!” he declared. Aya entered the room, putting the dyed eggs on the table. “Oh, good, Aya-kun, you’re here! We’re playing charades. I’m first.” Aya, muttering something to himself, took a seat. “Okay, ready?” Everyone waited. Omi put up one finger, then two. “One word, two syllables!” Nagi declared. Then Omi started waddled around, making the motion for wings on his back. He made his eyes squinty. Then, he made a gesture as if something came out of the top of his head. Everyone stared at him, confused. “A pegasus that’s also a unicorn?” Yohji suggested. “An airplane?” from Nagi. “Knife?” Farfello rasped. Everyone looked at him nervously. Schuldich scooted away from the Schwartz assassin with a wary look. Omi was getting frustrated. “Kupo!” he declared suddenly, triumphant. The others stared at him. “Hey!” Ken exclaimed. “You’re not supposed to *talk* during charades.” “Yeah!” Schuldich added, with a nasty smirk. “You’re disqualified.” He looked very satisfied. “But…” his face fell. “K’so,” he muttered, stepping off the floor. “Wait,” he said, looking around with wide eyes. “Don’t any of you know what I was yet?” They all waited, expectant and doubtful. “I was a moogle! You know, from Final Fantasy III? And VII?” They all wore blank looks on their faces. “You *know*, kupo and po and… forget it,” he muttered, trailing off dejectedly as they continued to watch him with vacant faces. He sat down and pouted. “Who’s next?” Yohji asked. ~~~ The game wore on. About half an hour later, they were waiting as Aya acted his word out. “It’s a movie, right?” Omi asked, after he made the motion for movie. He nodded. Holding up four fingers for four words, he launched into the first word. “Little word,” He nodded. “It, and, or, the-” He pointed at Nagi to stop. The process repeated for the third word. It was settled on ‘of’. “So it’s ‘The blank of blank’.” They waited. Aya, who looked decidedly unhappy, touched his ear. They waited. He waited. “Well?” Omi prompted. Aya touched his ear again. No one knew what to say. He heaved a sudden, exasperated sigh. “Forget it,” he snapped. He turned and left the room. “Well, he certainly wasn’t very nice about it,” Omi muttered. “Oi, Aya-kun!” he yelled. “What was it?” Aya’s voice floated from the kitchen. “The Sound of Music,” he told them flatly. They exchanged looks. “I didn’t even think he’d seen that movie,” Brad finally said. “Heh, maybe he’s got a thing for Julie Andrews,” Yohji snickered. Omi, just then noticing that Yohji had stopped playing, wandered over to the taller youth. He and Schuldich were off to the side at a small table. “What’re you doing?” he asked curiously. “Playing strip poker,” the flame-haired Schwartz member informed him. He looked interested for a moment. Then he realized who he was speaking to. “Hey!” he exclaimed. He stepped closer to Yohji. “Stay away from Yohji,” he told Schuldich with a glare. Schuldich smirked. Yohji glanced up at Omi. “Maybe we *should* stop, SchuSchu,” he said, after noting Omi’s glower at Schuldich and possessive hand on his shoulder. “I see who runs this relationship,” he muttered to himself. Yohji scowled. Then he continued. “All right, all right, we’ll stop for now. But ya’ can’t blame me for trying. It’s worked for others…” / Duo: Yeah! ^^ / Schuldich left the table with a sigh. Omi turned back around to those gathered and saw that Aya had returned. He wasn’t speaking to anyone, though. “Poor Aya,” he murmured. “Yeah,” Ken agreed, who he was now standing next to. “This really isn’t his thing.” “Aya-kun!” Omi said. “Hai?” “You’re not having fun, are you?” He shook his head. “Not particularly,” he admitted, his voice emotionless. “Well, what do you want to do?” He shrugged. Omi looked exasperated. “Wait! I know! Why didn’t I think of this earlier! You know what you need?” Everyone waited. “A companion.” Even Aya blinked. Yohji quickly cut in. “Omi-” Omi, struck with this seemingly brilliant idea, plowed on. “I think you and Ken here-” “Omi!” Yohji hissed, jumping to a stand. “-should take some cash-” Yohji jumped toward him desperately. “-go to a motel-” Yohji succeeded in tackling him before he could finish. He fell with a “mmph!” The others looked first at them, then at Ken, then at Aya. What Omi had intended to say was clear. Ken, at the moment, was an interesting shade of red. Aya was emotionless, perhaps more so than ever, and his eyes were hard. They met Ken’s. No one spoke. Ken couldn’t meet the gaze for long. / What the hell was that boy thinking!? / he thought, biting his lip. / Why’d he have to say anything? Just for me to be rejected…/ He couldn’t face the coldness and repulsion in Aya’s gaze. He turned and ran from the room. Silence followed the soccer player’s departure except for Omi’s muffled groans and curses. The others glanced at them, still in a bundle on the floor. “Get a room,” Nagi muttered. Omi finally sat up, looking dazed. “What was that for?” he finally demanded, punching his lanky lover’s shoulder. Yohji winced. “I would figure you knew,” he muttered. Omi ignored him, dragging himself to a stand. “What’s wrong, everyone?” he asked, blinking around as he detected the bad vibe in the room. “Where’s Ken-kun?” he inquired curiously. “He left.” It was Aya who responded. Omi peered at him with wide eyes. “Left? Why?” He frowned. “What’d you say, Aya?” he demanded. “He didn’t say anything,” Schuldich snickered. “Like a deer stuck in headlights. So Ken ran outta here.” “Aya!” Omi exclaimed. “That was so *mean*!” Aya looked slightly startled. “You *know* he likes you!” Aya blinked, and then uncharacteristically flushed, slightly. “No, look at him, he has no clue,” Brad commented, laughing. “Are you completely ignorant of human emotion?” Omi demanded. Everyone sweatdropped. Omi sweatdropped. “Anyway,” he continued, brushing the matter aside, “that’s doesn’t matter now. Go make up.” Aya blinked. “No,” he said. “*Yes*,” Omi insisted, putting his hands on his hips. “At least find him and go talk to him. Let him down gently.” Aya still looked indecisive, glowering. “Go!” Omi said sharply, pointing at the door. Aya, with an annoyed glance, left the room in the direction Ken had gone. ~~~ Ken stared out at the night from the small, patio-balcony. Earlier, he had noticed it’s clear, pure beauty; now, there was none of that to his eyes. “Why’d he have to look at me like that?” he whispered. “I had a spark of hope that just maybe… but no, who am I kidding,” he muttered. His eyes were watering, but he strove not to let the tears fall. He heard a door open. It would be Omi, he knew, to comfort him, and to say everything would work out. The boy’s comfort would, he supposed, be nice. But it wouldn’t make him any less lonely. “Ken.” He almost choked, turning around with a surprised look. A certain tall, flame-haired, untouchable man stood before him. He turned back around, quickly. “Aya-kun!” he exclaimed, quietly. He made his voice cheerful. “What’re you doing out here? I just needed some fresh air.” “Quit pretending,” Aya commanded, coming to stand next to him at the railing. “I’m not pretending,” Ken muttered indignantly, although they both knew it was otherwise. Aya ignored that particular comment. “Why?” he asked, abruptly, in his very Aya-ish way. Ken blinked. “What?” “Why did you run out here?” Ken shifted uncomfortably. Lie? It was all but out of the question. Now that the large-eyed boy of Weiss had squealed – although it seemed, to his chagrin, that everyone *else* had known as well, even Schwartz, save Aya – it didn’t seem he could uphold the charade any longer. “I’m sure you figured it out,” he muttered. “Didn’t Omi make it clear enough?” He cast a sideways glance at the still silent Aya. The katana-wielding assassin was staring at the sky, a slight frown on his face. “I know he did,” Ken continued, with a sigh. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, so, feeling uncomfortable, he said nothing. The night went on in peace. Then: “Gomen, Ken-kun.” The soccer player blinked at the night. “Huh?” he asked, startled. “I feel bad about making you run out here,” Aya said, shifting slightly to glance at him. Ken shrugged. “It’s all right.” “No, it’s not,” Aya continued, his voice still cool, but his eyes less hard. He studied Ken in the moonlight for a minute, his eyes deep and intent. Ken shifted uncomfortably. “Do you expect things to go on like this?” Aya asked. Ken nodded. “Sure, why not? If you don’t feel the same, I’ll survive. It’s been that way for a while, really.” Admitting it wasn’t quite so bad as he had thought it would be. Although a couple Easter margaritas had helped, but still… To his surprise, Aya turned fully to face him. Ken looked at him, startled. There was a new light in his eyes. Ken panicked. / Oh, God, what did I say to anger him? / He remembered seeing that look in Aya’s eyes right before blowing something up, or killing someone. “Now, Aya,” he began, backing up and raising his arms in a gesture of defense. He could only take one step, however, because he found himself at the corner of the railing. / Shimatta / he cursed silently. “Don’t-” He blinked and trailed off, startled, as Aya continued to step closer. / He’s going to push me off… no, he’s going to attack me… with his face?? / He had only enough time to register what *was* going to happen when Aya kissed him. He was too surprised to respond. Aya drew away, slightly. “What – what are you dong?” Ken managed, staring at those deep, plum eyes before him. The smallest of smiles touched Aya’s lips. “Having fun.” / That’s it! / Something in his mind suddenly went off. / The look in his eyes! He’s only ever seen a *job* as that important, with that intensity… and now… / He was disbelieving, and was surprised that his jaw wasn’t hanging open. / He’s turned that gaze on *me*…? / That particular rational portion of his mind started to fade. “How many margaritas have you had?” he demanded, suddenly wary. Well, sort of. Even if it would end in the morning, it would still be a nice memory… Aya didn’t answer. Ken closed his eyes waited for another kiss, breathless, but instead, he heard Aya turn away. His eyes flew open. Latching one hand firmly to Ken’s wrist, the redhead strode inside with purpose in his walk, yanking a startled Ken after. ~~~ The others looked up, surprised, when the door to the sitting room opened. Aya came plunging through. “Aya, what on earth-” Yohji began. Then Aya entered fully, and Ken was stumbling behind him. “Oh.” “Way to go, Ken!” Omi said , clapping his hands. “The playah!” Ken had an interesting look of excitement, pleasure, and embarrassment on his face. Aya was just plain… well, Aya-ish – determined and cool. “You have cash, Omi?” The taller assassin demanded. Omi nodded with a grin, and hastily tossed his wallet to Aya. Aya, hardly missing a beat, caught it. Then, without saying another word, he continued to drag Ken out the door. Ken managed a belated and distracted: “Ja ne!” to everyone before the door closed. Everyone looked around. “I’m surprised it finally happened,” Yohji commented. Brad sighed. “Damn. *I* was hoping for Aya.” / *Sweatdrop* / Everyone fell silent. Finally Omi stood up. “Well, there’s still plenty of margarita for the rest of us,” he pointed out brightly. “I’ll make a toast. Minna-san, to a happy Easter!”
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