Warnings/notes : songfic, Yohji x Omi, fluff, mild angst, not much of either Aya or Ken, shifting povs [between Yohji and Omi]
Disclaimer : I don't own Weiss Kreuz.
written at 19th march 2003, by Misura. part 1 of 3[?]
The song 'Real sugar' belongs to Roxette. Lyrics may be slightly altered.
//Right at the front door I recognised the perfume
The scent was perfect in the dusk by the moon
There must be many ways to ask him
Why didn't I dare? //[Omi]
It was Friday evening and I shyly knocked on the door to Yohji's room. I knew he was going to go out this evening, but since his car was still parked in front of our house, he hadn't left yet.
Yohji used to always come and say goodbye when he left, but recently he hasn't been doing that anymore. I don't know why. Maybe he thinks I didn't appreciate it?
I really did, though ; it made me feel like he cared about me. He never said bye to Aya or Ken, unless they happened to be around when he got downstairs. Just to me.
He opens the door and I am treated to the sight of Yohji in his outfit for this night. He looks, as always, stunning. And distant. This Yohji is somehow different from the Yohji I work with in the flowershop or laugh with. He is dressed to kill, I would say, if that wasn't such a lame, bitter joke.
//Well every hour I try to get somethin' done
Out on the weekend I try just havin' some fun
I'm windin' up with no one, just zeroes,
No one's for real ,they're just space with no air//[Yohji]
I'm surprised to see Omi standing in front of me when I open the door. I have no idea why he would want to see me. He looks at my clothing and gets an odd expression in his eyes.
I guess he thinks I'm a slut, dressing like this, though really, I'm wearing one of my less revealing outfits today. Omi's so innocent ; I can't imagine him in clothes like mine. He has a purity of heart I lost long ago, because I considered it a worthless luxury.
Omi is special for that, a treasure I daren't touch or come near to for fear of soiling it. I try to keep away from him, for his own good, but Omi is not the kind of person to give up on others easily. Any time I try to ignore him, he looks at me with that look of hurt in his eyes.
And I can't help myself. I want to smile at him, make him stop hurting and above all keep him safe from the world out there.
A world full of empty faces and promises only made to be broken. My world. That must never become his.
//- I get: "Bye-bye baby-baby bye baby-baby bye-bye..."
Real sugar, I don't wanna climb no walls
Real sugar, that's what I want or none at all
Real sugar, sweeter than sweet can be
Real sugar, that's what I want and what I need
That's what I need//[Omi]
He looks at me questioningly, not speaking. I gather my courage and ask him my question, the one I have been meaning to ask him for so long.
"Are you going out tonight?"
In the end, I can't get the words past my lips though. It's too hard. I wouldn't know what to do or say when he told me 'no'. No, Omi. I don't love you. Ugh, you're a guy, how can you even ask?
So instead, I picked this question, to which he is sure to reply 'yes'.
"Yeah." He nods, the hint of a smile playing around his lips. At which I shouldn't be looking, since doing that always makes me blush. At night, I imagine what it would feel like to be kissed by them. That too, I think, would shock and disgust him. "How did you guess, chibi?"
"The - the clothing?" I stammer. I don't want to do that ; it might give me away. But I can't help it.
"You like it?" he asks, posing. It should annoy me, he's quite vain. He knows he looks good and only wants me to say so. "I was thinking of you when I picked it."
It's a joke, of course. Yohji enjoys teasing me, making my face grow hot. Nothing more. He just sees me as a kid, nothing more. He doesn't care about me except perhaps as some sort of younger brother. Before I can say anything more, he looks at his watch.
"Oh, I'm late! I got to go now." he grabs his coat. "Wouldn't want to keep the ladies waiting after all! Bye, Omitchi! Don't stay up too long!" His lips briefly brush my cheek. It means nothing.
Downstairs I hear the door fall shut while I am standing on the stairs, trying to preserve the memory, however brief, of his arms around my waist. Slowly, inevitably, it fades.
I am alone and I am cold.