By Nix Winter
Disclaimers: I do not own WK.
It was so real. Just an information gathering mission; nothing should have gone wrong. It had been three days past Omi's nineteenth birthday and they'd been at a club, waiting for their target to come in. It wasn't their standard case, much more of a murder case that should have been the domain of the police. In Omi's dream, it replayed so perfectly.
Youji danced, tight jeans, crop top, hair swaying and sparking in the light, face smiling, for once. It had been too long since Omi had seen Youji smile. That smile on the dance floor, so careful, so much like when Omi had been just a kid, so long ago, had warmed something cold in Omi.
In his dream, he remembered returning the smile, feeling a flutter inside and feeling his cheeks burn when Youji's smile brightened. The older blond had laced his fingers behind his head, hips swaying, almost as if he were dancing just for Omi and Omi had blushed so hard even in the dream that his cheeks burned against the pillow. He'd never known Youji had his belly button pierced, or really thought about the lean lines that defined Youji's stomach.
He knew how the dream was supposed to go, but his mind took it in a different direction. His older partner had actually gotten into a fight with the friend of the man they were
staking out. Youji had actually spend the night in the hospital with two broken ribs and a blood deficit. In Omi's dream though, that didn't happen.
In Omi's dream, Youji crossed the floor towards him, dancing still, sweat sticking his hair to his face in little tendrils. Omi's hair stood up on end and he backed up against the table in the club and the wall against his bed. Youji was the most beautiful person in the world. In the dream, Youji pressed up against Omi's body. Omi was as tall as Youji was now, though that hadn't always been so. In the dream, Youji's body pressed against Omi's and Omi's pressed back and there was no embarrassment over the hardnesses between them. Omi's fingers slide into Youji's hair, cupping the back of his head, pulling him close and there was a kiss like the kiss that Omi had read about in romance mangas. Youji's tongue traced his lips, then slipped inside of his mouth and he moaned, his other arm slipping around Youji's waist.
Then the dream shattered and Youji was missing, just like what really had happened that night. Omi pushed through the crowd, searching. It was over when he found him.
A girl, too young to be in the club in the first place was pinned between Youji and a dead end. Between her and the door, Youji fought the man they'd trailed to the club, knife against fists. Youji's sense of honor kept the man from dying, probably. Youji didn't kill in front of kids or women, if he could help it, and so the guy had already planted a blade in Youji's side by the time the police had arrived. It was their arrival that had tipped Omi to look in the alley.
It was darker now in his dream, and though he hadn't seen the man plunge the knife into Youji, he saw it now, heard Youji grunt, saw blood spray when the knife was with drawn. In his dream, he saw Youji falling in slow motion, falling into snow of all things, so far from anywhere, that in the dream, Omi was sure he'd never find him, never be able to save him. "I love you! Tell me where you are!?"
Outside Omi's dream it was nearly two in the morning and Youji's stood in the half open door way. Dark gold hair hung around his face, the light from the hall giving him a bit of a halo. He pushed the door open a little more, pushed forward by concern for Omi. It wasn't often that nightmares woke the computer specialist of the group, but when they did, they were usually quite dark. Youji tilted his head, lips tightening with words he wasn't going to say. Some dreams could make tents out of a guy's sheets.
Youji knew he ought to move on, just shut the door and leave his more innocent friend alone. It wasn't like Omi were dreaming of him, but the wish that he was brought a secret smile to Youji's face.
So when Omi's eyes opened, Youji stood there still in black sweat pants and white bandages around his ribs, hand on the door, shadows hiding his face.
"Omi? I was just worried you were having bad dreams," Youji said, taking a step backwards. "I'll let you get back to her then."
"Wait! Youji," Omi sat up, bunching the sheets at his waist, "Youji, stay with me for a while?"
"Sure, but are you sure you really want my company?" Youji asked, slipping inside the room as he closed the door behind him.
"I'm sure," Omi said. "Very sure."