A Heart too Young

/// Outside a storm was raging. Omi was seated comfortably on a large,
puffy cloud when he was disturbed by a large, passion-pink… monkey?

“What’s that?” he muttered. He blinked at it, his eyes un-focusing for a
scant moment, then refocusing once more. “You want me to follow you?” he
mumbled, disoriented. The monkey nodded vigorously, then turned away. It
cast a glance over it’s furry, pink shoulder.

Omi, stumbling to a stand, followed curiously, grasping for things to
maintain his balance on his precarious way. “Where’re we going?” he
asked blearily, staggering along. The hall wavered around him. The
monkey didn’t respond, but led him to a door he didn’t remember ever
seeing. The primate disappeared within. Curiously, Omi stepped after,
crossing the threshold into… a beautiful world, white like the salt on a
soft pretzel and glittering like crystal.

“Wow…” Omi whispered. Stepping forward, he saw the monkey gesturing to a
pool of some sort, glittering beautifully. He stepped closer. Blinking
large eyes, he peered down into it, and was graced with the sight of his
own face peering back.

He moved closer, entranced…///

~~~

Omi panicked, finding himself suddenly fighting to breathe. There seemed
to be a cold substance in the way of his breath, like water. He fought
to escape, but couldn’t seem to move…

His head was suddenly jerked up out of the water. He gasped, staring
around without comprehension as water streamed into his eyes. His vision
finally chose to register what he saw after a few moments had passed.
White floor tiles greeted him from his feet, and a mirror hung slightly
above his head. His hands clutched the counter top, white marble,
loosely. His bangs, plastered against his forehead, dripped steadily.

In the reflection of the mirror he suddenly noticed the figure behind
him with a bright, red head. Aya’s face was expressionless. “What the
hell were you doing?” the older boy demanded.

Omi, opening his mouth, abruptly coughed, harshly. Then he replied:
“What do you mean?” His voice was quiet, slightly hoarse, and he was
still disoriented.

Aya, who had a hand wrapped in his blonde hair, abruptly let go. “We
returned to find you completely drunk,” he informed the boy coolly.

/Drunk…/ Memories flooded back. He had just wanted a little. But a
little turned into a lot… he was trying to forget. He did not want to
think about it, not now. Which was not extremely difficult, considering
the fact that his head was pounding; he couldn’t think of much anything
clearly. /God, how embarrassing, and for Aya to have to dunk my head in
the sink…/

“Gomen,” he said, softly. He reached up and pushed his hair off of his
face, ringing some of it out. “I’m really sorry,” he said again. “I…” He
found he couldn’t continue. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to
voice his thoughts. /Trying to forget…/

Glancing at Aya with large eyes, he saw the older youth’s gaze soften
the tiniest bit, just enough so that it barely registered. “It’s okay,”
he finally responded. His voice was still cold as ice. Then, without
another word, he turned and left the room.

Omi stared into the mirror for a long time. /At first I thought it was
Ouka, but… but it *wasn’t* her/ he thought disconsolately. /You’re
trying to forget what else you’re feeling… God, *I* don’t understand.
How could *he*? Yeah, and as if I’d tell him anyway/ he thought, his
mind-voice colored darkly with sarcasm.

He tried to force all thought away. Grabbing a towel, he dried his hair
some more. Then, sighing, walked back into the hall.

It seemed the others were asleep. The three of them had been out late,
prelims for a mission. Omi had opted to stay home and learn what he
could with his faithful technology. But he had obviously *not* done what
he planned. And the others were probably all dead tired, so they dropped
right into bed. Leaving him alone with his thoughts yet some more.

Omi wandered back to the kitchen, deciding he couldn’t sleep just yet.
He was rather awake, after having his head dunked in the chilling water
and all. He saw a light left on in the kitchen, and entered curiously.
He blinked, and exclaimed quietly: “Aya-kun!”

Aya was cleaning up. There wasn’t much left to clean; Omi had,
apparently, left his almost empty, instant dinner box on the table, and
there were the cast off, empty bottles of alcohol. He blushed when he
saw that it was Aya cleaning up *his* mess.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said quickly, rushing forward. “I’ll
clean up. You’re probably tired.” He took the empty dinner box from the
taller boys slender fingers.

“You’re probably still disoriented,” came the uninflected, cool return.

It was true; and, he had that pounding headache to boot. But he couldn’t
let Aya clean up his stuff…! He blushed furiously. It was embarrassing…
first being discovered completely drunk, and then watching Aya take care
of what he left behind. He refused to just go to bed.

“But it’s my fault,” he protested. “And you were out working. You should
go to sleep.”

Aya studied him for a long time. Omi could only meet his gaze for so
long, because, even in his still-hazy state, a rush of feelings swarmed
over him. He busied himself by wiping the table down, dropping his
possibly revealing gaze.

“Really,” he insisted, not wanting the older youth to scrutinize him any
longer.

He heard Aya shift, and then, to his relief, say: “Fine.”

Omi continued cleaning the table surface as Aya’s footsteps moved to the
door.

But then they paused. “Omi.”

Omi blinked. Aya’s tone betrayed nothing, but was habitually solemn.

“Hai?” he asked, maybe a bit too brightly.

“Why?”

He blinked. “Nani?” he finally queried.

“Why the alcohol?” came the quiet inquisition.

He flushed slightly. /I don’t even know…/ but he didn’t say it, even if
it was what he *wanted* to say. /I better say something quick, though/
he thought.

“I… well… it was Ouka,” he finally lied. He didn’t like mentioning her,
and he didn’t like lying. But in this case, he didn’t have anything else
to say. He fell silent after that simple statement, hoping Aya would
think he didn’t want to talk about it.

The other youth sort of took the hint. But he said, abruptly: “If there
is something you’re not telling us, you shouldn’t deal with it like
that.” Omi blinked, the rag in his hand that he was using to wash the
table top falling still.

/Was that just a really good guess?/ he wondered. /Or is our aloof, cold
Aya more perceptive than we all thought? Or at least more than *I*
thought?/

He didn’t answer. He simply couldn’t. Aya, standing still a moment
longer, finally murmured a quiet “goodnight” and left the kitchen. Omi
was made to finish cleaning up alone, struggling with his thoughts.

~~~

He was standing outside on a patio-balcony. The stars gazed at him
brightly; he didn’t share their joy. He was upset, even angry. /I don’t
want this!/ he thought desperately. It had been a week since he got
drunk.

/Anything but this! It’s not natural, and it’ll be hopeless anyway./
“Damn him,” he muttered, glaring at the stars. “And… and damn me, too.”

He wanted anything other than to fall in love. Over the past week it had
been clear what had happened. He thought it had been love with Ouka,
but… it had only been the love of a brother. He hadn’t realized it then,
but somehow, within him, *something* had known to love her *only* as a
sister.

“But with him, it’s different,” he mumbled. /Aya… God, Aya, I love Aya!
How can this be? Shouldn’t I be too young for love anyway? And it’s not
like he would feel the same./

He didn’t know what to do. But already, in so short of time, it was
becoming amazingly unbearable. He could no longer deny it, and was
therefore accepting it, with slow, agonizing steps that left him without
energy. Everything about the older boy attracted Omi to him.  Something
about his aloofness, the secret caring that Omi had barely glimpsed,
very few times, the quiet solemnity that intrigued the boy… /it’s
everything./

“I’m hopeless,” he murmured to himself, dejected. “So what do I do now?
Mention it?” He almost laughed, scorning himself. “I’d make a fool of
myself.”

He sighed, folding his arms on the railing of the balcony and leaning
his head on them, gazing at the sky and not really registering it. “And
I don’t want anyone else to know anyway. I’m sure we’d both be better
off if he never knew.”

Despite his words, thinking about the older youth, daydreaming about
telling him his feelings and learning that Aya shared them, made his
cheeks flush.

/I’m so confused!/ he thought. /I mean, he’s a guy…! But this… God, just
thinking about him makes me giddy. What can I do now?/

~~~

“Yohji-kun?” Omi wandered over to the tall, sleepy-looking assassin. The
latter was leaning against the counter of the flower-shop. It was near
closing time.

Yohji glanced at him lazily, arching one eyebrow in question.

Omi shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “Um… what do you
do when you like someone, but you know they don’t feel the same?” he
finally asked, the words tumbling out.

Yohji blinked at him, and Omi felt a slight blush warm his cheeks.

The taller boy laughed abruptly. “Why, Omi, you’ve discovered girls and
puberty,” he commented with a grin. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

Omi scowled, looking at his feet. “Cut it out,” he muttered.

Yohji only laughed.

“Seriously,” Omi pressed, looking back up with wide eyes. “What do you
do?”

Yohji’s amusement faded slightly, as he saw that Omi really *was*
curious.

“Well…” he thought for a minute. Then he shrugged. “Truthfully, Omi-kun,
I don’t *have* that problem. I’ve never been turned down.”

/He’s obviously not going to be any help./ Omi rolled his eyes. “Sure,
whatever,” he replied. Yohji batted his eyes with a grin, and Omi,
giving a half-hearted smile back, wandered away.

It been almost two weeks since his embarrassing episode. He had finally
come to accept it. Now he just didn’t know what to *do* about it.

The others hadn’t noticed anything was wrong. He tried to remain as
bright and happy as usual, on the surface, but inside he seethed with
twisting emotions, conflicting feelings. He certainly didn’t feel as
happy as he appeared…. it was all a mask.

“It hurts,” he whispered to himself. “Love isn’t *supposed* to hurt, is
it? But I guess, if it’s one-sided, it’ll *always* be painful.”

But he consoled himself with the thought that the others hadn’t noticed;
he certainly didn’t want to ruin things for any of them.

As he made his way to his chamber, he heard Yohji shout for Ken, yelling
at him to come clean up. It was their turn. Omi wondered where Aya was.

Reaching his room, he found, to his surprise, that his door was ajar.
Curious, he nudged it open and stepped over the threshold. Off to the
side, with arms crossed and back to the wall, was a tall, slender
figure, with red, silky hair capping emotionless, ivory features. His
beauty was painful to Omi’s eyes.

“Aya-kun!” he finally managed, completely taken by surprise.

Aya turned deep, masked eyes to his wide gaze.

“What’re you doing in here?” he stammered.

Aya was silent for a moment. Then: “What’s wrong, Omi?” That was all;
simple and concise. But it felt like a blow to Omi’s mind.

/He’s noticed!? I can’t believe it… I thought… but the others never
said… why him? And why does he have to ask me, like *this*?/

He strove desperately to pretend he didn’t know what Aya was talking
about. “What do you mean-”
“I’m more perceptive than you think,” he cut in, his voice smooth, even,
surprisingly, slightly dry. “You’ve been different for a couple of weeks
now. We can’t afford to have any of us distracted on missions.”

Omi’s hopes had risen with the thought that perhaps Aya was concerned.
/But no,/ he thought acidly, feeling a sudden, surprising flash of
anger. /Of course not. Not cold Aya./

He was startled by the violence of his emotion, but went with it. He was
tired of fighting his mind. /It’s *his* fault this happened, anyway.
He’s causing my pain./

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “It’s nothing that can be helped.”

Omi started to turn away, intent on leaving again. But Aya caught him
securely with his eyes, with their slight, surprised widening. It was
obvious Omi’s acerbity had come through; after all, he had done nothing
to prevent it.

The younger boy felt an immediate pang of guilt and regret. First, for
blaming Aya, and second, because he suddenly realized, with that single
comment, Aya would only pry deeper. And he had brought that on himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hastily, wanting to avoid more conversation. “I’m
on edge. It’s a lot of things, really, and-”

“You can tell me, Omi.”

Omi blinked at the tone of Aya’s quiet voice. It was almost…
compassionate? Somehow, that didn’t seem right. But… well, Aya *was* the
type to have a deep caring concealed within him, that he would expose
only to friends. And Omi was a fellow member of Weiss…

/But friend…/ the word ate at him. /I want *more* than that. But it’s
too much to ask./

“No, I can’t” he replied softly, regretfully, fixing his eyes on his
feet. Could silence get him out of this one? 
It was his last chance.

He heard Aya shift, and lifted his eyes to see him standing closer,
having left his post to approach the boy. His eyes betrayed nothing.
Their gazes met.

Omi’s heart fluttered, emotions rising and threatening to sweep him away
with their rush. He was unable to stop it.

And some of that must have been relayed to his eyes, because he saw
Aya’s brows contract, ever so slightly, in puzzlement.

/There’s no turning back now. May as well get it over with/ he thought
distantly.

“Aya-kun,” he finally said, softly. “Do you really wanna know? I don’t
think you do, but I can’t convince you otherwise.” /And I can’t deny you
anything, Aya/ he added silently, /because to me, you’re everything./

“Hai,” came the quiet, slightly wondering response.

Omi dropped his eyes and scuffed his foot against the ground. He tried
to steady himself. It was hopeless. So he came right out and said it,
while staring at the floor:

“I love you.”

Silence. Absolute, utter silence, that roared in his ears louder and
harsher than any engine. He felt dizzy; emotions were strong, anxiety
was stronger, and suspense threaded through those feelings. Slowly, he
lifted his eyes.

Aya’s face was completely unreadable. His eyes were harder than Omi
believed he had ever witnessed them to be. The boy bit his lip,
unconsciously taking a step back.

“No,” he whispered. “Don’t… don’t look at me like that,” he whispered.

Nothing, though. Only silence was the response.

Omi’s heart thudded; his temples pounded. “Please,” he whispered. “Say
something, Aya-kun. Anything.”

Nothing. Complete disregard. It hurt worse than Omi could have imagined.
He fled.

~~~

“Nani?” Omi heard Yohji’s exclamation through his closed door. His room
was dark around him; he was staring at the ceiling with red-rimmed eyes.
He had not slept well that night. Not well at all.

He sat up, peering toward the door. Despite his injured heart, his
interest was somewhat captured by the commotion outside.

“What the hell do you mean? Why!?” Yohji was shouting.

“I don’t know!” Ken yelled back, irritably. He heard the pounding of
footsteps. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, Omi stood up and
left his room.

He went to the main room, peering around with tired, wide eyes; no one
was there. “Where’d they go?” he muttered to himself. Peering down the
other hall, he blinked. Both Ken and Yohji stood outside an open door.
Aya’s room.

His heart skipped a beat. Aya… could something have happened? He ran
down the hall, breathless.

“What’s going on?” He demanded, pushing between Ken and Yohji. They
ignored him, caught up in whatever it was they were doing.

“Aya-kun! What do you think you’re doing!?” Yohji demanded. “Why?”

Aya was bent over a suitcase; most of his clothes were already in it.
His face was expressionless, and he didn’t even look up.

“Because I can’t stay here anymore.”

“So you’re just gonna leave!?” Ken exclaimed.

The revelation was staggering; Omi felt dizzy, and he could find no
words. /He’s leaving…/ those two, solitary words brought Omi’s world
down around him. He stumbled back, and his back collided with the wall.
/You can’t… you can’t leave!/ he wanted to shout, desperately. /You
being here might hurt me, but if you’re gone… I can’t handle it!/

“Hey, Omi-kun!” He suddenly realized Ken was addressing him with a
frown. “What’s the matter? You look pale.”

“I…” he finally managed to stammer. “N…nothing.”

He turned away from Ken’s curious, concerned look and hurried back down
the hall. /I don’t want to face this./ When he reached his room again,
he flung himself down on the bed.

He didn’t know what to do, and what to feel was even more of a mystery.
Pain was the strongest emotion; Aya leaving, Aya hurting him. But anger
danced through his mind. /Does he think he can just run away from this?/
he thought angrily. /Run from me? Does he even care?/

He buried his face in his pillow. The seconds stretched on, leaving him
alone with his tortured thoughts. He knew someone would come bother him
soon, though, so he simply waited, there on his bed. After five minutes
passed, and the silence was broken, his emotions and thoughts were no
more organized than before.

The door opened behind him. He waited.

“Omi-kun.”

His eyes widened. The low, smooth voice that spoke his name was
undeniable. He slowly rolled over onto his back and sat up.

“Hai?” he whispered. He fixed his eyes on the floor.

“Gomen.”

Omi barked something that was mirthless; half-laugh, half-sob. “Are you
really?” His voice was no more than a whisper, tight. There was no
response.

“Aya-kun,” he finally said, softly. He still watched the floor. “Why?
Why are you doing this?”

When Aya was still silent for a time, Omi finally dragged his eyes off
the floor. There was a slight frown marring the tall, red-head’s
features. “Because things have changed too much. And my being here
tortures you; I don’t want to be responsible for that.”

“So… so you think you can just leave? That leaving will *help*?” Omi’s
voice rose slightly. He stood up. “Have you ever thought how it would
affect *me*?” he demanded, his fists tightening into balls as he
approached the figure standing in his doorway. “You’re *everything* to
me! I know you don’t care about anyone else, but did you at least stop
to wonder, if only for a *moment*, that leaving would hurt worse!?”
“You brought this on yourself.” There was a glint of anger in his deep
violet eyes. His voice was cold.

“Look, I didn’t ask for it either, all right?” he snapped back. “I don’t
*want* this. And I know that telling you ruined any friendship, but I
can’t lie to myself.”

“So you expect me to stay, with everything changed?” was the response,
still quiet, still hard.

“No,” he replied, taking a step forward. He now stood directly in front
of the older youth. “No,” he repeated, with a gesture that was
half-sharp, half-pleading. “*Nothing* has to change.”

His anger suddenly died, snuffed out by the knowledge that Aya was
leaving. His eyes suddenly burned. “It’s… it’s only words, and if you’re
only here, I know it’ll be all right.” One tear, single and solitary,
slid down his cheek. “Please,” he whispered, his voice broken. “Don’t
go.”

Before Aya could give any response, physical or verbal, Omi put his arms
around him, clutching his shoulder and burying his face there.

Aya stiffened. Omi, through his tears, waited for him to jerk away. But,
to the younger boy’s surprise, he did not. He didn’t react in any way
for a long moment, but simply stood there.

/Aya… maybe there’s a chance/ he thought to himself, with desperate
hope. /He didn’t pull away. And he was going to leave to stop me from
hurting… a chance./

Omi’s tears did not last long; he was in conflict. This was probably the
only time he could be with Aya like that, that close, and he wanted it
to last forever. But it was also embarrassing, part of him registered.
Crying like a child in front of the one he loved, and getting the older
youth’s shoulder wet besides.

He slowly pushed back and lifted his large eyes to Aya. In the redhead’s
gaze, Omi could not read much. But his eyes were softer than before,
even slightly puzzled.

“Will you stay?” he whispered, his head pounding in his ears.

Aya was quiet for a long time. Then he finally nodded his head. “Hai.”

A soft, relieved smile curved Omi’s lips. “Arigatou.” He whispered.

Then, before Aya could step back away, back into the hall, he raised
himself on his toes and kissed him. It was something he had dreamed
about doing. This seemed like it would be his only chance. And he had to
find out, had to see if there really was a chance.

It was not long; Aya did not respond in any Omi, but Omi didn’t mind.
Just the feel of those lips, surprisingly soft, was enough. Aya stared
down at him, surprise etched in his face. The younger assassin stepped
away.

“Arigatou,” he said softly, again. Then: “Aya-kun… if you liked that,
you have to tell me. But if you didn’t like it, then… then you’ll not
break any expectations. I don’t expect you too. But I have to try; and
if you come to me, and tell me it was repulsive, that you hated it, I
don’t mind. As long as you’re here.”

No response. The ever-silent Aya only stood there, looked at him a
moment longer, implacable, and then turned and walked away.

Omi was content to leave it that way. Aya was staying, and he had gotten
to be so close to him, to kiss him. It was all that mattered.

~~~

It was Omi’s turn to close up. Omi’s and Aya’s. But he was okay with it;
he was content to just know Aya was around. Things were not quite the
same between them, but Omi put forth a lot of effort to make it that
way, not wanting to make things worse for Aya. And so, for now, they
were okay.

He sighed to himself as he watered the last group of plants that needed
it. /About three weeks ago, I was accepting I loved a man. Now, I’m
accepting that the man I love doesn’t feel the same./

But he had come to accept it, and he knew life would go on. Just without
Aya’s love. “But I can’t have everything I want in life,” he murmured to
himself.

He glanced over his shoulder when he heard movement; Aya had entered, to
help close up. Omi, not having anything to say, returned to his task.

But Aya didn’t have the same sentiments, apparently, for he said:
“Omi-kun.”

That was all. But Omi blinked, startled by his voice. It was somehow…
different. He slowly turned around.

“Hai?”

Aya shifted from one foot the other, and then looked away,
uncharacteristically nervous. Omi blinked again curiously. “You said…
the day I tried to leave, you said to tell you.”

Omi frowned. “Tell me what?” he asked, not quite sure what Aya was
referring to.

Deep violet eyes returned to him. “If I liked it.”

The young assassin’s breath caught. He didn’t know if he should response
or not, but he didn’t trust his voice to be steady, so he remained
silent.

“I… I did.”

Omi’s gaze was incomprehensive. The plastic watering can, almost empty
now, feel from numb fingers with a clatter and light splash. He couldn’t
speak. /“I did…”/ could it be true?

Aya seemed compelled to continue, and as he did so, took a few steps
forward, approaching Omi. “I mean… I think I did. I didn’t dislike it,
and… and I think about it. A lot.”

Aya was confused. The two words were not normally together. And he was
expressing his feelings. Or at least trying to. That was even more rare.

“Do you mean it?” he finally managed. It was hard to accept; he had
taken Aya’s silence on the matter for disliking it, for being repulsed.
And yet here he was, confessing otherwise.

Aya nodded, briefly. “I don’t know if I feel how you feel,” he
continued, his voice quiet. “But I was going to leave so you wouldn’t
hurt, because I don’t *want* you to hurt. And you’re always there,
keeping me from complete isolation by being who you are. I never
realized it before, but…”

When he seemed to struggle with the words, Omi cut in, gently. “You
don’t have to continue,” he whispered. The knowledge that this was not a
daydream, that Aya was truly there before him, saying this, was slowly
dawning on. “You don’t have to,” he repeated. He was at a loss for
words.

Aya, reaching up, touched his cheek. The action was slightly awkward,
but he did it anyway. He wiped a tear away; Omi had not realized he was
crying. “Don’t cry, Omi-kun,” he whispered.

Omi covered Aya’s long, slender fingers with his own. He was suddenly
nervous as his eyes fixed on Aya’s lips, slightly parted. He was
suddenly unsure.

But Aya ended that for him; the older youth leaned forward and gently
touched those lips to Omi’s. His kiss was tentative, still unsure.

Omi leaned into it, kissing him with a rush of emotion, longing. A part
of him still expected Aya to pull away, push back harshly. But he
didn’t. Omi, after a long moment, broke the kiss, breathless. Aya’s eyes
slid open.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, a slightly puzzled expression on his face.

Omi smiled, a small, sweet expression that curved his lips. “Nothing,”
he whispered.

He again leaned forward, sliding one hand behind Aya’s neck, feeling the
soft brush of hair. He kissed him more deeply; this time Aya’s response
was more definite, encouraging. Omi’s thought was distant. 
/Nothing at all./

Continue onto the sequel? Open this book.
Why not go read another in the Sitting Room?